A joyful peek into a mind at play - A book review

A gross misappropriation that the modern world is likely guilty of is to assume one’s professional capability as one’s own identity.  And this isn’t only because one need not be limited by our professional avatar because we too often take our masquerading avatar at workplace too seriously. Nearly everyone who reads this piece is an engineer. But are you really one or you are masquerading to be one? This book holds an introspective mirror if we are worthy of our professional identity through the example of one of the world’s greatest scientist, Dr Claude E Shannon (1916-2001).

One of my professor’s favourite line was, science is not a profession. It is a way of life, which an individual is incapable of switching it off at home and turning the fountain of creativity on at will. This book captures the life of a genuine scientist, the joy de vivre associated with a life in science. Shannon is considered as the father of information theory and his contributions to modern day computer science are frequently compared with the brilliant minds of Turing and Von Nuemann. Shannon’s 1948 papers on “A mathematical theory of communication” is widely acknowledged as one of the seminal works towards the creation of modern internet and credited with starting a field on its own.

The book traces a biographical account of Shannon from his early days in Michigan, rural southern USA, his parents influence on him and extensively documents the various experiments of a young Shannon in high school. Think of a Dexters Lab. No, seriously! Brick and mortar experiments, not abstract experiments. As it becomes evident through the book, these science experiments are a common recurring theme in Shannon’s life and help shape Shannon, the genius of a scientist. There isn’t a serious Shannon divorced from the playful experiments at the basement of his home. After a first failed marriage to a leftist activist, Shannon marries Betty a technician at Bell labs who remains his constant companion in all his work and even the various wonderful experiments at his home. The author provides a vivid account of the various experiments – elevators, automatic maze beating mouse, Theseus and an automatic chess playing machine. Shannon truly is a scientist who does justice to the title of the book, a mind at play.

The book leaves us with an impression of Shannon, a mind for which the entire world is a playground and every problem but a puzzle. And he did solve one of the world’s toughest problems of the era – the limits of information theory. For most of us engineers, Shannon’s theorems are but a passing chapter or another course in the syllabus. This book provides an insight into the science and engineering of that era, the corresponding efforts of other scientists and how in this background Shannon’s efforts are magnanimous. Though one could argue there is a timelessness to Shannon’s work, the author’s picture of the 1940s provides for a wonderful backdrop. With more scientific knowledge and history of other scientists of the era, a more informed reader than me, am sure will get much more from the book. Infact, I think many scientists hold that the era of the Russell, Godel, Turing, Von Neumann, Shannon et. Al. was one of the liveliest eras for computer science and math punctuated with landmark results compressed within a short span.

This book leaves you wondering, are you really a scientist?

Crushes, life after 27

I am 27. That makes me old to have been smitten by a few crushes. It also makes me old enough not to write about crushes. The age also affords me the luxury to indulge in the warm remniscing of my crushes with fond nostalgic eyes. Affectionate feelings for the crushes don’t translate positively to the process of crushing, in itself. I am scared of the uncertainty involved. Every crush has changed me, mostly for the better. Any change, though is painful. Some crushes made me a better speaker(somewhat!), some others a feminist. At the least, it has made me a more rounded person than before. One of the most heartwarming incidents was when, a crush said I've been trying too hard to be an asshole and perhaps, I wasn't one. And I really did believe her.
To think of it, who are crushes?To me, these are examples whom I wish to emulate, by whom I am smitten and are better examples of humanity than me. They are myself, I see in the future. But, I am scared of change and by extension, I am scared of developing a crush. Age, one assured oneself granted immunity against crushes. The receding hairline, one supposed repelled the women I admire. And a wit, which only I think can even be called wit!
But, strikes it does every time, with a vengeance. Even, at this age.  Initially, one just laughs it off. After all, isn’t all this for the teens? Like waiting for a message, sounding nervous when you meet the person. You assure yourself, “No, I am not nervous. This wasn’t how it was the last time, when being crushed”. And indeed it wasn’t like this, the last time a crush happened. Because, every crush is different and it is exactly why crushes, by definition are so attractive. Yet, I can slowly find myself opening up to her, one message at a time. Revealing the silliness of me, which isn’t guarded by anything better in the first place.  I am now scared and concocting theories of how this can’t be a crush and how it is a logical impossibility. And to be fair, my theory is logically sound too.
But, when were crushes dictated by logic?

A girl, a crush and a phone

As I left for office yesterday, It felt like the day before. Or the day before it. Or the day before the day before. My companion for the day, the laptop tucked in, the handkerchief to give sinus company and the identity card to help my company “authenticate” me before entering “their” campus. 100 re. for food. A good 10 minutes before the cab would arrive, I was on road. Yet, something felt incomplete. And then it dawned, I had forgotten my phone at home.

               Two years ago, I treaded the same path to catch my college bus. And as soon as I stepped away from the glare of my mom who would anxiously remind me about the 15 re .(Yes, that is how much I carried to college everyday) still lying on the table or the handkerchief I would slowly slip the mobile out. And look into it all the way till I reached college.

7.30: Good morning 

              And wait for the next few seconds staring at the phone. Has she not started yet? Why did not she reply? Should I reply back asking whatsup! Or does she not have balance? OR Is she angry? Did I tell something yesterday to upset her?  As if her world depended on me!

7.33: Ain’t the weather like you? Teasing and threatening to pour with a little prod! Whats up!

              And I press the button SEND instinctively. Sometimes a reply would come within the next 30 secs. Sometimes 40.  A second more and I would go back to sent items to check if I sent something offensive. Something stupid was acceptable. Or was she busy with someone else? Did I show my desperation to talk by texting a minute earlier? How much longer should I wait.

