Cynic

A. adj.
Belonging to or Characteristic of a Sect of humanity called Sentient; distinguished by a capacity to see what exists, to understand what is seen, as well as an equal lack of capacity to understand when not to speak thereof

B. n.
A person disposed to disbelieve in what does not exist, such as sincerity and human goodness, and is wont to express such by an understandable, but inexcusable, lack of tact
(obs) A strange person who sees things only as they are, not as the public would have it be, one who insists on believing all that he sees and hears
(obs) a man who refuses to close his eyes when he sees something which does not exist, nor yet closes his ears when he hears something which cannot have been, but is, spoken
(of animals) a lamb which persists in asking impertinent questions of the leader of the flock, while the flock is being ably led by the butcher or the shearer

Cynicism:
a. An instance of the truth being spoken; a truthful utterance.

Note: There is an (unpardonable) confusion regarding the definition of the cynic and the critic; we note here that the simplest difference between the both pertain to their domain of influence; a Cynic is one who is persistently, if tactlessly, truthful about most issues, a critic is one who is exceedingly truthful in only one aspect only.
The distinction between them maybe likened to that between the rapier and the bludgeon; one who has had the (mis)fortune of encountering the latter rarely, and barely, escapes, while one encountering the latter has enough time on hand to find any handy individual to substitute for oneself, one individual being as good as another for the bludgeon.

Software allava ?

Caveat: Note that this is not intended to be a reflection of a real conversation, and is merely the offspring of the marriage of an over-wrought imagination with an equally intense inferiority complex. I disclaim the truth only in the discussants, not in the content being discussed!


The conversation begins thus, between the mother of our pro(an?)tagonist, a non-software engineer, in a world populated, so at least it appears to the protagonist (and even more keenly, to his parents) by two types of male individuals, the Software engineers, let us call them the successes, and the Others, including "failures" like our protagonist (the "third way", to use Confucian terminology, of Successes in other fields are rare enough to be discounted rightaway), a student, that lowest of all creatures, without any possible position in the hierarchy, in a very hierarchical world; and an acquaintance, not quite close enough to be a friend but someone who might someday be quite useful .

