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16 July 2013

Why film adaptations fail

EDIT: This particular answer on quora.com does a good job of describing why film adaptations usually disappoint readers: http://qr.ae/Ihtpz 

I recently watched To Kill A Mockingbird, the movie. Made two years after the book was written, the movie is Robert Mulligan’s take on the book. I was pleasantly surprised with the initial part of the movie. The first 45 minutes were wonderful. For all my dislike for film adaptations of popular novels, I loved these 45 minutes. Scout from the movie seemed very similar to Lee’s Scout; Jem was just as defiant; Dill was just as innocent and, Atticus was just as Atticus-y. 

But from that point on the movie, in my opinion, was a straight downhill ride. Tom Robinson’s court case is an important part of the book; but clearly, not the only part of the book. The film completely forgets Aunt Alexandra, Uncle Jack and many other things, which, contrary to popular opinion, are an integral part of the book. 

I was disappointed by a film adaptation yet again. Why is it that movies based on books always fail to impress the original readers? 

For example, every Harry Potter fan agrees to the fact that the movies are a very sad, sorry version of the books. They do a very poor job of conveying the complexity of the books. To a person who has only seen the movies, well, the good guy killed the bad guy and that is that. But for people who have read the entire series, there exists a long interval, which is filled with events, characters, and emotions. 

On a very fundamental level, I want the movie to stay true to the book. I want it to maintain every aspect down to the finest detail. I want the director to completely borrow the author’s vision. I want the movie to be a perfectly aligned track of the book. But that, rationally, can never happen.

Because basically, these movies strip down a book to its functional core, eliminate any part which doesn’t directly contribute to its understanding and then dramatize it. The worst bit is that the director enforces his creation onto viewers: his interpretation against that of the author, his imagination against those of the readers. I don’t want my image of the Great Hall tarnished by what someone else visualized it to be and I am sure others agree. The Atticus Finch in my head is not irritatingly pensive. A movie forces onto me its vision with an absolute air that is hard to shake off. Despite countless attempts, my mental Harry Potter resembles Daniel Radcliffe a bit too much for my liking. 

I know the simplest solution is that I choose not to watch further film adaptations of novels I enjoy reading. And that is why I am not watching The Fountainhead movie anytime soon.

12 July 2013

Wimbledon 2013

Thoughts post Wimbledon 2013:

I am a Federer fan. An all-out, no holds barred Federer fan. I sometimes wonder whether I follow tennis or whether I follow Roger Federer. So you can imagine my disappointment and my surprise when he lost in the second round at Wimbledon. Wimbledon, to me and to many others around the world, is the Holy Grail of tennis. It is tennis at its purest, sincerest and finest. Something about those grass courts, that dress code and the years of tradition brings out everyone’s best.

But before you knew what was happening, Federer lost in the second round. The unthinkable had happened. Before the first week was out, some of the finest names in the game were ousted by relatively obscure names. It has been called the ‘weird Wimbledon’ because of the sheer number of top guns who lost before the fourth round. I thought that probably this year, the Wimbledon was rigged. Could it be possible? But then, I rather have Federer lose than have Federer be accused of cheating. So, bad idea.

With my sole tennis hero being out of contention for the game’s finest honor, I was stupidly hoping that both Andy Murray and Novak Djokovic also lost. I mean, it was only fair: Nadal and Federer lose, so Murray and Djokovic should follow suit! A completely unexpected, new man wins. But that didn’t happen. Instead, we had them play the final.

I decided to support whoever swore less during the finals (see, I seriously am a hardcore Federer fan—I don’t know whom else to support in his absence!). So I watched the ‘Gentlemen’s Final 2013’ without supporting either players. I watched for tennis’ sake. I cheered whoever played better, which meant that I was praising both players’ shots and strategies. Oh, and for once, my brother and I didn’t fight during a Grand Slam final.

That, I realize, is the beauty of the game. One then begins to appreciate skill for skill’s sake; see sportsmanship in its purest and enjoy a game beyond its winners. The gates to the Centre Court are inscribed with lines from Rudyard Kipling’s historic poem: 


“If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same”. 

In today’s match, I felt that. I appreciated the pressure under which Murray played, with a constant reminder of 77 years of history. I appreciated Djokovic’s magnamity to praise Murray for handling this pressure and playing the way he did.

It is not just Wimbledon. Every game in its highest form exudes an aura of excellence, perfection and sportsmanship. It is just that today, in the absence of the compulsive habit to take sides did I appreciate it. So, as always, the Rolex ad has got it right: Wimbledon is where legends are made.

PS: No one can match Federer’s grace and dignity though. End of the day, it is peRFection for me!

