Redefining Horizons

  “ Oye Gwachi ga, Kithe chale ?”  (I will let you in on the meaning a little later) Havildar Mahinder Singh shouted at the soldier carrying something and seemingly headed in the wrong direction.  I was a young lieutenant on attachment with an Infantry Battalion and was overseeing the maintenance parade of the unit. I liked the way my troops spoke Punjabi. It sounded musical even when they said the harshest things. The way Malayalam, my mother tongue, is spoken also changes from place to place. In my area, it sounds bland, but it often meant far more beyond what was said. H owever, in Thrissur and Trivandrum, there is a distinct musical touch to the way they speak their dialect. The Punjabi my troops spoke was different in every possible way.  We, as officers, are expected to learn the language of our Troops and communicate with them in their mother tongue.  During my training, I had picked up Hindi. I could communicate my way around. However, there was a proble...

  A few days back, I was driving home from the neighbouring city. Seeing the painstakingly laid and beautifully crafted white line continuously snaking along like an endless work of art on the road, I asked my wife, “Saw that line?” We were negotiating a blind curve on the road. Both sides of the road had white lines clearly showing the edges. The broad line with reflectors in the middle of the road was meant to separate the traffic, and drivers are expected to keep their vehicles within their side of the line. Roads in this part of the country have many curves and gradients. They are well-marked and take on a high density of traffic. Almost all trucks on Indian roads have their rears marked with “Blow Horn” along with other funny and sometimes philosophical quotes. Unlike in the West, where honking is considered uncivil, here, signage asking drivers to ‘blow horn’ can be found along the road, across the country.  Before my wife could answer, a car, without any warning, overto...

  “Pigs do not know they stink,” Manju, my friend, messaged me after reading my article,  Wrestling with the Pigs . The benign comment almost exonerated pigs from culpability for the stink. The thought, she said, was brought up by her husband when they sat down to discuss my blog. He had read somewhere that “pigs do not know that they stink.” They are a kind couple. It would have been easy for them to be considerate and pardon pigs as a class for “they (pigs) know not what they do.”  I was, however, elated on two counts.  The first, another article of mine, had found space in an intellectual discussion. It felt good. The second, I detected something profound in her statement. It raised two socially relevant questions. How would pigs know they stink? What would happen if pigs knew they stank?  How would pigs know they stink? There could be two ways. Either the pig itself realises that it stinks, or another pig calls it out. Both can happen only if pigs themselves...

  “Kundil Veena Chundeli” is in Malayalam and means “mouse that fell in a ditch . “History repeats itself” is an idiom that finds frequent mention nowadays. Both sides, especially in animated television discussions that become no-holds-barred debates, use it at will. The events that unfold daily across the world somehow give me the impression that the contemporary is often a repetition of the past, and we, in our own little ways, are all part of this great drama. To make things clearer, let me share a Malayalam story I learned as a child in the second or third grade. The story seems to repeat endlessly, though the characters keep changing. Let me narrate the story, giving it a contemporary flavour. The story Once upon a time, a mouse landed up in a kitchen in search of food. Without much problem, he found two “ neyyappams ” (a Malayali sweet and my childhood favourite) wrapped in a newspaper. Without waiting to eat, he picked up the packet and walked. He wanted to reach h...

  It was a beautiful morning that day, way back in 2008. Then, I received that call from my friend in Mumbai. A Malayalee born and bred in Hyderabad, married to a Malayalee settled in Mumbai, she speaks a unique tongue. Our friendship had gone past the necessity of starting conversations with a good morning or good evening. The telephone calls between us were not very regular, but when we spoke, we picked up from where we left off last. We talked about small things in life. Most of the conversation was reserved for pulling each other's legs and laughing. There was happiness in our conversation, always. It has been like that since we met for the first time in 2005. But that call in 2008 was different.    “Arey, do you know something?” she asked. She sounded dead serious.  In the normal course of conversation, I would have said something funny or pulled her leg. “What happened?’ I asked, sensing something wrong in her voice. “I have breast cancer,” she said. I was stun...

Palaces, Castles, and Moats   In the days of yore, there were kings, queens, and kingdoms. Many of them lived in grand palaces, mighty castles, or formidable forts, spoiled by loyal servants, and surrounded by ruthless soldiers. These grand structures were normally surrounded by moats. Moats were usually deep and wide canals, often embedded with sharp stakes at the slushy bottom, and at times purposely populated with crocodiles or water snakes and served as formidable military obstacles. In his efforts to make the defence impregnable, the ruler spent considerable resources to ensure that the moat around his palace remained unbreachable. It was the most visible element of the defence. The moat was wide enough to beat the stand-off distance of the weapons of the potential adversaries he knew of. However, the ruler had weapons that could cross the moat and inflict injuries on the enemy.  The ruler considered himself secure only in the heavily guarded palace behind the moat, but l...

  Can mathematics help us understand Life? Yes. Let me tell you how it works.  Assumptions and Facts “Why should I learn all these formulae if I can make do with addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division?  What is the use of algebraic equations?” I asked myself after a challenging quadratic equation class in school. It was a natural response from a student not so bright in mathematics.  Learning mathematics was like walking into a minefield without knowing where one was headed and why. With every passing day, the lessons got more brutal. I think we started linear equations in the 9 th or 10 th standard, and with it, my association with the omnipresent yet ever-elusive ‘x’ . Initially, we got equations with a single ‘x.’ We graduated to creating equations with one or more ‘x’ from a given problem statement. Interestingly, all the statements of problems revolved around silly situations in life. At times, we were determining someone’s age, height, weight, or...