First video!

My daughter has just made her first full project with Windows Movie Maker, all by herself - no one showed her how to - and using stuff she had on the computer as well as things she had downloaded from the Net. The subject, as you will see, couldn't be closer to my heart. Enjoy!

Food for thought

On consumerism and its attendant evils, see this article.

On how you can enjoy more while spending less, see this.

And on how one of my all-time favourite authors, Charles Dickens, has suddenly acquired a new relevance and appeal in this day and age, read this.

Those who like to think about serious issues and find food for thought in this blog will, I am sure, enjoy all this reading. And be able to see the connections...

Looking back again...

My blog’s third birthday is coming up. As any avid reader will have noticed, I have been writing steadily if not too much, and keeping that up over three years without a break in the midst of a seven-days-a-week work schedule and trying to run a family well is not an easy thing to do, especially if you take writing seriously. Now it is once again time to take stock.

What am I getting out of it? To start with, this is not a money-making venture; nor is it designed to get some publicity – I don’t need it either for my pocket or for my ego, and in any case hardly any blog-writer earns much publicity unless he or she is famous in the real world already. My only purpose was to share my thoughts, experiences, feelings and opinions on a variety of subjects with like-minded people, mainly old boys and girls who have liked me all along, and their like-minded friends: a way of keeping in touch more meaningfully than you can do on so-called social networking sites on the Net. And what have I got so far?

Well, on the plus side, writing has always been a form of stress-busting meditation for me, a far better way of enjoying whatever leisure time I have than lots of things I see people doing, so in that regard my blog helps me to pursue my hobby happily. I have always been a diary writer (well, at least since I was seven), and now I write parts of my diary on the internet, that’s all. In addition, my blog has put me back in touch with quite a few old friends and ex-students whom I thought I had lost for good. It has won me a few genuine admirers too, both from those who already knew me (but apparently not well enough) and some complete strangers, whose occasional messages of appreciation, congratulation or thanks truly warm my heart. The best of these people keep sending me ideas about what they want me to write about next, and I am thankful to them. It is always a good feeling, too, to know that someone somewhere has been informed, encouraged or comforted by something that I had written.

On the flip side, this experience has taught me to grow a thick skin. The cyberworld, just like the real world, is filled with a lot of unpleasant people: those who have nothing to say, and lots of time to say it – those who are so much at a loose end and hate you so much that they would post abuse anonymously again and again, or assume silly pseudonyms and create temporary blogger profiles only for the strange pleasure of writing abuse, even though they know their comments will hardly ever be read (because I have said here before that I routinely delete comments from anonymous sources and from people with pseudonyms without opening them), leave alone being published. I have learnt to shrug at this phenomenon and carry on as if I haven’t noticed. After all, in this country you have to turn a blind eye to so many things day in, day out – like people peeing by the roadside! I have also learnt (or rather, re-learnt) that it is very hard to find out what people are really like until you criticize them; anybody sounds nice as long as you are praising him or her to high heavens…

But these are not the people who really irritate me. Those who do are the ones who just send in one-liners, like ‘Hi! Nice post…’ or ‘I don’t agree with you.’ Just that, and nothing else. What I would love is genuine debate, something I have again and again mentioned as ‘feast of reason and flow of soul’. A good debate is like a good game; if you play it in the right spirit, it leaves you with a good sweat, and feeling reinvigorated, no matter whether you have won or lost, and you shake hands with your opponent before parting, without hard feelings on either side. And maybe you are even grateful for having been taught something of value in the course of the interaction. Alas, rare is the comment-writer who either understands a debate in that spirit or is keen and able to participate in one. That is one thing I have decided to accept, instead of lamenting all the time, but it’s hard.

So I guess I shall keep on writing, but, as some well-meaning folks have repeatedly told me, I shall write more for my own sake than for anyone else. If some reader doesn’t like it, I humbly ask him or her to stay away; if someone does like something and tells me about it, I shall be grateful as ever.

A warning and apology

It seems that someone hacked my gmail password, because some people have told me in the last few days they have received emails which I couldn't possibly have written. I am sorry if anyone has been given offence of any kind by the 'ghost' writer. I have since changed my password, but I am keeping my fingers crossed: it seems there's no real security on the Net, after all! If someone close to me gets some strange mail supposedly from me, please let me know: in person or over the phone.

You don't have to post any comments on this. This was for your information only.

Gathering dark...

It would be putting it mildly to say that I was horrified to read this news item in today’s newspaper. It would be better to say that I still keep reading the papers daily to see, in Max Weber’s words, ‘how much more of it I can take’.

A young woman in New Delhi conspired with her clandestine boyfriend to kill her mother in a barbaric fashion. This woman is a schoolteacher, and belongs to a 'normal' middle-class family.

Reflection no. 1: It would be worth pondering over what kind of a teacher she must be.

Reflection no. 2: One psychiatrist, who hasn’t examined her, has dubbed her just a criminal, but the police claim that she had been warped and goaded beyond endurance by a mother who had nagged her too badly for too long. Knowing how badly how many kids are nagged and bullied by their mothers all through their childhood and adolescence, I wonder what is the breaking point for a human being… when do all normal taboos and inhibitions break down? I do, do hope that a lot of mothers would read, or somehow get to know about this incident, and reflect on whether they need to mend their ways a bit.

Reflection no. 3: How many people will read this news item and pass over, glibly assuring themselves – ‘Oh, this was just an unfortunate aberration; we are different, and nice and good people, we’d never do things like that’? How few would like to find out (say, by talking to journalists, policemen and doctors/psychiatrists, as I found out in my youth) how frighteningly common such atrocities are all around us? It’s just like every rash driver thinking ‘an accident will never happen to me’, denying the stark reality that he knows a lot of people who have been killed or crippled in accidents, and hears about more such stories all the time!

Reflection no. 4: If this is what people do to their own families, why should anyone be shocked when they do ghastly things as teachers, or politicians, or whatever? After all, they are the same people still, aren’t they?

Reflection no. 5: Would this problem be neatly and fully 'solved' by hanging the murderer and her boyfriend?