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As I post this I realize, that a lot remains same. The things I appreciated about Wimbledon last year are also what I do this year. I guess that's the thing with being one of the oldest tournaments!

11 July 2013

Wimbledon 2012

Thoughts post Wimbledon 2012:

Immaculate lawns, players in pristine whites, audiences at their finest and history at its tallest. Where else but for the Wimbledon Championships is this possible? As the most prestigious lawn tennis tournament enters its 136th year; it shows, as the ad goes, that there is more to the event that just prestige.

As the Rolex ad says, Wimbledon whites are more than just tradition, the green lawns more than just courts, games much more than wins and losses. What makes the Wimbledon so special can probably be demonstrated by drawing a parallel with the Ashes from cricket, the UEFA Championships from football, the NBA for basketball or just about every sport in its highest glory and spirit.

In its 136 years of existence since 1877 when there were just 22 people for the men’s draw, it has gradually established itself as a tournament which is titled as forever legendary. What makes it stand apart is the fact that in all these years not much has changed. The Queen of England still graces the All England Tennis Club with her presence, the whites remain, the grass courts are still kept the same and, spectators continue with their same strawberry and cream as they watch matches: the old charm is retained.

Only have the players changed from Rod Laver or Bjorn Borg or John McEnroe, Andre Agassi, Pete Sampras or Roger Federer; or from Navratilova to the William sisters to Li Na. But the spirit of the game, the solemnity of the event, the sincerity of efforts, the beauty of the game, the weight of history remain, as inscribed in the gates to Centre Court with the lines

“If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same”.

Each game has its own Wimbledon, as in; every sport has one moment where who wins doesn’t matter, where playing precedes winning; where records are meant to be broken but the spirit of the game never is. And that is again what makes Wimbledon so great, the fact that it can translate into different games because at the end of the day it is greatness which is its hallmark, not a volley or blistering backhand.

It really doesn’t matter who won the finals on Sunday, because that is not what it is all about. Rather, it is like the Rolex ad:

When is greatness achieved?
Is it when you win your first tournament?
When you achieve a lifetime’s ambition
Or when you inspire others to be more
Or maybe when you ask yourself what is next?

29 June 2013

When chess gets chaotic!

Chess is usually associated with silence, with immense concentration and a certain stillness. This is what you see externally, in tournaments with professionals. But what happens when 250 hyperactive kids (Grade 1 to 4) and their anxious parents are grouped together for an amateur chess tournament is nowhere any near to either silence or stillness.

I have participated in quite a few chess tournaments as a chess player but had never really bothered to notice  what it takes to organize one. Yesterday, my own chess coach (who initiated this whole tournament in the first place) was short of a few volunteers for the Grade 1-4 event. I was more than willing to help out. It was definitely a memorable experience!

In a perfect chess tournament, walk-in registration isn't allowed. Draws for the first round are ready. Rooms have endless rows of numbered tables. All people playing white sit on the left, black on the right. Chess boards aren't upturned before the result is officially recorded by an arbiter. Every illegal move is reported to the arbiter. And, silence prevails.

But, obviously, in a tournament with so many young kids and their overzealous parents, this wasn't going to happen. Objectively, the organizers (the chess coach and about 10 other people, me included) weren't at fault. The tables were perfectly numbered; each room was uniformly equipped and instructions were clearly given. I guess, order eludes when boisterous enthusiasm prevails! You really can'y do anything when children scratch out labels (oblivious to their importance), when they read draws wrongly or when they occasionally invent their own rules!

As an arbiter in 'Room 1' which hosted thirty tables (so sixty kids) for three rounds, I had quite some fun! I was called 'madam', 'didi', 'excuse me', 'Tanmay's (my famous chess playing nine year old brother) sister' and 'Aunty' (preposterous!!). I shouted myself hoarse to ensure that a player who is allotted white doesn't accidentally end up with black pieces and went nuts trying to sort through kids with same names. Four Aadityas, three Manans and so on. It got worse when people cleared the chess board without officially recording the result with me or when players argued about how many illegal moves the other had made after having restored the board to its original state. 

And then there were the parents. I mean no disrespect, but their presence is the single largest chaos-creator! Their anxiety penetrates everything. A few other volunteers later told me how they even ferried water and food from the parent to the kid because the parents couldn't enter the playing rooms. But the worst, I guess, is when they come with their sleeves rolled up, crying (nonexistent) injustice! I am glad I was holed up in Room 1 for the whole time without having to interact with these parents!

In retrospect though, it is actually quite interesting to see how these kids can actually play good quality chess through all this squabbling and confusion. They were all between six to eleven years of age; happily fiddled with their neighbour's pieces, but still managed to play impressively! I was quite amazed at their ability to concentrate through so much noise.

