Of (whispering) cabbages and (prescient) kings

some of us never outgrow our childhood conception of animated plants and talking animals.

many fairy tales star animals, don't they.

like the three little pigs and the hungry wolf growling, "... little pig, little pig, let me in"

anthropomorphism is human, i suppose.

i have never grown out of my idea of eloquent animals and wise trees. which is why, i was over joyed with this recent news report.

(Click here) Hedge your bet, plants "talk"

unfortunately, there is as much of a skeptic in me as the believer, and i am eager to learn more about the research.

hoping it is true.

Grandma's lullaby, now world music

The mobile recording studio of the Playing For Change music project has a charming version of this melodic Telugu folksong, chanda mama. See the finely enmeshed video with an international ensemble of musicians.

The interesting project recently started its fourth music school in Africa. The school is located a village of Kirina in Mali with a rich oral tradition of music and poetry (but without electicity).

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Maps by the garage-indie-rock band has been my earworm this morning.

Their beautiful frontwoman Karen O with her many on and off-stage guises, along with the monk in comparison drummer Brian Chase and the guitarist Nick Zinner are clean strokes of fresh paint on the contemporary music collage.

Karen O is a stylist's delight. Enjoy the figurine diva perform Maps, on vevo.

language of sand

Kseniya Simonova gushes our emotions with just a handful of sand.

Here is her sand animation of the great patriotic war, courtesy youtube.

language of stone

the ah-ha moment for me the last visit to Orissa was not when i was jostled by thousands of rapturous devotees at the rath yatra. it was fortuitous indeed to have a two week field-trip right when caged gods were given their annual day out.

it was not my four hour long bonding with my rickshaw driver, which ended at midnight, us staring at burning bodies in the crematorium, chugging old monk rum from a bottle. the living and the dead burning.

it was when i saw this face of the konark sun temple, where as Tagore puts it, "here the language of stone surpasses the language of man". this 13th century temple is evidence for trade links with africa. can you locate the giraffe? stop staring at amorous poses and see middle panel.

ah-ha revelations aside. that night at puri burial ground, the dead in flames, the quiet, mutual inebriation and the spontaneous friendships we make, will remain unforgettable.

Feet (feats) that stomped Hitler

Any talk of the 1936 Berlin Olympics will be supine without honors to the man of the hour, Jesse Owens. His feet spent very little time on the track-field and mostly rested on the highest step on the podium with four golds. Hitler refusing to shake the black man's hand is a moving tribute to the significance of his feat. Nonetheless, his was not the only feet that should be credited for spiting Hitler. Hitler's idea of supremacy took another blow on the footballing arena. These feet belonged to Teodoro "Lolo" Fernandez.

Germany had an early exit in the first round games and Hitler had to rely on his birthplace Austria to salvage any pride. In the play-offs, Austria lead 2 - 0 against Peru in the first half. Peru equalized in the next half and slammed two more goals in extra time. Lolo sealed the fate with a goal in the last minute.

The political repercussions of these events are noted in history, and debatable. The immediate reaction was the `Fuhrer' forcing a rematch for foul play. The Peruvian team refused and the whole contingent of the country's athletes withdrew in protest. The event may not be invoked as often as Owen's track blitzkrieg but Lolo is fondly remembered in his homeland Peru. Outside his club team Universitario de Deportes, his statue stands in testimony.

intensity

I cannot stand another afternoon ennui. Give me back my acuity. My thirst.

Would Wagner have borne such weariness and yet written those epic operas? Would the prototypical renaissance man Michelangelo been all that he was and still managed to go through the drudgery of days like this?

Pray, get me out of this.

Self-medication: Three shots of espresso and Baroque music.

Superheroes: The incorruptible Sainath

I respect Orwell. Almost everything about that man is compelling. I side step his works of fiction for the moment and only take up his journalism. The compassion, clarity and reflection in his writing is of high order. He faced the unpleasant facts, before he wrote about them. One has to only read Down and Out to appreciate the keen intelligence, energy, articulation and artistry in one man.