Rain, and a new blog

The met. office has confirmed that the monsoon winds have hit the Kerala coast already, and right now, at 1610 hours, the sky overhead is dark with billow upon billow of the best sort of clouds, and it has been raining off and on since morning. I have no idea whether this is the real thing or a pre-monsoon shower or whatever, nor do I care – it is a treat to all the senses, and I am luxuriating. I love a rainy sky accompanied by lightning and deep rumbling thunder more than almost anything else, and I had almost started forgetting what it looked and sounded like, and now I can draw in lungfuls of the smell of warm, damp earth even as the squall drives the drizzle into my face and the freshly-bathed trees sway in the wind and the rain patters on a tin roof, and I am happy again after a long time. How truly has it been said that we often quite unnecessarily look for complicated philosophical explanations for feeling happy and sad, when the fact is that all we need is for nature to smile on us now and then. And how unfortunate are all those people around the world, however rich, who live in such artificial or constrained circumstances that they neither notice nor can thrill to the changing rhythms of the seasons!... in any case, after living through one of the most horrid summers in recent memory, I am looking forward to enjoying a long rainy season.

(2115 hours): A little news item titled ‘World’s oldest blogger dies at 97’ caught my eye in yesterday’s newspaper. I clicked here, and was charmed. Take a look at it yourself. It’s mostly written in Spanish, but there are snippets here and there in English, too, and in any case it was the idea that fascinated me: that a woman, thanks to a gift from her grandson, could find a very invigorating new way to live life richly at age 95, that her thinking aloud on life and living could draw so many visitors that she became an overnight celebrity meriting a personal visit from her country’s prime minister, that she was blogging away almost right up to her dying day… I am a keen blogger myself, and I envy her, and pray that her soul may rest in peace (or that she might be happily blogging away in some other dimension beyond space and time!). It would be a good thing indeed if I could bring the world into my room the same way in the years left to me. I wish that Indians had been keener readers and writers. If they had taken to the internet with the same alacrity that they have taken to the mobile phone, this blog would have been far better known, read and commented upon already. It is a pity that in such a gigantic country where so many people supposedly put a very high premium on ‘education’, so few people consider reading a great way to spend their time!

General elections

The people have spoken. Vox populi, vox dei!

I only wish to put on record that I am delighted with the results, not because I have ever been a diehard Congress supporter, not because I share the euphoria over the likelihood of Rahul Gandhi taking over soon as prime minister and things like that, but because:

1. It was high time that India’s future stopped being held at ransom by a motley group of half-baked, johnny-come-lately regional parties which have no vision, no significantly discernible goals beyond the gargantuan selfish ambitions of their very crude and petty leaders, no long-term plans, no clear understanding, even, of the needs and troubles facing India as a nation (rather than a congeries of sub-national identities…), and
2. It was more than essential and urgent that the rotten, sick, too-big-for-its-boots Left Front was cut down to size at the national level, and got a wake-up call at the state level in West Bengal. If they still don’t press the panic button, if they still don’t realise that the bell is tolling for them, if they still don’t eat humble pie, get back to square one and start retrospecting over, and correcting, everything that has gone badly wrong with their brand of politicking over the last three decades, they will richly deserve the drubbing and disaster that is waiting for them in the 2011 state Assembly elections (please see what I wrote here, especially the open letter I wrote to The Telegraph congratulating as well as warning the Buddhadev Bhattacharjee government after they won the state elections last time round).

I wish Mamata Banerjee good luck – she has earned it – and pray that statesmanlike good sense will prevail on her. I shall now sit back to watch what kind of alliance is cobbled together by Madam Sonia Gandhi and Manmohan Singh-ji to form the new government at the centre, and what sort of programme it chalks out for itself. Accordingly, I may write postscripts to this blogpost every now and then. Watch this space. And questions and arguments are welcome, of course…

Monkeys in Armani suits

Andrew Sheng is a scholar and high-level government official who has succinctly and hilariously explained how the recent global economic meltdown came about – as I wrote in this blog a while ago, it was basically brought about by all-round greed of the ‘monkey’ variety (read Sheng’s article). He has saved me a lot of trouble. For those of my readers who cannot wade through ‘sophisticated’ economic jargon to get to the heart of the matter, let me leave the assurance that it all happened exactly as Sheng has described: truth has always been stranger than fiction (or rather, great writers pick up cues from all the bizarre truths they see around them). Only, he might have explained the ‘herd instinct’ (which is, believe it or not, very strong among the rich and ‘educated’ – meaning MBAwallahs, of course, not the really wise) and ‘domino effect’ in a little more detail, though I guess that would have made the article drearily long, and robbed it of much flavour. And he might have quoted Abraham Lincoln, too: ‘You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all the people all the time’. Alas, hotshot MBAs thought they could! That is why that line at the end of Sheng’s article is priceless – a monkey in an Armani suit is still a monkey (I could sue him for stealing my line… this is something I have said a thousand times in my classes!). Such monkeys impress only other monkeys like themselves. The problem with the world today is that there are too many greedy monkeys around, all flaunting MBAs and the latest boys’ toys, and they manage to rise very high up the corporate ladder before people begin to find out how harmful such monkeys are… as the wag said, the only thing we learn from history is that we never learn anything from history (it is not just a pretty coincidence that as a rule those who aim to be MBAs already find history 'uncool' by early teenage)!

P.S., May 15: For those who still imagine MBAs know and do something worthwhile, here is an eye-opening link. Of course, those who don't want to have their eyes opened...! many thanks to Navin Rustagi for this link.

The other blog

While it is gratifying to see that the visit count and number of followers of this blog keep going up steadily, I really do think that my other blog (click here) deserves more visits, comments and followers!

Ghastly heat

It is the last day of April. I’m sure that when the poet wrote ‘April is the cruellest month’ he had other things in mind, but for me – and for a lot of people I know – this has been the cruellest month so far, in a very crude physical sense, not just in this year but in a very long time span. Summer does not agree with me, and the summers where I live, right on the edge of India’s blistering, sweltering tropical heartland, have never been pleasant in living memory, but (and I recently discovered that this is not my personal feeling alone – the Weather Office has confirmed my subjective estimate) this has been the nastiest summer yet, although summer has supposedly just begun!

Most humans can live comfortably only within a very narrow temperature range – between 10 and 35 degrees Celsius (a little below body temperature, that is). Although some, through the ingrained habit of countless generations, can tolerate either greater cold or greater heat a little better than most, sub-zero or above 45-degree temperatures begin to kill if you are exposed to the elements for too long – that is a hard universal fact. Strong winds or extremely high humidity make things very considerably worse. This year I began to sense that things were getting abnormal by the end of March: not only was it unpleasantly hot already, but (at least in my town, and more or less all over south Bengal) there had not been any significant rainfall for six continuous months! Then April came, and the horror began.