"yeenri, nimma maga yenu madta iddane", queries the ever-curious acquaintance (CA); the protagonists' mother (PM-M, for short) squirms in embarrassment, talks of the weather, "ivattu tumba bisilu, male barohange ide, allava"? The other woman, true to her type, persists nonetheless, and extricates a confession from the PM-M, that she has no idea but whatever it is, he is studying in a good university, "avanu PhD madta iddane, America-alli".
This is enough to set off all possible types of doubts in the quintessentially curious woman, who pursues the matter to what she perceives as its logical conclusion; "innu vodta iddana"?, in a tone reminiscent of one whose ears seem to deceive her, mingled with some remnants of respect for the fact that he is, after all, in the US, the most desirable temporal location, at least in this world.
PM-M "haudu ree, avanige adeno vodo huchu, adakke innu vodta iddane";
The CA: "Yaavaga mugistanante ?"
PM-M: "Innondu yerado-mooro varshagalagattante"
CA: "Yenu, innu mooru varshagala ? Yaakante ? Namma maga aagale MS-mugisi 3 varshagalaitu, alle Software kelasadalliddane"
PM-M:"yeno ri, avaneno vodu mugida nantara volle kelasa sigatte antidda; nodona"
CA: "Haudu, yenu vodta iddane, nimma maga: Computer-aa" ?
PM-M: (increasing disquiet, at the turn the dialogue is taking, exerts her rather considerable skills of evasion, acquired since her son took to this Path to Ruin) "Alla ree, adeno ......... (naming a Non-Engineering field) vodta iddane"
CA: (unable to contain her angst at such a desertion of the intellectual rigour of Engineering for
a field of Straw) "ayyo, yaake, nimma maga-nu Engineer-allava"?
PM-M: "haudu ree, avanu Engineering madida"
CA: "Matte; Engineering mugisida mele kelasa sigalillavaa ?"
PM-M: "alla ree (oho, Kelasa sigalillava ante, kelodu noodu), avangige adeno ishta aaghoitu adu, India-alle Master's degree madida, nantara allige hooda"
CA: (unreconciled yet to the enormity of the insult to the field of Engineering, regarding which she, naturally, is entirely ignorant) "yaake, Engineering-alli seat sigallilava, alli ?"
PM-M: (Bristling at this insult to the intellectual heritage of her Son, which she considers quite considerable, on which matter she is generally in a majority of one in any company larger than herself and deciding to teach this Ignorant Woman her Place)
"avanige alli tumba volle University-alli seat sikkide, avare stipend kodta iddare, naavu vondu rupayi kooda kharchu madohagilla" (this last with pride)
CA: (touched upon this sore point, of money paid to some US university) "
houda-re, neevu avana mele lakshantara kharchu madalillava ?; adu henge ree ?" (kochkollodu nodu)
PM-M: "adeno ree, avanige alli fees-katto talenoovu illa, part-time kelasa mado prameya-vu illa; avana hanebaraha channaigttu bidi"
CA: "Nija; matte, avanige maduve innu maadillava?"
PM-M: (touched on a sensitive nerve, a perennial fear of hers resurfaces, and she is debating whether to divulge her fears to this Woman, a well-known teller-of-tales; settles upon a half-way house and decides not to provide details) "illa ree, avaneno vidyabhyasa mugiso tanaka maduve madakollalla antane" (sounds worried, inspite of herself)
CA: "hauda ? adu sari-ne bidi, innu sampadista illavalla" (getting her own back, after having had to live down the fact about having paid tuition to the US university)
PM-M: (almost angry enough to cross the usual feminine lines on insulting each other, drawn in a manner that most Men would consider it on the wrong side of outright insult, and worried enough about the truth of the statement) "yeno ree, naanu antu avanige helta ne iddene, aadare avanu maate kelalla"
CA: (now putting her finger on the nub of the matter) "ayyo, bega maduve madbide, aamele alle iro yavudo hudugina nodkondare kashta; eegena kaalada hudugaranna nambokke aagalla noode"
PM-M: (bristling with righteous indignation, yet relieved to hear her innermost fears divulged) "avanu hagella madolla ree (ankoteeene...aadare helakke aagalla)"
CA: (happy at having had her option to reveal certain, at the moment, unwanted tidbits of information) "nija, illaddageno sariyage idda; aadare allige hoda mele hengo, devare balla: ade, pakkada beede janakammana maga, dina Sandhyavandane madta idda, manelliddaga, aadare US-ge vodokke anta adene hodno, kettu hoda...iga adyavalo jote iddanante, gotta nimage?"
PM-M: (torn between a natural feminine desire to gossip about this most interesting event, and a fear that she would rather not hear how a boy, very much like hers, had Gone Astray) "hauda? ayyo, ghante 5 aaytu, naanu bega manege hoga beku, nanna maga kelasa mugisikondu bartane innenu "
CA: "yaaru, nimma chikka maga na? Avanelli kelasa madta iddane ?"
PM-M: (Chest swelling with pride, and a certain amount of that very feminine trait, cattiness) "avanu dodda Software MNC-alli kelasa madtiddane ree; BE mugusida takshana avanige Software kelasa sikkitu--aa batch-inda itararige Campus inda sigalilla (nimma maganigu sigalilla!)"
CA: (wanting, and having, the Final Word) "nija, manelli yaarigaadru obbairge volle kelasa iddare paravagilla; illadiddare kashta aagatte"

With this repartee, she repairs to her home, content with having put the Snobbish Woman who considers her son intelligent, despite not only not having a Software job but also studying a non-Engineering subject, in her place. After all, she reasons (with, it must be admitted, impeccable logic) in her experience, she had never quite come across anyone who was intelligent and yet was not working in software or studying Engineering (or an MBA).

Moral:
be warned, ignoramus thou,
of the perils of, how,
not pursuing the path, now,
of that everlasting sooth,
that Software Job,
ist thou doubly cursed;
in this world, thou, a sore nursed,
by thine parents, their spirits crushed,
and in the next, your Maker, confused,
admittance to Hell, he refused

Matrimony and Statistical Tests: An Analogy ?

