Facing Uncertainties

That was stupid -- my last post in this blog. Not the content, but the way I wrote it! Later, even I could not follow my last post. Especially, the first paragraph is too difficult to follow. Looking back, I remember the urge I experienced to make that post difficult to read. I had the feeling, still I possess this feeling, that online writings like blogs are useless. They are worthless. They serve no particular purpose. Some argue that internet gives us the real democratic experience and help us show the power of the powerless and the downtrodden. But, unfortunately, I am increasingly feeling that this is untrue. Internet publishing helps us share our feeling. But whether it will serve humanity to direct itself towards some goal, political or economic or anything like that, is doubtful. The flow of information makes us more confused and unfocused. The previous blog manifested this feeling I was experiencing those days. Those feelings are only strengthened now. But I continue writing despite knowing its futility. And I write for no reason and no end. This may sound pessimistic, but right now this is what I feel.

In the last post, my main point was how an issue (Mullapperiyar dam controversy) was about to divide the people of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. One month is gone after I wrote that post. Now, we see those peoples divided! Violence broke out between the peoples and, admittedly, was more intense on the Tamil Nadu side than on the other side. We saw how a small group of people exploited the opportunity for gaining narrow political ends. Moreover, the issue remains unsolved.

The Mullapperiyar dam issue is actually an engineering problem, which has but now become a social problem (I mean people's problem). It is taken to a state where engineers alone cannot solve it amicably. The question of whether the dam will collapse and, if yes, under what conditions, does not have any definite answer. Any answer will finally boil down to probability and reliability. The aim of science and engineering should be to reduce the probability of disaster as small as possible, thereby making the reliability of the construction as large as possible. How reliable is the dam is therefore can be answered only by engineers in statistical terms. The problem becomes social because people, the laymen, are unable to understand and accept the statistical promises. Such problems cannot be only resolved by engineers. The role of powerful statesmen with long term vision becomes important and apparent at this s juncture. It is doubtful whether we still have such leaders. This doubt arises by observing the way the issue is being approached by our leaders.

Related is the issue of Koodamkulam nuclear power plant. Is it safe? Is nuclear energy safe for humanity? Even scientists are divided on this issue. So are the politicians. The answer again boils down to be a statistical one. Again, the probability of failure of the measures taken by the scientists and engineers to make the power plant safe against natural calamities like earthquake, tsunamis and cyclones dictates the answer. If our calculation fails? This may be an emotional question. Perhaps, I am just being over cautious. But am I not over cautious about the very existence of the human race? Am I not justifiable on this ground in asking this question?

Perhaps, we have no answers. Perhaps, there is no way to arrive at a definite answer. Perhaps, uncertainty rules everywhere. But we must find some resolution to face such uncertainties, and our resolution must be based on facts and reason. That is all I have to say.

Regarding violence: a few perverts can cause a large violence, but restoration of peace would need efforts of large number of lofty minds.

Some say that if Kerala and Tamil Nadu were two countries, a war would have broken out by this time. This argument leads me to a more terrible thought: China is building a dam in Brahmaputra, which is supposed to finish by the year 2015. Will they divert water from Brahmaputra to China? What would be the outcome? Are we facing a war?

P.S.: I am not able to sleep calmly these days!

Sandeep

Dec 29, 2011.

