Alea iacta est

Little thoughts, little emotions,

Immersed in silence, quivering, 

Probing into the unknown.

They stood waging a war,

But with no enemy in sight,

Victory was afar. 

 

Effervescent souls, 

Cast away in submission.

"Is it time?", she queried;

A moment passed, 

It was time after all. 

There are people and there are people.

It is 12.41 AM as I begin to write this. I feel awake. Sleep continues to be elusive. Well, not 'continues'; I did manage to sleep fairly well in the past few months. However, things have returned to status quo. Never mind my sleeping pattern; I feel like I am leading you to the wrong path starting of with my sleep issues. No. That is not what I wanted to scribble down about today.

In our daily life, we come across a lot of people. There are the overly cheery ones; the ones who look like they have just survived the end of the world; and there are people like me. Dreamy, avoiding the cracks on tiled floors, reveling in the crunch of dry leaves. These people either have their idiosyncrasies attributed to them naturally, or in certain cases, achieved through conscious acquisition. The latter raises my curiosity. What were the circumstances that dictated the course of their life, which in turn molded them into the person they are?

***

This morning, while riding the bus from campus, I came across a girl. She was probably around my age, but slightly shorter. She had high heels on. As the bus jerked into motion, she lost balance and stumbled backwards. In doing so, she planted her heels on my right foot for a good second and half. I tried not to show any discomfort. After regaining balance, she turned around and gave me a look. I returned her look with a smile, half-expecting an apology for stomping on my foot. I always thought smiling at a person you had never met before to be a polite thing to do. Turns out it wasn't. Now, I don't know what the reason was behind that look. It was as though she was accusing me for the chain of events that took place in that short period.  She then turned away, mumbled something to her friend, who now turned to give me the same look. Soon, they broke into giggles. I just met the fourth kind of people. 

Fiscal Cliff: What exactly is it?

       Election season is done. Now that we know we will be seeing Obama at the White House for another four years, the focus shifts to the 'Fiscal Cliff' which has been increasingly drawing public attention. I wouldn't  use the term 'panic' just yet to describe the developing situation, but come the end of the year, and if no action is taken, panic might very well set in.

Fiscal Cliff

As I learned in the past two-three weeks, Fiscal Cliff is nothing but a bunch of policies that expire at the end of the year. Policies such as the Bush tax cuts (which favors the wealthy Americans) and Payroll tax cuts among many others are expected to expire at the end of this year. So, if no action is taken, tax rates are going to shoot up for ALL leaving households with fewer dollars to spend.

Secondly, the 'sequestration' cuts will also go into effect come January. These include Pentagon budget cuts of $55 Billion in 2013, $12 Billion cuts to Medicare among other cuts that will see the around $1.2 Trillion reduction in deficit over 10 years.

Potential repercussions

It's quite simple: higher tax rates leads to lesser dispensable income, add to that the fact that money coming into households also goes down as a result of government spending cuts, and we will be faced with a severe 'fiscal contraction'. While the government spending will aide in the long-term deficit reduction, it will not do much good to the economy which is trying to claw its way back to recovery. Large spending cuts leads to slower and slower GDP growth. According to the Congressional Budget Office, these policy changes could lead to almost a 4% decline in the growth of real GDP, meaning a negative growth rate which could thrust the economy into recession again.

Can this be tackled?

If Obama and Congress can eke out a compromise on the policy changes needed, then yes, falling over the fiscal cliff can be averted. Obama wants Bush tax cuts to be extended to all except those those who earn over 250k - he demands that the rich Americans pay a higher tax rate - to which the Republican House has been vehemently against for a while now. They feel that taxing the rich Americans, who they label as 'job creators', would impact business in a negative way, and lead to fewer job opportunities.

***

This is where the situation stands at the moment. While Obama has repeatedly said that he is willing to compromise, talks are still not very productive as far as an amicable solution is concerned. The next few weeks will be very interesting indeed. 

Economic reforms: A roundup

On September 14th, India's Cabinet Committee on Economic affairs decided to pass a few strong reforms - allowing 51% FDI in multi-brand retail; 100% in single-brand retail; 49% FDI in two power exchanges; and an increase from 49% to 74% in the broadcasting sector. Basically, foreign companies like Wal-Mart, Tesco are now allowed to form ties with a local partner in order to invest in local companies. In the long run, this will boost the economy without a doubt.

But as one would expect in India, this was met by fierce criticism by coalition and opposition parties. Their reasoning being that this move would leave countless of small retailers out of jobs as they won't be able compete with the heavyweights. Yesterday, Trinamol Congress had announced that would withdraw their support to the UPA government. If they did break their ties on account of the Centre enforcing the FDI reforms, it would bring out the inconsistency in the party's manifesto which, in 2009 elections, clearly stated that “The entry of large domestic and foreign capital in retail trade will occur.”

The Prime Minister gave a strong speech yesterday addressing the nation's primary concerns regarding job losses due to FDI. He requesting that we, the people, support him, and to "not be misled by those who want to confuse you by spreading fear and false information." It was a statement of intent from the Prime Minister. One that had the message: "No going back on FDI reforms this time." A breath of fresh air our dwindling economy so desperately needed. Overall, this is a massive, bold step in the right direction.

A brief summary:-

1) Our aviation industry is in desperate need of funds. Foreign equity will go a long way in solving that crisis.

2) In the broadcasting sector, foreign investments will help in the complete digitization of cable TV.

3) With 50% of investment going to the ‘back-end’ infrastructure (which includes processing, manufacturing, warehouse etc.), FDI in multi-brand retail will help to create over 10 million jobs and investments of around 2-3 billion dollars (in 2-3 years). Farmers stand to benefit too. And of course, we, the consumers will be able to afford products at reduced prices as competitions will rise.

Greatness and Michael Phelps

"If class truly is permanent and form really is but temporary, what can we say of greatness? That it's another word for class? That there's a word even more time-and-tide-proof than permanent?", writes Rob Steen while describing South Africa's top performers in the 1st Test. In today's world of sports, We get to see a lot of athletes excel in their respective fields. But, most of these sportsmen usually don't sustain their efforts over the course of time. Their careers start off well, but with time, their performances often dwindle, and slowly, they descend into sporting obscurity. Not with Michael Phelps.