Caveat: This is not intended to be a reflection of my thoughts, even less of my experience--to date almost non-existent--of this matter and is a purely imaginary account of a fictitious protagonist with a (to the jaundiced eye of the author, at least) realistic setting!


I have been intrigued for quite some time by the analogy between the South Indian (and in general, middle-class India's) matrimonial habits (some would say, tongue-in-cheek, travails) and Statistical Hypothesis testing. Now is the moment for those who know me to pause, purse their lips, and wonder if I have finally come to the a state, signs of which they, ever alert, must have perceived from some time past, viz that I am "off my rocker", "gone bonkers", "over the edge" poor chap, to use evocative language. Those who do not know me must then be expected to look askance and ask themselves, is there probably such a thing as too much of study ? or if a combination of loneliness and excessive academic focus (those who know me too well to swallow this bit about "academic focus" must please humour me on this point at least; I claim Poetic licence!) is indeed such a healthy thing for a young-ish male, after all ?
However, I appeal to the both to judge me as they see fit but only after the conclusion of this rather one-sided view of matrimonial affairs. Onward, therefore, brave reader!

To begin with, let me begin with a suitable Statistician, our Protagonist, the young-ish male, South Indian bram, who is about to choose a prospective mate; let further this agent be that quintessential creature, one who is modern yet traditional, one who attempts to bridge the (hopefully rather small) chasm between the both worlds, and may (or may not) posses that most important of characteristics, one whose presence enables fond prospective in-laws to smile indulgently at his other 'drawbacks' and to tolerate other 'whims' which, in those devoid of this character, would be labelled uppityness or downright bad habits, the Software Job, that ultimate Test of a Man's Worth.

I will now proceed to analyse the options faced by this agent, in some detail. We being with this Young-ish man, one fine evening, after successfully resisting pressures, both internal and external, to find a 'suitable mate', realising that his position, from a prospective in-law's view, is very similar to that of a stock which is at its peak, and if the encashing is not done rather soon, there maybe a crash in the value (for those more poetically inclined,“There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.”). So reasoning, our agent decides to undertake to remedy this deficiency of his, ("Such is the folly of youth", quoth Malignant Fate, standing by) and immediately comes up against the quintessential problem in these types of marriages: specification of the parameters of a partner.

He is usual in this, having always vaguely thought about a good looking, tall-ish, fair, well (but not-too-well) educated , traditional but not too much, (recalls a particular specimen with some degree of fright), modern-and then pauses with his pulse quickening with thoughts of the too-modern-type-of-female fresh in his mind, resolves that she ought not to be too modern, type of girl. Naturally, he expects her to be from his own caste/sub-caste, speak the same language(s), and hopes she is either in the same city (or is willing to shift, naturally). He then recalls that he wishes his wife to work, in a not too taxing type of job but of course, she ought not to be too pushy or ambitious (so unseemly, really).

It is here that he fully realises his dependence on his mother, since only the females of elderly aspect seem even part capable of arranging such things. Like the impatient chap that he is, he directly approaches his mother on the issue, who is alike surprised at both his delayed response and his hurry, now that he has responded. He then gets onto his mother's nerves, with his constant questioning about whether she has found a "suitable" girl, to which his mother finally replies, testily, if he expects her to pull a girl, to his exact specifications, out of a hat ? This free and frank (on the part of his mother, at least) exchange naturally leaves him dissatisfied, yet he keeps a lower profile over the next fortnight, knowing well his dependence on his mother for her rather extensive contacts, his father already being dismissed as being incapable of so important a task as finding a suitable mate for him. He then waits with growing impatience, and feels that in more than a month, he has barely seen a couple of photographs, and heard of maybe 3-4, being used to scales of mere weeks on most other tasks.

