Thesis Updates

I don't even know why I am putting this up on the web, I have been putting up various articles up on my blog, old, new, very old ones, but this one I am not even sure why I am writing this.

It so happened that my algorithm that I had thought of for my Masters' Thesis, works and works perfectly, or rather I should say worke"D" perfectly only because there was a bug in the code, now after flushing out the bugs, the thing doesn't seem to work at all!!

I've thought of everything, ranging from further bugs in the code, to simple coding mistakes, and also about floating point inaccuracies, and what all and what not. But I increasingly think that the algorithm itself is a bit flawed, it initially appread so simple to put down, almost unbelievably simple! But as lots of other solutions in computer science, it turned out to be the "elegant, beautiful and wrong" solution.... (OR IS IT ?)...that is still to be decided, I mean it still has to be decided about the goodness or the badness of results it is throwing up, but methinks it is flawed.

Means atleast I now know/concede that it may be the wrong algorithm altogether, atleast it works perfectly for clique intersections, let us give it that much credit. Two perfect cliques intersecting, it catches them pretty well.

Well the intriguing part is that why does it work so perfectly with the bug, for all those who've read this all the way so far, the bug was simply writing '0' inplace of 0 and '1' in place for 1..which translates to writing 48&49 in place of 0&1 (in ASCII codes)...well 48 and 49 worked as pure charms, when it came to that particular graph size (I was using 200 nodes I guess, to test my algo)...the strange thing is, or maybe not that strange - those numbers 48.49 worked perfectly well for that size 200, but bombed for other sizes, like say 70...(for which I used 15&16, and they worked like a charm !!)

So here I am, blogging about this failure of mine, well, not exactly a failure, now that I know there is an approach that won't work, I'm wiser that way...And wiser still, I know a bug that can actually make it work :P

Maybe it's time to ask my guide to allow me to investigate the bug a little, or for him to do so, anyways time is running out fast, I need to have an algorithm, tests on benchmarks, and get everything done by 29th Novemeber, which happens to be a very good day, in order to meet the submission deadline of 30th Novemeber.

PS: The dreaded placements approach :(, they start the next day infact :( and I guess I'll be in Bombay giving the Morgan Stanley interview (hopefully) on the 29th Nov (although the dates haven't arrived yet, but it will be during that time)...

PPS: In the meanwhile, you hope and pray that I get through, I'll do the dirty work of preparing for those interviews !

Those Bloodshot Eyes

Those bloodshot eyes
Those icy stares
Caught in the war, for no fault of theirs.
Losing a mother, losing a brother.
Sad stories and a lot of despair.
Those bloodshot eyes, that icy stare.

Homes blown away, nowhere to return to
Misplaced, displaced
Refugees in their own land.
Their eyes spoke of agony, grief and shattered dreams.
Their eyes told a thousand tales, all of sorrow, cruelty and dashed hopes.
Those bloodshot eyes, that icy stare.


I was happy once, I had a life,
A love, a family and a place I could call mine.
I had brothers to call to help me.
I had a home, a daughter to go back to.
I never hurt a fly.
I saw yesterday my mangled son and
Those bloodshot eyes, and his frigid stare.

O ye who fight in the name of God,
O those who fight for an idea
Spare me my life.
The fight will always be for bloody money, power and gold.
You know not what the idea stands for, nor have you ever feared the Lord.

I have endured suffering and hardship,
Now mistrust runs deep in my psyche,
You may not know what feeling it is to be homeless
I pray that you understand my plight, without suffering it.
O those who fight, stand and see the state of my land
The state of man.
Fight if you think it is a game, fight if it gives you a thrill.
For those our suffering you shall not comprehend.

Going back home is a distant dream.
The one I dare to dream.
Only the hope keeps me alive.
The hope of things that will never return.
The hope of things that will never be the same.

I am the Kashmiri Pundit, the Sri Lankan Tamil,
I was the German Jew, I am the Palestinian Arab.
My story you see in my bloodshot eyes.
I am man, the son of Adam.

