Chandrayaan's challenges!

As the date of the landing drew closer, I was ridden with anxiety. There were still many days to the full moon. I had half a mind to give a piece of advice, my two cents, to ISRO, “In my humble opinion sir, please try to land on the day of the full moon. That would give you maximum landing area. I feel a crescent moon can be tricky. What if the Chandrayaan lands on the inner-side of the crescent moon, shaped like a water-melon slice, only to find it slide down that entire arc, like the slide in the children’s park? The worst day would be the no-moon day. Poor Chandrayaan! It would look for the moon and wouldn’t find it. It would be totally upset, as though sent on a wild goose chase!” I sent this mail off to the powers that be, but sadly received no response. 

Landing on the South Pole is a difficult feat. Other nations had it easy. They landed on top of the moon. In our case Chandrayaan would have to cling to the bottom of the moon, hanging upside down. It’s like a monkey-baby, desperately clinging to the mother’s belly! One slip and the baby monkey could come tumbling down, right to the place from where it began.

Apparently, Chandrayaan’s final module, is not controlled from the earth. It has its own mind. I was concerned if this module would behave like the pet-cow you sold off, to a distant owner. The very next day, the cow traversed the entire distance, with unerring accuracy, back to the original owner’s cowshed! Chandrayaan’s final module could be like this homesick cow, with too much affinity to the earth, and return to its earthly shed. Who knows?

They say the terrain of the moon’s South Pole is most treacherous- filled with craters and potholes. This point strangely gave me great confidence that the mission will be a success. After all, they would have tried several landing trials in India, in our cities, on our roads. If we managed to land perfectly on our roads, the moon’s surface, even the treacherous South Pole, will be a piece of cake. For once, there was a silver lining to our pothole ridden roads. They were built with foresight, to serve a bigger purpose, that we realize only now.

Another point that worried me sick was Chandrayaan’s landing on the dark side of the moon. It must be pitch dark out there. Imagine being stranded in a foreign city, at the dead of night, that too without streetlights. And further, you were told, there is going to be no morning. Think of the Chandrayaan now. The dark side of the moon, we are told, is always dark. How does the Chandrayaan find its way in the darkness, and search for anything, leave alone presence of water? It would be like looking for a black cat in a dark room, that too a cat, that possibly isn't there!

Further, from the dark side of the moon, what pictures can you send? All the pictures will be jet-black. That wouldn’t bother me.  But those non-believers,  those naysayers out there- how do you convince them these pictures are from the moon and not from a local darkroom? At least, to convince these non-believers, we should land on the sun-side and send some pictures that wouldn’t be questioned.

On the day of the landing, I waited with bated breath. Even after it landed successfully, I waited. There is always a possibility of a slip between the cup and the lip. Like the film Lagaan, the English side thought the match was over and exulted prematurely, only to find the umpire had called a no-ball and the last wicket was yet to fall. I waited till all such possibilities were exhausted and it was amply clear that the Chandrayaan had indeed landed successfully.

Joy knew no bounds. I went over the above original thoughts with my friend. I told him, “I am planning to apply for a job at ISRO!” He said, “Don’t!” From his expression- a mix of alarm and panic, I knew he was doubting my ability. I assured him, “Don’t worry.  What I may lack in knowledge, I can compensate with passion. Also, I can always learn, right? After all, it cannot be rocket-science, isn’t it?”

“It is rocket-science! That’s the whole point!” he shouted and left me high and dry!

 

Aiyo enters the English dictionary!

Last week, I came across an article, “Aiyo makes it to the Oxford English dictionary!” English has a long history of borrowing words of Indian origin. We feel elated that our “guru” and “yoga”, “curry” and “cummerbund” are popular words in English. The latest entrant into the pantheon of Indian words in English is “Aiyo”! Aiyo is a versatile word, an exclamation used to express a variety of emotion- of lament, of disgust and even wonder!

If grandma had been around, I would have rushed to her with this piece of news! “Grandma! You know what? You know what? The word “aiyo” has made it to the English dictionary! It is now a proper English word!” Grandma would not have shared my enthusiasm one bit. She would have replied, “Aiyo! What has the world come to? We have such beautiful words in Tamil. They rejected all that and picked the most rotten word “aiyo”? Who is going to explain to this Englishman that aiyo means a call to Yama, the Lord of Death? You should never use the word. This clearly shows we are in Kali Yuga! That’s why only these words have become popular!”

I left grandma to ruminate over the current sordid state of affairs and pondered over the numerous possibilities where Aiyo would come to play. The Scripps National Spelling Bee is the most prestigious spelling competition for kids in the US. It is commonplace information- year after year, only kids of Indian origin dominate, and win over others, hands down!