Yesterday, Phelps ended his glittering career with one final gold medal - out of 18 overall - in the 4x100m Medley Relay. 18 gold medals! To put this achievement in perspective, check the tweet below:

This is the first day of the post- @michaelphelps era. He won more gold medals (18) than 101 NOCs in OG history, including Jamaica (14)
— Infostrada Sports (@Infostrada2012) August 5, 2012

Phelps started out as 15-year-old in Sydney back in 2004; he won no medals there. Now, he is 27; with a career Olympic medal haul of 22 medals. To have success in one Olympic games is nothing new. But rarely have they maintained the intensity and drive to succeed in the following games that they participate. Phelps has. He has stood the test of time that separates the greats from the good. After winning 8 Gold medals in Beijing, it must have been really hard to motivate himself to better that (you can't; there was only matching that record), yet Phelps has come out strongly this summer winning 4 Golds and 2 Silvers. Remarkable feat. Only one other sportsperson comes to mind who has achieved this level of greatness: Sachin Tendulkar. 

"IF GREATNESS CAN BE DEFINED as the ability to rise above the pack, to convert the unusual into the routine and the unlikely into the matter-of-fact, to do the necessary when it matters most, it can be more instructively rationalised as the capacity to bend and shape events by will, to dictate history rather than be dictated to by it.", Rob Steen defines greatness as. Michael Phelps comes closest to being the perfect example for this definition. We are lucky to witness these greats take to the field and find perfection in their professions. While we salute them and admire their efforts, it would be a pity if we don't take home lessons on how to fight through difficulties and challenges through will and determination, much like what these athletes were faced with during their years of progress and growth. One thing that is common no matter whether you are a doctor or a Swimmer: There are no shortcuts.to success (A cliche' but one with deep truth in it).

* * *

A round-up of some of the top moments from yesterday: 

1) Saina Nehwal's bronze medal was a moment of joy for all Indians. Although the fashion in which she achieved it was not quite the expected way. 

2) Usain Bolt's participation in the heat and the ease with which he qualified for the final. 

3) Michael Phelps last race....a gold.

4) The Australian Mitchell Watt, who came second in the Men's Long Jump final, had this to say, "I didn't even watch the Beijing long jump and I was sitting on my couch and had no aspirations to be an Olympian, so it's been a pretty crazy four years."

5) Mohamed Farah, a British Somali track athlete, won the Men's 10000m final. 6 Gold medals for Team Great Britain in a single day for the first time since 1908.

6) The cricket was halted in Jamaica. Why? Because the Women's 100m final was about to take place, which was displayed in the big screen at the ground. Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce won it. Yes, she was a Jamaican.

Olympics continues to entertain!

Ye Shiwen: A case of unfair treatment.

        Ye Shiwen, a 16-year-old Chinese swimmer, won gold in the women's 400m individual medley event, setting a world record of 4min and 28.43sec. The final 50m of the length was covered in 28.93 seconds - Ryan Lochte, the American gold medalist covered the same distance in 29.10 seconds. This stunned the world. But in some quarters, it raised doubts, suspicions even of the incredible nature of this athlete's performance. 

John Leonard, the executive director of the World Swimming Coaches Association, has this to say: 

"We want to be very careful about calling it doping.The one thing I will say is that history in our sport will tell you that every time we see something, and I will put quotation marks around this, ‘unbelievable’, history shows us that it turns out later on there was doping involved. That last 100m was reminiscent of some old East German swimmers, for people who have been around a while. It was reminiscent of the 400m individual medley by a young Irish woman in Atlanta."

Clearly, he wasn't accusing her of doping. He was only being "very careful". 


Let's go further into this topic. In the 2010 Asian Games, Ye recorded a time of 4min and 33.79sec - that's a solid 5 seconds slower than the world record she managed few days ago. In terms of percentage improved, it's stands at 1.95%. These are great numbers. Numbers that tell the story of rigorous effort over many years, and the training that goes into raking up the medals.


Another athlete, Ruta Meilutyte, a 15-year-old Lithuanian girl based in Plymouth, and trained by English coach, John Rudd, went on to take gold in the women's 100m backstroke, timed at 1:05.47 (In 2011, she set a national record of 1:07.96). In terms of percentage improved, it stands at almost 4%. A four percent improvement for Ruta in one year; a two percent improvement for Ye in the last two years. John Leonard has said nothing about Ruta's performance. 


Not for one second am I questioning the authenticity of Ruta's incredible win, no. That would be ignorant and stupid of me to do so. I am only raising a few questions. Why was the Chinese girl alone looked at with suspicion? Why did only only her astounding success evoke suspicions of doubt and fraud in commentators (BBC's Claire Balding) and an experienced coach (John Leonard), when it's already been confirmed she's clean (by the IOC)?

Personally, I wasn't very thrilled about the Chinese taking over the pool (Yes, I am rooting for USA to top the medals tally), but this comment irked me beyond limit; it screamed of jealousy and clearly, an inability to take defeat in a sportsman-like attitude. Time to resign, Mr. Leonard, no room for prejudice here.

From the inside looking out

I saw a woman holding a kid on her hip, and walking barefoot on the dusty roads along the street. A few paces ahead of her was a boy, skinny with ribs showing, who couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen years of age. His well-worn shorts were the shade of an old brown carpet, rapidly losing its brownness.  He was busy propelling an old bicycle tyre along the road using a stick. He showed great control in keeping the tyre without falling on either side. Must have probably been doing it for sometime. Wary of the voice that bellowed his name out, he constantly looked back to make sure he was within earshot of his mother.

After a few minutes, the mother, with her child now wailing loudly, entered my neighbor's compound. Slowly, she found her way to the door. Rung the the doorbell and waited. The wailing grew louder. The little boy showed serious disinterest. The tyre now hung loosely around his right shoulder, after having served its purpose for now. He didn't seem to like what his mother was doing. Slowly, he started tugging her hand. Ignoring him, she rung the doorbell once more. This time, there was someone peering out at them through the windows. And something seemed to have been said. I couldn't make out what was said from where I was standing. Whatever was said, it didn't go down well with the boy. The stick and the tyre was abandoned. He took the child from his mother's arms, relieving her off the physical burden, and lead her out of the compound. He was clearly in command now.

***

The next voice I heard was of my mother's. I went upstairs to help my father arrange the table for Iftar. An assortment of dishes and drinks filled the table : dates, soup, samosas, vadas, Rooh Afza etc. I sat there staring at the items on the table, with the image of the mother and her son repeatedly playing itself out in my mind. I desperately wanted a distraction, preferably, in the form my doorbell ringing. . .

