The irradiated Oppenheimer and the Dead Mission's Impossible Reckoning

After an apparently long wait, I enthusiastically watched two movies back-to-back, in the theatres: Oppenheimer and Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. Or should I say, the Hollywood remakes of Rocketry: The Nambi Effect and Pathaan? After a good night’s sleep, the aftertaste of popcorn still lingers but I am having to make an effort to remember the movies.

Before you diagnose movie overdose to be a reason for this, I will tell you why.

Source: Internet

*Moderate spoilers alert*

Oppenheimer was a somewhat sober (compared to Tenet) take on the biography, as it should have been. Making it more twisted, just because it was a Nolan’s film, could have taken focus away from the story and money away from the box office. Subscribing to the filmmaker’s signature, the screenplay was non-linear, reminiscent of Memento, with alternating sequences of color and monochrome. However, the creative anomaly was that the past timeline was shown in color, whereas flashbacks are usually depicted in monochrome. Göransson’s background tracks were ominous and tense, comparable to Zimmer’s, uplifting Nolan’s storytelling. I am sure there would be Oscar nominations for the Best actor and Best Supporting Actors, as well as for Makeup and Hairstyling. Cillian Murphy, Robert Downey Jr., Matt Damon and Jason Clarke were terrific, while also very naturally looking their screen age.

Although the movie was pretty lengthy, even for the Indian audience, the plot gracefully and unhurriedly unravels the rise, fall (and resurrection?) of Oppie’s life, career and reputation, with a tinge of suspense throughout. I liked that the more famous Einstein did not steal the limelight and held his place, as did Abdul Kalam in Rocketry. Oh, did I already mention Oppenheimer seemed like a remake of Rocketry? Well, biographies are biographies; if it happened in India, it could as well have happened in the US. The “it” here was a beautifully kept secret till the end of the movie, making us guess and long and give up, before delivering as a parting gift. “It” was also a synopsis of the movie, of the life of Oppenheimer, Einstein, Nambi, and perhaps of several others. “It” is also the realistic result of differential tensile limits of science, politics and conscience.

So, overall, it was an appreciable Nolan’s narration of a controversial biography that might have delivered a similar impact in the comfort of my living room couch, but for the A-bomb test scene. The cherry on the cake was that the explosion was not CGI.

Mission: Impossible 7, on the other hand, was a disappointment for me. Or was it perhaps unable to fill the wake after the hype about the jump-off-the-cliff stunt? I have been a fan of Tom Cruise, his insane commitment, and the MI franchise; well, I also liked the initial Fast and Furious movies. But has there been an effort to break the monotony? Like in all MI movies, you will find the (outdated) trick of a 3D-printed impersonation face mask, voice changer, random hacking + navigation, a bike chase and Ethan’s signature running. Well, the running is substantially more this time, that it also reflects in the increased runtime of the movie. There were scenes that could literally have been cut in half. Never mind, that miscalculation of balance happens.

But where is the creativity? Where is the rigged vault whose alarms go off with the pressure of a drop of sweat? Where is the underwater server that needs Ethan to hold his breath to swap cards? Where is the iris-tracking holographic screen that recreates the hallway and the statue? Where are the Burj Khalifa gloves that indicate Blue as Glue and Red as Dead? Where is the cabinet that can teleport apples? Oh wait, that was from Harry Potter.

The one scene I looked forward to was obviously the one where Tom Cruise jumps off the cliff, for real. Well, believe me, it was not necessary in the scene. It was almost as if the scene was re-written to force-fit the jump. Compared to the duration he runs in the film, this jump gets over in a flash. After that, it is only the train sequences; nothing I have not already seen in Sholay, Enthiran, Pathaan, Kaappaan, Radhe Shyam or Balaiyya’s Palanati Brahmanaidu (oops; ignore the oversimplification).

I really admire the dedication and stunts he performs at his age. He is probably making money and retirement plans with his production house. But me, I am worried there is a part two of the part seven and hoping it has a better plot and screenplay, because I want to be able to remember more than just the popcorn but also only regret the popcorn money.

How old can "new" be?

           Hey, Happy New Year! Wait... is that still a valid statement? Is the year still new? Well, maybe; but it is older than it was a second ago. 0h 0m 0.0...0s was the newest part of the year and everything that has followed has just been older than that. So now, how long are we going to be wishing everyone a happy "new" year? I have seen people wish each other till even a week into the year if they did not meet since Dec 31st. Then, with that understanding of "new", can I call a housefly a "newborn", a week after its birth? Perhaps not, because it survives for only about a month.