The Number of Sand Grains in Calicut Beach, or Writing in Water

So much of reading and so less of writing. This is bad. Even though reading gives me a lot of strength, it is writing that stabilizes the strength thus acquired. While reading makes me more confused, writing gives me clarity. From an information theoretic perspective, reading causes an increase in entropy, while writing helps me reduce the entropy by efficiently decoding, or, equivalently, understanding, or grasping, or putting in the right light, the information ("information" in the sense used in "information technology" not in "information theory"; instead, one could almost always, i.e., with negligibly small probability of being misunderstood, use the word "noise") that I have gathered through reading. (Remember, the more the entropy, the more is the disorder, or uncertainty, or confusion.) That is why I decided to write this post. It came as an inner urge, almost similar to the one human beings experience prior to defecation. The urge was to write a serious post after a long  while. (In our most golden -- the price of gold is at the record peak in history-- times, a blog post is serious if it required little effort to write and would require onerous effort to read. My goal is, honestly, such a post.)  However, I had to struggle to fix a topic. For me, topics are plenty, because the unwritten words (which are written in the mind) substantially exceed in trillions and trillions of bytes (1 byte = 8 bits, 1 bit = 1 binary digit, and binary digits are nothing and everything, or, in other words, none and one) compared to the written words. Then I fixed a contemporary topic, which I assign the reader to decipher from below, after reading the post entirely, and then doing some tantric deconstruction (to do this one has to be well versed in tantras and mantras and pujas and hypocrisy). If the reader does not want such unnecessary burdens or feels not qualified to do this, I urge not to read this post. I am a ruthless writer, and on top of that I am not going to call you "the respected reader" or "the most diligent reader" or any of that shit. I expect the reader to be as conceited and therefore as stupid -- and vice versa -- as I am.

Breaking from the conventions of the previous posts in this blog, I would like to dedicate this post to Jean Paul Sartre, who taught me how to "write", which I, being unscrupulous, have managed not to realize in practice.

The issue of Mullapperiyar dam is now raging at its peak between Kerala and Tamil Nadu. This may be attributed to the facts that (1) it is rainy season in Kerala and hence the dam is inundated with water, (2) there has been a few earth quakes in the past few months in the areas surrounding the dam, (3) a junk movie "Dam 999" has been released in India, which, despite having got the permission for screening from the censor board of India, has been banned in Tamil Nadu by its Government, reasoning that it would mislead and hurt the sentiments of the people, (4) and the Malayalam television media has taken up the issue with paramount importance. Although the panic created by the media among the people by making them believe that the dam will collapse today or tomorrow or even in the next nano-second may sound illogical enough to be fake, the threat posed by the weakness of the dam is truly of paramount importance. While the lease agreement for the dam between Kerala and Tamil Nadu is actually for nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine (999) years, it is clear that a dam will not stay that long. While constructing a new dam as an immediate precaution to save the people from its possible yet unpredictable collapse seems to be a solution, the bitter fact that the new dam will soon (in another hundred years?) turn out to be a similar threat to the same people, or precisely their future generation, is a paradox that has been pointed out by some thinking fanatics living in isolated islands.

You might have noticed that I have written the previous paragraph in the most insipid manner, keeping myself distant from the issue, and adopting a very neutral, diplomatic tone. You must understand that this is not because I am a Malayali who is living in Tamil Nadu, so that I have to satisfy both my Tamil friends and Malayali friends thereby saving myself from the otherwise imminent peril. Having dedicated this post to Sartre, will my super-ego ever spare me from the guilt generated by doing so? Though I conceal my fear in my heart, the fact is that I am more interested in something else.

Yes, more interestingly, though the slogan "water for Tamil Nadu, safety for Kerala" formulated by the Kerala Government sounds post-modern and liberal enough, and sounds to be in terms with the modern thoughts and moral sense, however contemptuous and worthless this sense may be, the Tamil Nadu Government's and political parties' adamant rejection of the plea for co-operation to construct a new dam by the Kerala Government gives us some glimpses to the nature of (modern) India. Particularly, the fact remains that India has not yet become an integral country, but stays divided by language, culture, caste, religion, location, and other identities. The Mullapperiyar issue exemplifies the failure of a group of people (or their leaders) to understand the need of another group of people living in the neighbourhood in the same country, only differing in language and culture. Here, being Tamil or Malayali is not the issue. The fact that I, the author of this post, am a Malayali is also not a very important issue (notwithstanding that I have mentally broken free from such an narrow identity). The true issue is that this kind of division exists not only between Tamils and Malayali, but between Tamils and Kannadigas, Kannadigas and Marathis, Kannadigas and Malayalis, Marathis and Hindi-speaking people, Biharis and Bengalis, Kashmiris and other Indians, and so on and so on. Such division can be seen even between people living in the same state, speaking the same language (e.g. South Kerala and North Kerala). A serious and active issue Similar to the Mullapperiyar is the demand for the division of Andra Pradhesh into two, which, again, reflects the mistrust and jealousy between peoples living in different geographical locations within a single state, speaking the same language notwithstanding some colloquial vernacular differences. 