By the end of the tournament, I had successfully (and with a lot of help) handled thirty games for three rounds, officiated all kinds of illegal moves, mismatched positions, a crying child, an injured child and missing chess pieces!

And concluded that playing chess is way better.

20 June 2013

Find x

You have hopefully read the blog post titled 'In search...Of a fictional character'. You would then remember that it was originally written as an essay on a prompt by the University of Chicago. I am a fan of their prompts. They are simply too good! I am going to write essays on as many of them as I can, because they are so thought provoking, offbeat and interesting. This is the first of the lot. I know it is a bit too long, but please read on!

Find x

We were first introduced in Grade 6, me and x. As a variable that is; I have known x as an alphabet longer. I was nonchalant about this new acquaintance since I found mathematics’ penetrating arms into the realms of language quite annoying. I thought math should stick to numbers. I wasn’t particularly fond of math back then.

X then, to me, was just something which was a part of a question you had to solve. Find x. So you made x the subject of your equation and solved it. Period. I have been doing that ever since. The equations have become increasingly complex and x has made its appearance across different subjects. Evidently, x isn’t exclusive to mathematics. But what is most interesting about this simple little alphabet is the fact that countless people have been on a quest to find it. Through time, notwithstanding borders, across fields, despite setbacks and aided by answers.

X began as a representation of what you had to find in an equation: one value for linear equations, two for the quadratic ones. Eventually, x was also the velocity of the given body as it approached relativistic speeds; it was also the heat of formation of a compound; it was the refractive index of flint glass; it was the number of cells undergoing mitosis; it was quite simply, the representation of the unknown. It is used in the same fashion: to represent a mystery or a question, to represent an unknown something. In fact, the original reason as to why and how x came to represent the unknown involves ‘the something’. From what I understand, algebra in its original form in Arabic meant ‘the something’. But when these concepts reached Europe and Spanish scholars tried to translate it, they realized that the Spanish language didn’t have the required corresponding sound for pronunciation. By mutual consent, they turned to a certain Greek alphabet. And when those Spanish texts were converted to Latin for the rest of Europe, they assumed the form of ‘x’.

I never realized how closely I had begun to associate x with the unknown till I noticed that x was on my to-do list. The list quite simply said ‘find x’. I had instinctively used x to represent something I was supposed to assign a value to. I was researching spoilage rates and contamination levels for tomato. I wanted to know how many tomatoes from a given known quantity fell prey to decay. Was it 10 out of every 100? I needed to find a value for an unknown. I needed to find x. Simple, isn’t it?!

By a combination of convention (Descartes’ book in 1637) and habit, even in any scientific equation with multiple variables, the unknown is always represented by x. I am sure you have often heard or said “Say x was to do the following…” Again, x is representative of the arbitrary unknown. But I have begun to wonder. What is x?

I have come to believe that x isn’t the unknown. It is the representation of the unknown. Is that different? I believe so. X, by this belief, isn’t what you want to find; it is what makes you find it. It is not the answer, nor is it the question. X is the purpose behind the question. X is the drive to ask and then to know. We don’t fulfill a question by finding x. We fulfill our curiosity to know. X is our curiosity.

Does this make x any easier to find? On the contrary, this just turned x from an assigned representative of the unknown to an intangible. Then, x is no longer the number of rotten tomatoes or the refractive index or even the answer to the good old quadratic. That is why despite having found it so many times, and in so many forms, we still strive to find it. We are inspired by x, by the desire to know and understand.

Or probably, this new perspective makes it easier to find; it is then everywhere. It is in Stephen Hawking’s simply stated desire to know how everything in the universe functions. It is in a newborn’s questioning gaze of the world. It is in those angst-ridden lyrics which question purpose and reason. And of course, it is in those math questions which we solve by the dozen.

But this brings forth a more fundamental question. Does finding x involve knowing WHAT is x, or does it mean knowing WHERE is x? I am not so sure. I think x is purpose, the drive to see and to seek, to expound and to explore. X isn’t the person to a ‘who’; it isn’t a reason to a ‘why’; it isn’t an explanation to a ‘what’ and it isn’t a story to a ‘how’. It is what makes the who, the why, the what and the how. It is what drives the question mark. And as to its whereabouts, I think x is simply everywhere. Curiosity doesn’t really have a fixed residence, does it? But, if I believe I know what is x, and I believe I know where is x; I have found x, haven’t I?

The very basic nature of this elusive little crossed alphabet makes me think otherwise. Do I seek to know? Do I ponder over a question and seek an answer? Then, I haven’t found x as yet. I don’t think I ever can. I am always going to have another question. I love the question mark a bit too much. Are we, collectively, ever going to find x? Unknowingly, finding x is a daily, recurring, non terminating mission. You want to know something every day; you try to find x every day.