            Let us say I buy a car. I would continue to call it a "new" car for a few weeks at least. But if a movie is released, it cannot be a "new" movie for a few weeks. So it looks like there is a huge variation in our definition of "new" and yet we apply the right duration in the right context, without even thinking so much. So, can we retrospectively come up with a factor that proportionately correlates with the changing definition of "new"? Yes, I think so, and as you might have already guessed, it seems to be the lifespan of the object.

            I have (joblessly) compiled some of the common things that can be "new" for a while, how long we usually consider them "new" and what their usual lifespan is.

Object                   Period of "new"                        Lifespan

Movie                         Few days                                 1 month

Product launch           Few days                                 1 year

Paint                           Few days                                 4-5 years

Minister                      Few days                                 5 years

Job                              Few weeks                              10-20 years

Restaurant                  Few weeks                              10-20 years

Car                             Few weeks                              10-20 years

Human                       2 months                                 60-80 years

Discovery                  Weeks/months                         Forever

House                         Few months                            30-50 years

Marriage                    Few months                            40-50 years

Country                      Few years                                Forever

            As you can see, how long something can be called "new" usually depends on how long that object is going to be in existence. However, there are other factors involved too. From the examples, a discovery and a country could potentially last forever but a discovery, after several months, would not be called "new" anymore. In this case, an additional factor is how fast the "new" category is refilled. There are new discoveries, and not new countries formed, every day and our memory is short-lived.

            Secondly, there are a lot of context-dependent usages even for the same object. A 2 week-old car might be old enough to remove the plastic covers off the seats but may still be new enough to not let a reckless friend drive. Nonetheless, the reverse is true for vintage cars, wine, cheese, etc. So basically, we nudge the usage of "new" to either side, depending on what value a product being perceived as "old" or "new" carries.

            So is the year still "new"? Well, it is definitely older than it was when I earlier posed this question. But hey, 2020 will live for a year. So, let's give it some benefit of the doubt.

Happy New Year! :-)

Image source: Internet

When the world became less Crazy...

From Vasool Raja MBBS:

Raja : Naa Vasool Raja. Inge naa irukkum bodhu yavan ya unna vasool panninu pomudiyum? Yavan aale mudiyunren!

Zakir : Yaman aale mudiyum.

Raja : Paathiya! Indha joke ku onniyun koracchal ille.

Apologies for starting with a death joke but that's what Late. Mr. "Crazy" Mohan left us with - a joke for every situation.

            As a child, I was not allowed to watch many movies. Once in a while, I was taken to Mylapore or Alwarpet for music concerts, where I slept, or stage plays, where I tried to figure out what was going on. All I understood was that multiple plays had a Maadhu character, unlike in the movies, where names changed. I also remember one aunty who would exit the stage in a red saree and re-enter the stage in less than 2 minutes, wearing a blue saree. I even asked my mom how they changed costumes so fast. And halfway through the play, there would be a felicitation of the troupe and one uncle with hardly any hair in the front half of his head would receive the biggest present or garland or shawl. I would wonder why, as he was not even the "hero" of the drama. Little did I understand playwrights then. There were some jokes I would laugh at and some only my parents would understand. The take-home was that the play was funny and all ages enjoyed it.

            Only later when I could change TV channels as I liked (and pick among DD1, DD2 and Podhigai), I started watching similar plays on Podhigai. I learnt what a "set" was, where the walls were made of cardboard and not bricks. So my initial ideas about stage plays were by Crazy Creations. Then eventually I started seeing that same uncle in movies. Once when I recognised him, I was asked to give him respect and not call him crazy (LOL :-D). I am sure several kids of my generation would have had a similar experience with one of the wittiest and funniest writers Tamil industry has seen. I clearly remember 3 plays - "Maadhu Cheenu", "Jurassic Baby" and "Chocolate Krishna". The last one was performed during our college culturals more than 7 years ago and that was when I saw him last.

            Kamal Hassan, a very talented and highly appreciated actor, could connect to people through comedy movies truly because of Crazy Mohan's scripts. Michael Madana Kama Rajan, Avvai Shanmughi, Sathi Leelavathi, Panchathanthiram, Vasool Raja MBBS, Thenali, Kaadhala Kaadhala, name it and it would have been the Mohan-Kamal duo's work. There are still some jokes that I newly discover while watching any of these movies again.