***

3.19 AM. Slowly, one by one, the lights of my neighbors' houses are coming into action, signalling the time for Sehur. I woke mother and father up. We will soon have a light meal and sleep. Life goes on as usual. Just no doorbells, though. . .

Aurora Theatre Shooting: Time for the Second Amendment to become void?

James Holmes, a former neuroscience Phd student, opened fired in a movie theatre in Aurora, Colarado. 12 people were killed; 59 wounded. Yet another massacre that shocked and stunned the world. Only the venue changed. What was supposed to have been a joyous outing to watch The Dark Knight Rises premiere, instead turned out be a nightmare for some; something worse for others: death. They were only going to watch a movie. . .

So, once again, in the aftermath of yet another shooting incident, the question of America's gun laws have been put to the fore. Is the rights of an individual to carry arms (clearly consecrated in the Second Amendment of the US constitution), coming to bite them hard? The answer, in the wake of increased gun massacres, seems to be an inevitable yes. In most states, it is quite easy to procure a gun. Even a machine gun can be bought with ease. The quality of information on background checks is JUST not sufficient. 

Owning a gun, as it is believed by many locals, gives you a level of security from criminals etc., fair enough. But what is the price we pay to have this freedom? How many more gun-crazy madmen do we need to witness taking innocent lives before it hits us?  As a Virginia Tech student, I am appalled by the lack of action taken to enforce stricter gun laws in the US. Every day wasted, is another open invitation for disaster. Gun enthusiasts need to open their eyes; in their vehement opposition to revising the country's gun laws, they are indirectly playing a part in the frequent shootings that go down. Bottomline: Gun laws in the US is something that must be dealt with harshly. Otherwise, the country risks finding itself in a very dangerous (in every sense of the word) position in the near future, if not already.


Meanwhile, the NRA (National Rifle Association) continue to remain silent since the shooting took place. . .

Benevolence

A star too many,
neither you nor I could see.
Perhaps for us, perhaps not.

Try to remember the smell,
the color, the sound.
Could you tell me where it came from?
After all, we were only asleep.

Undress the thoughts that
weigh on your mind, and tell me what
it's like to forget.

Imperious Federer equals Sampras' seven Wimbledon titles

       "I'm getting closer," Murray joked before choking with tears in the post-match presentation ceremony. A rabid Centre Court crowd - and thousands outside on the Henman Hill - were treated to a sumptuous performance by Roger Federer who overcame a spirited Andy Murray, 4-6, 7-5, 6-3, 6-4, to win Wimbledon for a record-equalling 7th time. It was a great sporting moment as he overcame his naysayers and convinced even his loudest doubters that he was by no means a finished article by regaining the Number 1 rank aged thirty. 

The final was no means a foregone conclusion either, far from it. In Andy Murray, Roger found a fierce opponent who exploited his early nerves by taking the game to him. Soon enough, he found a break opportunity which he capitalized on, only to hand it back. Andy found another opportunity, and this time managed to seal the first set. 6-4. Following the game on Twitter, the immediate reaction by Federer fans to him losing the first set was here we go again...All the ghosts of recent final and semi-final losses seemed to come flooding back in. Not again, Roger, was the collective sigh of frustration. 

The unforced errors were creeping in, 24-8 it stood at one stage. The second set followed a slightly different pattern with neither players' serve being broken until the final game of the set. Federer held 6-5. Murray was hitting it well. Roger, tentative and slightly unassure. Then out of the blue, Roger upped his game a notch. Attacked Murray's serve and found himself with a couple of very crucial break points. 40-15. After a lengthy rally, he managed to come up with a stupendous backhand drop volley that screamed of finesse. One set all. 

The rains came down. It poured. The Wimbledon roof was called into action once again. What a fine investment that turned out to be since its inception back in 2009. Despite the suddenness of Roger's second set victory, there was a feeling that neither player had a clear advantage at that stage. The third set kicked off  , and continued on serve until the sixth game - an 18 minute affair involving 10 deuces and 6 break points. This, after Andy had led 40-0 in that game. The break point was finally accepted and Federer served out the set. The momentum shift was clear. Andy's body language told the story. But he wouldn't give up. There was a final was to be won. 

With Federer raising his game by the minute, the strokes were crisp, catching the edge of lines, Federer had found his pizzazz, panache, whatever you want to call it. The errors decreased. The winners came at alarming consistency for Murray. Federer broke Murray in the 5th game of the set. The Centre Court crowd was muted. It was all but over. 

"He's done so well over the years, he's been so consistent. He'll at least win one grand slam, so this is what I hope for Andy. I've obviously gone through some struggles over the last few years myself, so it's amazing. It equals me with Pete Sampras who's my hero. And as for the world No1 ranking, it's all come together. It's a magical moment for me.", Roger said after the game. 

Two and half years of pain and hurt gives a totally different meaning to this victory. And I think, personally, this ranks above all of his earlier achievements. Playing in an era of voracious Tennis players and managing to win at the grandest stage by beating 2 of the top 4 players takes some doing. The wait is over. There is a sense of relief accompanied with a renewed hunger for more. For now, let us enjoy this win. 

Thank you Roger!

La Furia Roja seal their place in the pantheon of greats

"Those people who think we are playing boring football, in my opinion they don't understand the game." said

Cesc Fabregas, after playing a vital role in Spain's crushing defeat of Italy in the Euro 2012 final. The Spanish midfielder who played the role of a false nine, was pivotal in Spain's success, not only yesterday, but throughout the tournament. 

Spain quickly settled into their usual rhythm of El Rondo, dictating the pace of the game early on. Soon enough, after a series of scintillating passes, the first chance came in the form of a Xavi Herdandez shot - just over the bar. After a period of further sustained possession, the breakthrough arrived. Iniesta, the craftsman, fed Fabregas's llegada, a perfectly timed run, who fought off Chiellini to deliver a crisp cross for Silva to hit home. 

Italy responded well after going down with Antonio Cassano's dual attempts thwarted by Iker Casillas. But just before half-time, in another brilliant move down the left, Jordi Alba sped away to collect a sumptuous ball from Xavi to bury it past Buffon with a conventional number 9's calmness. At 2-0, Italy were looking down the barrel. 

