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Posts Tagged ‘life’

I was surfing the web aimlessly when I came across this sad news:

Swedish mountaineer and professional skier Fredrik Ericsson died Friday while trying to summit K2 in Pakistan, his friend David Schipper told CNN in a telephone interview.

The incident occurred between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m. as Ericsson was attempting to become the first man to ski from the summit to base camp, said Schipper, who said he learned of the accident on the world’s second-tallest peak in a satellite call from fellow climber Fabrizio Zangrilli.

[…]

Ericsson, along with his climbing partners Trey Cook and Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner, had begun the summit push between 1 a.m. and 1:30 a.m. in low-visibility weather.

After several hours of climbing, they approached the bottom of the bottleneck. At this point, Cook returned to Camp 4, leaving Kaltenbrunner and Ericsson to continue their ascent.

As Ericsson was attempting to fix ropes to the snow and ice along the route he “lost his purchase and was unable to arrest his fall,” Schipper said.

Ericsson’s body, resting at about 7,000 meters, will remain where it fell, Schipper said on Ericsson’s website.

“His parents have requested it remain in the mountains he loved,” he wrote. “Retrieval would be exceptionally dangerous.”

Such incidents are of course not uncommon — many climbers die similarly each year.  The comment thread to this news report was also fairly predictable. One user wrote: I never understood poeple that would do a suicidal activity then call it sport! Another was full of scathing sarcasm: At least he died for a cause. Oh thats right he didn’t!

But what really caught my eye was one particular comment that I post below. It was in response to the derisive “Oh that’s right he didn’t” comment, and it is the reason why I am writing this post. It expresses exactly what I feel about such activities and says all that’s needs to be said to those who don’t get it.

“He didn’t even die for a cause”…

Yes he did; he died doing what he loved. He died pushing himself to his personal limits. He was in better shape than all of you combined. He didn’t rant on web sites, he was living life to the fullest for… (God forbid), HIMSELF. How many of you will die for a “cause”?

Ericsson isn’t a martyr. He isn’t a hero. He is just a man who went ahead and pursued his particular passion. How would the world look like if everyone else did the same?

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Living on the edge

“I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can’t see from the center.”

Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

(Read all “quote for the week” posts on this blog)

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The reaction of the TSA — the umbrella organization formed after 9/11 to regulate airline security in the US — to the recent terrorist attempt has been along expected lines. More lines, more meaningless regulations, more stifling security measures. When Richard Reid had the bright idea a few years ago to hide explosives in his shoe, the TSA reacted by asking everyone to take off their shoes henceforth for the security check. Considering that Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab strapped the explosives onto his underwear, we ought to be thankful that the TSA’s imagination has so far been..um…restricted. I mean, sure, it has issued an order that all babies be put into overhead luggage bins during the last hour of the flight, but consider the much more sinister possibilities.

My thoughts on this issue can be summed up in one sentence: Umar Farouk failed, but we are doing our best to make sure his goal succeeds.

Stephen Bainbridge puts it well:

Has TSA ever considered the possibility that maybe the terrorists aren’t really interested in blowing up a plane. Maybe the terrorists figure they win everytime we in the West spend millions of man-hours being hassled, inconvenienced, and generally put upon by a myriad of stupid security measures.

Now Professor Bainbridge may be ascribing more subtlety to the terrorists’ modus operandi than they probably possess, but it is worthwhile to pause and think about what he is saying. A free society, by its very nature, offers many targets for terrorists. It is impossible to shut them all down. Nor is terrorism as transcendent a presence as some might want to believe. With smart, mostly non-intrusive measures, the threat can be further reduced. Sure, there will be attacks from time to time, just as there are crimes every day, but the real damage from these attacks are not caused by the incidents themselves, but by our terrorized reaction to them. It is when we fearfully overreach and put into place crippling regulations that cost us time, money and curtail our civil liberties, that the real harm occurs. As security expert Bruce Schneier puts it:

A terrorist attack cannot possibly destroy a country’s way of life; it’s only our reaction to that attack that can do that kind of damage. The more we undermine our own laws, the more we convert our buildings into fortresses, the more we reduce the freedoms and liberties at the foundation of our societies, the more we’re doing the terrorists’ job for them.

At some point, we need to do a cost benefit analysis: how much hassle, fear and security clampdown is too much? Is it worth going through so much TSA tyranny, much of it a charade,  and give up so much of our convenience, liberty and well-being in an attempt to make our existence slightly more secure against terrorist attacks?

Update: Nate Silver crunches the numbers and concludes that your chances of being on a given flight departure which is the subject of a terrorist incident have been 1 in 10,408,947 over the past decade. So you could take 20 flights a year and still be less likely to be attacked than you are to die of a lightning strike.

Update 2: This is hilarious:

Anyway, I have a better idea. Let’s ban all clothing from all flights. Both the shoe bomber and Abdulmutallab used clothing — not Wi-Fi and not live TV — to make their failed attempts. In addition to taking away the possibility of hiding incendiary devices, a total ban on all clothes will also have the following positive results:

1. Terrorists will have a further disincentive from targeting flights, because religious extremists tend to be squeamish about naked people.