Day after day after day, one woke up to find that it was already too warm for comfort by seven in the morning, and the sun, which hurt your eyes even then, began to blaze with pitiless fury by eight. By ten, the roads were empty – nobody went out unless he or she absolutely had to – and all you could see was the dogs panting and looking for a patch of shade. By mid-day the house started feeling like an oven, and the only people out on the road were using umbrellas, or at least caps, and those on motorcycles (except the mad few who seemed immune!) had big handkerchiefs wound tighly around their faces, and sunglasses to ward off the glare. If there was a wind, it raised little dust storms. The schoolchildren came home exhausted, red and puffed in the face, and started going down with the pox, the measles or heat fever right and left – until (recently) the authorities took heed and did the sensible thing; brought the school hours forward, and then started giving early vacations.

We cannot stay upstairs in my house in the afternoons, even with the cooler going full speed (its efficiency varies very greatly from day to day, depending on how dry or wet the outside air is). Downstairs, I sweat with the poor kids I teach – or feel as though I am on fire on days when it is absolutely dry, the whole skin one gigantic itch, which grows worse if you scratch. All I can do to feel better is to thank my stars over and over again that I don’t have to make a living outdoors or running around most of the time, as so many people do, from hawkers of all sorts to bus drivers and traffic constables and factory workers who toil before open furnaces and news reporters and even supposedly ‘successful’ people like busy doctors I know who always have to be on the move: they can keep their success, I don’t envy them! One must be thankful, too, for small mercies – at least, unlike in so many places in this same country, I don’t suffer from shortage of water (it’s only three or four cool baths every day that’s keeping me alive, and drinking lots of iced water, though that’s taking a toll on the throat…) or long daily power cuts. I know there are lots of Indians who’d tell me ‘You’re in heaven, what are you cribbing about?’ I’d like to be somewhere close to Nainital or Mussoorie now, only a little higher, a little away from the din and bustle.

One might imagine that the evenings would be better, once the sun has gone down. But wait – something weird begins to happen with the brick and cement houses we live in. The walls begin to give off heat or something, so if you are indoors, you feel you are being cooked. The only relief is outdoors: after nine, if there’s a good breeze (as there has been these last few days), and you can sit on a high roof (third floor is good, fifth or sixth much better) after a bath and wearing as little clothing as possible, you can start breathing comfortably again – but going down for dinner is a nightmare. I have grown weak and ease-loving: I have spent decades tossing and turning on a hot bed sticky and smelly with sweat until the wee hours brought a little fleeting bit of relief, but now I cannot go to bed without the air-conditioner on. If there’s ever a really serious cash crunch in summer time, I’d sell off every other gadget I have around the house before I get rid of the fridge and the ‘a/c’. I am dreaming of the day when I can install an airconditioner in my classroom too: I’d have done it already if the local power facility could give me a strong assurance that the line can bear the load.

Then you wake up and it’s hot already as soon as you turn off the a/c, and you open the windows and the sun hurts your eyes again, and it’s already unpleasant to draw the dusty, muggy, foul air into your lungs. Day after day after day. There hasn’t been one single thundershower this whole month to give us all a few hours of blessed relief. After one wild prediction about a coming cyclone which went wrong, the met. office has gone all coy, hedging its bets, talking only about how it expects an almost-normal, on-schedule monsoon – though that is almost six weeks away, and there’s the terrible month of May to be gone through first. Heaven help us all.

Un-Indian? Anti-India?

Some people – even well-intentioned ones – have expressed concern that they have been reading too many anti- (or un-) Indian tirades on this blog. Well, I ask them to read this blogpost again. I wrote it more than two years ago, expressing my dreams about the kind of India that I would like to see, and the prospects of those dreams coming true are fading before my eyes: if I lament that, does that make me un- or anti-Indian?

Forget about matters relating to high culture and things of the spirit (the sort of things that Rammohun Roy and Gandhi and Tagore thought the world should learn about from India): can we say that we are doing well even materially speaking? The last time I was in the US was 18 years ago, and I saw long rows of shelves in shopping malls stacked with all kinds of goods, from shampoo to dolls to cameras, made in Taiwan or China or Hongkong, and I remember telling people that I would like to come back to see that they had all been replaced by things made in India. And I would love to see lots of Indians getting Olympic golds and Nobel Prizes every time. And that India does not routinely feature as one of the poorest and most corrupt nations of the world. And that educated Indians drool over jobs with American MNCs no longer. In these 18 years, nothing has changed that can make me glad. What is the point in pretending that we are doing well, and finding excuses for not doing well, and getting angry with those who point out that we are not doing well? 

Don't demonize Mayavati!

I write but rarely on purely political stuff, but this is election season, and this article in The Telegraph of the 16th April caught my eye. I remember hearing lots of people – including some very nice and well-informed people – lamenting or expressing horror at the prospect that Ms. Mayavati, maverick chief Minister of India’s most populous state, seems to be becoming more strident and confident about the chances of her becoming Prime Minister of India, if not this time round, then soon. Mukul Kesavan’s article should come as a very good rejoinder (and maybe even reassurance) to all of them!

Ms. Mayavati may be guilty of everything she is accused of – arrogant, ruthless, greedy, autocratic, crude, devious, sneaky and occasionally violent when it suits her. She is not even pretty to look at. But if these were criteria that seriously ruled out anybody from becoming PM in India, the vast majority of our MPs would be disqualified (as indeed they would be in most democratic countries of the world – politics is not for nice and gentle and seriously moralistic people, yet it is more socially necessary than almost every other profession, so it attracts the tough-hearted, flexible and ambitious everywhere!). She is not, by our elastic standards, uneducated (she holds LlB and B.Ed. degrees, and has been employed as a teacher). She is a very big income tax payer (if wikipedia has got its facts right) - not a common virtue among our politicians. She has now acquired as much experience at ruling vast masses as any other aspirant for the country’s top job can claim to have, and has done no worse a job than ten other CMs I could name. Numerous other people, blessed by high pedigree and privilege (a combination of high caste, big money and wide and powerful family connections) have come into politics only to display the same nasty characteristics she is accused of, in equal if not greater measure.