Prandelli's half-time substitution, Antonio di Natalie for Cassano, almost paid dividends as he came close to scoring twice. One of which evoked a fine save from Casillas. Italy's third and final substitution, Montolivo off for Motta, turned out to be a slice of misfortune for them. Motta, just four minutes into the game, picked up a hamstring injury which meant Italy had to contain Spain with ten men for over thirty minutes, a task that's difficult even with eleven men on. As the game meandered towards the inevitable, Torres was brought on and soon scored Spain's third - another wonderful assist from Xavi - thus becoming the only player to score in two European Championship finals. Mata came on for the first time in this tournament and collected Spain's final goal, assisted by Chelsea teammate Torres, to seal a thumping win. 

As Iker collected his team's third consecutive major title (with West Germany coming closest to achieving that feat in 1976), one can't help but wonder how allegations such as 'boring' were levied against this Spanish  side. A deluded view held by certain sections of the media who couldn't even dream of their side playing such a brand of football. 

"Spanish football is living great years. We are very complete as a football side and we have to be proud of that." says Iniesta. Twenty years down the line, we will look back at this Spanish era, and we will consider ourselves to be lucky enough to have witnessed this side take the field. Tiki-taka lives on. 

Nietzsche's take on Rene Descartes' "Je pense, donc je suis"

        "I think, therefore I am." Most of us know this famous quote by the French philosopher, Rene Descartes. The fact that a person questions his/her existence, is enough proof to say that the "I", or "Self" (consciousness) exists.

This made plenty of sense to me. Until I read the following in Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil:

There are still harmless self-observers who believe in the existence of “immediate certainties,” such as “I think,” or the “I will” that was Schopenhauer’s superstition: just as if knowledge had been given an object here to seize, stark naked, as a “thing-in-itself,” and no falsification took place from either the side of the subject or the side of the object.[...] For once and for all, we should free ourselves from the seduction of words! Let the people believe that knowing means knowing to the very end; the philosopher has to say: “When I dissect the process expressed in the proposition ‘I think,’ I get a whole set of bold claims that are difficult, perhaps impossible, to establish, – for instance, that I am the one who is thinking, that there must be something that is thinking in the first place, that thinking is an activity and the effect of a being who is considered the cause, that there is an ‘I,’ and finally, that it has already been determined what is meant by thinking, – that I know what thinking is. Because if I had not already made up my mind what thinking is, how could I tell whether what had just happened was not perhaps ‘willing’ or ‘feeling’? Enough: this ‘I think’ presupposes that I compare my present state with other states that I have seen in myself, in order to determine what it is: and because of this retrospective comparison with other types of ‘knowing,’ this present state has absolutely no ‘immediate certainty’ for me.” – In place of that “immediate certainty” which may, in this case, win the faith of the people, the philosopher gets handed a whole assortment of metaphysical questions, genuinely probing intellectual questions of conscience, such as: “Where do I get the concept of thinking from? Why do I believe in causes and effects? What gives me the right to speak about an I, and, for that matter, about an I as cause, and, finally, about an I as the cause of thoughts?”

A brief comment:

After reading this over and over again, I think I understand Nietzsche's criticism of Rene's take on the existence of one's own self. He raises valid (I say valid because I am convinced by the points Nietzsche raises) points such such as for a thought to manifest, a person must exist. So basically, Nietzsche, with his theory, goes deeper than Descartes, who doesn't give as much importance (here) to the body as he does to the mind. Also, Descartes makes a lot of assumptions about "I" and "thinking": both of which are eventually unsuccessful in proving one's existence. Nietzsche lays the foundations for his philosophy based on the existence of humanity. In short, one can revise Descartes quote to form this: "I am, therefore I exist."

P.S - Later on, Descartes himself changed the quote to "I am, I exist"

***

Either I am very close to the correct meaning of what Nietzsche has to say about Rene's views here, or I am completely off the mark with the points made in Beyond Good and Evil. Understanding Nietzsche has been torturous even for the most learned scholars out there, so I am trying to be on my toes as much as possible, without getting ahead of myself. But having sincerely committed to reading and understanding Nietzsche's teachings, there is no looking back now.

**Readers, if you feel that I have misunderstood certain points, or that if you feel that you happen to have a better understanding of the topic, please feel free to drop a comment here, or shoot me an e-mail at nishath123@gmail.com. **

Beyond the hours

        The dark night's silence is disturbed only by the rotary ceiling fan and the occasional barking of dogs. I take a quick glance out of the window, and my eyes are met by the dim glow of a street lamp. Waiting to go off almost. To escape into the surrounding darkness.

Since I wasn't doing anything productive, I let my mind wander to this. A few lines of poetry.


A smile,
immortal,
and a tear,
but few to hear.

Invisible love,
she sought.
Now and then making a fuss.
Frightened by the blades,
she accepted.

"What were they doing?",
whispered the widow.
New air caressed her face.
A spring in her step.
The smile back.

***

4.08 AM. Morning birds have announced their arrival. With amazing punctuality as usual. Time for some snacks, and then hopefully, sleep. 

A conversation worth it's weight in gold.

        As far as conversations during air travel goes, I haven't had any memorable experiences. I am usually too busy with my books or music, and occasionally, in-flight entertainment. I don't make a conscious effort to avoid conversations, in fact, I love conversing with strangers, but it just so turns out that I haven't had any. But somehow, I tend to attract wailing babies whenever I fly. However, that pattern was disrupted this time while traveling from London to Chennai as I met Michael.

Michael was born in Oxford, into an Irish family. He is married to a Dutch woman, and has been residing in Portugal for 18 years. He is seventy years-old, retired, and now spends his time traveling. He has a degree in history (one of the reasons why this conversation lasted almost 4 hours). 

It started with me offering an Oreo cookie, which he politely refused. He asked me where I was from, and I gave him a rather needlessly elaborate response. I tend to do that sometimes. After getting to know his background, we settled on a current topic for a conversation: Chelsea's Champions League triumph over Bayern Munich. I was quick to boast off Chelsea's freshly achieved European glory. After ten minutes, we were touching upon every football topic that was on the news, from Di Matteo's unexpected success to the match-fixing scandal clouding Italy. It is common to see such enthusiasm and fervor for sports among people of my age, but this, this was something different. I saw myself in him. Fifteen minutes into this conversation and I knew my seven hours of flight would be a smooth and enjoyable one. It turned out to be just that. 