This is when he is reminded of his knowledge of Statistical Hypothesis Testing (SHT), not because it is very relevant to the case on hand, but because it is what he is intellectually interested in, at the moment (a far stretch, I agree, to assume that Software Types know of/use SHT--Emerson, I cry--See Note 1). He vaguely recalls that all tests begin with having a sample or realisation from which one must infer some aspect of the population, using a metric called an estimator. Further, it flashes on him that (in the parametric test at least!) the statistic can be made to have "good" properties.
Intrigued, he then purususes the thing to its logical conclusion, and reflects that, just as in the SHT case, he has merely a one realisation (sample), from which he must infer a population characteristic (behaviour of the proposed mate); he has "estimators" of this characteristic, in metrics for educational achievement, Job type and salary, photograph (associated characteristics) on which he might perform "tests"; however, here he has to ponder more deeply, since he is forced to the conclusion that, unlike in the SHT case, where there is "a' metric, here has a cornucopia of them; hence, he not only has to worry about the "distribution" of the statistic but also question the meaning of one ?

He then realises the reasons for his increasing disquiet, which is that in Statistical tests, there are "Type I" and "Type II" errors, and a maximum power, with not both being minimised simultaneously! Thus, he reasons, even if he picks what he thinks is the girl with the "correct" specification, he nonetheless has a non-zero chance of making the "incorrect" choice, and that he has an equally good chance of rejecting the "better" girl! Worse, his "tests" generally have low(or no) power against locally superior alternatives, such as girl better-placed but similar looking. Finally, he realises that all his testing might be no good anyway since the best he can do is to run competing tests and "reject" the null, but if he has rejected two non-nested nulls, he now has to devise a test for these non-nested models, and of these Theory provides him with very little help (at least, that he can understand, since Statisticians are hardly the most lucid of writers!)

He then feels that he does not even have the satisfaction of taking recourse to that dead horse of Statistics, the bootstrap, since his mother would most definitely look askance at such an idea; after all, which mother likes to be told to be ready to supply photographs of an innumerable number of "suitable" girls?

In fact, this so occupies the moments of our friend that he so far forgets himself as to stop bothering his mother regarding "suitable Girls", something which he is immediately recalled to with his mother deluging him with photographs and information. Recalled, but not yet reconclied, to the real-world, he begins by cursing Statistics for being so useless a field, but then realises eventually that if even three-quarters-of-a-century of Statistics is unable to solve his problems, they must indeed be egregious, and this reflection brings to our friend's soul immense peace, since if it matters are so far out of his hands, he is not responsible for his fate (he still has strange ideas regarding control of his fate; marriage, naturally, will disabuse him soon of all such quaint notions).

In fact, this reflection lightens his mood so much as to render his task of sifting through these photographs less of a burden than before and each CV he scrutinises merely cursorily. The reason is thus: he is finally reminded of the advice one of his faculty gave him on testing: never carry out point testing except to confirm your hypothesis, most of them are either incorrect or pointless, and in the end, whether the hypothesis is rejected (or is not) has no bearing on the question being asked. He thus begins to trust in luck as much as in judgement, and to go in hope, with the following on his lips "..all is for the best, in this the best of all possible worlds"!

Thus was Mated a Statistician with his Master..oops Wife!

Note 1: The Cry "Emerson" was first used, to my knowledge, by Asimov in one of his text books-with co-authors--on bio-chemistry!! The Cry refers to Asimov's reference to Emerson's statement: "A Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little Minds" to smooth out certain inconsistencies, and is taken as a cry descrying expectations of perfect consistency in prose!!

A Biological Odyssey

I herein detail the habits, and habitat, of a new species, one whose member I am, at this point in time; given my limited Biological knowledge, the attempt appears to me to be more praiseworthy than condemnable, especially since the species is so little understood as to be labelled a part of another, related species, Homo Sapien.
I here dispel the myth that (a) the species studied here are indeed the H.Sapien (b) the habits, and psychology, of these both species are so similar as to be same.
I prove instead that the habits are so different for this species as to render it evident that they are a hitherto unsuspected species, valuable since they seem to be a growing breed, and also since these are the only species which are able to transit into, and out of, membership (into, in many cases-but not always-Homo Sapiens).