            Personally, I have adored Crazy Mohan and appreciated his scripts for the kind of comedies they contain. I do enjoy other types of humour like insult, slapstick, etc., but people who know me would not be surprised when I say I look up to his "mokkai" comedies and witty puns! I come up with a similar class of jokes (don't beat me up for the comparison) and hence have always felt a connection while watching his comedies. So in loose terms, he has been a role model for me. The Tamil theatre and film industry will miss his creativity and "crazy"ness. May he RIP.

From his last movie:

"Bike le starting trouble na choke podanum; life le starting trouble na joke podanum... Take things easy; life is crazy"

From Kalyana Samayal Saadham

The ice-breaker!

My USA Chronicles: Part two and 2.5

            After I reached my vacation rental (yes, that's what they called it), the day did not end. The place was pretty cold but the app where I checked-in said there was a thermostat in there. Not knowing what it looked like, I groped around all the walls in the suite and finally located a plastic dabba with a knob. Damn the Fahrenheit conversions, it took me a few seconds to realise the temperature was supposed to be comfortable even without converting to Celsius. As I walked around, I found that the bedroom was warmer than the hall. I mentally solved some equations for heat and mass transfer, Newton's cooling curve, fluid mechanics and thermodynamics and found the source of the problem. Just kidding... I straightaway checked the windows and saw that the previous user had not shut the door properly. After I fixed that, the room slowly began to warm.

View from the window (irrelevant here, but the pic is so cool to not post!)

            Having got the impression that the previous tenant was dumb, I entered the bathroom to shower. There were no buckets or mugs; instead, there was a showerhead over a bathtub. I thought to myself, "Oh! These efficient buggers!" and stepped in. There was a curtain to cover only the bathtub segment. As expected, the dumb ex-tenant had left the curtain hanging inside the bathtub, allowing it to get wet. Where do these people come from, right? I gently lifted the curtain out of the tub, showered and then stepped out. TADAAAAAA... The shower water had hit the insides of the curtain, dripped down to the bathroom floor outside the tub, flown to the dressing room and trickled into the hallway. The floor being wooden, I don't know if water had even seeped to the roof below me. I mopped all the litres of water, silently apologised to the unknown ex-tenant for calling them dumb and put the curtain back into the bathtub where it rightfully belonged.

            There was an evening "welcome mixer" session at the conference. It was meant to be an icebreaker for people to chill-out and blend-in. I was already running late but was very thirsty since I had emptied my water bottle earlier. I had learnt from the movies that the kitchen water in the US was potable. And in the last several hours, I had encountered different kinds of taps in sinks and basins at the airports. However, most of them had the same convention - rotate left to get hot water and rotate right to get cold water. I was subliminally trained to follow this with my kitchen tap. No water came. I tilted the tap right, left, centre, hit on its head, and repeated the sequence. No water. Being an engineer, like most Indians (I also have a degree, though), I opened the cupboard underneath to check the pipes. I randomly rotated some valve and found that was for the "kitchen waste disposer". One after another I turned some valves and then water started dripping from the valve, but not from the tap. Having established that the water supply was not an issue and there was something wrong with the tap, I gave up repairing it further. I mean, as a detective I had figured the source of the problem. It was now a child's play for someone else to fix it. So I called the office but they had all left for the day. Being the good person I am, I called my roommate, who was on his way from the airport, to buy a bottle of water for himself for the night. The poor guy asked for his van to be stopped in the middle of the highway, in the freezing cold, and bought a bottle of liquid water and came home shivering. I told him about the complex tap issue and how I managed to identify that the problem was idiopathic. He just walked to the sink and pulled the tap. Water gushed out like Niagara Falls. Wait, WHAT??? No one told me t... Never mind. That's okay. Not a big deal. Shit happens! I just acted surprised and left.

That two-faced tap. Grrr.

            I walked 2-3 minutes to the conference centre which was just across the highway. This time, for the first time, I had packed myself in all the warm clothes I had. I could hardly feel I had a backpack on my back because it was a foot away from my actual back. I went in, expecting people to greet me with rose water, garland and toffees. No one gave a damn. I spotted some familiar Indian faces from earlier that day and hung around with them. By now everyone was holding differently shaped glasses with liquids of different colours. I suddenly remembered the "Free Drink" coupon we were given during the registration. I proudly marched up to the bartender and asked in a grown-up voice and fake American accent, "Excuse me? Do you have any non-alcoholic beverages?". The guy first searched for me and then looked at me and pointed at the table. There were several brands and Pepsi was one among them. I should have first thought why there was exactly one can of every drink on the table. But I did not. I grabbed the Pepsi can and thanked the bartender. He was so surprised and shocked and politely said, "I am sorry sir, those are just for display. I'll give you a different one.". Completely unrelated, but in the next fraction of a second, I remembered a shopkeeper tell a toddler, "No kiddo, that toy is a showpiece. Ask mamma to buy you another one". But like I said, that was a completely unrelated thought. So now I too had a glass of cryptic brown liquid. I just left people guessing what I was drinking.

