End Of The World

One day, someone, somewhere will compose music of indescribable beauty, or write an almost unbearably beautiful masterpiece, or paint the perfect painting. And when he does, the skies will part and God will come to earth on His Thrones and surrounded by the rest of the angelic Host. And in the light of that Divine magnificence all the people will forget their sorrows. The blind will see, the crippled will be made whole. Hunger and thirst will not even be a distant memory. Happiness will rule and everyone will love each other. And God will reach out His hand to the man whose Work called forth this miracle. He will take that Work, and say, "Cheers mate, I made the world just for this!"

And then the world will end.

I've told this story to friends before and I have been called cynical. But I certainly don't intend it to be so. It makes me all warm and cosy. I mean, it would be nice to know that this was all for something.

Forty Degrees Of Separation

If I assume that the historical average life span of people has been 50 years, then 40 people laid end to end (along the temporal dimension) would suffice to connect me to the age of Pontius Pilate, Caesar, and of course, Jesus. This makes me feel as if an earlier, simpler era is just around the corner, not shrouded in the mists of Time, as it were. For some reason, this makes me feel very cosy and secure.

Food For Thought

I was wondering how much food has changed throughout human history. It seems to me that the answer is: not much. The arts, the sciences, the languages and of course the various technologies have all changed immeasurably over the millennia. Indeed, some of these, such as music, and sartorial fashions change from generation to generation, if not sooner. But though food displays great diversity across cultures, within a country or a culture, it has been remarkably constant over centuries. Yes, there has been a shift towards junk food and preprocessed food, but most of these foodstuffs are, in themselves, not really modern or new. Moreover, and more importantly, no matter how often they are consumed, they are not staples. When people get down to 'proper food', it is almost always something that has been around for many, many generations (I mean the kind of food, not the actual, physical specimen on the plate - that would be rather unappetising). If ancient Greeks or Romans suddenly materialised at a modern Greek or Roman banquet, the food would probably give them little clue that they had left their own day and age. This may have a lot to do with the fact that fiddling with food usually has more grim consequences than artistic or scientific curiosity. However, danger has held its own fascination for various people throughout history and it seems strange that food should have had no such 'adventurers'.

I freely admit that I am not very knowledgeable about this topic. My relationship to food has mostly been of the "find on plate, put in mouth" variety with little introspection regarding its history, or often even its content. So the above ramble has to be read with the skepticism due to any piece that has been pulled out of an arse.

Another Recent Read

I just worked my way through 'David Copperfield', and I have to say, it was thouroughly enjoyable. I suppose that word sees a lot of use these days, but in this case, I really mean it. I vaguely remember reading the story in an abridged version as a child and being rather depressed by most of it. Even at the end, when it all worked out, it seemed as if there had been more sorrow than joy in the tale. That version, shorn of Dickens language, was unable to communicate anything beyond the plot. The original, on the other hand, is vibrant. The book is, ultimately, about a man who has gone through life's foaming rapids and come out, triumphant, onto the serene side. And Dickens, throughout the novel, keeps you minful of that fact. You feel the tragedies, but you know the hand that writes them has dealt with them and prospered. And of course, you feel the joys too. I am aware that there are probably many points of criticism that literary killjoys would love to direct at the book, but all of them notwithstanding, it a lovely work.

However, to join those killjoys on a very temporary basis, I would criticise one aspect, not just of this book, but of Dickens' novels in general: Though most of the Characters in the novels are beautifully formed and fleshed out, there is something awkward about many of his protagonists. You don't identify with them. You feel sympathy for David throughout this various trials, you share in his joys. But you don't identify with him. While, of course, his actions as a child are not to be judged, his actions as an adult often seem awkward. You are always aware that, in his place, you would have often done many things differently. The same holds for 'Pip' in Great Expectations. You like the bugger, but you often feel like telling him to stop being such a chump. And when Sidney Carter gets the chop, you feel sad, but not really overwhelmed. All told, Dickens' various literary strengths make this a rather trifling point - the books remain hugely enjoyable regardless. But the flaw stands out the more precisely because he scores so highly in all other departments.

Form Is Freeing

I am willing to accept verse
libre as a legitimate form of
poetry - I would even go so far as to
say that I am rather
fond of some of
it. When written by Eliot
or Whitman,
it seems genuine and, well,
poetic. But I really hate it
when someone
abandons any attempt at
rhyme and meter
and bashes out something
very drab and dull,
cuts it up at irregular intervals
and
condescendingly
calls it a poem.
It's not a poem,

..