Details:
family: Hominidae
genus: Homo
Species: H.tyro-academicus
sub-species: H.t ignoramus
Trinomial name: Homo tyro-academicus ignoramus

Habitat: Very widely spread (Large, Uraban, conurban or rural settings), in almost all climes (tropical to polar)

You Know You are in a PhD Program if..

a) you are aware of all the fine niceties involved in making hobson's choices, begining with
(i) wondering if sleeping at night after a totally unproductive day would be worse than waking up after such a night, to yet another equally unproductive day
(ii) wondering, for the umpteenth time, if in picking an easy field i.e. a field in which you can at least read the papers (as opposed to the many regarding which you have absolutely no clue) , you really have done the absolutely safe thing (after all, areas could get more difficult as you progress deeper and you worry about reaching the end of your rather limited understanding of this...)
(iii) worrying constantly, and spending easily more time than even on selecting a mate, about the committee's composition, the appropriate mix of experience ("big-man-has-no-time-to-see-you-this-semester" types) and youth ("hi-whoeveryouare-hope-you-have-the-code/proof-I-have-been-struggling-for" types); too many of the former is, you fear, likely to wear out your thumbs-through constant twiddling-while too many of the latter could easily ensure that you do not receive the backing of the old-boys-club, so essential to getting even an interview at any decent university (forget "dream universtiy" any university other than your own will seem a dream university)

b) asking yourself, much before even your comprehensive exams, if you really are "publishable" material (unlike in other professions where one at least waits until the interviewer asks himself such a question), and if so, what on earth will you be publishing, given that whatever you could think of (and think of thinking, ....ad infinitum) has not only been thought out but also beaten to death
c) you feel that coursework, far from broadening your horizons of knowledge, appears to be having an entirely opposite effect, both broadening and deepening your ignorance; the more courses you take, the worse it seems to be, since you then start to truly realise the depth of your ignorance; the commonly observed resentment to taking courses, observed in the species "homo tyro-academicus" stems in the main from this resentment to attampts at enhancing ignorance
c) you share mental kinship with the hardened convict completing his long stretch, in that you both begin your day by marking the walls (virtually speaking, at least) with the number of days left to the end of your official period, the one as a convict, the other as a student, both feeling much the worse for wear
d) you dread the prospect of presenting your work to anyone, in any fora, in the fear that the best that could happen is your worst fears coming true viz. that someone, somewhere has already done the work you are now commencing/completing, that this is not really feasible or worst of all, that there is some monumental flaw
e) you begin each semester wondering if this will be your last one, and each exam as if it were a risky gamble, wrong throw and out-you-go
f) after a particular point of time, the prospect of the comprehensive exams seem to hardly bother you, but you are particularly affected by the entire period prior to such a state, begining approximately from the first month after your arrival; even in your dreams, you are heard wondering "God, surely it cannot be that difficult"
g) your conception of hell differs from Dante's (or any other you may have had prior to begining a PhD program) in such minor details as its composition, for one thing; yours has about a dozen doyens of your field, sitting quietly (it is the deafening silence that disturbs you much, in your recurring nightmares), sharpening pencils/toying with their pens, having an air of group of lions awaiting a sumptuous repast; another thing would be the strange elegance of the rooms into which you are invited (if an oral exam), in contrast with conventional versions of fire/cold/unpleasant smells; finally, it is what is not stated that is the chief cause of your torment, rather than what is.
h) if intellectual masochism, in being constantly reminded of your own intellectual status (or lack thereof, measured against the real giants) excites you, if you are willing to become the intellectual equivalent of the "hey-you-whatever-your-name-is" in your field
i) the approaching hour of your dissertation leaves you feeling, for the first time in your life, a true kinship with the Cat, (hitherto a disgusting animal) in that you are now quite in consonance with the feline in terms of infanticide [regarding the dissertation as your "baby"]
j) You tend to look at the "wayside" (for instance, the side of the road) as you walk anywhere, instinctively, having internalised the reality that you can anyday "fall by the wayside"
k) [For the Empirical: ] if, in your lack of ideas for a dissertation, you regress to your childhood, by attempting to "match" datasets and techniques, in the hope of finding one particular combination which has that rarest of rare characteristic, intelligible to you (leaves out most of the esoteric techniques), has not been tried (leaves out most of the simple techniques which you were eying with great hope) on a particular data set (cardinality of your universe: about 100); thus, half of your semester is spent in collecting information to build up the table, the other half in bemoaning, equally, the existence of two types of individuals, idiots who do not collect enough data and extremely bright people who have already applied whatever techniques you could think of on the existing data sets

l) Your one Wish, from God, is that He make up his Mind when he made individuals, as to whether He wanted more idiots (out there in the real world) or more bright people (such as your advisor), instead of taking the easier route and deciding on a Happy Medium, in your case