            After slowly sipping from the transparent silica container filled with non-transparent, non-opaque, brown, sweetened carbonated water, I wanted to eat something. I heard that people ate healthy there. So I waded through a very crowded hall, found a table with uneaten food and brought some cucumber and broccoli. Cucumber did not go well with Pepsi. So I switched to the next obvious healthy item and sunk my teeth into the broccoli. Yum...YUCK! IT WAS RAW! Not even boiled. I felt like I had fallen flat on my tummy on a dirty grassy garden with my mouth open. Who cared if it was uncouth - I quietly put the bitten broccoli back on the plate and left it unattended on an unattended table and went back to drinking my sweetened water; by now the carbon dioxide was gone. In the meantime, my friends had finished eating and having two rounds of alcoholic beverages and were ready to leave. So I again found my way to another abandoned table to put my empty glass and walked backwards. I heard someone shout way behind me and I turned back to realise I had bumped into somebody with my backpack that was a foot behind my back. I did not even check if I spilt his expensive drink. I just said, "I am so sorry!" and non-invasively stormed through the rest of the crowd and went outside the building. I could not take any more embarrassment in there since I had to face these people for the next 4 days. After going out in the cold I started re-packing myself amateurishly with all the winter gear from my insensitive backpack.

            Four of us were walking back to our places of stay. It was literally freezing cold. So to keep us occupied while we walked, I was narrating how all I embarrassed myself in there and how badly I wanted to get out of that place. I was perhaps a bit loud while describing the events, that a stranger walking a few feet behind us might have been silently laughing. Or she minded her own business and completely ignored us altogether. Until... one of the girls climbing down the stairs in front of me stepped on solid glassy ice and slipped. She fell on her back and slid down one more step. Ouch! I was like, "What? Seriously? Wait, let me help y..." and THUD! I was lying on my back, enjoying the stargaze. As usual, my back didn't feel the ice it cracked on the floor because of the foot-wide padding. The irony was that the two people who were standing steady in front of us were the ones who had actually consumed alcohol. They helped us back on our feet. There I was, completely satiated for the day, going back home after a literal "ice-breaking" session!

The innocent dry staircase

The wicked staircase. Imagine its wickedness at night!

Stay tuned. More to come...!

My first "flight" abroad!

My USA Chronicles: Part one

            So, after accomplishing all the rare feats of getting a US visa, getting finances set, and getting my research work chosen for a conference presentation, in the reverse order, I was all set to get aboard the third flight of my life. Except, this was the first one crossing the Indian borders. I'll not bore you with the routine airport stuff where I did not quite know the sequence of procedures to follow, and how the staff asked if that was my first trip abroad, and how my screen was the only one on the entire flight that did not work, and how I applied butter under the bun because I could not cut it open with a plastic knife, and so on. After a really long 21 hours of night and time travel, I put an end to all humiliations, or at least I thought so, and landed in Chicago airport.

Chicago O'Hare from the air

            It wasn't as bad as I thought. People were very helpful there. I couldn't get the user portal at the customs kiosk to work. I asked a lady there and she said, "read the instructions". I thanked her, completed the task successfully and went ahead. There was a spooky empty corridor in front of me. With the fear of getting arrested for trespassing a secret military establishment behind a wrong door, I asked the security there. She said, "just follow the boards". Great, right?! I again thanked her for her advice and walked ahead. Well, people do take the instructions seriously, both, for putting them up and following them.

Hallucinatory airport lights to weed out the weak-hearted before they set foot on the country's soil.

            I then hopped on a plane to Colorado and guess what? I got the window seat! I was clicking so many pictures of the beautiful view outside, from high above! Well, I might have missed the fact that the flight had not even moved a bit. I did hear my neighbour's neighbour tell my neighbour, "I can't believe this!". I forced myself to believe he was commenting on the cost of the food available for purchase on the flight, and not on my childish behaviour. The air hostess asked if I wanted something to drink. Since my neighbour's neighbour had exclaimed about the prices (or not), I declined the offer, only to later realise that non-alcoholic beverages were for free!

That beautiful view from my window seat. (Don't notice the broken shutter; it's unimportant.)