Our real complaint against her, I am sure, is our visceral hatred of a woman, and a Dalit (once called ‘untouchable’) woman at that, wielding power in what is supposed to be exclusively a man’s world, and frequently getting the better of lots of men at it. We have again and again forgiven, even applauded lots of male and high-caste, ‘cultured’ (“one of us”) politicians for all the sins that we want to crucify her for. And it is precisely for this reason that I shall root for her along with Mukul Kesavan, despite lamenting all her faults: if we were a slightly more civilized, slightly more honestly progressive society, we would cheer and celebrate Ms. Mayavati as the poster girl of Indian democracy – the woman who is embodying the secret, hardly ever articulated, highest aspirations of maybe two-thirds of the Indian population (if you add up all the poor people in India who are also Dalits, and most particularly all deprived and marginalized women, Dalit or otherwise). If that two-thirds can get together and vote singlemindedly for this cause, Mayavati should get the throne on behalf of all of them. That will be a social revolution to cap all social revolutions – the biggest blow to several thousand years of cruel, systematic, institutionalized, countrywide discrimination against the real deprived silent majority.

After that, we can only pray that she will be a better ruler than we had dared to hope. And that, Mayavati having shown the way, a far better, greater, grander specimen of humanity – someone like Joan of Arc, maybe? – will rise from the ranks of the great unwashed masses of India someday and follow in her footsteps to lead India into an age of glory. It is good to have big dreams, but it is better to give little ones a chance!

The demise of liberal education

… and talking about education and which way it is heading, here’s the musing of a one-time Yale University professor. It’s heavy going: casual and flighty readers are warned not to venture far into it!

I’d particularly want to draw the serious reader’s attention to expressions like “miseducation”, and “grade inflation” and “smart people who aren’t smart” and “entitled mediocrity” and “the ever-growing parastructure of tutors and test-prep courses and enrichment programs, the whole admissions frenzy and everything that leads up to and away from it” and the total neglect of the fact that there are lots of people who are not 'smart' in any of the commonly-used senses, but who nevertheless need, deserve and often demand our attention, concern and care (or else you get vast armies of feckless dropouts, millions living in wretched poverty, and dangerous rebels, including terrorists!... does that sound familiar?). Reflect on this line: “There’s a reason elite schools speak of training leaders, not thinkers – holders of power, not its critics.” Or this one: “being an intellectual is not the same as being smart. Being an intellectual means more than doing your homework.”


Think of how ominous this line is: “We are slouching, even at elite schools, toward a glorified form of vocational training.” And of what the senior student meant when he lamented “it’s hard to build your soul when everyone around you is trying to sell theirs.”

Think of why T.S. Eliot wrote several generations ago that we are (even in our best shrines of education) churning out vast numbers of ‘technological savages, intellectual brutes’. Reflect on why these young achievers and successes are simultaneously so busy and so lonely, so unable to connect with the world, so lacking in both understanding and empathy, so scared in spite of being so privileged and well provided for. And ponder for a while on the last paragraph of the essay.

Then turn your attention to the scenario in India, where things – even at the so-called best schools – are not only similar, but often vastly worse, because we long ago gave up even the pretence that we are aiming to produce strong and humane minds determined to change the world for the better, where nobody in any position of influence imagines that education could or ought to mean anything beyond a lucrative and on the whole easy-to-achieve career. Then think about what kind of future we are making for ourselves. A million Chandrababu Naidu-s and B.K. Ramalinga Rajus as our ‘leaders’? Could such an India hold together?

If anyone is interested, here is a link to what one great mind thought about the idea of a university in the mid-1800s. And yet another to what a very successful and forward-looking technocrat (not of the Nandan Nilekani breed, who cannot imagine greatness and worth beyond software programs and money in the bank) said about the idea of even a technical university in the mid 1900s!

Many thanks to Anshu Singh for sending me the link to the prof's essay. Anshu is that rare breed: an ex-IITian who observes, thinks and reads stuff beyond technical manuals and pulp magazines and bank passbooks. My hopes lie to a great extent with the likes of him.

Google at our service

Google is doing its bit - and knowing Google, I'll bet it's going to be quite a bit - to empower people at large with information to vote and to vote better in the coming general elections in India: see here. 

A few thoughts in this connection:

1. I'm glad that those who matter at Google recognise the importance of this event (they call it "the largest democratic event in human history"). Despite being nerds who are clever at math and programming and stuff, they have not lost sight of what really matters, of how information technology is just a fad if it is not employed to further real and deep human interests - such as choosing our governments wisely and well;

2. It makes me sad to think how little and how poorly India might use this wonderful facility they are offering. One part won't because they are too poor, too ignorant, too far outside the reach of the internet still. Another because - despite being 'educated' (in the current trivial sense, not in the sense that people like Socrates or Voltaire or Thomas Jefferson or Tagore understood it) - they are far more bothered about Grammy Awards and IPL cricket and what games they can download from the Net and how many idiots like themselves are scrapping them on orkut or Facebook! These are the types that the Roman emperors kept happy with bread and circuses. How little has changed in two thousand years...

Maps... just musing

There's a little map at the bottom of the right-hand sidebar of this blog which shows where my readers are located. It gives me a quaint thrill to see how scattered they are all over the world. Indeed, there have been occasions when I have noticed that five or six people are reading simultaneously, and one is in Canada, another in New Zealand, a third in Italy and a fourth right next door in Asansol, West Bengal, India! A minute ago I noticed three little dots in three corners of Africa, and wondered who might be the folks who could be reading me from all those faraway places. I also reflected that it would be nice if some dots sprang up over Russia and the south American continent: those two being the only parts of the world from where nobody has visited this blog yet...

A very good read...

See Shilpi's recent blogpost: click here.

All those who really love to think are sure to relish this.

You are welcome to comment here and/or on Shilpi's blog.

A future for marriage?

The Statesman recently published the following article on the current status of the age-old institution called marriage
http://thestatesman.net/page.arcview.php?clid=4&id=276042&usrsess=1
It is based on the situation in the UK, and might come as a shocker to a lot of conservative-minded (which is usually another way of saying dull-) people in India still, but those who know a bit about the world will agree, even if sadly, that things are going the same way in this country too.