The solution to this most important problem India as an integral nation has been facing can be achieved, however, not by creating an all encompassing Indian identity, for no identity can be truly all encompassing, but, I believe, by educating the people in values concerning freedom and liberty, both social and individual, thereby helping them to mature to a mental state in which they can live peacefully with others. In a country, from where a painter, whether he is great or not, had to flee for using his freedom of expression in his painting; in a country, where a study on different versions of Ramayana told in different places and countries is removed from the academic syllabus for religious reasons; in a country, where a movie or book is banned whenever it is against some narrow ideology held by a group; in a country, err... I'm bored to continue giving these examples, believe me; by the way, what is the number of sand grains in Calicut beach? 

All I mean to say is that in this country, such a solution will not succeed -- I say this with boundless optimism (ideologically, I must have used "pessimism", but, unfortunately, pessimism is not the ideology I have sided with). This country needs a gang-bang change, not the pseudo-moral revolution preached by Anna Hazare and people like him, but a truly violent revolution. Wait a minute, do not misunderstand me here. I used the term violent in the same sense used by Slavoj Zizek when he said almost like this: "Hitler was not violent enough; Gandhi was more violent than Hitler [in challenging the basic structure of the prevailing [British] system]" (emphases might have been added, I'm not sure).

Tail piece: Perhaps the Mullapperiyar issue also shows us how a majority of Indian people are deeply influenced and ideologically possessed by a minority of leaders, politicians and institutions.

S. Palakkal,
Nov 30, 2011,
Chennai.

Analyze this!

Butter Rotti and luscious Chikken Tikka Masala at Zaitoon, the night cafe in the campus. Reading Age of Reason and Wavelet Tour of signal Processing interchangeably till 4'O clock in the morning. Read the novel for some time and change over to Wavelets for some time; come back to the novel -- my contemporary exercise! At 4 A.M., in the brahma-muhurtham, when all the Aarsha Bharathiya Indians would wake up, I went to sleep.

A man who is half-human and half-machine. He is fighting -- for justice or injustice was not very clear. His forefinger in the right arm is a gun with which he can kill anyone standing kilometers apart. He kills at least two people, both of whom are very important in the country, maybe a minister or an official or so. He executes these killings from distance using his gun in the arm. Who is the killer? Police starts investigation. This is not a Malayalam movie. The police officers are as good as the hero (or villain?). And there are more than one police officers. Probably three. They investigate thoroughly. They follow the leads very intelligently. The best police officer in Malayalam movies is belittled by their performance. But our hero is no full-human. He leaves no trace to himself in any crime scene. In fact, he meets the police officers. They don't even suspect him. The story goes on. Gun fights, shoot-outs, cars collide, everything is in fire. The country goes to hell. They can't catch a single man! There was an important meeting between the officials and politicians and police officers. The hero is present. All the police officers are present. They discuss and have no clue. The hero is about to leave for some "operation". One of the police officers starts talking something. He logically deduces a few things. The hero gets perplexed. In a very tense moment, with the formidable skills of Sherlock Holmes, the police officer concludes -- "so, the culprit should be none other than you", pointing his forefinger to the hero. Hero tries to escape. All the people surrounds him and tries to catch. The hero takes a prism and the prism projects the immediate future on the wall. In that projection, we can see police defeating the hero and beating him all over. The hero is cut into two pieces, but being half-machine is not dead yet. But it is clear that the hero fails in his mission! Being the future of the hero known, which in turn is not very prosperous, what is the point of resuming to tell this story?