Till we lose the question mark, we will never find x. It is all pervading and always evading. X, the ever popular representation of the unknown, is what gives us purpose. Just imagine a day without feeling the need to know something. And that is why finding x is a global and eternal quest. We are always going to want to know. We are always going to ask. We are always going to find x, aren’t we?

A character's complaint to its creator

If a character was to speak and complain to his creator, what would he choose to complain about? Ron Weasley, from the Harry Potter series speaks to J.K. Rowling about how he thinks he is the least valued character. Disclaimer: I appreciate Ron Weasley and his role in the series; this is just a wild figment of my imagination!

Ron Weasley: Hermoine is the smart one; Neville is the clumsy one who suddenly grows up; Luna is the eccentric one; Harry is well, Harry. And I am what? The guy who always leaves? 


J. K. Rowling: Of course not, Ron! You are the one who always returns.

Ron: Don’t you give me Harry’s line again! I have heard it far too many times.

Rowling: Oh don’t you forget, I was the one who gave it to Harry in the first place. And I think you are unnecessarily complaining.

Ron: Okay, if this isn’t required, then tell me one thing the readers and the Magical community is going to know me for.

Rowling: If you insist, then here goes. You are the one who provided stability and moral support to Harry throughout his rather bumpy life. You stood by him and believed in him and his stories when no one else did.

Ron: Then why did you make me leave him during the Triwizard Tournament?

Rowling: Be reasonable! I needed to ensure that Harry is as unprepared as possible when he faces those dragons. How was I going to account for Sirius not being able to communicate with him?

Ron: So you make me the bad guy?! And what about the time we were looking for Hocruxes?

Rowling: You were influenced by the locket at that time, Ron. You tried to come back but by then these people had already left.

Ron: Fine! Then tell me, what was I good at? What was my place in the group?

Rowling: You were the guy who provided us with some wit and humour. Your emotional range was always some good fun! You were also the person who provided these two Muggle-borns with some background.

Ron: Which any library could have told them!

Rowling: You don’t get it Ron! Your job was to show that at the end of the day, you were humans! That, despite all that you faced and endured, it was still possible to find humour, to feel jealous, to be normal!

Ron: Anyone could have done that! Why me?

Rowling: Okay, do you want to know your tangible contributions to the cause? Here you go then. You ensured that they won the chess game back in part one.

Ron: Okay…

Rowling: You were the one who saved Harry from the Dursleys during that summer break where he would have starved otherwise. You were the one who understood the Parselmouth connection the second year. You stood by Harry when he learnt about Sirius, at the cost of your dear rat.

Ron: I was obviously going to choose Harry over Pettigrew!

Rowling: See that is the point! For all your complains about being the guy who left, you were the one who, unflinchingly, always choose Harry. In the fifth year you were the one who supported and facilitated Dumbledore’s Army and the one who believed in his dream.

Ron: Which killed Sirius!

Rowling: Now don’t you also take blame for that! Harry holding himself accountable was hard enough to write.

Ron: Well it was hard enough for him to endure, more than for you to write it! Anyway, coming back to the point, am I not the guy who could most easily be replaced by someone else?

Rowling: Don’t you forget how you supported Harry when Hermoine was bulldozing him to give up on the Prince’s copy of the Potions book. And remember the times when you were the only sane voice Harry had with Hermoine’s ideas? I am sure you haven’t forgotten SPEW!

Ron: Oh! I never will!

Rowling: And your most recent contributions during the Battle of Hogwarts! You were the one who remembered the house elves and it was your idea to re-enter the Chamber of Secrets for the basilisk venom!

Ron: Okay, let me rephrase my stand. Name one thing that people will remember me for. One distinct, distinguishing factor.

Rowling: Your wit and loyalty!

Ron: Okay, even if I do admit that I was known for being someone other than the person who always needed a good meal, why was I portrayed by such a forgettable character in the movies?

Rowling: Oh that. A little bit of fun does no one any harm now, does it?!





Realization!

I came across this word a few days back. I don't know whether this is an actual word or not, but it is surely interesting!

sonder:

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.


Courtesy: Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (has some rather odd collection of words!)

14 June 2013

To Kill A Mockingbird

If you had to describe ONE work of art that has influenced you, what would it be? And how would you explain that influence? This was the question I wrote for my application to the Washington and Lee University. I also used the same prompt for my application to Harvard University. Here is that essay:

“Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

This line always makes me wonder whether I have understood all that Harper Lee poured in her book To Kill A Mockingbird. I read the book two years ago but every time I re-read the book, I feel there exists some part which I haven’t truly understood. That is the power of this book, a true classic. It seems attainable, understandable, but yet there always seems to be some aspect of the book that makes me feel as if there is more to it. Like a true work of art, it only gives a fleeting impression of understanding the creator, but that fleeting impression in itself is powerful enough to influence countless people. In its elusiveness, lies its overwhelming influence.

