Stiff as a board....

Amazing photo, right? Believe me, it's even more amazing to be in the thick of the action. Throw in the faint hum of the tyres on the tarmac, diced up by the roar of the wind in your ears; add to it the flowing rhythm of the paceline, simmered with a splash of adrenaline, and boom! The result is beyond compare.
Well, the ecstasy was rather short-lived for me that day, owing to my spectacular six-foot shoulder-slide in a tangle of limbs, metal and embarrassment. I was embarrassed, yes. Hurt, yes. But not afraid. There's something about the camaraderie of the road that keeps you from being afraid. Crashes happen! When they do, you merely scrape yourself off the road, shoot a sardonic glance at the strips of missing skin, gingerly probe the bruised ribs, grit your teeth, tell yourself to harden the f***k up and ride back 60 kilometers in a haze of pain. A new contusion announces itself every  bleeding hour, the following morning arrives with a fanfare of pops, groans and muttered oaths of "Never again!". But what the hell! You get rolling the very next day, a little more careful, a lot wiser.That's all there's to it!
Quitting the sport is not really an option. There's too much happiness out there.

Back to science-induced blogging hibernation. And however tough I may act now, I'm reluctant to race until I've submitted my thesis. That tetanus shot hurt worse than the crash!

A book I'd not read since high school: Check!

I don't need a stupid reading challenge! Half my day is spent poring over obscure crystal packing diagrams and dubious interaction parameters in tediously written research papers (got to rant about them someday); while the other half goes into plotting world domination. It's bloody hard. The hour with my Kindle before drifting off to sleep is what keeps me ticking. (Yeah, yeah, I'm a total loser.)
The checklist did one good thing, however. It got me thinking. Which book have I always wanted to pick up again in the eight millenia since I passed high school? The answer was clear as daylight- I wanted to study the three laws of robotics again.

'The Complete Robot' is about as science fiction-y as it gets, minus spectacular space battles with the pew-pew-pew, zap-zap, booms and crashes.
I can sum the book up in a single word: logical. It's brimming over with logic and delightful reasoning that titillates the scientifically inclined mind. Even more delightful, perhaps, is that the reader gets to follow the gradual evolution of  robots from children's playmates to beings possessing genius-level intellect that far surpasses that of their creators'.
I have not decided which story I like the best. 'Victory unintentional' had me chuckling to myself for one full hour. Again.
Poor Powell and Donovan deserve a special mention. I mean, almost being fried to a crisp under the cruel Sun of Mercury? Seriously? I would have quit my job the moment I got out of that fix. But these guys? They stay on; and get zapped through hyperspace to somewhere near Orion, in a spaceship packed with nothing but baked beans and milk, remotely controlled by a thinking machine with a ghastly sense of humour! Willingly! They are my heroes!
Then along comes the frigid Susan Calvin. I keep wondering how the book would have turnrd out if Asimov had not thought of her character. I don't like the conclusions I arrive at.
Overall, the book draws a wistful picture of a Utopia where the Earth is not the dying planet we know, but home to a vibrant civilisation and neatly balanced ecology. The problem of interstellar travel has been solved and possibilities of interplanetary war have been nipped in the bud; all thanks to the robots. Despite the terrible, terrible Frankenstein complex that plagues humanity throughout the book, our mechanical analogues continue to serve us selflessly, working for the betterment of life on Earth without expecting anything in return. For, thanks to the three laws of robotics, they're indistinguishable from the very best of human beings.

The taste the book left in my mouth was somewhat bittersweet. I have plodded through more than my fair share of fairy tales and fantasies, but this is the only fantasy I honestly wish were real.

P.S. I'm scrapping that idiotic reading challenge. I like the looks of the previous years' Man Booker prize shortlists a lot better. I'll read whatever the heck I want.

And rest easy, friend, this will be the last entry in my bothersome blog for some time to come. I've got to unleash my writing skills on the unsuspecting scientific community. Pity them.
<end/rant>

Electronic versions of the book are available for download and viewing if you're interested; but do yourself a favour- buy the hard copy. :)

I AM A MONSTAH!! :P

7:15 a.m.
"Easy stretch, Shaunak. PULL!!" I heard Phani yell from somewhere behind me. I felt like chucking my bottle at his head. I was already doing 42 kmph.
"How much faster does the dude want to go?"