Film Review : Taare Zameen Par

Taare Zameen Par is a heart wrenching story, gracefully told. It signifies the struggle of a troubled, although gifted individual against a society for which genius and beauty have become mere stereotypes, a society that wants kids no less in capability and genius than an Einstein or a Sachin. This is one such story.

Ishaan Nand Kishore Awasthi is a dyslexic 8-9 year old, academically struggling in the third grade. He is blessed with an artistic brain, painting is his forte. Glimpses of his artistic flair are strewn across the movie, Youhan (Ishaan's elder brother, a topper in each class, very focused and determined, but nevertheless caring) is actually surprised that Ishaan could put together that jigsaw puzzle and gasps in amazement "..arre yeh to ban raha hai !" (this is coming together); his flip book is another great example, not only signifies his capability but beautifully portrays the stigma of his separation from his family, the mini ordeal that he is going through; the working boat that he makes is just another manifestation of his undisputed brilliance as an artist. He also correctly deciphers the meaning of the Hindi poem, as Rajan admits later, but the system was such that only rote answers were acceptable to the teacher. It just shows that he does have the grasping power but is a victim of unforgiving society that expects nothing but "rankers and toppers".

Being a dyslexic does not make anything easier for him, he tries to hide his shortcomings as Ram (Aamir Khan) points out later, and instead gives them the guise of pure inobedience and rebellion, "gadar machata hoga, gadar !!" (he revolts, rebellion!!), an instance of which can be seen when his mother (Tisca) tries to correct his spellings but he runs away shouting "NO..NO", his mother is a very understanding lady and we come to know later that she has left her job and her career for Ishaan and now she personally teaches her, she bears everything with a great deal of fortitude, waking up early at 5am for her husband and elder son, making them breakfast, then the hard part of taking care of Ishaan's dressing and readying him up for his school, exemplifies the struggle that a mother puts in and the sacrifices involved on her part.

Not that his father does not care for him, but his father's attitude is representative of the cut-throat soceity that prevails in today's world, his concern translates into strict measures, and to a certain extent Ishaan is afraid of him "jab bhi papa mujhe zor se jhula jhulaate hai, main saham jaata hun ma" (whenever father swings me hard on the swing, i get afraid mother). His father's attitude can be best summed up when Youhan loses the tennis final, his father reacts as if it was his utter disgrace, contrasting sharply with his mother's reaction who is much more supportive.

The parents unmindful of Ishaan's dyslexic condition send him off to a boarding school, where as Ram points out later that "..aur to aur, wahan par uska gadar bhi kuchaldiya gaya hai (on top of that, even his rebellion has been crushed over there), resulting in a glum 9 year old that hardly talks to anyone except Rajan, remains perpetually punished, is almost a social recluse, so much so that he even stops talking to his mother on the phone when she explains to him that they can't come over due to Youhan's tennis final, not only that he stops painting altogether, shelving the 24 colour watercolour set that Youhan gifts him! His self esteem is shattered to the point that his plea comes out beautifully in the song "kya itna bura hoon main maa" (am I so bad mother ?).

Here is an individual battered and bruised by the unforgiving society, a misfit rather as termed by his father. His talent goes away unnoticed and unappreciated, he probably can't understand why the letters don't stop dancing and why people seem to be having a problem with his dreaming. Pride shattered, separated from his family, with no one to understand him, Ishaan lives a life of a loner, often bursting into tears and crying irrevocably.

It finally takes another dyslexic in Ram to gauge his problem and take corrective measures. Might be Ram sees himself in Ishaan, as he points out to Jabeen "aaj apne aap se pala pada, apne aap ko aaine mein dekh liya" (I had a tryst with myself, today I saw myself in the mirror), he concedes to her that Ishaan desperately needs help, otherwise "woh doob jaayega" (he will sink).