..
you bastards.

Claim To Fame

I could well be the only person ever to bang his knee while doing pull ups.

सूचना

गेल्या पोस्ट मध्ये मी म्हटले होते की इकार सुधारावे लागतील। मात्र कमी फायर्फोक्समध्ये आहे अस दिसून येत आहे। इसवीज़ल इकार बरोबर दाखवीत आहे।

What's In A Name, Part 2

I wonder if the meme theme is universal - whether any social construct, not just ideas and beliefs, is subject to the constraints of natural selection and all the struggles that it entails. I mean, consider names. It seems that, for names, numbers, and the ability to spread themselves, are of the essence in the battle to stay alive. They seem to give the name momentum and also the ability to recover from any disease analogues.

Let us illustrate this point. Consider two names: Homer and Peter. The former is the name of the genius who wrote the two great Greek epics, two of the treasures of ancient Western literature. For centuries, for this reason, the name was one held in reverence. But it never became popular, it never caught on. It was, as it were, bad at propagating itself. So, when Homer Simpson came along, the name was finished. No one, but no one, is ever going to name their kid Homer again. The first disease that came upon it was enough to kill the species.

Now consider Peter. The name's hugely common. Everyone knows at least one Peter, perhaps several. It has managed to aggressively proliferate, at least the Judeo-Christo-Islamic world. Therefore, Peter Griffin, every bit a match for Homer Simpson, has been unable to so much as give the name the sniffles. 'Peter' sails on serenely, on the meme pool. Similarly, for all that he killed his own and his enemies by the millions, Stalin was unable to kill Joseph. Poor Adolf, on the other hand, is extinct.

Are there any other constructs that fit this memey behaviour !?! Ones that aren't generally considered memes, I mean.

Ads

I was fooling around with the settings on this blog and I turned on the AdSense thingy. Given my current readership of, umm, one, it's unlikely to lead to dazzling riches and an early retirement. So I tried turning it off. And it refuses to leave.

I don't mind it much. Or rather not at all. But it would be nice to know, for the sake of knowledge, how to turn it off.

On Kindness

I have a sort of confession to make. I have never felt kind. At least, I have never felt what I imagine kindness to be. I have helped people. I have carried old people's luggage for them, helped the blind cross the street, donated to charities and all the rest of it. But it has all been done with the goal of avoiding guilt. Put simply, I know, based on my personal code of ethics (such as it is, don't laugh) what is supposed to be kind and what isn't, and I know that if I do the nasty thing, I'll feel horribly guilty. Hence I have often done the kind thing. I've often been kind. But I've never felt it.

Is this normal !?! Is kindness nothing more than the avoidance of guilt !?! Or is it just me !?!

अरे वाह ! मला मराठीत लिहिता येत आहे !

ज़रा विचित्र आहे, आणि इकार ज़रा सुधारावे लागतील, पण तरीही देवनागरीत पुन्हा लिहिताना बरे वाटते .

Recent Reads

I'm reading "Psmith In The City" again. I hadn't planned on reading Wodehouse for a while, but I have just finished "The Trial" and Wodehouse's novels are wonderful cures for the sort of miserable emptiness that books like that induce in me.

I'm not sure what to make of "The Trial". It starts out almost silly, becomes absorbing and ends on a positively terrifying note. The hallmark of the book's greatness, however, seems to be the sympathy Kafka makes you feel for the protagonist. I have rarely felt for a character like Josef K. before. He is obviously arrogant, self centered, harsh and haughty and yet, I just had to sympathise with him.

There is no danger of having your reserves of sympathy depleted by any Wodehouse novel. His characters are fully as three dimensional as those of any of the so-called 'serious' authors, but they are singularly free from any substantial grief, hardship or fear. These emotions are raised, if ever, only momentarily, only to be gently replaced by goodwill and bonhomie. A Wodehouse novel is as close to pure joy, fun and pleasure as literature has ever come. I will have read a lot more of his novels before the term is out.

Dream Big

One day, I will be able to unwrap a Creme Egg without tearing the foil.

Delusion Of Grandeur

Every time I'm faced with automatic doors, I follow their motion with my hands and pretend to be tele-kinetic. I'm probably not alone in this.

Epiphany

The great thing about logic is that it makes so much sense.