7:25 a.m.
My legs were on fire. I hated this ramp, hated the fact that I weigh 68 damned kilos, hated the GPS meekly showing my heart doing 180 bpm, and I especially hated the Velominati and their goddamned rule 5.

7:28 a.m.
"Oh, no, no, no, not AGAIN!!"
I watched glumly as Phani and Pavan slowly pulled away. My legs were empty.
I slowed down a tad and began my search.

7: 35 a.m.
"Picture abhi baki hai mere dost!" I cackled, neatly inserting myself into the slipstream of the huge, lumbering truck.
"Whoa! It's a lot faster than it looks!"

7:55 a.m.
"Fooooood!!!!" 
I dug into the idlis with all the ferocity of a starving wolf. Getting dropped formed no part of my plan for the ride back from Nandi Upachar, with my guns seeming to have loaded up again while motorpacing that truck.
"If only I manage to stay on their wheels till that ramp..."

8:15 a.m.
"Yes!!!"
I punched the air as Phani eased up the pace a hundred meters from the toll plaza. I'd stuck to his rear wheel like a stubborn wad of chewing gum. Chortling, I accelerated to 35 kmph for my turn at the front. My legs were burning, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

8:30 a.m.
I cursed under my breath as Phani signaled for cover on the Decathlon Anubhaba ramp.
This was a sprint if I had ever smelled one.

8:31 a.m.
"I want to slap him when he does that!" Pavan grumbled. Neither of us had responded to Phani shooting past us, cackling like a poltergeist, in an explosion of speed.
I roared with laughter as I swung into his draft.
"Give me another two months, and you'd want to slap me as well!"

8:50 a.m.
I whooped as I rolled to a halt at the base of the flyover at Hebbal. I'd stuck with the monsters all the way through, and the GPS showed an average speed of 35.7 kmph!
"Wait! Doesn't that make me a monster as well?"
 From Pavan's grim assertion that he'll take no more shit from me and the thumps on the back from Phani, HELL YEAH!! :D

I'll ask the question again, what's the best thing about road biking? I had left it hanging last time without providing a solid opinion of my own. I had not known back then what gave ME the high. After the ride last Sunday, I think I know. :)

The Force is okay with this one.

Nostalgia. Pure and simple. From the swelling opening score to right down to the holographic chessboard on the Millenium Falcon, nostalgia's what it was.
Abrams-saab lifts us from the drudgery of the three mildly disappointing prequels, to take us on a roller-coaster ride of intrigue, emotions and humour that, thankfully, does not look forced. The feeling the movie left in my gut was a lot like what I felt after watching Episode IV for the first time. The charm was not in the stunning tech and the staggering visuals of that galaxy so far, far away. I was riveted by the fact that it was a fairy tale set in space- complete with tales of astounding bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, and rife with struggles that were all too human.
Star Wars: The Force Awakens is packed with plenty of that human element. Take Kylo Ren of the First Order (A kind of galactic Third Reich.). Despite the fact that he's inherited Darth Vader's penchant for a menacing piece of headgear, and that his voice sounds all muffled, deep and darkly malevolent, AND that he carries a lethal-looking lightsabre, WHERE is that cold fury, that sheer sinisterness of the Sith lord that Vader had been? Young Kylo's a troubled and snotty teenager with severe tantrum issues. He's undeniably human, and a villain who's not exactly villainous.

           

But he's got some serious training coming his way, so maybe he'd bear the mantle of the dark lord of the Sith a little better next time.
Rey, on the other hand, with her pretty smile, the quaint British accent and feisty badassery, instantly became my newest crush. She carries the torch of the Jedi order well.
The man who completes the feeling of overwhelming nostalgia is Han Solo. The one and the only. I think this is the first time we see the real man underneath that glib smuggler- a man that leaves your heart heavy with emotions.
Fear not, dear reader, there will be no spoilers on this blog. I just had to scratch my writerly itch a bit. Go watch the movie. It leaves a pleasant aftertaste.