Ram himself was a victim of those circumstances as he points out to Ishaan :dyslexic, turned away by his father (whom he still has in his heart, as shown by the photo he keeps of his mother and father on a table in his home, besides which he keeps the little boat Ishaan made), likes drawing and painting himself, in short he just sees himself in Ishaan. Ram encourages lateral thinking, breaking away from the rigid system, he encourages the kids to open the doors of their imagination, and see things in a different light "dekho dekho, kya woh pedh hai ?, ya chaadar oodhe khada hai koi ?, baarish hai ya nul khule rakhe hai kahin" (Look, is that a tree? Or a man covered with a shawl. Is it raining ? Or has someone left open the taps ?).

The minds have been bent so much that when Ram asks the kids to "draw whatever they want to ...." a kid questions him what to draw, as the table is empty !!, the redundancy of the question signifies that they are just so used to the system and that, the system has killed their creative thought process.

With the care given by Ram, and his arrangement with the Principal that Ishaan's exams be conducted orally, Ram gives him special care and works on the kid to telling effects. He awakens his artistic spirit once again, the genius is reborn, a life is saved, Ishaan surpasses Ram in the painting competition, shows marked improvement in his lexical abilities, and in other subjects as well and is now just as able as any other fellow in his age group. Infact the principal says "I am proud to have him in my school !"

The bond between Ram and Ishaan goes deeper than just a student/teacher relationship. Ram's portrait of Ishaan says it all. He literally breathes life into Ishaan giving him his childhood back.

Dealing with dyslexia can be tricky, it needs patience above all. I speak from personal experience being mildly dyslexic myself ( I still confuse between "b" and "d" sometimes !).

It is yet another story of the triumph of an individual's spirit, in the face of resistance from the soceity, the will to perform ( as seen by the girl's Hockey team in "Chak De", and their coach Kabir Khan, who comes with a vengeance against those who disgraced him), Taare Zameen Par is a similar story, with a subtle difference, that Ram has no such alterior motives, and his sole aim is to help the kid. Both succeed in their respective aims.

In the words of Hemingway “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”

Ode to the Nice Guys

Hi guys, so this topic is literally close to heart :P.....though this one hasn't come out my pen
Haven't really had any brainwaves in the recent past, nor any interesting topics cross my mind.....So here it is, the original can be found here
And for an instance which went bad in my case, I would like to thank Vik, Bal, Goba, Sammy and the effervescent Shivu for dragging me out......needless to thank my sisters Baby and Tallu.....

So here it is an Ode to Nice Guys

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.

Fu-zu Jen, SEAS/WH, 2003

Yaad aayi mujhe ghar ki.....

Yaad aayi mujhe ghar ki
Apne Hyderabad ki yaad aayi
Mere ghar, mere apne, mere logon ki yaad aayi
Is mahine mein, wahan ke dinon ki yaad aayi


Wajood hai mera mere ghar se bandha hua abhi tak
Us gali, woh sadak, us mod ki yaad aayi
Ghar ke paas chaiwale ki dukaam yaad aayi

Mere ghar, mere apne, mere logon ki yaad aayi
Apne Hyderabad ki yaad aayi


Koi apna nahin mila is paraae watan mein mujhe
Meri Naani ke lad-dulaar ki yaad aayi
Maa ke haath ki bani Biryani ki yaad aayi
Roti mili to yahaan pe, khaya bhi maine usko, dil ko raas tab bhi ghar ki roti yaad aayi

Mere ghar, mere apne, mere logon ki yaad aayi
Apne Hyderabad ki yaad aayi


Yahaan ke phoolon mein wahin ki mehak yaaad aayi
Koel ke chehekne mein wahin ki awaaz yaad aayi
Bachchon ko yahan dekha to wapas apne School ki yaad aayi
Badhon ko dekhta to maa baap ki yaad aayi