            Fast-forward to my trip in a van to Keystone, I remembered several people and websites advise that hydration was the key to managing jet-lag and altitude sickness. I started drinking from my new water bottle, gulp after gulp until I could take no more. And then I had more again. Come on, who would want to die of dehydration on their first trip abroad? But, my actions had consequences. My driver was a very friendly person called Matt. And since Americans address each other by names, I told Matt where I needed to be dropped. Matt, being super nice, chalked out a plan to drop everyone off at their desired locations. Fortunately, my place was the last. That meant I could roam around the city and have a look at the beautiful snow and mountains and the highway.

The snow, the mountains, the highway, and Matt's hand

            We got off the van to get registered for the conference and get the hotel room keys. I was just wearing a jacket unzipped, and pretty proud of myself that I could survive sub-zero temperatures like a boss. However, what my fat-layered skin couldn't feel, my kidneys could! We were still on-route dropping everyone else off. Unfortunately, my place was the last. That meant I had to roam around the city and stare at the snow and the mountains and the empty highway, just to distract myself from a full bladder. At the penultimate stop, which was the furthest from my place, I asked Matt, "Hey Matt, do you know of any restroom I could use?". A friendly Matt replied, "I dunno man, just get into one of these hotels and pretend you belong there.". I said, "Erm, I guess that is okay. I'll wait for my place". Matt understood the emergency and drove back so fast. Matt did not care for the pits and bumpy snow speed breakers. Well, I kinda wish he had because I was under more pressure now. The poor guy treated me like a patient in an ambulance. Matt turned back with a pitiful face and said, "We are almost there man, just a couple of minutes away". I had to reply something while I pretended to remain calm. I said, "That's okay, Matt. I'm good. First time experiencing such cold, you see". He sympathetically said, "I understand, man". I wanted to reply, but my energy was focussed elsewhere. Once we reached my place, Matt ran out of the van, grabbed my luggage and put it at the doorstep, while I cautiously had just gotten out of my door. Thanks, Matt! No time for taking any more humiliation or addressing him by his first name again. I just stormed through the door and miraculously found my room without any help. Thanks to the airport security; I now remembered to follow boards for instructions.

Me, not showing off where I lived. Obviously, clicked after the emergency had passed.

Stay tuned! More to come...

The desperate morning ride

            As I was finishing up an experiment, it was around 4.30 a.m. on a Sunday. Physically, I was winding up things, but mentally, I was elsewhere. I remembered the days when I used to excitedly wake up around this time, pack a bag and set off on a short bike ride. Weekends were days of burning fuel. I was wondering why things were not the same as before. I could hear a roar from inside me.

            I quickly left the lab and realised the wind was cold. I raced to my room to grab a jacket and a helmet but then slowed down a little. I wanted it like old times. So I wore a skull cap and then a helmet, got in my track pants, zipped up my sweatshirt and left. I was so desperate to hit the road. I could still hear the roar from within, a bit louder this time.

            Off I drove on to the road! The traffic was catching up; mostly heavy trucks. I whizzed past them all, not caring for my lungs as I inhaled a few full breaths of black smoke. My goal was important. On the way, I stopped by a small tiffin centre. There were already so many bikers there, clad in leather jackets and kneecaps and gloves. As I parked my bike, most of them were staring at me. Perhaps the way I was dressed? Or my style while unmounting my beast? Maintaining your swag was pretty important for this business. I could not let anyone overtake me just because they thought I was tiny. The roar was getting louder. So much so that one could hear it from beside me.

            Time was of the essence. I barged in through the crowd and ordered a plate of idly and dosa. Even before the dosa was prepared, I finished the idlies. People were still looking at me. Did they hear my roars? The skull cap was still on my head and I was still maintaining the swag. The cook respectfully handed me the masala dosa and I finished it off within 3 minutes. Without wasting any more time, I walked out and got on my bike. Four guys eating there were all looking at me as I started my bike. I 'vroom'ed the engine to justify all the looks and the swag. I paused for a second to introspect. The roaring had stopped. I came back to my room and slept. So much for the midnight hunger and the moving gas in my empty stomach. Wait... what were you thinking?

A brief history of his time

Professor Stephen William Hawking, 55 years ago

Indeed a sad day for the world of Physics as it lost one of its finest minds of the century. Well, I should have worded it better because "losing one's mind" would mean something different. Ah... never mind; that was my way of paying tribute to Prof Hawking, attempting to crack a serious joke.