As far as I am concerned, I am still on the whole happily married, but both my wife and I agree that we have been very lucky, and keep praying that our luck holds. I often quote the old wisecrack in my classes that marriage is a curse for many, a blessing for a few, and a washout for most (one much-suffering father recently told me, pointing at his wife and daughter, ‘I am just their ATM!’, and those two only grinned foolishly. I’m sure a lot of unhappily-married women feel the same way about their families). And I never forget the lines I read in a poem called The Enchanted Shirt in middle school, where two men were lamenting, ‘one wept that he had buried his wife/ the other, that he had not’!

So I have always been wide-enough eyed to know that things often do go very badly wrong with marriage for a lot of people, and having seen so many bad marriages among the young and the old alike, I strongly believe that such marriages are better dissolved than persevered with permanent cold-war or cat-and-dog style, so that people can make a fresh start, however late in the day it might be. And now that the world has grown much more permissive – one sees very late marriages, live-in relationships, increasing numbers of bachelors and spinsters who seem to be happy enough living by themselves (and frequently changing girlfriends and boyfriends … not just college-goers but people my age and older), increasingly frequent divorces and common second or third marriages (even for women), same-sex relationships and what have you, perhaps the halo around this most hoary of social institutions has really lost its sheen (provided the fundamentalists don’t get the upper hand again: then God help us!) I think only two things are really keeping marriage going still (apart from social pressure, wherever it is still strong) – a lot of women still do not make a living for themselves, and a lot of people cannot imagine who else but family will look after them in extreme old age. As solutions for these problems become more commonly available, marriage is sure to fall into disuse. Far too many people have always felt, after the first excitement evaporates (which might take a few days or a few months, but certainly never lasts a lifetime for anybody!) that it’s just not worth it: it takes too much out of you and gives back too little.

I think Indians have always known this instinctively. That is why they have put so much emphasis on being ‘chaste’ before marriage, and on the occasion of getting married (all the noise, lights, raucous music, gorgeous clothes and jewellery, lavish feasting and swarms of guests…): since you are being let into (presumably) a lifetime of boredom and drudgery and making-do, at least have some pleasant memories of one day in your life when you were special in a fairytale way to help you cope with the gloomiest hours that are coming, because they are sure to be many. That is why, also, unlike in the more liberal ‘developed’ countries, people are so reluctant here to admit that their marriages have been failures, and to look for solutions. I think it’s the same mentality that sends people in droves to sadhus for counsel, but avoid shrinks like the plague – the former is considered ‘safe’, the latter is likely to brand you as insane! The obsession with children (and corresponding indifference to spouses) is one thing that lets the cat out of the bag – what can you say about women who go to the extent of leaving home to stay with their college-going children rather than continuing as they have done for two decades to live with their husbands (who probably need them more – or do they?) All you can conclude is that they don’t just ‘care’ for their children, but are relieved that they are at last rid of the ‘burden’ of housekeeping for their husbands, and found a way of doing it which does not meet with strong social disapproval. I have seen elderly women looking much happier and healthier after their husbands passed away. And the growing phenomenon of married women coming back to live with their parents once they have got a child is further confirmation that many women have never liked living with husbands for long (though it is the men alone who have traditionally been blamed for sowing wild oats!) I have always said that women who are really interested in their husbands as human beings cannot devote so much of their time to brooding over children’s marks and dolling themselves up for kitty parties. Of course, the same goes for men too: it makes me sick to see how many men grow cold toward their wives – the same women whom they had courted with celluloid gusto only a few years ago – to the extent of cutting them out of their ‘personal’ lives almost completely. (I don’t know, though, whether the other type isn’t even more horrible – the ‘devoted’ spouse who treats his/her partner as absolutely personal physical property, and snoops on him/her night and day for a whiff of ‘infidelity’. Such folks often make their spouses want to cop out of marriage at any cost, even through madness, violence or suicide).

A lot of people in my one-horse little town condemn me roundly for talking about these facts of life before my young pupils: the common accusation is that I am making them grow up too fast (knowledge of physics or math or chemistry, on the other hand, never poses the danger of making them 'grow up')! But I thought it fit to write this essay because so many of my ex-students (still in their 20s or early 30s) are at least once-divorced already, even while the current crop of teenagers are mooning over their ‘heartthrobs’ as silly teenagers have always done, utterly confusing raging hormones with love and devotion and eternal fidelity and all that sort of rot. No one who warns them of what lies ahead, and advises them to keep their feet firmly on the ground, can be doing them a bad turn.

Juvenilia

I mentioned something about juvenile people “15 or 55 years old” in an earlier blogpost, and someone wanted to know what I meant by juvenile. Well, in my book, you are juvenile if:

· You think you can (or should try to) please everybody,
· You imagine that money-making is all-important,
· You have no ideas of your own about what to do with your money but blindly follow your local herd,
· You obsess over marks in school, and looks, and what your neighbours and relatives will say,
· You go starry-eyed over celebrities, and they are all of the non-cerebral types,
· You have no concern or appreciation for good books, music, art or philosophy,
· You act and talk as if you will be young and healthy forever, and never die,
· You think using abuse and slang makes you smart,
· You think you will be respected and admired (rather than envied and reviled behind your back) for being rich and famous,
· You rely on your job designation and calling card and car and house to give you an identity, rather than the nature and quality of your work,
· You think your credit card and mobile make you smart,
· You believe you can ignore the doctor and eat like a pig and live without a routine and still stay healthy forever,
· You think you can do well in examinations by studying for just a fortnight before they start,
· You believe in keeping children ignorant, silly and dependent till their mid-twenties,
· You grow up into your mid-twenties thinking that parents who kept you dependent like that are wonderful rather than disgusting,
· You are sure that engineering and law and accounts and medical texts teach you more important things than Aesop’s Fables and the Panchatantra and the Jataka Tales and suchlike,
· You cannot imagine relying on your own resources and keeping your own counsel and avoiding crowds, and you think that quiet people are merely being arrogant,
· You don’t think you need to learn a lot and become a better person before you can even start becoming a good parent, worker, neighbour and friend,
· You call yourself ‘busy’, yet spend most of your time in malls and pubs and parties, or before the TV or playing games on the computer or chatting for hours on the phone or sleeping till almost mid-day,
· You are confused about whether it would be better for your daughter to become a fashion model than a scientist,
· You expect respect from people merely because you are older than they, without ever having done anything to earn that respect.