Mere ghar, mere apne, mere logon ki yaad aayi
Apne Hyderabad ki yaad aayi


Rehta hoon yahaan par, basera hain yahin par
Dil hai mera abhi bhi mere ghar mein, gaya na tha woh kabhi usko chhodkar
Watan hai mera kahin aur lekin, mann lagta nahin kahin aur mera
Jahaan apna dil paao, wahin ko Afroz apna ghar paao

Mere ghar, mere apne, mere logon ki yaad aayi
Apne Hyderabad ki yaad aayi


Khoon khaul utha mera, Bomb ki qabar sunkar
Beeson jo bekasoor mare unki yaad aayi
Jiska javaan beta shaheed hua, us boodhi maa ki yaad aayi
Mecca Masjid, Lumbini Park ki yaad aayi

Mere ghar, mere apne, mere logon ki yaad aayi
Apne Hyderabad ki yaad aayi


Kahoon aur isse badkar kya main
Do guz zameen na mili kuh-e-yaar mein !!

Keep Fighting !!

When all the world is up against you
When the going gets tough
And you know it
Keep Fighting !!

When all seems lost
You feel the allpervading crap around you
And all you have is you own will to work for you
Keep Fighting !!

Your sinews and your mind
Are the only friends that you have
And when you are convinced what you do is good
Keep Fighting !!

If you have a cause
Or if you don't, but know something is wrong
And can't tolerate injustice
Keep Fighting !!

Your conscience is the one that matters
And if it does not pinch you
For you know that you are right
Keep Fighting !!

When the going gets tough
The tough get going
And if you know that you should
Keep Fighting !!

Do what you love
And love what you do
There is no going back, and therefore
Keep Fighting !!

For your Heart and for your Mind
Never forget but that there is love
And there is the sweet rain
To fall in love is a sweet thing
And to come out of it a poison
Even then life is tough and oft less forgiving

And hence you know
You have to
Keep Fighting !!

The Islam of Urdu Poetry

Terrorism and chauvinism are not exclusive to any one religion. And there is more than one Islam, just as there is more than one America. The Islam found in humanist Urdu poetry is very different from the Islam as practiced by the Taliban and Osama bin Laden.

The original article which I intend to produce appeared in The Hindu by RALPH RUSSEL, who is an eminent Urdu scholar and translator and has authored many books on Urdu literature.

There are millions of people who now think that our enemy is not only Osama bin Laden and the Taliban but Islam itself. It isn't. Edward Said wrote in an article published immediately after September 11 that there is more than one Islam (and more then one America). Indeed there is, and it is on this that i want to concentrate here.

In Urdu poetry there is an Islam that runs clean counter to the Islam of the Taliban and Osama bin Laden. My profession as a university teacher of Urdu for more than 50 years has given me abundant opportunity to study its literature and form friendships with many of its mainly Muslim writers ans scholars. Urdu literature is, for the most part, the work of Muslims and portrays the life of the Muslims of the Subcontinent, but it is rarely concerned with the propaganda for Islam, and where it is, it is for an Islam as different from the Islam of the fundamentalists as chalk is from cheese.

The 18^th-century Urdu poet Mir said-

Go to the Mosque; stand knocking at the door
Live all your days with drunkards in their den
Do anything you want to do my friend
But do not seek to harm your fellow men.

I am not a Muslim. I became a convinced atheist at the age of 15 and have remained one for all my subsequent 68 years. So I am "against" Islam (and Hinduism, and Christianity and every other religion). What I am most emphatically not against is Muslims and Hindus and followers of other creeds. Nor am I against all religious tenets. As a humanist, I wholeheartedly support all those tenets which accord with those of humanism. Urdu poetry does this. The most popular part of Urdu poetry is the ghazal, which, thanks largely to Hindi films, is loved by millions of non-Muslims and millions of non-Urdu speakers.

It deserves to be. Its message is one of vigorous humanism and of loathing and contempt for fundamentalism. It has a long pedigree. Its classical forbear was Persian, as Latin was the classical forbear of the languages of Western Europe, and already in the 13th Century the great Persian poet Sadi was declaring:

The religious path is nothing but the service of humanity.