I had read a lot about the book before I read the book. 2010 was the 50th year of the book’s release, and a long list of articles in a variety of publications caught my eye. Columnists talked about how the book influenced them, about how the book hasn’t still been out of print. I was intrigued. I wanted to read the book which had literally moved the world. If people talked about how the book still influenced them, years after reading it, I was definitely reading it!

I was deeply influenced too. The book is powerful and charming; honest and pleasant; humorous and humane. Harper Lee talks about issues which challenge adults through the eyes of eight year old Scout Finch; a girl with whom I could completely relate. Lee takes a stand and sticks to it, but in a pleasantly affirmative manner. The book can bring a tear to your eye and a smile on your lips both with effortless ease; you never realize how involved you get till Boo Radley puzzles you and Bob Ewell disgusts you. Set in the nondescript town of Maycomb, To Kill A Mockingbird is about accepting diversity and celebrating humanity. What I especially like about the book is how it never shies from reality. Scout’s father, a lawyer Atticus Finch, chooses to defend a black man against the very vocal wishes of his neighborhood because he knows it is the right thing to do. He strongly believes in his profession, in the “integrity of courts [being] a working, living reality” as he strives to maintain his sense of justice despite challenges. He is heroism personified; a character I look up to, a person I wish to be.


Channeled through the lenses of Atticus, Harper Lee effortlessly highlights how life and situations change but how morals remain unchanged. Through a series of lovable characters, she paints a portrait of diversity enclosed with a community which doesn’t seem to tolerate it. She questions how some people are considered “fine people”; is education, land ownership or social reputation the parameter? She shows how transient opinions can be, when viewed from different perspectives. She lets Scout Finch explore; she lets her fight with her father and argue with her aunt; she lets her think and speak her mind; she makes her question why it is acceptable to hate Adolf Hitler but unacceptable to discriminate against Afro-Americans. It is through the eyes of Scout that Harper Lee takes the liberty to explore, and eventually define moral grounds.

But, most importantly, the book transcends borders and cuts across generations. Moral conflicts will always remain, integrity will be challenged, and decisions will be questioned. By addressing such pertinent issues, the book never loses its charm. Its poignancy is captured by the fact that it questions what humanity should do when ethics cross and ideals intersect.

The book influences me because of a plethora of reasons. I connect to the challenges described, and the moral conflicts highlighted. The largest influence though is Atticus Finch. He inspires through his ethical aloofness and lovable fathering. He is a man of honor, which is what makes the book what it is. It represents ideals, not through idealism, but through realism. It motivates one to stick to ethics, to form a belief and hold onto it irrespective of the consequences. I believe everyone should aim to be what the book describes: a human being of integrity, humanity and humility. Little wonder then, that at the end of the book, Scout Finch believes that “… [We would] get grown but there wasn’t much else left for us to learn, except probably algebra.”

Without a doubt, To Kill A Mockingbird is an example I strive to emulate, a book which inspires and amuses with amazing ease; a perfect role model.

13 June 2013

Thus so far


When I was eight, I stopped talking to my father for over a day. The ‘fight’ was because he had just explained to me (quite kindly) that we were shifting home. We used to stay in Vadodara, a bustling, cheerful city; my family had called that city home for 25 years. My father was dragging us to a sleepy little city 300km away. I hated him for as long as a girl of eight could hate her otherwise nice father. In retrospect, that decision irrevocably changed my life for the better.

The change was an eye-opener. The two cities, despite being in the same state, were vastly different in terms of their dialect, the culture and the general populace. But the most major change was my schooling. My old school was a small one, with just about 500 students and 20 teachers. On the other hand, my new school in Rajkot was (and is!) a huge system, with 7000 students and a 1000 teachers. My first day in school scared me to no end, especially since I joined midterm and was two years younger than my classmates. I was told that I had a month to catch up with about half year’s academics and get a decent score in the upcoming tests (just a month away) if I wanted to continue in the same grade. The stubborn girl that I was, I refused to go two grades down and in all innocence of a girl who had never taken a single test before, agreed to taking the examinations too.

Today, eight years later, armed with objectivity, maturity and most importantly hindsight, I realise how much the change in city affected me. I don’t regret it; rather, I have grown to love Rajkot as much as my birthplace. It’s just that this shift moulded me from a shy girl of eight to a confident girl of sixteen. It broadened my horizon, changed my perceptions and showed me life’s multifaceted nature. And it’s not that ‘growing up’ brought this on; I, for certain know the difference growing up brings and the difference this brought along. Shifting my home was the biggest positive paradigm shift I could have probably had.