Throughout the four hours of non-stop talking, our topics ranged from Dosa to the Battle of Stalingrad, from idol worship to the existence of God, and from Catalonia to Santa Maria Novella. After going through various topics in slightly less than three hours, supper was served. Soon, turbulence followed, which was followed by a nap. 


Five hours of journey had passed. I skipped my second meal and opted for coffee instead. Michael went for Coffee and brandy. A little while later, my curiosity had the better of me. "So how did you meet your wife?", I asked him politely. Obviously, I wouldn't have asked him had he not told me earlier that he fell in love at the age of twenty-one.Love stories interests me a great deal. I didn't want to miss this story. He smiled and said, "It was during my college days." Not that different from the current generation after all, I thought. He went into further details on how there was stern resistance, both from his family and from hers, and other 'struggles' he had to cope back then. Bogged down my community hardliners, you could get an idea of the struggles he was constantly talking about. For a little while, it was like listening to a Bollywood movie narrative. Except, this was real with a happy ending. "And then after all the struggles, I finally got to marry her.", he said. I am sure I saw an ephemeral glimmer of pride in his eyes. Why not, I thought to myself. If you fought for what you believed in, and managed to achieve it, then you bloody hell should feel proud. It was a touching moment for him even after all these years. 


For me, this conversation was all about heeding to what he had to say. For most part, I was merely a listener trying to gain as much knowledge and experience from Michael as possible. After all, he had seen it all, and had a rich collection of experiences and anecdotes to share with me. It's not everyday that you come across people who are openly willing to share their experiences to a complete stranger. 


Soon, we were waiting to collect our bags from the baggage carousel. We were about to part ways when he said this, "Remember, you have the life ahead of you. Live it in any way you want to, but have one goal. That will define you." I didn't expect this. My mind was already on my eagerly awaiting parents. Today, after two weeks, his words resonate in my head. Constantly bothering me. In a good way. There was nothing magical in his words, just the usual statements elders make, but his timing, and delivery, had a significant effect on me. 


Here's hoping I encounter many more people like Michael. 

-

Derailed

I looked down from where I stood
to see her, and beyond.
I wondered how I was able to,
through all that ache.

She never liked to show herself,
until the rain fell that is.
We went outside,
leaving the driblet of thoughts to
travel and rest where they would.

A cavity,
to show for.
If it was love,
then why did she turn away? 

Nietzsche and readers

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Human, All too Human. Volume Two, Part One, Assorted Opinions and Maxims No. 137.

The worst readers. - The worst readers are those who behave like plundering troops: they take away a few things they can use, dirty and confound the remainder, and revile the whole. 

1)  In the above aphorism, Nietzsche attacks those who read his work as one solid piece, and draw conclusions without placing it within his contexts.

2)  We all have been at the receiving end of being misunderstood, mainly due to the reader's negligence. Or due to the reader being utterly lazy to take the efforts to understand in what context the we used the sentence. A cause of great frustration for the author. 

I experienced one such incident yesterday that filled me with rage and frustration. In fact, that prompted me to produce this write-up. 

***

Jespers, Karl. Nietzsche: An Introduction to the Understanding of His Philosophical Activity

In praise of Philology, he writes: "It teaches people to read well, that is, slowly, profoundly, looking forward and backward, with mental reservations, with doors left ajar, and with tender finger and eyes."

It is not sufficient, however, for the reader to exercise this "goldsmith's art and connoisseurship of words"; rather he must, through word, sentence, and assertion, arrive at the primal source of the thought in order to partake of the real impetus.

I like how Nietzsche believes that Philology helps a reader to read "with mental reservations and "with doors left ajar". We, as readers, are often guilty of not doing both. In the need for a quick bottom line, we usually bypass the intended meaning of the author's words and hastily look for one particular word/sentence that we believe to signal the end of the theme/idea of a para. Yes, there are instances where the author desires for the reader to draw their own conclusions, but we should be able to analyse where the theme ends, and if the author indeed wants us to draw our conclusion, or whether he wants us to find his conclusion in his words. 

The benefits of slow reading is there for all to see. Personally, I try as much as I can to make it a conversation of sorts, with the author, sometimes by re-reading certain lines, or even certain paras. I am not always successful in this because certain styles of writing doesn't allow you to. But when I do succeed, it enables me to grasp each word of a sentence in it's intended context more clearly. This invariably deepens my insight into the author's mind which is paramount when reading a certain work. 

Also, it is interesting to notice how Nietzsche focuses on 'source of the thought'. Again, most of us (when I say us, I speak of the average reader), often focus on the goal of the thought, but Nietzsche's "passionate state" is attained only through the source. Food for thought.

Miracle in blue

When victory or defeat in sports leads to tears, you know you have been emotionally drained. Today was one such day. Since I woke up at 7.30, I had only one thought in my head: Will they or will they not?. The answer, after 9 hours of torturous wait, was one that thrust me into a state of ecstasy. Chelsea beat Barcelona. David had finally beaten Goliath. The ebb and flow of those 2 hours of football was nothing less than a roller-coaster ride.

This day will live in my memory for ages and beyond. I’ve always loved an underdog. And when the underdog is your favorite team, and has caused a great upset, the connection between you and your team evolves to something beyond mere fandom. A poignant affection, which caused you to fall in love with the club in the first place, resurfaces. It’s a glorious feeling when your emotional investment is thoroughly rewarded. Here’s hoping for many more such days!

Cascades - A Collection of Photos

View from the crossover bridge

The hike gets steeper

Bridge by accident

Looks like there's a network of these 'bridges'...

Streams finding its way through the rocks

Natural Precision

More gushing..

...splashing.

Straight out of the Lord Of The Rings set

Over time...

Through the tiny creeks

Largest of them all

A glimpse

Voila!

The last things she said were the first I heard

"You have to believe me.", she said, talking into her phone. I was waiting for my bus back home when I heard her say this. On her left hand was a half-burnt cigarette. The wind spread the strong stench of the cigarette my way. She wore a milk white dress with red dots lining the borders of her cuff. Hair tied in a bun. She looked, I daresay, defeated. I am not very sure why I felt that way, but if you were there, you would have felt the same too. It could have been a failed attempt at love(not everyone has their way with love), failure to love, or the worst kind: failure in life. Yes, there is a difference between 'at love' and 'to love'. Huge one at that. You just need to give it a context.

