Jottings - Slice of life - 437 ( The year 2020 for me - part 2)
I believe that a man should take stock of his life in time slices of decades, and not in years. A decade, in my view, is a good stretch of time to take a step back and look at the journey of the self — physically, intellectually, and emotionally. I have never seriously believed in New year resolutions. Except in few rare individuals who are able to translate new year goals into action, resolutions made on the spur and excitement of a New Year’s Eve are often jumpy, impulsive, and frivolous with no greater goal in mind than few days of psychological satisfaction on having done the “right thing”. Not that I haven't indulged in this exercise myself, but was fortunate enough to realize the futility of it soon enough.
In 2020, I reached the end of my forties, and certainly one of the most transformative decades of my life thus far. When I look at this period, I cannot help but feel, that my previous decades of existence, with all their youthful follies, emotional turmoils, and intellectual peregrinations, were merely a preparation, an eclectic mix of experiences leading up to this decade to reveal the design and purpose, that I have been seeking all along, but never managed to grasp until this time. As this decade draws to a close, I can confidently say: “ I am beginning to know myself” — an affirmation and a vindication of the old Socratic oracle, depending on which part of the world you come from. I am starting to see the contours of my life clearly delineated: How it was, how this came to be, and where is it going. Like a stream that begins at some distant origin, meanders its way through forests, deserts, and flatlands and suddenly gains momentum as the ocean approaches, life also follows a similar trajectory as the self, through reading and experiencing, expands to a point when it is able to perceive reality with a more open mind. It needs the sweep of time, the depth of introspection, and the breadth of lived or read experience to gain that perspective. In this sense, a decade worth of life is perhaps the right chunk of chronological time to give us the time and maturity to gain such perspective — unless one is a mystic, in whom the veil of ignorance seems to serendipitously drop away without any effort.
With no travel at all and my entire home library at my disposal, the year 2020 has been one of the most fulfilling years of diverse reading. I regularly woke up around 4:30 AM, to do some reading and writing before the work-day began. I have been an autodidact as far as I can remember. There isn’t a subject that doesn’t interest me. In the spirit of the French encyclopedists of the 18th Century, I attempt to study life from different angles and find a holistic integration among all. Such a reading discipline has helped me connect the dots, and liberated me, slowly and methodically, from the narrow confines of my narrow self to wider circles of understanding. If a topic or a book grips my imagination, I sought the book out on eBay, Amazon, book stores, or antique book collectors. This is my only vice these days, so I don't shirk away from it. I agree with Alberto Manguel, the great Argentina reader and writer when he said: “Every reader exists to ensure for a certain book a modest immortality. Reading is, in this sense, a ritual of rebirth.” How true! Every book, if chosen and read well and immersively, irrevocably shifts the center of the self within. Every work of fiction broadened my emotional empathy, refined my sensibility, and gave birth to new perspectives. This year, I re-read many classics ( some for them for the third or fourth time) - Dickens, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Henry James, and DH Lawrence, and of course Virginia Woolf - whose brooding genius always has a special place in my heart. It is amazing how every reading brings out the beauty of their prose, unveils a new layer of meaning and a polymorphic resonance to one’s own growing inner maturity. I also read Hillary Mantels’s, Cromwell trilogy, in the order, it was written. In the annals of Historical fiction, this trilogy will perhaps remain unsurpassed. Mantels’ art has reached its apogee in this work. I wonder how much better can one ever write prose?
The highlight of this year’s reading, however, was my sixth reading of Douglas Hofstadter’s brilliant and cryptic book “ Godel, Escher, and Bach”. Published in 1979, this book explores the mathematical underpinnings of the emergence of the “self” and insights into the nature of Artificial intelligence — an area, over the years, I have come to be deeply interested in. GEB is not an easy book to read or digest. Like the fugue’s of Bach, the logic and rationality of the presentation unravel itself in contrapuntal sequences, until a shift in thought crystallizes in the reader’s mind, suddenly illumining a hitherto complex progression of ideas; if that instance is missed, the meaning is lost until we begin reading again. Therefore, one has to approach GEB as a sacred text, with the humility to start over again many times. I started the book in May this year and completed the study by July. This time around, the message was crystal clear. After years of intellectual tilling, my mind was fertile for the seeds of rigorous mathematical proofs that DH so beautifully presents in this heavy tome ( around 900 pages). No wonder, this book is taught as a course in many universities. It needs a certain bent of mind and persistence to wade through it.
One of my goals was to take a deep dive into the world of Data Science, especially the area of neural networks and machine learning. Early in my study, I realized if deep learning ( also called neural networks) was an attempt to mimic the workings of the human brain, then, I should first have an understanding of how the brain functions. Therefore, over the past few years, I have been teaching myself the fundamentals of neuroscience. The works of Oliver sacks, Antonio Damasio, Ramachandran, and Rudolfo Llinas, gave me the necessary understanding and helped juxtapose the emerging ideas in Machine learning with the way the brain learns. When the context is clear, the algorithms become easier to appreciate. This study has been as fascinating as it has been revelatory. For instance, I realized that the concept of “I” which is fundamental to any philosophical speculation or metaphysical discussion, needs nothing extraterrestrial ( God included) to explain it. In the swirling vortex of electrical impulses that make up the human brain, the development of the “I” as a by-product of a homeostatic state that has no real existence by itself, led me to revisit the ancient texts of India - the Vedanta — in a new light.
Enough said about books and reading. There is another interest that found more expansion this year — and that is music. In the midst of the pandemic, I found deep meaning and solace in Hindustani and Western classic compositions. I am a great fan of Vinyl records and invested in good recordings, especially of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, and Mendelssohn. I strongly believe that listening to music on Vinyl is an experience that cannot be captured in the digital format. Digitalized music is, no doubt, accessible and easy to carry around; but when one is at home, why should one worrying about transportation. Some of my best professional work this year happened with the strings and horns and flutes of symphonies coloring the background, and the static noise from the records punctuating the music every now and then.
Will continue more with Part 3.
God bless…
yours in morality,
Bala
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