Recognizing different paradigms is central to my upbringing. My parents have always tried to ensure that my interaction with life is open and uninhibited, encompassing as many perspectives as possible. The best way they did this was by instilling in me a love for reading very early on. I have loved to read, since before I could read, since before I could figure out which was the right side up while reading! My mother fondly recalls me spending time by myself, with a book held upside down; simply enjoying the idea of being able to read. Be it the imaginative Enid Blyton, the powerful Ayn Rand, the charming J.K. Rowling, the insightful Mitch Albom or the informative Frederick Forsyth; books have always been there. They show you that there is more to life than just you.

The other singular factor which has shaped me is my curiosity. My family always encourages my questions, allowing me to think independently about all matters small and big. Independent thought doesn’t equate to full freedom in action; rather it refers to freedom of the mind—allowing it to roam to find room. And so, I question! I want to know how things work, why things happen, why the world functions the way it does…the list is endless. I could question everything under the sun and the sun itself! But, this isn’t the condescending questioning of a cynic; it is the innocent questioning of an inquisitive girl. I persist till I find answers, till I understand. I realise how fortunate I am since I have the pleasure of getting varied perspectives on questions from my family. I could ask my effusive grandfather, my conservative grandmother, my nonconformist father, my compassionate mother, my innocent little brother or any of my aunts-one stern and the other rebellious.

Inadvertently, it’s my innate curiosity that makes me what I am today. I love the sciences, mathematics and literature. I want to grow up to do research in an unchartered field and learn about new concepts by discovering them myself. It is this same old curiosity which manifests itself into my career choice, for which I couldn’t thank my family enough. They have taught me that knowledge is to be sought, to be discovered and uncovered. It isn’t handed neatly wrapped and packed. One has to strive to achieve it, to reach to it.

As I look forward to another major change in my life-college, I realise how my varied experiences have been instrumental in shaping me. I hope that my future turns out to be like shifting home—fruitful, definitive and fun.

8 June 2013

Emulating fiction's finest

I recently read an article online which asked readers to answer to a fairly intriguing question: Which real life character, living or dead, comes closest to Howard Roark from Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. While not many readers had responded to that question, the basic premise of the question set me thinking.

What should a person do, posses or perform to be worthy of this comparison? In other words, what is most distinct and respect worthy about Roark? Obviously, the answer has no right and wrong. As my father would smugly quote, "it is a matter of perspective."

I believe that above all, Roark is a representation of unyielding, unflinching, uncompromising excellence. Nothing short of the best. "Total passion for the total height." What matters the most is that you put in all that you have, do the best you are capable of, and you accept nothing short of it. Roark represents this spirit perfectly, be it in architecture, in principle, in conduct or for that matter, even in expression. He holds immense respect for the human spirit, for the ability to create, to think, to produce. You are a function of your ability to think. And excellence is a product of your ability and your faith in it.

Next, Roark is completely indifferent to public opinion. You hate him, fair enough. You love him, fair enough. You are indifferent to him, fair enough. What you think of Roark doesn't matter to Roark, quite simply because it is what YOU think of him. For him, his thought is worthy enough and sufficient enough.This brings forth one of the most popularly quoted dialogues of the book. Ellsworth Toohey asks Roark to speak what he thinks of him, assuring him that what he speaks shall be confidential. He is in for a rather rude shock when Roark replies by saying that he doesn't think of him at all.

Furthermore, what is also characteristically Roark-ian is his objectivity and detachment. Throughout the book, Roark has often explained pain touching him only to a point, and then no further. He behooves detachment from circumstances and situations. His inner core is strong, safe and untouched. In other words, he is more than what circumstances force him to be, more than what situations make him to be; he is more than a sequence of events. Rather, he is a sphere of ideas, ideals, beliefs and values.



So, do you know anyone in real life who personifies fiction's finest man? Or is he, as many speculate, too idealistic, without parallel in the real world? I have asked this to quite a few people since then. I have got answers ranging from Mark Zuckerberg (I couldn't personally disagree more!) to Severus Snape from the Harry Potter series (doesn't really count, Snape is an imaginary character himself). I also had a person suggest that she herself fits the bill while another interesting response was Ayn Rand. 

I personally feel that Roger Federer is a real life, everyday Roark. Why? Federer has that same passion for excellence, for nothing short of the best. 'Total passion for the total height'? Absolutely. He plays in a league of his own, doesn't fret about what critics have to say and to me, he personifies excellence, quality, passion and integrity--all in the same breath. And he seems to hold great respect for mankind's potential and ability, to constantly improve and better, to hold infinite potential. He upholds the dignity of the human spirit through loss and through victory, through all that tennis throws at him. Upright but not uptight. And, there is this picture of his, after he won Wimbledon 2012. Somehow, in my mind, it is synonymous with Roark as he looks up to the sky (the picture Wynand likes so much) and also with the closing words of the book (...And there stood the 
outline of Howard Roark).