Her eyes looked tired, not the kind of tiredness induced by lack of sleep; this was different. One that is materialized due to a lack of being understood. It happens. You have been there, I have too. I wish I knew what her issue was. I couldn't have done anything about it though. Because unless you magically become that person, you can never have a proper understanding of their predicament, and without that understanding, you can accidentally end up doing more harm than good. But not knowing what her issue killed me. Then all of a sudden, she shot a glance at me, we eyeballed each other for a second. Was she reading my mind? I didn't look away. There was no need to. I was curious as to what those eyes said. That's the beauty with eyes: they always speak the truth (numbers do too). But I could see nothing in her eyes that suggested pain. Or otherwise. 


Two minutes later, she lit another cigarette and was puffing away. And I went back to the Fat Old Sun.

When different cultures came together: International Street Fair

Irish, Brazilians, Persians, Japanese, Arabs. All of them and many more were present at the International Street Fair today. An exhibition of vibrant colors. A Gala, if you may. Each country had their individual stalls that showcased their country's tradition in fine fashion. Ranging from delicacies to rare traditional items. Trying ever so hard to impress the passer-by. And they succeeded too. I must say that it was tremendously hard to look past certain stalls.

The diversity of people, both, took me by great surprise, and interested me greatly. For one, I clearly underestimated the number of Arabs on my campus. For a little while, I thought I was in the middle of Hala Febrayer celebrations in Kuwait. Wherever I turned, I spotted people in Keffiyehs. Some even turned up in their dishdashas! I loved it. 

This diversity heightened the need to associate with your own culture. You either stuck to your culture or risked being left alone. Sans identity. And I had a culture to fall back on, one that I could call my own. Usually, I don't talk to people about my culture unless a topic pops up, but today, all of a sudden, there I was, going on and on about my culture. Conversing with a stranger about my culture without even being asked to. I didn't care. There was a lot of pride at stake today.

***

Caribbean Steel Drums 

(All rights belong to Arnab)

There was a choreographed dance to a Bollywood mash-up, which I thought was quite nicely done. The whistling and howling after the performance gave a true indication of how many Indians were present. What's a celebration without a Bollywood dance and some loud desi-style whistling eh? 

After the Bollywood love, came my most favorite performance of the day. A band that played Irish trad to perfection. I found a good vantage point to view this performance. Couldn't miss it. I don't know the name of the track was played, but it didn't matter to me. The music was transcending, even amid the clamor of the crowd. The fiddle, banjo and accordion were the only instruments that I spotted. They combined to produce magic. It was magic. As if that wasn't enough, it was followed by an Irish Set Dance.  Needless to say, that left me out of breath. And no, I am not exaggerating. 

***

There was Baklava too at the Turkish stall, priced at a ridiculous 5 dollar per cube. And then, at the Iranian stall, my friend and I, tried this drink called Saffron Sharbat - a mixture of sugar, rose water, saffron and ice. It was refreshing. And brought back certain memories associated with Rose Water. Yes, even a simple drink has the potential to unearth old memories/desires. 

To sum up the day in one word: Success. 

A creamy cupcake holding Syrian and Mali flags

***

It is twenty minutes past three. And all I hear is my neighbors playing some good music, some really groovy music, some not so good music.  I guess when you have enough alcohol in your system, most music sounds good. She did play Gotye's Somebody That I used To Know, though. A hundred times at least. 

But it's chai for me now, as I resume on my adventure with a certain Mr. Holden Caufield, after a week's suspension. Sleep has to wait it's turn.

The Tourist

With the wind behind her back,
she rode with panache,
perched upon high.
A queen, they thought.

Stains of bravado
on her skirt, coruscated,
serving as reminders.
A warrior, they awed.

For hours, they watched,
but couldn't see.
Obscure then pellucid.
Agony and then Elysium.

But when she left with him,
A thief, they declared.

I tripped over an imaginary line, only to find that it wasn't imaginary at all...

Half past six. Lengthy sunbeams let themselves through the blinds, illuminating every particle of dust in it's path. The birds were up and about, as if running on a schedule. They wait for none. Not even their own apparently. Ruthless punctuality. A trait even humans seldom match. Even humans. The night was long, very long. Stretching well beyond the norm. The night seamlessly merged into day. I saw the last seconds of night coalesce with the first few seconds of day to form a single tick-tock. Synchronous. Continuous. In harmony with each other.


Fifteen minutes to eight. I had just enough time to squeeze in a sixty minute quasi-nap. Decent, when you compare it with eight hours of futile effort to get some shut-eye.

***

Three forty three ante meridiem. I plowed through my mind in the hope of finding tranquility. To my lack of surprise, I found none. And then, to my surprise, I was listening to Sheikh Sudais cooing the words into my ears. That was it. I was no longer here. I was transported to a warm evening in Kuwait. Ramadan of 2008. Lengthy days. Faint images of my father and I watching the Taraweeh prayers in Makkah. Joyous nights that lasted well after suhoor. 

Good days. Peaceful. I will cling onto those memories like a photograph. I am certain I can't recreate such memories even if I wanted to. Mainly because, what was previously a negligible amount of sardonicism, has grown into a whole now. Taken over. One cell at a time. And I didn't even try to stop it. 

All this while, I was under the impression that the character I projected to the outside world was the same character I projected to myself. In the past few days, I realized that it wasn't not true at all. And realizations never strike you gradually; it's always a steep fall. 

***

Humanity is fickle. Disgusting. Vile. My faith in it has eroded almost to the point of no-recovery. I see all action done to preserve it as fruitless. The damage is too severe. At one of the spectrum you have people with good intentions, trying to put together the broken pieces. Desperate to salvage something from the ruins. At the other end, you have the obstruction to these intentions, questioning everything. But they both go home to the same thing: self-destruction. We have always been our own undoing. For centuries now. We might have evolved into a more intellect being, but little has changed. The human race has successfully managed to continue the ignoble lineage of self-destruction. 

***

The mother and her daughter are out on the Drillfield, enjoying the sun. The child is playing around. Falling down intentionally to seek attention. Observing. Plucking the grass out every now and then to view it in detail, to register this new smell. She wants to disobey her mother, but fear doesn't let her go further with that plan. Pure innocence in her every step. My mind wanted to go and break her bubble: To tell her that all is not as it seems; to warn her about growing up, that she only stands to lose more than she gains. 

But she'll learn it in the only way possible. Like all of us...