Think of that list, and then look around you. By these yardsticks, how many mature people can we see around us? It is no wonder that Sri Ramakrishna used to say to his flock of disciples again and again ‘tomaader chaitanya hok’, which, loosely translated, means ‘get some sense into your heads’!

A troubled fortnight

A protracted harrowing experience shakes one out of the ever-deepening stupor induced by routine-bound, ‘normal’ everyday life – and, in our family at least, nothing does that better than a medical emergency (perhaps because we do not obsess over weddings and parties and children’s school-examination scores and shopping and looks and meeting celebrities and other trivia of the same sort, as most people do these days!).

My wife was being prodded by her doctors to get a hysterectomy done without delay for quite some time, and we together (that includes my daughter, whose opinions are given far greater weightage already than most parents I know give to 18-year olds) decided that it should be done in one of the supposedly best (and most expensive) hospitals in Calcutta, because my wife had liked the ambience, and even more so, the surgeon who had dealt with her. We firmly believe that since most senior surgeons have more or less the same academic ‘qualifications’ and a couple of decades of hands-on experience, it is the way that they talk to patients that should decide which of them we should entrust with a major operation (an open-abdomen hysterectomy has become more or less routine these days, especially if the patient’s vital signs are okay, but one keeps hearing horror stories about things that can and do go wrong now and then that can keep one’s teeth on edge for days on end, give one sleepless nights and several score grey hairs within the space of a week!)

Except when in the midst of a full-blown emergency I absolutely refuse to break my seven-days-a-week work schedule, so my wife (poor dear) ran to and fro alone first to confirm the date of admission and surgery, and then, two weeks later, to deal with the insurance details and submit the results of some last-minute critical tests. We eventually left town, the two of us, the very same day she was to be admitted, leaving our 12-year old daughter behind with an elderly couple next-door, because she had her annual examinations in school to attend to, and she had herself suggested and permitted us to use this twelve-day time slot because I would not have to miss classes then, since all my pupils had their own exams, and had therefore told me they wouldn’t attend classes (so no parent – believe me, there are lots of them – would have a chance to complain I was charging fees without doing all the classes I should).

The operation took place the very next day. God is (sometimes, at least) kind to those who have hardly anybody but Him to rely upon – so not only did the surgery go swiftly and smoothly (the lady in the bed next to my wife wasn’t half so lucky!), but the patient, who looked half-dead when she was being wheeled out of the O.T., and was in considerable pain the whole of the rest of the day, recovered dramatically over the next 24 hours, and was already eating solid food and hobbling about unaided within two days: the hospital discharged her on the fourth day, the stitches were taken out three days after that, and she came back home to Durgapur last night without any great discomfort. She will have a final checkup a week down the line, and will have to live under some strict restrictions – which has turned me and my daughter into round-the-clock domestic helps for the time being! – but the only thing that matters is that we have got back our priceless mother, and she is not only alive but showing every sign that she will be kicking within a fortnight.

However, since as I said before, I have my hands full (ably assisted by my daughter though I am), no one makes me angrier than those who, despite having some idea about the state of affairs in my home, want to come over for idle chatter or to get some little urgent favour – the same people who are otherwise too ‘busy’ for months on end even to ring and say hello! Such people had better beware of a very nasty tongue-lashing: you have been warned. The same goes for those who call on my cellphone though I have not personally given them the number.

Now here are a few observations regarding everything that passed through my mind over this last fortnight:

The new, much-widened, much-improved NH2 which now links Durgapur with Calcuttta is a marvel, and travelling along it in a swift air-conditioned Volvo bus is a dream. But I wish this improvement had happened 20 years earlier – today I am old and tired, and even with such luxury, coming and going six times along that route within ten days was a drag.

I have been to many metro cities around the world, from Calcutta to New Delhi to New York, and I hate them all with the same cold, implacable hatred, because of the congestion, the pollution, the slowness of traffic, and the heartlessness of people all around you. That said, Calcutta today is just a wee bit better than it was 25 years ago, when I went to college there.

I was terribly lucky that the doctors and nurses didn’t just smile and charge the earth for their services – so far, every sign indicates that they gave me excellent service (though not without giving me a few nasty and irritating moments!). I know very well indeed how horribly things can go bad with people seeking serious medical care in this country, and hospitals with the most excellent credentials often make a hash of their jobs even while they make you pay through the nose. I fear that until our mothers start teaching their children that they shouldn't become doctors solely to make money (show me such a mother and I'll show you a pink elephant), or the Consumer Protection Act really begins to bite, most of us will have to count on luck, even if we have a lot of money in the bank. But that reminds me: lots of people who should know have assured me that the state of medical care even in the US leaves much to be desired (I shall be glad to take questions on this point). No one has yet found a really good substitute for prayer!

I am grateful to all the people, young and old, who gave me help, sometimes just by being beside me (even if only via the net and telephone from thousands of miles away) to render moral support. They are too numerous to name individually here, but I am saying a heartfelt thank you to every one of them, and I am not the sort of person to forget such kind favours. At the same time, I could not but take note of how many people knew but simply didn’t bother even to ask if they could help in some way, or did so in such tones of cold formality (some took care to do so only after the event) that it was only too evident I was not expected to ask for anything. Many such people, mind you, have got unstinted help from me when they were in need. Their baseness, too, I shall long remember. Their ranks, by the way, include some family members. I was born in a truly wonderful family. No wonder P.G. Wodehouse wrote in his ripe old age that one key requirement for happiness is ‘loved ones’ being far away.

Finally, my daughter worked a miracle I shall ever be wonderstruck and grateful for. For almost a fortnight she stayed with neighbours (actually in her own house, alone for most of the time, attending to all kinds of household chores and studying all by herself for her annual examinations at school, and even doing more than reasonably well). How grown-up she has become I can judge from the fact that very few parents I know would dream of putting so much pressure and responsibility on their 'immature' children in class 10, 12 or (in extreme cases I know) even in college! To say I am proud of my daughter would be an understatement, and no matter what her school exam-results are, I know she has passed a far tougher examination with flying colours, and to me, nothing matters more.

Every disturbing event like this changes a man ever so little, and today I am certainly a somewhat changed man. As a lot of people will find out, soon. I am not sure they will all like what they see.

Small request

I am back after a busy and stressful fortnight-long hiatus, though it will take a while yet to get back into my normal stride. Please bear with me...