I am no physicist. Yet he has been one of the scientists I have looked up to, not just because of his contributions to science. I know I am not alone when I say I had very little knowledge about his life until I watched the biopic "The Theory of Everything". Watching his story seemed as good a fiction to me as "Forrest Gump". It has really been hard for me to imagine how a guy, younger than me, diagnosed with ALS and told he just has two more years to live, blows our minds for more than half a century after that. If asked a hypothetical question "What would you like to accomplish if you are going to die in two years?", I'd say I want to complete my PhD (you may laugh on this one but tell me why you did). However, in a real-life scenario, I don't know how consistent I would be. This chap here did not complete just another PhD, but challenged existing theories, proposed new concepts and changed how we perceive the "Properties of expanding universes" (you can thank me later).

Theoretical scientists are often associated with a stereotype that they only need a brain to think and a paper (a computer, these days) to scribble on. Prof Hawking literally did that. I am a big fan of the brain, and I am awestruck to imagine what a person has accomplished, by just using his brain. It might be easy to say the brain is what does the thinking but it does not mean we can do away with the body. I believe it has taken tremendous will-power and self-confidence to have carried on without inhibitions, all his life. And I am sure, like with most geniuses, being aware and proud of oneself and one's achievements, has helped him push an extra bit.

Ever heard of "Perfect Paul"? It's the name of the voice that was given to Prof Hawking's speech device, which eventually became his identity. Though the monotonous and humdrum voice it is, my hair and ears straighten every time I hear it. There was a study that showed that people pay more attention to details in a black-and-white image than in a colour image. Many of us might have experienced the sound counterpart of those results in this case. As a quick thought, an advantage with his voice is that we can recreate any of his texts or books in his own voice! I can bet he has been, is and will be a huge inspiration to people spanning generations.

A few years ago there were posts on social media saying how Leonardo DiCaprio would never win an Oscar and Stephen Hawking would never win a Nobel. Another post said that a movie would be made on DiCaprio's life and how he never won an Oscar, and the protagonist of that movie would eventually win an Oscar. Ironically, Eddie Redmayne, the guy who played Hawking in his biopic, won an Oscar. Anecdotes apart, I was thinking about the two world-famous, most-celebrated awards - The Nobel Prize and The Oscars - in the light of comparing "professional accomplishments". For the Oscars, the maximum waiting time is one year, while for a Nobel, it could be more than a lifetime (except that we won't know if it is). It is okay Prof Hawking did not win a Nobel; we all know it was just a matter of time.

Weird coincidences that Prof Hawking was born on Galilei's 300th death anniversary and died on Einstein's 139th birth anniversary. Talking of which, I feel Hawking's brain must also be preserved like Einstein's. Or don't hear me, it is probably just the fanboy talking.

For a man who did not believe in god, where would he have gone after death? Following his support of space-time continuum, would he reincarnate? Or as a consciousness concealed in a human body, will he transcend into other dimensions imperceptible to us? Or experience singularity in a black hole and be subsequently emitted out as "Hawking radiation" in the millennia to come? Or as biological matter, will he just lay under the tomb bearing this on his epitaph?

Hawking's equation

In one of his interviews, Prof Hawking had said "Although I’m severely disabled, I have been successful in my scientific work. I travel widely and have been to Antarctica and Easter Island, down in a submarine and upon a zero-gravity flight. One day I hope to go into space.". Needless to mention, he has finally achieved what he had hoped to do.

Prof Hawking during a zero-gravity flight

Rest in peace, Professor Stephen Hawking. You will be remembered.

The "Purplehouse effect"

Yes, it is similar to the "Greenhouse effect", except that it involves mosquitoes instead of radiation.

The recent spike in Hyderabad's temperature has perhaps led to a surge in the mosquito population. Too bad they ended up being hatched-eggs instead of fried-eggs. Last night when I returned home, I experienced a warm welcome - "warm" by my room and "welcome" by the mosquitoes. They perhaps spawned among a pack of dogs, intensely trying to gratify me by pouncing on me, licking me, biting me and singing for me. But to their dismay, when I tried to reciprocate by patting on their backs, they started falling dead. When I removed my floaters, I knew little that my smelly feet would cost me the night.

After a while, when I was eating dosa, I realised it was not just me who was enjoying supper. Dozens of mosquitoes were feasting on a blood meal... MY blood. I tried shaking my legs until they were fatigued and then went to the kitchen to wash the plate. When I turned the lights on, I might have woken up a whole generation of mosquitoes, whose piercing stares I could feel on my back. The electric mosquito bat had already fulfilled its duty and retired for the day, to get charged. Tired of using chemical repellants, for which I myself was growing allergic to, my roommate and I decided to unpack our mosquito nets. His was white and mine was purple (no, not there yet). It had been two years since I bought the net, but always thought I would use it when mosquitoes got unbearable. The day had come. Unable to find ropes or twines to secure the net, I cut lengths of old optic fibre cables meant for broadband internet connection. While I was applying some high-school physics concepts of principle of moments, simple pendulum, gravity, friction, tensile strength, pulleys, elasticity and vectors,  my roommate had finished tying his net. I had to finally abandon my calculations and listen to my roommate's "Tie it first. You'll understand.".