Old flame (Contd.)

 I was facebook-stalking a certain lady (10/10 would do it again. A fellow bookworm is a gem of a find! :) ) when I came across a conversation debating the relative merits of the smells of old books and new ones. And BLAM! My authorly itch was set off again! I would tend to agree completely with that certain lady, having grown up among shelf upon shelf of dusty volumes myself. A book is not just the squiggles, more squiggles and even more of the black squiggles; the texture of the pages on your fingers, the musty aroma wafting into your nostrils, the warm weight of it- all add up to complete the experience.
But what do you do when the cupboard of your tiny hostel room threatens to overflow? Do you remain a stubborn purist, and pray for the damned souls roving the Stygian darkness of the electronic world? Or do you take a deep breath, loosen your muscles and take the plunge?
Well I took the plunge a couple of months ago. I found the water inviting; in fact so much so that it was only today that I realised that I have not ranted here in forever.
Amazon could not have chosen a better name for their product. My old flame has been Kindle-d into a roaring blaze in the last two months.  It is light, it is sleek, handles really well, and the use of electronic ink  and electronic paper tech in the display gives you the illusion of turning the pages of an actual, physical book! Too bad the 160 books in my pocket all smell the same!
end rant

P.S. Would love a critique if I do manage to work up the courage to share this on facebag. Aaand a book-chat and a reading-list suggestion would not be too bad, either.
There are plans to baby-talk about some of the science I have been trying to do as well.

Superpower

"Oh, he speaks, too??"

"You're very quiet. Is something wrong?"

"He's one arrogant smart-ass."

As a man who is naturally shy and withdrawn, I get that a lot. One of the banes of existing in a society of boisterous extroverts in our brave new world, I suppose. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. They say the truth. 

I write for fun, not really expecting any appreciation or praise. I know I have a long way to go, and there are people out there whose command of the English language is a gazillion times better than mine. But my heart does do some impressive cartwheels and pirouettes when I see one or two +1's on the list of posts on my humble blog. "Ah, at least one person liked what I wrote!" Your +1, my friend, makes my day. :)

I could write a lot better if I received some criticism and comments, though. So, um, feel free, maybe? I have the rarest of the rare superpowers. I listen.

Old flame

I honestly have no idea how many books I have. I'm too lazy to count. Some books I hold very close to my heart (Yeah, I have one. Beats at the rate of 49 per minute!), some maybe I will pick up again some five years from this point of time, and some I have not the faintest idea how I could have bought, unless I had been intoxicated with alcohol or the blissful fumes of hashish! I'm joking about the hashish! And the alcohol.
      Well the bottom-line of this rant is: I own too *add expletive* many books! I'm not very sure they have worked their magic on me. As a grumpy grad schooler, I still have those terrible moments when I seriously believe my brain growth somehow stopped at the age of 13. And quite frequently, too. The number of books I possess has not ceased to grow, however. My 'wardrobe', if you would be polite enough to call it so, is at the point of starting to overflow. I am a poor student. I don't own a bookshelf.
     Apparently, there are quite a lot of people with fully and admirably functioning CPUs who have faced, and continue to face the "bookshelf dilemma" (I love the way this lady writes. Pity her blog has had no entries in over a year now.). So, um, why not do the smart thing for once in my life?
    My seniors say I looked like a lovesick idiot with that parcel from amazon.com. I suppose I might have.This would not be the first time; I am told that smile of mine lends me a rather unfocused and foolish look. The object it contained was, well, sleek.

   On came the 3G hotspot on my battered and sweat-stained Lumia 520, passkeys were entered, a connection to the swirling whirlpool of information promptly established. Aaaand I'm reading Bram Stoker's Dracula now. The original. I admit I miss the musty aroma of the old copy dad has at home, the fragile feel of its age-browned pages; but I never knew how I had missed those small, warm flips my stomach used to do at the thought of returning to an unfinished story when I was younger. Until now. The fire is re-Kindled.