The spelling bee is notorious for asking children to spell words that only Shashi Tharoor has heard of. Indian children still manage to crack the competition. A few years ago, the word “nataka” did the rounds at the competition. Non-Indian children were bamboozled by this strange word. We were shocked that kids who could spell “dilettante” and “Bouillabaisse” stumbled over the innocuous “nataka”. Of course, they wouldn’t know each day is dramatic, verily a nataka of sorts, in India!

Mark my words, in the next spelling bee competition, “aiyo” is certain to appear. The script shall go as follows. Tension writ on the face, the 10^th grader, non-Indian, American kid asks, “You mentioned Aiyo? Can I have the language of origin please?” The conductor reads out pompously, “Aiyo is of South Indian origin, mainly Tamil.” The child asks, “Can you use it in a sentence?” The conductor reads from his notes “Aiyo! It is so hot in Chennai. Aiyo! What crowd at T Nagar!” Still clueless, the child nervously questions, “Any alternate pronunciations please?” In his American accent, the conductor reads out, “Pronounced “eye-yo”. Sometimes for more emphasis, it is also pronounced as “eye-eye-yo”!” Time has now run out for the American child. He takes a random shot, “Is it I-I-Y-O?” The conductor presses the buzzer, and the hapless child is booted out of the competition.

The Indian origin child has no problem navigating through “aiyo”. Though his parents have lived in the US for decades, they have retained that combative Indian streak. It is like the street dog that has now found a luxurious home, and food aplenty, but cannot resist its native instinct to bicker and growl for a bit of bread! The Indian American parent is such. He is street smart and has mastered the ability to muscle his way through every competitive exam. Pitted against him, non-Indians don’t stand a chance. By now, he would have drilled into the head of his ward, “Aiyo is spelt A-I-Y-O. Aiyo is spelt A-I-Y-O” several times each day! “Aiyo” is that grand finale word, cracking which, the Indian kid walks away with a price money worth several thousands of dollars!

Aiyo! What has the world come to! Grandma was right!

The essay is not over. I searched the internet just now, and to my horror, “Aiyo entering the Oxford dictionary” is stale news- at least 7 years old, if not older! Another example of social media regurgitating and passing old news as though new! That makes me feel terrible!

Aiyo! Why did I write this silly article?

 

 

 

Why did we study all this?

“Do you recall Permutations and Combinations?” “Yes, I recall those topics in Mathematics vaguely. It was the stuff of nightmares! That part is green in my memory. Thankfully, never needed them! I have forgotten the difference between the two! Was there one?”

 “How about ‘tan-theta’?” “That was Trigonometry. I have wiped clean all the details from Loni’s textbook. And those tricky problems to prove LHS equal to RHS? Like sublimation, they now exist as vapor somewhere!"

“What about those problems centered on a pulley with weights hanging at both ends?” “Oh! Those ones? Spent man-hours, teary eyed, solving the Physics problems! It is ironical. Even in my childhood, we never saw a pulley. Why did we rack our brains on that equipment belonging to the Industrial Age?

“How about the Periodic Table in Chemistry?” “Yes! It was an enormous chart populated with various elements! I had memorized the entire table. And crammed all those chemical equations! I recall none. I think NaCl meant salt, correct?”

“How about Biology?” “Nothing was needed after class 12. It is a relief! I remember the flower and its constituents- Calyx, Corolla, Gymnasium-something, and something-something-else!”

“How about Chandragupta? Surely you will remember him.” “Chandragupta? Yes, he was a king. But I forget if he was in the Gupta or the Maurya dynasty. Was he in BC or AD?”

“Do you remember where Jowar and Bajra are grown?” “Yes, I remember! Only the weeks, months and years spent hitting the head against the wall, studying Geography. I don’t have the faintest recollection now. By the way, what is Bajra?”

“How about Gerund?” “Gerund? Is it a fruit? Even the name has vanished! English Grammar was such a bugbear. Wren and Martin’s tome safely rests on the same shelf I left it, some 35 years ago!

“Zilla Parishad? I liked Civics as much as I did Castor Oil! I remember nothing.”

“If such is the case, what do you remember about school at all?”

“Apart from academics, I recall every other detail! Academics was like carrying an enormous block of ice on your head- starting in the early hours of the morning. You huffed and puffed your way, doubled over by its weight! By mid-day, in the scorching heat of the sun, it started melting. By the time you hit the evening of life, there was no load. You felt light and relieved. It left you wondering- why did I carry that ice-block in the first place?"

If you thought the above was an interview, it was not. It was a frank introspection- a soliloquy of sorts. It is ironical- 10-15 years were spent learning subjects in school and college, that were never used thereafter. It seems such a colossal waste. It begs asking those tough questions, “How much of education is relevant? What role does it play in shaping our future?”

A readymade answer is this, “Basic education builds the foundation. It must be broad, to give a well-rounded personality. It prepares you for specialization later. That’s when you create depth. So, you need both- breadth first and depth later!”