Hafiz a century later wrote:

Do not distress your fellow men and do what else you will.
For in my holy law there is no other sin than this.

Mir, as we have seen, echoes Hafiz's words, and has many other verses in the same vein:

What have the angels got to do with man?
The highest rank belongs to him alone.

And,

Man, formed of clay, gave lustre to this mirror.
None would have looked into it but for him.

"This mirror" being the universe, which is the mirror of God's beauty. Ghalib, still probably the most popular Urdu poet in India, wrote a century later

The object of creation was mankind and nothing else.
We are the point round which the seven compasses revolve.

The seven compasses meaning the seven skies, whose revolution determines our fate. And this is not "just poetry". In one of his letters he writes, "I hold all mankind to be my kin and look upon all men — Muslim, Hindu, Christian — as my brothers, no matter what others may think." Hali, half a century later, wrote

The first lesson of the Book of Guidance was
The whole human race is God's family.

In a country where Hindus greatly outnumber Muslims, the ghazal poet stresses that Hindus are as much members of the family as he is. All true lovers of God are a single community, regardless of the name by which they call Him. Akbar Ilahabadi in the first decades of the 20th Century writes:

His radiance fills the kaba, He lies hidden in the temple.
It is to Him we cry, whether as Allah or as Ram.

And Iqbal, by far the most popular Urdu poet of the 20th Century, says:

The infidel with a wakeful heart bowing before his idol
Is better than the religious Muslim asleep in the mosque.

And so on, so far as I am aware, to the present day, although I am not very familiar with the ghazal poetry of the latter part of the 20th Century and so have confined myself mainly to the earlier classical poets. To the Muslim mystic, whose mouthpiece the ghazal poet is, the formalities of religion are unimportant. Love of God and of God's human creation is all. In his vocabulary the shaikh is the personification of fundamentalist doctrines and his colleague the vaiz — the preacher — the disseminator of them (And the shaikh has his counterpart in the Hindu Brahmin). Keep away from both, says Mir:

Mir, quit the company of shaikh and Brahmin
And mosque and temple too — leave them behind.

From Mir's time onwards both shaikh and preacher have been the object of ridicule and contempt. Mir writes:

If pilgrimage could make a man a man
Then all the world might make the pilgrimage
But shaikhji is just back, and look at him —
An ass he went: an ass he has returned.

The man is such a dunce that he cannot even understand what Mir is telling him:

Mir's every word has meaning beyond meaning
More than a worthless shaikh can understand.
The preacher too comes under attack
I grant you, sir, the preacher is an angel.
To be a man, now — that's more difficult.

Not only Urdu but all the other languages of the largely Muslim peoples of the subcontinent of which I have knowledge — Pushtu, Punjabi, and Sindhi — carry the same message. To which, regrettably, one must add that most of them like this message but don't allow it to have much impact on their daily lives — rather like Christians who have for centuries sung the praises of God because "He hath put down the mighty from their seat and hath exalted the humble and meek", but have no sympathy with those who seriously commit themselves to exalting the humble and meek. And of course the shaikhs are still playing their accustomed role of intimidating those who do not toe their line.

Non-Muslims, particularly those who are familiar with this humanist Islam, must do all we can to make our compatriots familiar with humanist Islam and deeply appreciative of it. People who value the Hindu tradition of bhakti and love the forceful poetry of Kabir should have no difficulty in this, since that tradition is exactly the same. Peoples with a long Christian tradition too should find no difficulty, since the message of Islamic humanism is exactly the same as the message of Christianity. The Bible tells them (Galatians, 5,14), "For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." And St. Augustine's succinct "Love, and do what you will", uncannily prefigures the couplet of Hafiz which I quoted above. And while they are about it, both Hindus and Christians would do well to reflect too that they have a fundamentalism nearer home, a bigoted Hindu or a bigoted Christian fundamentalism, which need to be combated with the same zeal as Muslim fundamentalism further afield.