I was so happy I had erected a tent for the first time, that too inside my house. I went for a trial-run, lying down inside "my area" (or rather "volume") and it was perfect. Blood-thirsty mosquitoes were trying to attack but were caught outside the net. I smirked at them with pity, as I watched them fail every time they tried to charge in. All set for a peaceful night, I tucked the hanging portions of the net under the mattress, leaving a small segment for me to enter. I turned the lights off and sneaked in stealthily, sealing off the opening behind me. I grinned ear to ear when I felt the shield around me - the one to ward off all evil spirits!

After a couple of hours, when I was supposed to be dreaming in my REM sleep, I experienced intense pricks all over my limbs. After minutes of unsuccessful ignoring, I groped around the net and found a small opening near my feet that had allowed the enemy fleet inside. Filled with pain, irritation and sleep, I turned on the lights and found a battalion of mosquitoes inside the net. A surprised me gave them a closer glance and found that most of them sitting on the walls of my fort had fat bellies filled with blood... MY blood. The mosquitoes were able to get inside the net and drink my blood but were trapped inside, unable to escape. This is what I call the "Purplehouse effect". That was it! I had very little patience dissolved in my blood, which those tiny buggers had sucked away. I picked up my charged weapon, the electric mosquito bat, and killed every single mosquito lurking inside the net. It was indeed very hard for me as I had to kill my "own blood". Remembering verses from the Bhagavad Gita, I was ready to get back to sleep when I found scores of "hangry" mosquitoes outside the net, waiting to avenge the death of their brethren. I went on a "rampage mode", killing tens of them with each whip of the racquet. Badminton, tennis, squash, racquetball, were all at my feet. In my half-awake state, I felt like Arjuna, Abhimanyu, Bhairava and Baahubali, all at once. I killed hundreds of them for the next half an hour and kept sweeping their fallen bodies to a corner in the room (no exaggeration!). I then heaved a sigh of revenge and went back inside my porous fort that hardly let even breeze inside. This time I double checked the seal after I got back inside. All good. I went back to sleep for another 6 hours.

Again a couple of hours later, history repeated itself. The sun had already risen. I did not have to put the lights on to see the Humpty-dumpty-mosquitoes sitting on the walls of the net and the numerous nurse-mosquitoes drawing blood from all my superficial veins. This was wrong. Mistakes are not supposed to be repeated. I thoroughly checked the net for big holes and rechecked my entry point and all were fine. My toiling around had not grossly altered the position of the net. The mosquitoes could not have squeezed through the tiny holes. As I ran my fingers along the boundaries of the mattress, I found a small part of the net, not tucked under. There was no point getting frustrated again, as the night, along with my beauty sleep, had already passed. But the mosquitoes were very much there, stuck inside the net. Thanks to the "Purplehouse effect".

Moral of the story: When a tyre gets punctured, do not assume there is only one tear!

P.S:- I am about to try the second night inside the mosquito net. Wish me luck!

P.P.S:- I have remixed a film song to sing the glory of the mosquitoes. Stay tuned!

Kaniyan Poongundran, the Tamil Sherlock Holmes?

My name is Devi Prasad and I am not a reviewer!

Thupparivaalan was a nice attempt in making a detective-movie; a "Sherlock" replica to be precise. While I have no complains with the fact that the movie was heavily inspired by the Sherlock series - the house with interiors resembling that of 221B, Kaniyan Poongundran being as uncommon a name as Sherlock Holmes, Mano being as common a name as James (Dr Watson), Asst. Commissioner hinting Inspector Lestrade's role and Devil shown as a parallel to Prof Moriarty - there was an Indian touch with a caretaker-turned pickpocket and Kani falling in love. Oh, wait! Was she supposed to be Irene Adler?!

There was a lot of attention paid to details, which is lacking in many movies of recent times. Being a detective story, Mysskin perhaps did not want minor glitches to make the audience believe they were intentional mistakes. However, the same ended up being slightly overdone and forced in some places. Before Dhivakar is struck by a lightning, it seems unnatural for him to hold the metal pole beside him. When the ACP is speaking at Kani's house, the audio dampens when he turns his face to the other direction; they have thought Physics, but in reality, there is not so much of a difference in the intensity when someone moves their head while talking. There were some repetitive wordings and editing defects like 'drishti bottu' (see below). Also, certain dialogues were rushed and improperly spaced, even when the characters' faces were turned away from the camera. Such mistakes are found at much higher frequencies in several movies these days, but I thought they deserve a mention. Apart from these, I felt the movie was well executed. I also liked Devil's "One coffee" cue.