Present, past and the present.

8:30 AM. All Is Violent, All Is Bright. Today, God is an astronaut. A cluttered mind. Twists and turns for forty-five minutes resulted in nothing but physical pain. I took a peak outside, and it was calm. Ominous. Foreboding. Eerie even. At half past eight. The sun, in act of act of cowardice, decided to stay behind the clouds. A girl in her shorts was on her morning jog. Go home my dear, you don't want to be out there, my mind wanted to warn her.

***

She wore a white shirt, his white shirt. Pink shorts to match the color of the bed sheet. The bed was unkempt; ashtray was moved out of it's customary place and placed beside her, barely holding the ash in. The room was dully lit only by the light emanated from the T.V. She was on her 7th cigarette and third glass of Whisky since she got home, nearly forty minutes ago. Browsing through the T.V channels, she found nothing that could distract her. It was too much. How could he? How could this happen?

"Julie! Julie", he called out as he entered the apartment, drenched in rain, and carrying the strong redolence of a perfume. Of a woman. He entered the room, and to his surprise, saw the room a complete mess. His eyes met with red scribblings on the wall, that were half-struck out; and blood stained broken mirror pieces on the floor. "What's going on?", he asked, heart beating fast, unable to comprehend what he had just seen. She choked, no words came out. Tears did, though. Streams of tears slid down her face and mixed with the blood stains on her face, slowly washing it away. Still no words.

He went closer to her, held her arms, tried to calm her. "I'm sorry", he said, and they both exchanged smiles. And that is the last act either of them did...

***

4 AM, and the only company I have is the tune of thudding raindrops on my roof accompanied by the cacophony of occasional thunder. You see, that's the beauty of life, Jenny.You don't have to pay for anything. An Education. I finally got around to watching it, recommended to me by a friend. I don't know why I wait to watch her recommendations.

 My eyes are heavy. Words are struggling to escape my mouth as my mind wanders through today, tomorrow and this. Normal service then.

Death of a smile

The sky was an unusual shade of orange, a shade that's witnessed only in abstract paintings. I stood by the window soaking in this rare mixture of blue and red. Imbued with a renewed sense of serenity, I readied myself for History class. I collected my bag, and my thoughts, and left for class. The air outside was dense; it was cold. Breathing didn't come with the usual freedom, every breath was a mini struggle against the powerful gusts of wind. Just because I am losing doesn't mean I am lost. You tell them, Chris.

History was interesting. As usual. Men waging war against each other. Annexing the weak, allying with the strong. Powerful men with good intentions, good men with bad intentions; war spares none. When their blood flows in rivers, it flows as one. And then there are the victors, living in a false sense of grandeur. Little do they realize that, in war, only the degree of suffrage varies. A lose-lose. No light at the end of this tunnel.

***

After my classes for the day, I was waiting to take the bus home. Then I heard it: the staccato siren of an ambulance. The noise grew louder as the ambulance came closer. I looked around. A girl wearing a white shirt came into focus; she wasn't perturbed or put off. She continued to chew her gum, eyes fixed on her iPhone. The ambulance was now in view. All other vehicles made way for the ambulance, increasing the chance of survival of the person fighting for his/her soul. Then the siren was no longer within earshot. The girl didn't raise her head to give a glance at the passing ambulance. Except she had a smile on...

***

Here was life's darker side, misery, spreading out it's pernicious tentacles, and consuming a person's happiness. Disrupting their norm by infusing doubt and uncertainty. These tentacles have no pattern. There is no tutorial to prepare us, no guide to lead us. A spectator today could become the protagonist tomorrow. Except, in life, fairy tale endings are a myth and limited only to fiction. 

We come from nothingness; we return to nothingness. 

A momentary lapse of vision

Life, I have figured you out,
but I wish I hadn't. They said you were different.
But they didn't know.
They sang paeans about your generosity,
and you betrayed them, repeatedly.
How did they not see?
They extolled your artistry,
but all you did was play whore in their time of need.
How did they not see?
You crippled them by indecision, victimizing all;
a trophy for your joy.
Yet they flock in numbers towards you.
Why do they not see?
When I asked, "Why?",
I was told "That's life".
But now I know.

***

11:47 PM. Suite No. 1 in G major, BWV 1007. Johann Sebastian Bach. This captivating brilliance is slowly consuming me. I am not going to stop it, not tonight. Music does to the soul what nothing else can do, and I am feeling the full effect of it. My slow day is coming to a rather grandiose end, dramatic if you may. 

Night, I know it's you.

Sadness. Sadness. An emotional state of pain is one definition that springs to mind. There are many others. It varies from individual to individual, and often varies with context too. Although we encounter sadness in our day to day life, defining it in words doesn't do it justice. The feeling is best understood when it is felt in full force; when you are the person affected. 

No one that reads this post can say that they haven't been sad at all, for that is impossible and inhumane. Whether it is a child who didn't get his ice-cream, or lovers who failed in their quest; we have all felt it, sadness is part and parcel of normal life. A recurring theme for some. 

While sadness might seem detrimental to the human psyche, it is not always the case. Assuming a person has been hurt by a certain event and is faced with sadness (let's say the damage done isn't very severe); depending on the person's mental strength and his bouncebackability, he unconsciously might be able to strengthen his ego defense mechanism, thus making his ego (second construct in Freud's structural model of the human psyche) less vulnerable for future attacks. This way, sadness actually benefits the victim. But no one is willing to take this route to mental strength for it's the hardest of all. Of course, this idea not applicable for major grievances in life such as death of a loved one etc., as the damage done by such events are not restricted to ego alone and recovery is often a detailed process. 

"A chronic incapacity to suppress negative emotion might be a key factor in the genesis of depression and anxiety."

Depression on the other hand is a far more severe issue that might be born out of constant exposure to sadness, and if the person has no planned strategy to overcome his issues, often marked by a distinct lack of interest. The worst part of depression is it's ability to disguise itself well. The most cheerful person out there might actually be suffering from a severe case of depression. Just that they have successfully managed to keep it a secret. Sometimes from themselves. 

***

It was past 5. An early dinner at D2. While I was there outside the food hall, my eyes came in contact with a group of Virginia Tech Corps of Cadets. They were under the Military Track (One of the four ROTC programs that Tech offers). I have always had a thing for punctuality. And my immediate reaction to seeing them neatly dressed in their military uniform and aligned in a neat stream, was one of pure admiration. Discipline. Discipline, of course. Strong men with short hair and fine etiquette. Women had their hair tied in a bun; their gaze steely. Now here were a bunch of people I would entrust the security of my country with. The pain of discipline is nothing like the pain of regret. 

