Selfish Writing

Should all writing be public? Surely, there are words that are better left private. I’m often tempted to remove many posts in this blog. They are too revealing, too painful to remain open for scrutiny by all. Maybe the scariest possibility is that of the words being judged as petty, weird or selfish.

This is why I do not advertise my identity openly (not that you have to be Sherlock to figure it out).  My readers are invite only, or unknown strangers.

I suspect this is why I relate to 750words.com. Should the fear of judgement win over the possibility of something written resonating with your friends, loved ones and complete strangers? Every writer must decide for himself.

The Diary

My father kept a diary in which he would scribble occasionally. After his demise, I glanced through it, trying to make sense of the man whom I knew very little. I was naive, childish and secretly hoped that the world was wrong, that there was a secret person hidden deep inside who was far more than he seemed to be. I was a boy trying to find something to make him proud of his father.

His entries were written in old style cursive script complete with blotches from the blue fountain pen. I knew he could write well, but what I did not suspect was how different his writing was from his speech. In his diary, I found the intelligent, thoughtful and vulnerable man I had heard about. Someone who was deeply hurt, wary of love and always out of place. I never knew he was so lonely, that the desert had left him so hollow. I never knew how much it hurt him when my mother wouldn’t return his affection. I never knew he considered his family more of a liability than anything else.

Needless to say, I was upset. I always thought I meant a lot to him. That I was special to him in the way he was special to me.

My mother always used to say that I was the only reason why she did not simply leave.

After going through my father’s diary, I found out that it was that way for my father  as well.

Knowing that you are the sole reason for two people who hate each other to tolerate each for the rest of their lives is both moving and sad.

I’m glad that he kept a diary.

Indian Programming Education

I loved reading this article on writing a book for programmers. It reminded me of the books I read in college. Rooms with high walls and uncomfortable wooden benches. Classmates who were only concerned about passing the next exam. Pursuit of knowledge, passion and doing something were at the bottom of everyone’s list. Sure, everybody wanted to get a job. But not because they liked computers or programming. For the sake of a job.

I did not gel well among them. I was ambitious and incredibly passionate about computers. I already knew the contents of my curriculum years in advance. I had written complete programs (products from Anisoft is what I called them), played with most programming languages and was proficient in developing for and using both Linux and Windows. But I was not good at other subjects; my mind was tuned to work well only when it comes to computers. I reached out for like-minded souls on campus and was fortunate enough to find one who remains a best friend.

To make the best of my time, I read a lot of books at night. I slept during the day, often in the classroom. Teachers often woke me and asked questions related to what they were discussing. I would answer correctly, ignore their chagrin and keep my head down.

The books I read were recommended by Amazon or books that were deemed the best at explaining the topic. Not what the University prescribed or pertaining to the topic the University chose to include in the curriculum. I believe this was crucial in shaping me for what I am today.

There is a world of difference between a good book and a bad book. Take Hennessy and Patterson’s Computer Architecture. The writing is clear and there are so many case studies and actual history that makes the book come alive. The difference that I can see is in the passion. A book that explains something for the sake of explaining or to help you pass an exam can only do so much. It cannot give you context, it cannot free your mind into exploring new directions which no book can teach. A book should illuminate, convey about the process of understanding as well as the actual topic.

Some of my favorites are The Art of Computer Programming, Petzold’s Programming Windows, Tanenbaum’s Computer Networks and Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs. This post will not be complete without mentioning Paul Graham’s essays which have always inspired me.

The Indian education system needs inspiring teachers who actually want to teach and are passionate about the subject. Not people who have retired  and passing time or worse, people who had to become a teacher as a last resort. Maybe this has changed, maybe I was stuck in the wrong college. But what worries me are the hordes of programmers passing out of such colleges every year.

Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson

Every computer geek should read this book. Published in 1992, Snow Crash is science fiction at its best with an actual impact on the internet to its credit: this book popularized the term “avatar”.

The depth in Snow Crash’s plot is incredible: Sumerian language is the firmware programming language for the BIOS of the brain. This makes the brain susceptible to linguistic viruses. To make the brain immune to such viruses, Enki (a God in Sumerian mythology) creates a counter-virus that makes humanity speak in different languages. Linguistic viruses make a come-back in a form that only affects computer programmers. The internet has evolved into the metaverse, a 3D extension of the internet, that is prevalent and popular.

While the above paragraph looks a bit complicated and geeky, the way the book presents the plot and moves forward is excellent. There is lots of action revolving around bikes, internet and sword fights.

An excellent review of Snow Crash is available at Russ Allbery’s website.

 

Song Stuck in My Head: I Want To Be a Billionaire

This song has been stuck inside my head for the past two days (much to the annoyance of my wife):

I heard the Glee version of this song the first time. Glee is so bollywood like.

Mortal Kombat (PS3)

Deviating from the usual norm of books and melodrama, I want to quickly touch upon a Playstation 3 Game. If you are not interested in gaming, then please skip this post.

The new Mortal Kombat inherits what was best in Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 and brings that forward with HD graphics and high quality animation. The multiplayer options are amazing and extends the life of the game since no in-game AI can match what another real person can come up with.

I couldn’t get the multiplayer option to work with BSNL, it kept on complaining that the “The connection between the Ethernet cable and router have been disconnected”. I switched to Airtel, configured my ADSL modem to set the WiFi router in a DMZ (google for router DMZ) and made sure UPnP was enabled on the WiFi router. After that, it just worked. The same setup did not somehow work in the case of BSNL (maybe a problem with their supplied router than anything else). In all fairness, the error message should have been more descriptive.