The best though is that someday, on parameters as objective as these, I find myself worthy of this comparison.

3 June 2013

Class of 2013

March 30, 2013. That was my last 'official' day in school: my Valedictory Ceremony. The Saturday remains a special and unforgettable day for obvious reasons: leaving school is momentous, for school has been memorable. I had the honour and privilege to speak at on this occasion, a traditional address to fellow classmates, teachers, parents and the school, as a whole. I hope what I spoke does justice to the privilege entrusted:


If hope could be held, if purpose could be pledged, if pride could be proportioned, delight could be determined and gratitude be graded; then today in our courtyard, the cup would have truly overflowed. In our attempt to capture this definitive moment of our lives; the gravity, the poignancy, the magnitude of the occasion is lost on none.

Today, we stand facing multiple choices. However, unlike most times before, these choices regard matters of lifelong consequence, matters which will impact what we make of ourselves. Strongly linked with these choices is also uncertainty of what lies ahead, of what is yet to come. For us, this occasion is marked with a plethora of conflicting emotions: joy at having successfully reached an important landmark in life, reluctance on leaving such a cherished sanctuary, apprehension about the future and fear of something rather unspecific.

But despite the vague uncertainty, there remain a few things which are certain, which aren’t unchangeable.

Firstly, that we are fortunate to stand at this crossroad equipped with a fairly large skill set, thanks to our school. In its own way, school has been a well guarded cocoon, a different world altogether. It has been, and will remain a world of adults who work to teach, guide and mould countless students under their care; a world of passionate, concerned and loving teachers, a world safe for us to grow, fall, learn and relearn, a world of fond memories and happy ideas. It has also been a world with vast windows and open doors, for us to see and seek beyond. And it is this which helps us as we ponder over choices and I realize it will be this exposure and change which will help us later in life. And for all this and more, I am grateful—gratitude is definitely not an afterthought.

This elevated standard of our learning brings us to the next certainty. We must do something worthwhile, something which is never devoid of purpose. It is probably odd to state with conviction what possibly lies so far ahead, when the immediate future is shrouded with none of it. But regardless of what we choose; we must, and we will, do something worthy of what our education has gifted us. I am not sure what, and even less sure of when. As we mark our paths, we must strive to achieve excellence and purpose, to work with a ‘total passion for the total height’. We shall henceforth carry the badge of being SNK graduates, a tag which holds immense promise for it puts us in a league armed to enforce action to ideas. For our teachers, parents and all individuals who made this possible, it is a badge of responsibility, promise, pride and hope. They believe that we can, it is upon us to actually do.

Another thing which is irrevocable is that we’ll miss school! It has been home to such nice memories after all! I am going to miss so many things, small and big, that it is almost impossible to single out any one. The collective state of confusion we feel today just bears further testimony to the same: a powerful sense of camaraderie, belonging and attachment.

Amidst this change in our responsibilities and expectations, amidst our aim of contributing meaningfully, amidst the mixed feelings on leaving school; the best we can do is that we ‘Take only memories and leave only footprints’.

In search...Of a fictional character

I wrote this essay as a part of my application to the University of Chicago for Fall 2013. Waldo is a fictional character in a series of books for children. The aim is to find him (wearing his characteristic striped shirt) from among a plethora of other amusing and odd collection of objects and people. For reasons I hope will be apparent, I am extremely fond of this essay. It is the product of a lot of discussion with my parents, grandparents and teachers; a product of lot of thought, emotion and effort.

So where is Waldo, really?
Is he hidden among the countless animated objects, masked by images of symbolism, unseen till you really hunt for him? Or is he always just there, peeping from behind tents, dancing in circuses with an amused grin? Is he always in that characteristic striped shirt of his? 

Who is Waldo really?

Waldo is definitely more than a fictional character from a fictional series. He is a manifestation of the unknown and unfounded, constantly being searched. To me, Waldo is a manifestation of the ‘hidden you’. He is all that one can be, wishes to be, strives to be, but isn’t yet. Waldo may be visualized as a mini-version of yourself or as the angel-devil role-plays in Tom & Jerry. He exists, but is hidden. Often, you are unaware of his existence and oftener, you choose to ignore it. The Hindi poet Kabir has described a kind of Waldo, in one of his most famous couplets. He speaks about a musk deer that searches high and low, curious about the source of the famed scent. Little does the deer realize that it is the source, and so continues to search ignorant of its own capabilities. While Kabir wished to illustrate that God lies within, I feel his couplet answers questions about Waldo’s whereabouts.