All rights belong to VT

***

It is 1:47 AM. Sleep eludes me these days with alarming consistency. There's a peculiar beauty in the breakdown of my relationship with sleep. I can't say I didn't see it coming, though. Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day. Even Nietzsche's quotes are starting to make sense without any effort, I think...

Significant Other

It was 10 minutes to 7. Shine On You Crazy Diamond. All twenty six minutes of it. The music came alive, steadily allowing itself to permeate through every nook and corner of my room. And then as a final act, entered my soul. We were one. Again. Good start, I thought.

Coffee was stronger than usual. By accident or design, I can't recall, but it was good. I allowed the familiar strong aroma of hot coffee do it's morning routine: to prep me up for the day physically. Braving the -3C chill, I set off for my 8 AM. 

As expected, it moved at snail's pace. Slower even. Every now and then, I felt the second-hand of my watch pause, as if following the theme of the class. 75 minutes passed. I was out and about in the cold again. Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there. Next class: Accounting. This should be fun, my mind cheered me up. I entered Torgesen, the building where my class was located.

Torgesen Bridge

And the first thing that met my eyes were a couple. They were neatly dressed: the guy in a black suit and the girl in a blood red skirt. Both were in my class. The girl's left palm was clenched tightly by the boy, and in her right hand, she held a bouquet of multi-colored roses. Of course. Saint Valentine's day. A day dedicated for lovers. Pretenders disguised as lovers make their appearance too. 2 more pairs appeared, lost in their little worlds. Again, both were from my class. Suddenly my mind played host to stupid worries; whether I would be the only one without a Valentine. Stupid, I know. But to my surprise and mid relief, others followed. Others like me. Dressed in normal clothes, hands free, minds occupied with 'regular' thoughts. Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky. 

The class brought me back to reality. A reality in which numbers were the sole governors of my focus. Numbers entice me. If only everything in this world could be broken down to bare numbers, stripping it of emotions. That way, we will be able to perceive life objectively, thus enabling us to make a higher percentage of correct decisions in various facets of life. That is my idea of an ideal world. But nothing is ideal in this world. Never will be.

***

Love is not blind - it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less. 

The ability to love is a powerful quality to possess. Not all can love. We all try, often without success, but the few those who have tasted success know what it feels like. It's almost like any business venture, except in love, there is an additional 'emotion' factor, which makes it that much harder. Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far.

***

It's past 12AM. And I am quickly downing the Butter Chicken that my brother prepared. The night is young, but not young enough for a movie. I start my day tomorrow in the 1930s. History of Modern World. But for now, I'm paying a visit to the 90s. Seinfeld it is.

Vagaries of the mind

11 AM. I am out of my History of Modern World class. I start to walk. Aimlessly at the start, but after the first few steps I knew where I was headed: nowhere. Tremendous gusts of wind forced me to unintentionally (Or intentionally) deviate ever-so-slightly from my path. I didn't mind. After all, there are infinite ways to get to nowhere, aren't there? Or maybe, I was already there. I couldn't really tell. Tress whistled in frustration at this untimely intruder. I could empathize. Winds brought in their familiar companions: clouds. Not ordinary ones. Dark, ominous, heavily pregnant clouds. Rain wasn't welcome. Not today.

Drillfield (All rights belong to VT)

A few minutes later, something happened. The girl was in a chequered red top, black skirt with a brown hoodie on, and the guy had a slightly faded GAP sweatshirt. A couple lost in thoughts, surely. The girl was on the balls of her feet, arms around her man. Whispering something deep. Something romantic. Probably. They were there; right in the middle of countless pairs of legs streaming through the vast, spacious Drillfield, obviously oblivious of the sets of eyes that accompanied the legs. Standing there as if only they ruled the world. As if only they now possessed the key to something elusive that everyone else seemed to have lost or used up at some point in their lives. There was a spark in their eyes; a spark that only lovers can produce. Pretenders can imitate everything else, but that spark; it can only be the sole property of lovers.


"And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."


I was no longer there; I was traveling. My mind took off to the past, rich with it's own incidents and memories, replacing the guy and the girl with familiar faces. Faces that once mattered. I almost yearned, but no; deep down I knew it was a void that didn't need filling. Not yet at least. You know how sometimes when looking down from great heights, we sometimes get a tiny urge to jump; it was that. Something so miniscule that it barely had time to reach the surface.  

***

In a quest to reach nowhere, I, my mind rather, ended up reaching somewhere. This abyss is deep. Convoluted. Tangled. But I am not lost. 

***

Steady thudding of rain droplets on my roof, on my window panes. The Rain Gods sure know how to keep a promise. 11: 27 PM.

Trip to the pharmacy

People. All kinds of people: young, middle-aged men, women, kept scurrying in and out of the door. In search of their small, powerful buttons of magic, needed to alter, to fight the course that nature has bestowed upon them. 

A mother, carrying the weight of her sick child, entered the room, in great hurry it seemed. The child began to cry loudly, unable to bear whatever pain she was under. Eyes drooping and weighed down by worry, the mother made her way through the snaky queue, cutting it at times. No one was angered by that. No one complained. It seemed as if there was a tacit understanding of the newly developed situation among the occupants of the room. There was a young boy though, who heaved a slightly loud sigh of frustration that went unnoticed by everyone except for me. Too young, I thought; too young to understand the plight of a suffering mother. It wasn't hard for the rest of us to come to terms with the situation. We knew. Some of us were there before.

There was a power cut a little later. It did nothing to stem the inflow of people. I collected the medicines for my grandfather and was off. 

***

I can't help but find all this amazing. The human tendency to fight, to give everything to survive, no matter how stern, how severe hardships they come across. Wars have come and gone. Natural catastrophes have plagued and ravaged civilizations for long. Yet, here we are, through all that thick, through all those cumbrous times, ready for tomorrow. 

"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."

It's a thing of fascination. Why? Because deep down we know the truth. The truth that no matter how hard we try to play the game of one-upmanship with life, there is just no winning. Yet we approach life with a panglossian view, not acknowledging the fact that the triumph we seek in life, and sometimes think we achieve, is just an illusion.