Precisely at this moment, I woke up. It was 1:30 P.M.  Hunger was torturing me from inside and outside. Yet, I spent some more time savouring the movie my inner-space kindly showed me during my sleep, thereby keeping me not bored throughout my sleep. What a beautiful unconscious mind I have! Freud will surely fail if he analyzes me.

Perhaps, Zizek will say: "Wait a minute! Here is an example of a man whose fantasy space has been completely robbed by the Hollywood! This is the paramount example of the influence of today's cinema on modern human lives. The sense of reality of this man has been completely taken over by his fantasy world. His unconscious mind, which should consist of his unfulfilled desires, now contains only fantasies, cinematic fantasies. This is why I said our desires are not spontaneous: one has to be taught to desire. And cinema teaches one to desire."

Today, I Lived My Life

Till the age of thirty, a man is idealistic. He tries to discover the best idealistic way of living; or simply, he tries to find out the best way of living. By the age of thirty, he realizes the futility of his idealism and recognizes his failure. Thereafter, he lives a failed life holding himself in self-contempt. This is how a man fails to lead a normal life before and after thirty!

Out, Into the World

After days of seclusion,
Today I saw the bright, sunny world.
It looked ephemeral, with no purpose.
But, why the hell is it so beautiful?

-Sandeep
Nov 13, 2011

The World Outside Me -- A Poem

The world exists without me, outside me.
I have only an interpretation of the world.
My interpretation of the world:
My happiness! And my curse!

I am prey to my interpretations.
I can't stop them, nor can I be free of them.
I am defined by my interpretations.
And I depend on them.

My interpretations form my feelings.
They form my knowledge.
They guide my soul.
I have no life without them.

My interpretations are not independent of the world,
Though the world is independent and outside me.
The world will carry on without me,
Without caring for my interpretations.

Can I blame myself, or the world,
That I feel the world is too indifferent to me?
Perhaps this is the irony of life,
The worst of all human paradigms!

--Sandeep Palakkal
April 7, 2011.
On a train journey from Chennai to Calicut

Palakkal Saga: Meeting with Lonely Wanderer

Yesterday, I was sitting in the lab, looking at the computer monitor, feeling all my frustrations in life. Since it was evening, all my colleages had left, and I was alone. I thought of learning some modern useages in Malayalam. So, I opened youtube and started listening to Idea Star Singer videos, where a lady having a sack full of Ph.D.s taught what I described earlier. While I was taking some important notes from the videos, I heard someone opening the door. Immeidately I paused the video. Everyone thinks I am a devoted researcher. I did not want others know that I used to watch youtube in the lab. What do they know about the nobility of my intentions? That of earning more advanced knowledge in ones own mother tongue?

I looked at the door and found... who? Mr. Palakkal himself! He looked at me with anger and asked, "So, you are The Lonely Wanderer Sandeep Palakkal?"

I was frozen for a moment hearing the strength of that voice. Recovering from the shock, I admitted that I was that wreatched soul and what was sitting frozen there was my worldly body.

A short moment! Palakkal accosted me in rage, with lightning speed. I lost all my courage and self-esteem at that moment. I even pissed a little in my underwear.

"How dare you defame me by writing things about me in your pitiful blog, you dirty punk?," he asked grabbing my collars. "And, your writings? How preposterous, you big-mouth-and-tiny-brain?"

So, that was the reason of his visit: to question me, to stop me. Come on, Sandeep, don't be afraid. You have the freedom of speech in this country.

I said I was trying to convey some idea through my stories. It was just a story and I did not mean to defame him. I was so scared that I spoke too much which I cannot recollect now.

"If you wanted to convey some stupid idea, then why tell lies?" he asked angrily.