              Every SMS might have had a maximum limit of only 150 characters and costed at most 10 paise. (I was clever enough to never text on holidays!) But, it costed me a lot more thoughts, a lot more time. They say love happens at first sight. Sometimes, love happens over the first SMS. And most crushes after the first conversation. After half a decade of exhausting my free messaging limit, perhaps it is time to reflect on how texts affected me and how different it is from other mediums of communication and kadallai putting.  

              The beauty of texting is the intimacy in the conversations.  That extra second to digest a message and feel it before replying back.  That second when your crush sets your heart aflutter with a brilliant bit of wordplay to tease you. When you know you made her smile even if it is at the cost of making you look stupid.  Back in the days of failing internet, telephone was never a great option. However hard the poets might have tried to romanticize silence, middle class economics surely rubbished the theory. With a phone, there was a fear of dad asking, “Yaaru pa avallavu nerram phone le!” (Dai, who is it on phone for so long!). A fear of the balance getting exhausted before the phone’s charge drained out. And most importantly, the pressure to initiate a new topic.  When you are texting, there is that extra second to reply to that conversation killer, “LOL!”, “hmmmm” with something better! Something to keep her talking.  To dream about the tone of her replies. To wonder if she indeed is laughing after the last “LOL!”.  Every sms is a small story in itself. Every conversation, a small part of the larger story.

              Way back in the third year of my engineering, I recollect watching this movie “Happy Days” with her.  Not in the same theatre, not on the same computer. In our homes. Commenting on scenes in between. Making comparisons of the characters in the movie with our friends. So much to talk about, so much to discuss, so much to debate we thought! It was like watching the movie together. Perhaps, it is not. I have never gone to a theatre with anybody.  Bitching about the guy sitting next to us in classroom under his nose. No, we did not have to bitch about him. Did not mean it.  We needed something to talk. And then her mock anger. Her refusal to talk sweetly, but not stopping to reply. One of the first heuristics to differentiate real anger from the mock ones.

              Texting might not allow you to share photos. Or to type longer paragraphs. We did not have to use pixels to prove a lie. But wove beautiful lies around smaller lies. To entertain and be entertained. An extended conversation with different people across different hours of the day. The phone might have turned silent today. The memories refuse to.

              

Every Class has a….

Contrary to most people, I find the classes at IIITB very interesting. Because, it’s a class of 150 students(not sure, if all the 150 students are human only. I do know some vampires who do not sleep!!), there are a large number of samples whom you can observe to keep yourself amused!(According to a certain GNS Prasanna, increasing the accuracy 10% requires 100 samples.) Err, Before you draw your conclusions, I am not talking about chick watching!! None that way have arrested my eyes still..;)

While, our UG classes were composed of a more homogenous group of ‘kids’, this class can roughly be classified into groups with certain defined characteristics.

1. THE GYAANIS!

This breed of students is the “who’s who” of the class according to the lecturers. Typically, these folks have a work experience of 2 years working in a huge company..(That’s a different story that they got extremely frustrated there to return to academics.!)

How to identify them?

Their eyes are fixed either on the black board…err..smart board or the lecturer and there is an unfailing head nod for every brilliant point that the lecturer makes. They laugh, but only when the lecturer cracks a joke! The only time, they will be seen talking to their neighbor is when the lecturer has ‘explicitly’ asked them to talk to their neighbours.

2. The Wannabe Gyaanis!(The HeadBangers!!)

This is the most interesting breed of characters you can find in the class. This clan’s motive and objectives are as diverse as the methods they employ to prove their Gyaani quotient!

If you just had a glance at them, I wouldn’t be surprised if you mistook the class for a rock concert. Infact, Newton could well be proved wrong about the ‘perpetual motion machine’! Their hands are perennially in simple harmonic motion throughout the class, and I mean it. If you are unfortunate enough to sit besides them, you are also sure that you wont be able to sleep inside the class. These folks constantly have this “Oh!!”…”sss…..”..”Ok!!OK!!” reaction and the decibel levels are adjusted precisely enough for the lecturer to be able to hear it.Some of the other common characteristics in this group is laughing like it’s the first time they have heard a joke when a teacher is rebuking a student, having that *How can you do this!!* look when they see someone snoring in class??

3. Type Writer

This group theoretically, does not have an independent existence of its own and could potentially belong to any group, with a very high probability of belonging to either of the first 2 groups. Btw, I will better stop commenting on these people because on the eve of exams, the best thing to read is inevitably their notes..:P

4. The Sleeping Buddha

Now, this is my favourite group of people for the simple fact that unless they start snoring are the least annoying of all. For one, they do not make me feel guilty of wasting time in their class. That’s a different story about why they sleep in class. A couple of them because, I hear they were debugging a 2000 lined C code, a few after reading the research papers all night, and most of them because they felt the teacher was trying this best to put them to sleep. Did I mention someone dreaming about his gal?:P

Overall, these are the ‘nice’ guys of the class.

5. LiveWire

This is one of the rare breeds of students in class who are extremely vulnerable to being punished by teachers and being hated by the nerds. These noble souls do the yeoman service of trying to convert The Sleeping Buddhas into any of the other class of students through their occasionally witty jokes. However, on their off days, it is extremely tough to tolerate the various Pjs that they generate with such tremendous regularity.

Oops, Last but not the least, there is also a certain guy who is so jobless to ‘observe’ whats happening in the class, and not whats happening with the lecturer!