Deft Definitions

This first part is my eulogy to the Indian system of political dynasties and the currently dominant one, in particular; hope my limited audience derives at least half as much pleasure in reading it as I have had in creating it!

Smt. Dynasty giving a public address in Hindi:
1> The Blind reading unintelligbly to the deaf

The Public enjoying a speech by smt. Dynasty (Hindi/English):
1> A Truimph of imagination (of words heard and understood) over knowledge (that such is not the case)

History repeats itself ?
1> Sycophant: Signora, the peasants are revolting, they say they have no roti/rice to eat;
Signora (oops Smt.) Dynasty, interrrupts: But that should not bother them, why do'nt they eat Pasta ?
Transliteration problems
2> Signora oops Smt. Dynasty in a public rally on Pro-poor policies: ... instituted by my great mother-in-law (appreciative murmurs from the crowd and ".... Zindabad" from the party goons, oops, workers), our party will forever purse pro-poor policies; (pause) mere saath bolo "Garib hatao" "Garib hatao".....(from signora: could'nt find my Italian transliteration of the slogan, hope the slogan sounded correct)

Note: (a)"Signora" in Italian is the English equivalent of Ms/Mrs;
(b) Garibi hatao was Indira Gandhi's election-winning slogan in 1981

Our former pradha mantri speaking on TV:
A speech pregnant with possibilities (a woman can become pregnant in the time it takes to deliver the speech!).

Communist Organs: An oxymoron! (Given that their revered leader has only one organ functioning, that which actuates speech!).

The Left Parties: Left"overs" of history, and equally unpalatable

Social Justice:
(a) A concept replete with opportunities for those who have no need of any
(b) A progressive way of institutionalising social regression

People's War: A War by the People, On the People and against the People

Political Correctness: variously defined as
(a) A Bigot's band-aid for the septic of injustice
(b) A Political crutch for the Morally lame
(c) An optimistic philosophy that believes in relabelling Red as Green as a solution to Colour blindness / a progressive philosophy which believes in substitution of form for substance

Gender Equality:
(a) A well conceived philosophy that has, as its intention, a reduction in the tyranny of women over men
(b) An ill thought out strategem that aims to reduce women to the level of men
(c) A newly established court-of-appeals with the explicit agenda of rescinding all previous rulings in the eternal 'battle-of-the-sexes'
(d) An unfair advantage to the stronger (female) sex

Tribal Rights:
(a) (To paraphrase Onida's famous adverstisement) Environmental nightmare, Leftists Pride
(c) The evangelical neo-leftists' dual "Final Solution" i.e. to the twin issues of the tribals and the environmentalists; no forest, no flora and fauna, no tribals and no environmentalists!

Academics:
(a)A marathon in which the distance between a few leaders and the remaining followers is large enough for the latter to claim to be on a path different from the former
(b) an area of extremely flexible dimensions, broad enough to accomodate invisibility of a neighbour's achievements and narrow enough to be able dissect his minor flaws