The rural reporter P Sainath belongs to that sparsely populated order. He is the voice of India. Of the real India, the poor India, the starving India. The passionate dinner talk titled "Mass Media, Mass Reality" he delivered a few years ago when I was a graduate student in JNU, remains unforgettable.

Let us celebrate the rock star of Indian journalism. A man with no fear and only loathing for the hypocrisy of the India-only-shining mirage.

Thunder

Woke up at a bolt from the blue. Loud.

2.51 am.

I wonder what causes a thunderstorm?

Are the gods playing with a mortar and pestle.

Heat

All in all, a dog day. The dehydration began early. On my second milestone biking to school my tees were soaked and stuck to the back like plastic on hot metal. I had 3 more miles on this burning road.

When you begin a school-day by collapsing on the lounge attempting to channel fluids over a parched tongue, 'listless' is a safe prognosis. Today, prediction bang on.

The demolition of every ounce of morale was complete with a two hour soccer stint. The humidity and heat seem to hack the insides of my soul while the wise choice of wearing no socks under the brace lacerated my right foot.

Now, this minute, the rains are coming down outside. Some mercy.

I should check on arugula and spinach in the garden, first thing tomorrow. I fear fatality from the heat today.

el cambio loco el mundo

What would you expect from a man who turns around and pulls his pants down on an audience?

Nothing less than the turn around of drug war-torn Bogotá to the "Athens of South America".

That man is Anatanas Mockus, two time Mayor of Bogotá and now front runner for the Colombian Presidential elections 2010.

A brief article on his scorching life.

Highly recommend watching this one-hour documentary, courtesy youtube.

"Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do."

-- Steve Jobs

an old sore

a long-time friend, did something only long-time, interwoven yet impaling congeniality can do... sent me a link to this musty blog. she could instead have summoned brutus.

dog (y)eared link

i abashedly revive an old sore with honest incisions. i revive the feeling of eviscerating discontent when i am at the writing desk. only equaled in pain from the poverty of what i write. i feel muggle-born in a world filled with magicians of prose.

i wish i was humpty-dumpty, who reminds alice in this fondest work of fiction Alice in Wonderland,

"When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean, nothing more and nothing less "

in the least, the surgical incisions will lay me bare. towards that unbearable lightness of being.

surprised and ecstatic!

The nobel committee has redeemed itself with the wise choice of placing "good judgement and deeper understanding over mathematical rigor and convention" awarding Ostrom and Williamson.

"...surprised and deeply humbled"

I was surprised and deeply intrigued by the award committee's algorithm for anointing nominees as nobel laureates. I recouped in a couple of minutes on realization that this was the 'peace' prize and often awarded with motives rather than candidate's credentials. That is, the committee's expectations about future work by the awardee and how much the recognition could further such efforts. History of nobel peace is replete with evidence for such criteria: the Gore-IPCC award for being climate change cassandras in 2007, Arafat et al in 1994 and Kissinger in 1973 comes to mind.
Obama does score huge points for the strategic intent criteria. He has inherited a host of problems as he stepped into office, has a hysteric fan base within the US (and outside) willing to dream along or be swayed by his `charm and speech', has laid out a series of peace plans he intends to meet deadlines on, and someone who would want to merit (or seem like) high honors. His acceptance statements seems to be indicative: does not "view it as a recognition of my own accomplishments," but rather "call for action".

Alright, kudos Obama.

Funny thing this morning

I have been reading Krugman's book "The Conscience of a Liberal" the last couple of days. And a funny thing did happen this morning.

Disobeying the law of diminishing marginal utility

The Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility (DIMU) will be found in any undergraduate text in economics within the first few pages. The law stems from everyday experiences - the second serving of sesame chicken at a Chinese Buffet is not tasty as the first was (the reason buffets thrive), the first gulab jamun (those into Indian desserts would attest) after a meal is heavenly, each one after brings one back to earth. After a dozen jamuns, I am willing to bet, even a sweet toothed aficionado would rather eat his words. In sum, DIMU means that each additional intake is less good than the one before.