I boldly replied, "Art is a lie that make us realize truth [1]. And my art was literature."

Palakkal laughed out loudly. "You call your stupid writings literature? You call that Art?" he asked me with a poking look in his eyes. I saw his despise for me in his eyes. I felt insulted but was scared to respond.

"I warn you. Stop writing blogs by today and withdraw all your writings. Otherwise, I will hold you by your feet and kill you by hitting your head on this wall."

Intimidation! That too, towards a world famous blogger, a leftist, an atheist, and above all a signal processing engineer! This cannot be tolerated. He does not know that I am a Captain of the Devils in the International Legion of Signal Processing Devils! My friends, I conjured up all my energy and said, "NO. IMPOSSIBLE. YOU DO WHAT YOU CAN." (I put these words in capital to let my readers know how loudly I uttered them and how much force I exerted myself.)

The Palakkal looked at me, straight into my eyes. I sensed a glimpse of shining in his eyes. He released my collar and began to walk away, saying "so be it".

Why did he release me? Why did he not kill me? I was wondering. I felt neglected. Perhaps, Palakkal thought I was so weak to handle and so insignificant to waste his time upon. Once again, I felt insulted very deeply. I felt a wound on my heart and blood coming out of it. I quickly crossed Mr. Palakkal and stood in his way, challenging him. "Why the hell don't you do anything? Daren't you kill me? You filthy Palakkal. Do you know, only I can make you a hero. You should be happy for that."

I saw rage in Palakkal's eyes. They became blood red. I knew he was going to attack me. He who attack first is the winner [2]. So, I gave him a punch on his face. He came forward, pulled my head and kept it under his left shoulder. Then I felt his left knee on my solar plexus, hiting me just once but with tremendous force. When he released my head, I fell down like a tree on the floor. I was unconscious. Yet I could hear Palakkal's footsteps, leaving me alone in the room. I  heard him feebly,

"Poor fella! He did not know who he was fucking with" [3].

[1] Pablo Picasso.
[2] Anonymous
[3] Riddick, Pitch Black

Not a poet -- A Poem

To be a poet

Is to be a dreamer.

To be a dreamer

Is to fail in life.

I became a dreamer.

And I failed in life.

But, alas!

I became no poet.

But I died, I died.

To be no poet

Is to die.

Yes, I died. I died.

Chennai,

Sep 29, 2011.

Palakkal Saga: Wrong

Diarrhoea was cured by nature. Palakkal only drunk porridge made out of rice, by adding more salt than necessary in it. After four days on the bed, he not only felt cured. He felt he was replete with more fresher energy. He felt his inner potential increased by many folds. That is Palakkal's greatest joy on earth: to feel the inner strength.

That evening, Palakkal decided to go out, to feel the sun, though an evening sun with less vigour. The darkness of the room had started to become nauseating. Again, he went to the garden. Gardens are his favourites. Sitting surrounded by trees gave him enough opportunities to feel his solitude. Solitude, not loneliness, for Palakkal was always lonely, even if he walked with an ocean of people. And the ocean always tried to expel him, because it felt that he did not belong there.

When Palakkal reached the garden, there a great saint was giving lecture to his disciples. Palakkal went and sat in a corner, farthest from the saint and the disciples to avoid contamination as much as possible. He lay on the grass with his face up. As he took breath, he felt his youthfulness and inner strength. This may be what they call the joy of existence! Palakkal grew sceptic if one could feel the same joy as one grows older and older. Do old people feel inner strength? Potential?

The sky was blue and clouds were bright white. He saw an eagle flying in great heights. It looked too small -- more like a point than an eagle. He felt his heart pounding with unknown joy; butterflies fluttering inside his belly; and tickling on his soles. That was a rarest of rarest, serenest of serenest, beautifullest of beautifullest moments. He was ready to die at that very moment. But death was still a distant friend, for he was full of vigour of youth.