Vignettes from the Fatherland
Of Progress
I return to fatherland after a shortish duration, eager to view the revolution in progress, one putting India “on the map”, as it were, with the developed powers, as an economic powerhouse; at least, that is what I was led to believe by my friends in the land of Opportunities (whose immense optimism, regarding India, was enough to convert me, a confirmed unbeliever, to an ardent believer in the destiny of my Fatherland).
A short step from the flight, I find that a step has indeed been short, so much so that when I place my feet where there ought to be land, and find instead carpet-covered air, the resulting near-tear in my ankle ligament I attribute to the sheer unexpectedness of finding carpeted airways where, in lesser (developed) countries I only find the anticipated terra firma. I alternate between nodding my head in appreciation and grimacing in pain (and executing a beautiful, albeit unnamed, mode of dance on one foot).
Hobbling in pain and smiling with the pleasure of surprise, I then drag my bag towards the luggage counter, on reaching which I found that my hopes were of further pleasures were not entirely misplaced. There has been arranged, at the luggage area, a beautiful test of the sense of balance; a small layer of sand placed strategically between the conveyor belt and the concrete floor. To further heighten pleasure, the conveyor belt has been arranged cunningly so as to afford every passenger the least possible space for the performance. I marvelled at the ingenuity of the officials in providing themselves and others this wonderful, and inexpensive, opportunity of entertainment.
Unfortunately, I was not afforded the opportunity to view a really good specimen performing in the arena, my luggage being among the first ones to arrive. Furthermore, to dampen the spirits of the onlookers, and much to my chagrin, despite my temporary disability, I was still good enough to retrieve my luggage and hobble away, unassisted.
Hobbling on unsteady legs and hopping in pain, dragging my recalcitrant suitcase on an uneven floor not fit for the motion of suitcases with wheels (unless suitcase wheels are being made in the mould of a tank track, a distinct commercial possibility in this Fatherland of mine), I moved in search of further evidences of ingenuity. After being disappointed with the immigration desk where, despite my fervent hopes, those manning them insisted on passing me through without as much as a glimpse of their ingenuity, something that I assume must be to do with the lack of imagination of a people who sit at a desk, grumpily favouring lawful passengers with their kind permission to enter the Fatherland.
Spirits down, but not yet out, as the saying goes, I ventured out into the small, crowded, noisy and smelly lounge, reminiscent of a railway waiting room in a particularly forgotten part of India, and was even allowed to wander out without any particular incident.
Piqued, I was about to have a relapse into my old cynicism when, of a sudden, it struck me that the reason for the absence of any particularly ingenious instruments of pleasure between the luggage area and the exit (the door to the lobby-like outlet opens, surprisingly enough, directly onto the exit road) was a wonderful sense of understatement, almost Chekhovian.
The idea was very powerful and hence, extremely simple; noticing that the better place to give full rein to their imagination was the very place where vehicles, passengers and lack of parking space (and a convenient lack of policemen to enforce those tiresome parking restrictions) meet for a very short time, the officials had arranged for a mini-chakravyuha, with vehicles, of every size, description and colour entering and exiting at the same side of the road, and the passengers moving now behind this, now in front of that, vehicle, in hope of either being able to obtain the vehicle that has arrived for them or to stop some public vehicle and to induce the driver to kindly transport them to their destination, at whatever he chooses to rob them for.
The ingenious part of the strategy was that, unlike Dronacharya’s rather static concept of this strategy, these people had broadened theirs to include dynamic aspects aspects; if people knew their target, they moved around in search of it, with the target simultaneously moving in search of them, while if they did not, they moved around in search of something like a target, without knowing what the target was.
Before moving away in a vehicle, searched for in the usual manner, I marveled at the art and skill required to create this modern version of one of the most famous strategies of the Mahabharatha, as well as once more thought of how incorrect I was in assuming that ingenuity and original thought was fast disappearing in Indians.
I resolved from then on in never to believe any one spreading canards that India was Not Progressing, spread by the Enemies of the State or even the Foreign Hand, something that has always plagued us at all our failures but never has been, curiously enough, heard from at our triumphs.
When I contemplate that we are now building a much larger airport, at a greater distance from the city, my spine tingles with excitement at the scope afforded such ingenious administrators for a display of their talents, without having to rein it in due to lack of space or time, as currently they are. The vista of ingenuity and originality can then be broadened to equally vital areas of traffic control and transportation planning, and I can only state that I look forward to 2008 in pleasurable anticipation and make a resolution that I shall not step onto the Fatherland prior to its completion, so as to be fully able to enjoy the unique atmosphere of such a vastly superior experience.