Meanwhile, a request. Please visit Shilpi's blog and Amrit's blog, read and comment there. I do not easily endorse other people's work. Unless you are a no-brainer (in which case you shouldn't be visiting this blog either), you will find these blogs rewarding, thought-provoking and even disturbing.

[Disclaimer: all my recommendations do not apply to juvenile people, whether they are 15 or 55!]

My orkut community

I had grown disenchanted with orkut long ago (see the post here titled 'orkut, anyone?'), but I feel a little nostalgic about the community called The Good Life! which I had nurtured there for almost two years now. That community is now almost defunct, because virtually all the participants have lost interest in participating - or maybe they just don't have anything to say any more - but some of the discussions were long and substantial, and I don't want to lose them all by deleting the community. I want some suggestions regarding how I can somehow salvage that discussion forum. Can the readers of this blog help?

New blog!

I have just launched another blog. To visit, just click on the link given at the very top of the right-hand sidebar...

Ingratitude and karma...

If there’s one thing I share with Shakespeare, it’s my hatred and contempt for ingratitude – which is, alas, a very common human failing. Here are a few quotes to show how strongly the Bard felt about it:

I hate ingratitude more in a man
than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
inhabits our frail blood.
(Twelfth Night)

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude...

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not...
(As you like it)

O, see the monstrousness of man
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape…
(Timon of Athens)

All the stor'd vengeances of Heaven fall
On her ingrateful top!
(King Lear)

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,
Quite vanquish’d him,
Then burst his mighty heart…
(Julius Caesar)

The man must have been hurt beyond expression by ingrates again and again for the iron to have entered so deeply in his soul! And if you think that it was only Shakespeare who had a bee in his bonnet about it, try the following link:
http://www.worldofquotes.com/topic/Ingratitude/1/index.html

It’s not my idiosyncrasy that ingratitude hurts me almost more than anything else: in every land and age, sensitive people have suffered greatly from it.

It doesn’t hurt everybody equally, of course. Some people (and it strikes me as very odd that some people are like that from early childhood – it’s probably in the genes) go out of their way to curry favours, and forget their benefactors promptly, and even malign them right and left behind their backs once they know they cannot expect any more favours; at the same time, they never do anybody any favours if they can help it, unless they are sure of getting back much bigger favours in return, and never let you forget it if ever they did you even the most trifling of good turns, and are endlessly inventive in wriggling out of situations where they have been asked to do something for somebody in need. But there are also people who are simultaneously too proud to ask for favours and very eager to be of help to others when they can sense some need. If they are stoical and saintly, they of course expect nothing, not even gratitude in return, so it doesn’t hurt when those whom they have done good forget them or badmouth them, but alas, most of us (myself certainly) have not learnt to become so saintly and stoical yet, so it feels wonderful when people show by word and deed that they remember old favours, and hurts like the dickens when they cut you dead, or strain themselves to give you a bad name.

And this is where thoughts of karma come into the picture. At my stage of life, having done and seen a lot of things and remembered a lot of things (I am cursed with a long and vivid memory – my own family members have long forgotten hurts they gave me years ago which rankle cruelly still!), I am convinced that it is some people’s bad karma that they can neither stop trying to be nice to others, nor stop hurting that others care so little about it (khel khatam, paisa hazam, they say in India: what is done is forgotten). Lest any reader should think that I am indulging in self-pity over imaginary hurts, let me put on record that my wife, who has been observing my life closely for almost 14 years now, and once upon a time used to say I imagine these things, has come round to the view that I am truly extraordinarily unlucky in this regard. Not only does Murphy’s Law work like an ironclad rule with me (‘if something can go wrong, it will’ – even to the extent of cheques bouncing again and again because some stupid bank clerk could not spell my name right!), but I shall compulsively go on trying to help folks who tell me their sob stories – folks of all ages, from teenage pupils to beggars and businessmen much older than me, and help of all kinds, from lending a shoulder to weep upon to giving shelter to lending money – and end up lamenting a few years later that all my concern and help has produced some more ingrates (these include family, one-time friends, colleagues and numerous ex-students: I hope some of those people I have in mind are reading this, and can make out that I am talking about them)!

I thrill with delight when some people get back with return favours, even if it be something as minor as returning a debt, or giving a small gift, or just dropping in to say hello and put on the nosebag together of an evening for old times’ sake, just to show that they remember and care still. But I cannot tell you how few and far between these joyful experiences are, and how common and frequent the other kind! … among the cruellest are those who averred for years and years how much they loved and admired me, and were thankful for everything I had done for them, and then, one fine morning when it seems to them that I have said something they don’t like to hear, they promptly give the lie to all the nice things they had been saying and cut the line for good – all the ‘love and respect’ vanishing into thin air, as if it never existed. No apologies, no reflection that I might not have been wrong after all, no consideration of how I might deserve a little leeway even if I have been wrong, taking into account all the good things I have done before; no understanding, even, of how grossly they were cheapening themselves in my eyes (and in the eyes of everybody I talk about them to) by making such about-turns: just gone with the wind!

Following my wife’s counsel (‘people will forget or speak badly about you anyway, most of them most of the time, and those who want to do good and speak well will do so regardless of how you treat them, so stop bothering about being nice and good to all and sundry…’) I have of late been trying to become a more cautious person, less overtly willing to be a sucker, more ‘professional’ in dealing with people, much less expectant of goodness in return than before. It goes against the grain, so I cannot say it makes me happy. But at least I have the consolation that I will not have to lament as before that I did so much for people and got no good vibes in return. Meanwhile, the word seems to be going around that I have become much more selfish and hard-hearted than I used to be. I leave it to the reader’s judgment, and to the consciences of all those who know they have not treated me well!

Of chance, fate and karma

Of late, many things have compelled me to ponder deeply over two things – this thing we call fate or kismet or naseeb or bhagya or karma, and about gratitude and the lack of it.