When the dusk had already fallen, when the disciples had all left, the saint came near Palakkal, and assuming his full composure he said,

"Palakkal, your acts are wrong and cruel. Especially what you have done in the hospital! You are too terrible a human being, with too sick a mind. All your actions are wrong, wrong and wrong."

Palakkal rose from the ground. After giving a big yawn, he said,

"He who considers more deeply knows that, whatever his acts and judgements may be, he is always wrong [1]."

Then he started walking, leaving the saint alone.

Belittled by Palakkal's wisdom, the saint stood there ashamed. He wondered when he would become as wise as Palakkal! Then, maybe to soon become so, he decided to control his breath and meditate in the garden till midnight.

[1] F. Nietzsche, Human all too human.

Palakkal Saga: Diarrhoea

Palakkal got diarrhoea. What? How is that possible? How can a person with immeasurable power get sick? No questions allowed in Palakkal Saga. For it consists of the stories of tyrannies. For tyranny does not like to be questioned.

It was early morning. Palakkal was waiting for the sun to emerge in the east so that he can rush to the doctor. Yes, he rushed. He ran to the doctor hitting everyone came across his way. Whether that morning had birds singing, he did not care! He rushed. For he had no time. From his house, where there were two toilets, he had to reach the hospital, where there will possibly be a toilet. On the way, he may not find a public toilet at all. 'I am in India,' he remembered.

As soon as he reached the hospital, first he finished off what was now imminent. After returning from the toilet, he went right to the reception and informed the nurse that he immediately wanted to meet the doctor.

The nurse gave him a disdainful look and said in an inattentive voice, "you have to wait till the receptionist come and enrol your name in the register".

"Sorry sister, I cannot wait. It is urgent."

"You should wait," nurse said rudely.

"I said I am in emergency, sister."

"So what? What should I do? Emergency? You're not dying, are you? Only if I can confirm that you are going to die soon, I will call it an emergency." She shouted at him.

So the nurse does not appreciate the situation. All she cares about is the rules of the institution. Palakkal got immensely angry. In his inner mind he thought, 'We Indians!'

The true self of Palakkal arose. His eyes became blood red. Straightaway, he strutted towards the doctor's room. When the nurse tried to stop him, he took her in one hand and pasted her spread-eagled on the ceiling. Stuck on the ceiling, she helplessly looked at Palakkal walking towards the doctor's room.

Palakkal reached the doctor's room, and with one kick he broke the door into seventy-eight and a half pieces. The doctor raised her eyes from a thick book she was studying and gave him a dead look. Palakkal was unsurprised by the doctor's stoicism. He knew where he was.

The doctor listened to him patiently. Asked some questions which Palakkal thought pointless but to which he gave clear answers like a school boy. Satisfied, the doctor scribbled the names of four tablets on a piece of tissue paper and gave it to Palakkal. The doctor knew nothing of Palakkal. (പാലക്കലാരാ മോന്‍?) He asked what was the first medicine for. She said it was just vitamin tablets. The second one? Some ointment to apply on his belly. Third one? For digestion. And the fourth one for fever, which he should take if he has. Palakkal got frustrated. He asked, "Where the hell is the medicine for diarrhoea, my condition?"

The doctor grew confused. She looked at what she had written. "Where the hell is the medicine?" She asked, perhaps to herself. The doctor scratched the back of her head. One shelf-full of degree certificates she had kept at her home seemed meaningless for her at that moment. She took a small piece of dandruff from her hair and ate it. 

Suddenly, her eyes started to glow. She wrote one more line on the paper and gave it to Palakkal.

"Here it is," she said proudly.

"What is this fifth tablet for?" Palakkal asked.

"Take it. Everything will stop. You will not go to toilet for seven days!" She said showing her wisdom.

Palakkal got exasperated. He realized he had come there in vain. He grabbed her by feet and killed her at once by breaking her head on the table. Then he ran into the toilet to fulfil the ancient urge, which now was imminent.