So, where is Waldo?

Quite simply, he is within. While the world looks for him amidst clusters of unnecessary details, he lies nonchalantly, in no hurry to reveal himself. He isn’t going to make any efforts, nor is he going to budge an inch out of his hiding place. You will have to walk the extra mile, penetrate deeper, reflect more, question oftener and pursue harder. Because, Waldo lies within.

But, just the way Waldo hides differently at different points in the book; everyone has a different Waldo which they find at different times, at different places, doing different things. So while Pele’s Waldo lived on the football grounds, Federer’s Waldo lives at Wimbledon. My father’s Waldo stays in a classroom, my mother’s sits at her table with her as she helps people with their troubles. My aunt’s Waldo accompanies her as she travels to distant villages to create opportunities for women empowerment.

So, where is my Waldo?

I am looking for him. I know he is within, so I am not looking through the unnecessary clusters. I think I know what he does. He stays in a world of logic and thought, resides in a place called a laboratory. Through a series of experiences and events, I have come to realize that I would love to pursue scientific research. One of my teachers has molded my view of the sciences significantly. When the Nobel Prize for Biology was announced this year, he explained how biology was based on chemistry, which has been known to depend on physics which is said to be applied mathematics. So, he would say that science isn’t demarcated by subjects, but is one unified whole. I strongly follow this belief of his. I love physics for its logical analysis (my favourite being classical mechanics), chemistry for its reactions and aromatic structures (benzene’s the best!), biology for its relevance in understanding the world (genetics specially fascinates me) and mathematics for its sheer beauty in figures (I love calculus). But, what I have learnt to appreciate the most is the interface where these meet, at a point whose coordinates aren’t really known, but aren’t the assumed ‘random point in space’ either. My Waldo is somewhere at the intersection. He doesn’t know which road to take, but he isn’t lost. Just a tad bit confused.

My Waldo loves it when I give him his place of honour. This happens when I go out of my way to understand, to explore and to know. It may be through experimentation, through trial and error or through questioning. He appreciates when I discover something myself. In Grade 10, I had developed an outlandish mathematical ‘theorem’ of my own. It was an elaborate idea, linking the even powers of the number five and the last two digits of the exponential product. Though my find was already known to mathematicians (crushing my hopes of having a theorem of my own!), my Waldo was glad of my curiosity and joyous discovery.

So, what I am going to do with my Waldo?

Since I have found my Waldo residing in the laboratory, I am going to give him a free hand there. He is going to join me as I learn further and explore, as I challenge myself to do better and find greater purpose. Waldo is going to explore the depth of classical mechanics and calculus, organic chemistry and genetics, or a combination thereof. He is going to learn to create more, express himself better, write better, know more and know better. He is joining me on a roller coaster, and neither of us is complaining. Rather, we are enjoying!

Waldo is within and without. Within, he lies crouched as a manifestation of oneself. Without, he hides, waiting for one to find purpose and eventually success. You won’t find him without till you look within. And since he loves to hide and is different for different people, the red and white stripes may not always be the best indication.

So, where is Waldo really?



Find him! My Waldo lies within MY world of science and mathematics. Where’s yours?

My World


I must have been three, but I distinctly remember. My father raised me high and asked me to look at what I could see below while my mother watched apprehensively. I was surprised to see my surroundings look so different from 6 feet above. Ever since, I have heard my father say ‘Life’s a matter of perspective.’

My parents and family are central figures in my sphere. Their approval is sought first—often the hardest to earn and always the most valued. They are the first people to hear my stories, console me through tears, laugh on my follies and read my essays. An effusive grandfather, a traditional grandmother, an eccentric father, a compassionate mother, an innocent little brother and two aunts constitute my family. My family says that values make people. Their value systems make me: knowledge is to be sought and discovered. It isn’t to be handed neatly wrapped and gifted. One has to strive to acquire it. They have taught me that learning matters the most, integrity is non-negotiable and that ‘life is a matter of perspective.’Fascinated by the sciences, I eventually wish to pursue research, to unearth the unknown and author nonfiction books. My family’s values and ideas have helped me sculpt my dreams: they are the stem of my curiosity, the reason why I have learnt to value integrity.

My father can’t lift me high any longer. Instead, he now asks me to imagine raising myself to climb a wall. The view of what lies beyond gradually increases as my perspective broadens. I am learning to climb. My world is full of physics and chemistry, chess, robotics, school activities and products of diverse interests. It is a world which includes mini-wars with my brother and arguments with my parents; a world centered on a family which slowly raises me on that wall, as it raises the bar. 

My world is a lucky world.