Watching a brilliant little 2008 Hindi movie called Amir, which is about a young urban professional trying just to live a simple and honest but decent life like millions of others, and believing that he is the maker of his own destiny, who suddenly gets caught up in a very nasty spider’s web of a terrorist conspiracy which manipulates him in the direction of self-destruction totally against his will and utterly beyond his capacity to do anything about it, brought back the question of whether or not it is character or opportunity (luck/fate/kismet) that makes for success in life. This was incidentally the topic for an essay in the ICSE examination some years ago, and for years I have been helping pupils to write sensibly on it (in the way I described in the post titled ‘Moral Science’). I like to speak positively, encouragingly to young people, so I never tell them it’s all written beforehand, or decided by the stars or stuff like that: it would not only be saying something that I can never be sure about, nor fair, because it might depress them and sap them of the will to fight life’s battles boldly, which is so very important. But I cannot help telling them also that character does not decide everything: the most talented and determined and hard-working man can do little more than live an obscure and hard life and die bravely if opportunities do not present themselves for him to exploit. What would Sachin Tendulkar have done if he had been born in China, what would a man with innate high-level software-writing skills have done if he had been born in the middle ages, what handicaps doesn’t a talented man suffer if he is born poor in a backward country? (Ramanujan and R.K. Narayan would never have been heard of beyond their little personal circles if they had not found powerful western patrons…)

I also tell them it is a pernicious doctrine that today’s parents and teachers drill into them night and day, claiming that success is ‘guaranteed’ if only they work long and hard. That’s not only a shameless lie (all those people are old enough to know better) but it only ensures that the inevitable disappointments and frustrations later in life will make those youngsters suffer far more than they need have, because they have not been conditioned from childhood to expect frustration despite deserving many good things by virtue of their talents and labour – the Gita says do your best but don’t count on the results being the way you want them to be, and no modern parent and teacher should claim to know better.

The truth is, no matter how clever and wise we are, no matter how ‘scientific’ our predictive models might have become, there are countless things that happen in everybody’s life, both good and bad, that simply cannot be foreseen and accounted for. No ordinary man who goes out to work knows whether he’s going to be run over by a car today, no mother knows whether her daughter is going to have a happy marriage, no general knows for sure that he is going to win the battle, no film director can say with certainty that his latest oeuvre will sweep the box office, no inventor knows whether his brainchild will make him rich and famous. We can indeed only do our best, and accept what life doles out to us thereafter: this is just as true for examination candidates as for householders and leaders of nations. Of course it is important to do your best, if only so that you do not have to die with a guilty conscience, and of course it is true that far too many people who lament their bad luck will be forced, when the chips are down, to admit that they stopped short of doing their best most of the time – never studied hard enough, never looked for jobs hard enough, never saved when they had enough money, never walked while their paunches were growing, never disciplined their children when there was still time – and so they do not really have any moral right to whine or expect pity and help from their fellow men when they get into trouble (though I have noticed with chagrin that such good-for-nothings usually get far more pity and help than those I have always considered the truly deserving, the fighters, the planners, the folks who have never shirked responsibility … life is not fair at all!)

Even if we do not believe in predestination (and mind you, there’s no definite proof that it is nonsensical), we might be eventually be forced to believe either that everything is blind chance (such a fundamentally ‘unscientific’ idea that Einstein famously retorted that God does not play at dice…, and furthermore, if you believe that, then you are likely to lose all hope that you can make a difference with your own efforts, and therefore elect to give up in despair and withdraw into a shell: I leave it to the reader to imagine what would happen to civilisation if the majority started subscribing to that doctrine!) or in what the Hindus and Buddhists call karma: that you are simply suffering/enjoying the cumulative consequences of your own past deeds, and simultaneously deciding (though not necessarily consciously and deliberately) through your present actions what is going to happen to you in future. But this doctrine poses its own problems: you can see for yourself that a great many nice and even gifted and diligent people are not getting what they deserve in this life, while a lot of utterly undeserving folks (lazy, stupid, ignorant, uncouth, greedy, deceitful, malicious, you name it) are living it up. Ah, the traditional pundits will tell you, that is easily explained, provided you allow that one lives many successive lives, and the accounts are not squared in each lifetime but carried over from one to the next. So a lot of seemingly undeserving people are enjoying this life by spending the good karma accumulated over previous lifetimes, and, if they are living badly, they are darkening their own future life-prospects (which probably ‘explains’ horrors like children without arms and legs being born to poor parents, and little girls being raped, nasty as the explanation is). Now from the utilitarian point of view this is a good theory – or at least better than believing that all is blind chance – in the sense that it gives some consolation to those who suffer (to my mind no pain is greater than not knowing why I am having to suffer), and some encouragement to living a good (in the sense of ethical-) life in the hope that one is improving one’s own prospects with every passing day. It helps me a great deal in both ways, at least, and I have counselled a lot of people to look at life this way and see if it makes them feel somewhat better about living. I am nothing if not a pragmatist: I know what I want out of life, and I shall try anything provided I have reasonable assurance that it works, whether it be a machine, a computer program or a philosophy. But there is one thorny problem left: the Hindus at least believe in a soul which can migrate from one body to another through death and rebirth, but the Buddhists don’t even believe in a soul, and I have not been able to figure out yet how they square that with the theory of karma. Temporary body and no soul, so whose karma is it anyway?

Long post, that, and most readers have very short attention spans. So, about ingratitude, perhaps in the next one. Cheerio!

Poems

It’s been a very long time since I posted some of my favourite poems here (in fact I have done it only once before; see 'Fafaia'.) 

Here are three at one go.The first, by Robert Frost. It’s called Fire and Ice, and goes like this:

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I have known of desire,
I hold with those who favour fire.
But – if it had to perish twice –
I think I know enough of hate
To think that for destruction ice
Is also great,
And should suffice.

The second, by Walter S. Landor:

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved, and next to nature, Art.
I warmed my hands before the fire of life:
It sinks,
And I am ready to depart.

Only the most supremely self-possessed of men can close their accounts so quietly; the worst that life and fate and the fear of death can do cannot break their spirits.

The last one, by Francis Bourdillon:

The Night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one,
But the light of a whole world dies
When the sun is gone.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one,
But the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

One test of genuine goodness is that its appeal never palls, never fades. I read all three poems in my teenage, and I adore them quite as much still. The only thing that has changed is the quality and depth of my appreciation: in connection with the third poem, for instance, I realize now (though I had suspicions even when I was very young) that the romantic affection between two young people is the commonest, cheapest, most evanescent variety of love; a higher love is that of parent for child, higher even is the love that keeps a true scientist going through adverse and discouraging circumstances, vastly higher still is the kind of love that makes patriotic martyrs and Florence Nightingales, and most sublime of all is the love of God.