chaotic order

Jottings - Slice of life - 200 ( Dr Stephen Hawking - an extraordinary life in science (1942 - 2018 and evermore) Sir Isaac Newton said “ If I have looked further than others, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants”. This statement stands completely vindicated in the frail, ill man - Dr Stephen Hawking, who occupied his professorial chair in Cambridge for 30 odd years from 1979. Dr Hawking certainly looked much, much further and deeper into the mysteries of the Universe than his venerated predecessor ever had a chance. In his death yesterday, it was not merely a glorious life in science that ended, but with him ended a personality who epitomized resilience, audaciousness, an indomitable sense of will, purpose and curiosity. After Albert Einstein’s path breaking view of time and space in early 20th century and his search for an unified theory, it was Stephen hawking who picked the gauntlet, and strode ahead . The work Einstein had left unfinished was advanced a great deal by t

Jottings - slice of life - 199 ( A narrative on dying and death - Dr Sherwin Nuland’s classic) There are innumerable books on How to live, but very few on How to die. It is strange why not, considering our entire lives are spent relentlessly stalling death, insuring against it, working to leave a mark beyond it, trying not to think about it or building strong theories on surviving it. Yet, there is no proper literature which speaks about those last moments of life before the body becomes inanimate, shrunken, useless and - starkly lifeless. Though millions die each day; our near and dear ones slip away at a steady rate, and we consciously feel our own bodies losing their vitality each passing day - we still don’t wish to look at death straight on the face, understand and study its manifestations and accept it for what it is. One of the brutally philosophic compositions in world religions - the Bhaja govindam - of Shankara, encapsulates the stupidity of not seeing death as a great

( Jottings - Slice of life - 198, The passing of a social activist and a sage - in that order respectively) In the emotion charged atmosphere of Sridevi’s unexpected death last week, one more death happened quietly, without as such fanfare as hers. Of course, the man who died was not an actor, or politician or public icon in the sense Sri was, but in his own way, he did create a bit of drama and excitement - enough to rock a spiritual establishment ,which traces its way back to Adi Shankaracharya , the reviver and resuscitator of Hinduism centuries ago. Swami Jayendra saraswati, the 69th Pontiff of the Kanchi Kamakoti math, died peacefully this Tuesday at a hospital at a good age of 83. His tenure as head of one of the most popular and revered spiritual hubs, consecrated by Shankara himself, was strange in many ways. To understand his position and place, one needs to trace the origins of Shankara’s maths across the country, and what they stood for. The date of Adi Shankara has al

Jottings - slice of life - 197 ( An icon passes away . Sridevi (1963 - 2018)) Sometimes it is better for a great artist to die relatively young. It is divinely ordained. Especially, in visual arts like cinema, when an actor has found abiding fame, unshakeable public opinion, and lighted the fantasies and entertained millions through their youthful presence and superior art, it would be tragic to watch them wither away in time, lose that youthful beauty, shrink into old age, slowly sidelined by patrons and directors and finally leave the stage when all is finished and nothing more is expected. On the contrary, when they die young, at the prime of their lives, having achieved so much in so little a time, with so many more promises to fulfill and dreams to weave, then such a death leaves an indelible mark in time, never to be erased. They are framed for posterity. Can we ever conceive of a Marilyn Monroe as anything other than the sultry, ethereal beauty we see in innumerable picture

Jottings - Slice of life - 196 ( The rivalry which changed the face of Tennis: Borg Vs McEnroe) On a cold wintery afternoon, July 5th 1980, two men, so unlike each other in every aspect of their personality, upbringing and game, walked to the center court of Wimbledon grounds to play out the final match of most prestigious tournament on earth. It was to be a defining moment in the game of Tennis. The game, which had its origins in the leisurely lawns of the affluent, and blossomed into gentlemanly sport embracing qualities of restraint, politeness and leisure, had in the course of the twentieth century transformed itself into professional business.The facade of upper class conduct were slowly falling away, and men and women were beginning to play the game for the money it offered and the fame it bought. Yet Purists, still held on to old notions of the sport. Baseline rallies, long leisurely games, impeccable behavior on court, respect and dignity were still considered the cherished

Jottings - Slice of life - 193 ( An answer to a question) A few days ago, I received an email from a young reader as response to my essay on symbols and the Helen Keller story. After describing his interest in what I write, and how he would read my essays more than once, he went on to conclude his short email with a question: He asked “ Bala, I have been meaning to ask you this question for months now; but didn’t think it was appropriate. But this time, I had to ask. Why do you sign off your posts with “Yours in mortality”. That seems strange. Because , people generally wish for oneself and others immortality, infinity, everlasting peace, God and such like; but you are different. Is there a reason you choose to use the word mortality, or is it just that you wish to be different. Pardon me, if this seems an impertinent question? but if you think, there is merit in asking this, I am curious to know, if you wish to share…” It was a simple enough question, and I am not sure how many

Jottings - Slice of life - 192 ( musings on sound and meaning of words and symbols. The Helen Keller story, its film adaptions) The miraculous connection between the word and thing is one of wonder, and it is at the same time the essence of language and communication. Somehow, in a manner mysterious and profound, human brains are wired to make linguistic connections spontaneously at the age of two or three. At a seminal moment within first two years of a child's growth, in an event that really cannot be predicted, but which all parents wait for with palpitating expectation, the round shaped, rubbery "thing" their little baby held in its hands and played with, and the word "Ball" they have uttered innumerable times to describe it, becomes categorically and irrevocably wired in the child's brain. From that moment on, the word ball, articulation of it, and the thing itself become one, and the baby all of sudden stumbles upon what we call "meaning"