I am glad they did not bring in a brother character "Mycrosoft" Kanini Poongundran (Mycroft Holmes), who is a secret agent at the Prime Minister's office and insists that all Kani's clients link their cases to their Aadhar cards (which has a mention in one scene), or an old house owner (Mrs Hudson) who would have asked Kani to help her carry drinking water cans, buy ration groceries or pay electricity bills every month. Overall, it was a good attempt, with only some instances making Kani appear as a weirdo, to non-Sherlock watchers.

Here are some examples of the "flaws" I mentioned earlier -

Repetitive dialogues:

-I'll call you back in a minute.

-Happy birthday, daddy!

-What's all this?

-Just a small surprise.

-Oh, that's so sweet.

...

-Happy birthday, daddy!

-I'll call back, Rajiv. Hey, what's all this man?

-Surprise, daddy.

-Surprise ah? That's very sweet.

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-Yaar pa adhu?

-Onnu ille ma, yaaro oru...

-Enna pa aachu?

-Onnu ille ma (same intonation), surukku nu...

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Editing/direction errors:

When a guy touches Pritha at the movie theatre, she throws the popcorn container right behind herself, in shock. The same scene watched later as a CCTV footage shows her flinging the popcorn tub far away behind her.

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The dad with a missing daughter, Madhavan, tears every cheque leaf after writing only the amount in figures. But when he hands a blank cheque, it is already torn and kept readily on the table.

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A doctor at the dental clinic and the ACP at Kani's house, both intentionally try to avoid hitting the camera while walking by.

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When one of Devil's guys pulls a corpse out of the fridge, he just teleports to an open fridge door. They probably forgot to shoot him walking to and opening the fridge.

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Kani talks so much about the deadly Ricin, but the word 'Nitrous' Oxide (laughing gas) is censored. Is it because N₂O is more readily available to the general public than Ricin?

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During the interrogation of Inspector Madhivanan, he unnecessarily talks about a dog, just to give a clue in the movie. An actual criminal would not elaborate in such detail. Also, he does not explain other crimes in so much depth.

#ABCR #AnyBodyCanReview #CinemaPaithiyam

In-dependence

It was those nine months of gestation when we were completely dependent on our mothers - right from breathing to pooping. We however never demanded the support; it just happened. Did we become independent after birth? How could we? We had to be guided through life and taught things. In fact, the degree of conscious dependence increased. The child always wanted to run away from the parents knowing that they were following it to bring it back. Later when we actually gained awareness of things, we demanded support. The stage when we actually felt very less need to be independent because we thought there was still time for that. Well, some of us did not like parents. Yet we were glued to blood-relations, friends, mentors, etc. After marriage, of course the spouse was there to lean against (not always though). All these relations are just major supports, and it goes without saying that in situations we could be more dependent on internet or a doctor than our parents.

This whole process can be compared to a sea voyage. A big ship (our support) holds the small boat (us), and drags it along through the journey. Sometimes the small ship gets separated, and awaits the same or a different big ship for rescue. In the interim, the small boat is on its own, raising its hook of attachment high up in the air, and waiting for a platform to tag to. It is true that the boat is on its own; but there is an initial period of shaky confidence, and desperateness to find support. Some boats never find a ship to hold on to, and are safe as long as the sea is calm. This independence is by compulsion. The stronger ones reach the shore, while the others sink. However, some boats choose not to have support, and row by themselves even at times of vulnerability. Though these boats appear to be strong and sustainable (which they may be), they at times crave to see a big ship around as moral support. Here again, some survive, some perish. Some boats would want to sail alone, but the strings connected to the big ship are too strong to snap. It is relative whether a watercraft is to be considered as a small boat or a big ship. The big ship we cling on to, could be a small boat seeking support elsewhere. Also we could be the big ship for another small boat behind us. Or two small boats can mutually be big ships for each other. 

All this said, dependence does not necessarily mean attachment and vice versa. One could be monetarily dependent on the guardian, but emotionally detached. Also one could be emotionally attached to a dog, but not depend on it for anything. Globally it would appear to be a complex network, much more complicated than a family tree or a food web. Most of the links are unintentional and unplanned. They just happen.