The Karate Kid

Jaden Smith has talent. And surprisingly, so does Jackie Chan. Released in 2010, “The Karate Kid” conveys three things: the awkwardness of a displaced twelve year old, ordinary moments of life in China and last of all, the magic of Kung fu.

As my wife pointed out, I have a bias for movies or stories where the underdog rises up to win. But here, it is more about the journey rather than the end. Beautiful, vivid imagery depicting life in China takes me back to the old days of Malayalam movies.

Let me explain. There is a quality that old Malayalam movies have: showing mundane, normal scenes from the real world and yet conveying a compelling story via the medium of cinema.

Jaden Smith is really why this movie works. Highly recommended – do watch it.

The American Dream – How Undo Saved Me

I stared out the front seat while battling an urge to cough. The airport shuttle van was full. Los Angeles airport disappeared from view and it finally hit me that I was in America. I had the sudden urge to shout wildly, “Namaste. Thaank you, come again.” The sane part of me insisted that this is not Springfield and while the driver did look a character from the Simpsons, I am not Apu.

Once we slept our hangover off, we walked across Figueroa street and I looked at the pavement to see if there was any hint of gold. To tell you the truth, it did sparkle a bit. Tall buildings loomed in all directions and a variety of beautiful cars dotted the roads. A homeless man tipped his hat and addressed us, “India, y’all from India? Can you spare a dollar?” We walked faster, the homelessness making us a bit nostalgic about where we came from.

The next day, we checked out Universal Studios and walked a bit in Hollywood highland. Both were amazing experiences. Oh, but we had an awkward moment in the Metro bus: a young girl, probably seventeen, asked one of us if we had cocaine.  Once we impressed upon her that we were lacking in such possessions, she hysterically asked us again and rose unsteadily from her seat. Her eyes seemed glazed and wary. She got off the bus while the LED monitor was glowing “Hollywood/Western” as if that explained everything.

Tuesday was the big day. I had my demonstration in the evening at Nokia Theatre, L.A Live. Each presenter has only five minutes and the crowd is critical. These demos are considered to be the showcase of the on-going innovation in the company.

My heart was pounding as the guy in front of me stepped on to the stage. I peeked out from backstage to see 4000+ people intently focused on him and his computer screen projected on a huge display. Butterflies were in my stomach and I quickly ran over what could go wrong. That was bad because it seemed like everything could.

My name was announced and as I stepped on to the stage, my worries melted away. I felt calm. I introduced myself and started. After my first bit, I got a lot of applause and cheers. Ditto for the second act. I felt like I was on fire, that I could do anything.

And then it went wrong.

I waited for the application to launch. It seemed to be taking too long. I heard someone shout from the audience, “You have a compilation error!” accompanied by laughter.

I did the only thing I could think of then. I pressed Control + Z, the Undo shortcut. Thankfully, it worked and the application launched correctly. The auditorium boomed with applause and cheers.

It was like they wanted me to succeed. That they were rooting for me to win the minute it went wrong. And that collective optimism exerted its own gravity over the demo. I guess that this optimism is very American.

Outside the auditorium, several developers shook my hands; the others shouted, “Good going!” as they walked past. Later that night, the guy in front of me in the buffet queue moved aside, shook my hands and said that I should go ahead. People pointed when I walked by. I went from being non-existent to slightly famous. Not famous in the grand scheme of things, but on that night, I felt like I was a rock star.

That is a night I shall never forget.

Fast Bikes

I’ve always laughed at bikers that go really fast. The risks far outweighed anything I could ever perceive.

I bought a Karizma ZMR and now understand a bit of what this is about. A slight flick of the wrist and in about four seconds, the wind is screaming at you and the speedometer reads out 60+. My first reaction was surprise. In an instant I was transported back to my early teens, back to the first time I rode a motorcycle. The sheer exhilaration and thrill of moving with so much momentum. You’re alone in the world, there’s the blue sky above and sweet cool wind blowing across; everything else is either a blur or an obstacle.

When you’re riding a bicycle, you imagine that the motorcycle will be so much faster. And when you actually ride the motorcycle for the first time, you savor the deliciousness of its speed. When you move away from the 100cc bikes that are common in India to something more faster, there’s a similar transition. A savage, masculine pleasure in leaving others behind, visualizing paths around obstacles in advance that in the heat of the moment is your own private strategy against being constantly crowded and jostled.

My new bike has reminded me of something else that I had lost in my teens; a sense of appreciation for doing a manual and simple chore – like washing the bike. The bike is heavy and powerful, but I suspect this has nothing to do with its role in pulling me out of  the world behind the digital screen that I had immersed myself so heavily into.

It has remote key-less button start – like Street Hawk! :) (For the bike enthusiasts, this was an accessory)

With this, I bid goodnight to you, fellow wanderer. Drive Safe and please, I beg of you, tell your friends to honk only if they feel constipated.

Carmelaram Railway Station, Bangalore

Honestly, how many of you have heard of it? There are trains to Calicut from this station. Every day. Around eight-thirtyish every night, a lot of Malayalees gather here. The station is at the edge of Bangalore, on Sarjapura main road.

While on the platform, look left towards the city and you see an orange sky. To the right, a crisp dark blue sky twinkling with stars. Usually, the cold wind shakes the trees lining the second platform. There are no boards indicating the positions of coaches; no announcement when the train is near. A lady in a blue saree rings a circular metal ring. Many passengers huddle around her and ask where their coach would stop. You have three minutes to board the train.

Coming back from the city’s traffic to this place is startling. The first thing you notice is Silence. The kind where you can hear a leaf rustling. Arrival shatters this barrier – to the point where your heart pounds as the train slows down to a halt.

My two-year old son loves going to this station and often, so do I.