Some of my friends would point a finger at me as a standing (more apposite, binging) exception to the rule, when I am out drinking beer. Downing each pint of New Belgian "1554" seems to make it crispier, spiced deeper, darker and subtler - or so they charge I claim. And they are right. But there is truncation here - there is probably a point after which I cant tell between beer and batter (~ 15 pints) and a threshold when I call it a day (in other words - pass out, > 25).

I am straying again, my point was to accord the aberration accolade to music. Albums, songs, scores... Anyone spending a few hours listening to music would have experienced how Jimi Hendrix playing Voodoo Child sounded sweeter as you replayed it more. Or how Wagner's Tristan und Isolde got sublime as you tab on replay. Bob Dylan's new album Tell Tale signs is available to be heard entirely (both CD's) on NPR. The website says it will be available for listening until the CD release in stores and online. Wisely so, the label manager has is economics right - the assumptions in economics are just that, assumptions.

I am waiting to see how the album fares. Alas, I have to identify the counter factual.

Of matters, Tall and Short

I would like to be a couple of inches taller.

Early nutrition, I learn from a spate of articles is critical here. Europeans are now taller than Americans writes Krugman. North Koreans have been stunted as the South Koreans have risen in stature. The pronounced difference in height between the two countries is evidenced with a paper using data on North Korean escapees.

My fellow graduate student Sarah Adelman uses height as an identification strategy for early nutrition in her work on health in Africa.

I should have had those okra and spinach dished out by my mother.

Capitalism and caste

A recent NY times piece hints that economic reforms in India may have uplifted many "outcastes" and given them multiple opportunities. Although the life and work of Chandra Bhan Prasad is truly inspiring, the leit motif of capitalism inducing positive for all underprivileged classes raises many questions in my mind.

Becker sees it as further vindication for his theory of discrimination.

Nevertheless, cheers to Prasad, the fiery crusader

Bee-eaters: Males, show-offs and females, statisticians

A friend who shares my interest in evolutionary design sent me an interesting link on bee-eaters from this issue of National Geographic. As typical of the magazine, a series of stunning photographs of bee-eaters by Jözsef L. Szentpéteri. Staring at this picture, the male tossing its catch, preparing a meal before making the offering to the female, I could not help drawing an analogy. To me its seems like an aesthetic abstraction of homo sapiens sapiens males tossing a fried egg up in the air from the pan directed to a female in the vicinity (or practicing for it) - going for the oomph quotient. No escape from the evolutionary hardwiring for males. So flaunt it, do it in (birdie) style.

Often times voracious bee-eater females are known to test males if they can bring a second bug. If he returns as the ornithologist Hilary Fry notes, "nearly always accepts the offering, quickly eating" and then consenting to copulate. Is it unlike checking for statistical significance? Female bee-eaters care for males who can wrench a robust bug mid-air with acrobatic ease, not for those who got lucky with a frail sloppy bug. Show me you can do it again and we can take it forward from there.

Eat your cake and have it

Long since, logical debate besets this phrase. Phrase finder puts it at 1546, attributing its provenance to Englishman, John Heywood. I do have a dating fetish.

I see no problem with "have one's cake and eat it too" - necessary to have a cake to eat it. One can buy it, eat it. Or bake it, eat it. Even bum it, eat it. You may have noticed a pattern. Got to have it before you eat it. Simply sequential. Or if you buy now, eat later -- inter-temporal. I learn that Ted Kaczynski used the original and confounding (as in title) phrase in his letter, which helped trace his identity. That phrase befuddles me. So I quit, but not before I celebrate the sine qua non for this posting, the classic sibling game for cake division.

Two siblings are left with a quarter slice of a cake. Who gets how much? The smarter of the two comes up with this, "One cuts, the other picks".

The result is clean. The one choosing to cut would make it squarely (not an apposite word, I realize) equal. Else the other would choose the bigger chunk.

Love cakes.

"qu'ils mangent de la brioche" - Marie Antoinette