Funnily, when you ask a working professional for the skills needed to succeed in his job, he admits, “All you need is some analytical ability, some communication skill, and some diligence. You pick up the rest on the job. After all, the job is not rocket-science!”

Who is using these subjects in later life? Perhaps, only the coaching institutes who are milking a career, teaching them!

“That is the whole point, My Lord! Saare bayaan ko madd-e-nazar rakhte huey, Your Honor, hum is nateejey par pahunchte hain, we reach this conclusion, that basic education necessarily needs trimming. In trying to provide a wide base, we are spread far too thin. We stuff a child’s brain with too much information, most of which is arguably useless, in the long run.  We need a new mantra- Lessen the load, kindle the creativity, and mould the child so that it sees “learning as fun”! The future will then be in safe hands. I rest my case, Your Honor!”

 

 

The concert is about to begin!

The concert is about to begin! The curtain parts and the musicians walk up to the stage, greeted by a thunderous applause. They take their positions- the vocalist at the center, the violinist on one side, the mridangam player on the other, and a tambura person at the back.

You are all agog with nervous excitement, sitting at the edge of your seat. You wonder what is going to be the first piece. Hamsadhvani raga may be? Perhaps, a brisk Bhairavi varnam? The vocalist makes eye contact with the audience and smiles. He rolls up his sleeves and adjusts his anga-vastra. The mood is just right for a soulful start.

Not quite! The tambura shruti is not perfect, he discerns. He takes the instrument from the back. He tightens up the strings- closing his eyes for eons, lost to the world. It takes multiple corrections, till he is finally satisfied and hands it over. You wait with bated breath.

The vocalist clears his throat, followed by a few stifled coughs, with his mouth held outside the arc of the microphone. He reaches out for the flask. He takes his own time- raising a cup of steaming coffee to his lips. He looks at the accompanists and cuts a little joke, that makes them all laugh.

The stage is set. The vocalist closes his eyes, intones just the note “saa”- a deep, elongated hum, with enough baritone, to fill the entire auditorium. At this opportune moment, the microphone protests and lets out a squeal! The vocalist’s tapas is broken, and he looks around helplessly. All eyes are on the microphone attendant. He gets overly busy- strutting up and down the stage, as he exchanges the faulty microphone with a new one.

The violinist gets into action now. One swish of the bow and he finds something amiss. “More volume. More bass!” he signals to the microphone attendant. No amount of increase in volume can satisfy the violinist.  “If you increase the volume anymore, we will all need earplugs!” you want to warn.

Not to be left out, the mridangam player, strokes his percussion instrument. He is not finicky about the microphone. But clearly, something bothers him. He takes a stone in hand and hammers each side of the drum. After some more pounding and thumping, to align the pitch of his drum, an element of composure returns to his being.

Someone runs up to the stage. He hands over a paper-bit to the vocalist. You want to express your irritation, “Mister! He has not even begun! Already, you want your silly, favorite song to be sung, is it?” The vocalist looks at the chit, smiles, and puts it away.

The concert is about to begin. The vocalist is disturbed by the light. It is too bright, and he cannot see the audience. The light is gradually dimmed. Now, the AC comes into focus. The cold temperature alters the tambura’s pitch and needs re-tuning. As if this is not enough, the vocalist complains, “I cannot hear myself- there is no feedback from the microphone!” “Saar! Only if you sing, you will hear, isn’t it?” you want to respond.

The vocalist now reaches out for a box deep inside his kurta pocket, and pops in some fresh mints. Patience runs out. You want to shout, “Just sing ya! How long are you going to wait for all the planets to get aligned? I don’t care if it is Hamsadhvani raga or roga! Just sing something, even ‘happy birthday’ is just fine!”

Out of the blue, a lady now walks up to the podium and greets, “Good evening, friends!” This is an unwarranted interruption, the start of a speech, unconnected to music. She goes all over, talking about “sponsors” and “profit margins” and the need “for your generous support”. That’s when you realize- this whole event is a promotional exercise. Music is just a ploy to gather the people.

You glance at your watch. It shows 7:50 pm. When is the concert going to begin and when is it going to end? Something snaps. You shuffle your way through the aisle and head home wards, in a huff. At least, you can have dinner in time.

“How was the concert?” wife asks. It is a tricky question. With the mouth filled with curd-rice, you make some incoherent sounds, like a drunkard’s drawl, that could be construed as anything- the concert was good, bad, ugly, or simply non-existent!

The next day, the event is reviewed in the newspaper- "Scintillating concert! Maestro regales packed audience!" 

"Yes, I was lucky to be there! It was truly a magnificent concert, right from the "saa" with which he started! What voice! And what alignment to shruti!" you converse with your friends, over lunch!