2. It would reduce greenhouse gas emissions because shy people wouldn’t fly, thus reducing the number of flights overall.

3. I don’t know why, but I think people would be more courteous. Talk about friendly skies!

Of course, I’m not serious about the clothing ban. But it makes a lot more sense than the TSA’s new ban on Wi-Fi and in-flight TV.

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(Post edited)

Since Sharon’s death [Roman Polanski’s wife Sharon Tate was murdered] … and despite all appearances to the contrary, my enjoyment of life has been incomplete.In moments of unbearable personal tragedy some people find solace in religion. In my case the opposite happened. Any religious faith I had was shattered by Sharon’s murder. It reinforced my faith in the absurd.

I still go through the motions of being a professional entertainer… but I know in my heart of hearts that the spirit of laughter has deserted me. It isn’t just that success has left me jaded or that I’ve been soured by tragedy and by my own follies. I seem to be toiling to no discernible purpose. I feel I’ve lost the right to innocence, to a pure appreciation of life’s pleasures. My childish gullibility and loyalty to my friends have cost me dear, not least in my relations with the press, but my growing wariness has been just as self-destructive.

I am widely regarded, I know, as an evil, profligate dwarf. My friends–and the women in my life–know better.

The last page from Roman Polanski’s autobiography, which I happened to re-read last night.

(But then, those who know only tangentially about Polanski have perhaps been looking at my last few posts with the same kind of bewildered skepticism that I have when I see intelligent people believing in God, or astrology, or communism.)

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Day 8 (July 7), Park City, Utah to Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming.
I had asked AM a day or two earlier if she would like to fly in to Portland and go to Crater Lake with me over the weekend. Got an email from her in the morning. It was a yes.
Which meant, instead of doing Utah — Wyoming — Montana– Washington state — Oregon, I should now be doing Utah — Wyoming — Idaho — Oregon in order to reach Portland in time. Washington state and Montana will need to wait.
I spent the morning socializing with a bunch of math people at the Park City conference I had rudely crashed. I even attended a math talk!
Then it was time to go shopping in order to restock on supplies. Wouldn’t want to be caught camping in the wilderness without food and water, would I?
Finally around 2 pm, I started driving northwards. The destination for today, Grand Teton National Park.
The drive was through beef country. Expansive prairies and few people. Finally, from a distance, I spied the Teton range.
If you ever get an opportunity to visit Grand Teton, you should grab it with both hands and feet. I had been there once before and was utterly charmed by the pure natural beauty of the place. Everything is picture perfect. Looming above the valleys and lakes and river is above all, the imposing Grand Teton mountain.
There’s something about this mountain. It’s incredible rugged beauty will overwhelm the first time visitor. This is a peak that gives no quarter and expects none.
I had planned to stay at a motel just outside the park (the map seemed to suggest that the best choice was Jackson, a mere 5 miles south of the entrance) and then drive in to the park and take sunset pictures. But when I arrived at Jackson and asked the attendant of the first cheap-looking motel what their cheapest rate was, he informed me it was $99 plus tax.
Swallowing my shock, I drove over to the nearby Super 8. The manager informed that the rate would come to $149 plus tax.
Wow! Never till today had I encountered a Super 8 charging more than 70 odd dollars.
I thanked the manager and informed him I was looking for something really cheap. As I was leaving, he stopped me.
“You know, just so you stay, we will give you a really really incredible deal. This is a special, dont tell anyone.”
“Ok?”
He wrote down on a piece of paper: “99 plus tax”.
“No thanks, still too high”, said I and walked out, this time for good.
“Well, your best bet is to camp then!” he hollered after me.
So camping it would be. By now I had realized that Jackson was actually the famous Jackson Hole, renowned ski resort and vacation town. No wonder everything was so darn overpriced.
I drove into the national park and started looking for a campground. But then I caught a glimpse of the Teton range, and the Grand Teton in particular, and started taking pictures.
The mountains were particularly gorgeous around sunset.
I set up my tent fairly late; it was a beautiful spot near Jackson lake next to warnings about grizzly bear presence. Cooked some dinner and then went to look for internet in the moonlight.
If it sounds like I had gone crazy, the fact is that most motels and lodges in this part of the country have free unencrypted wifi. So, you can just drive to the parking of one of them and log on.
On my short night drive to the parking lot of the Signal mountain lodge, I encountered several deer-in-the-headlights, including one that refused to move and I had to screech to a halt so that I don’t run the thing over. Finally I reached the lodge area, found the desired wifi, checked my email etc. and returned to the tent around midnight. It was a full moon and I had a most beautiful sleep, alone under the perfectly round moon and the twinkling stars, next to the lake and amidst the bears.
Day 9 (July 8), Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming to Rupert, Idaho.
I woke up to a beautiful day and sat by Jackson Lake reading a novel. It was Kundera’s “The unbearable lightness of being”. It was the only fiction book I had packed, the others being either math or economics/philosophy (examples of the latter: Friedman’s ‘Capitalism and freedom’; Nozick’s ‘Anarchy, State and Utopia’).
On the other hand, it is hard to classify Kundera’s book as pure fiction. One could say it is a novel of ideas, but that term is rather vague. In any case, I cannot recall the last time I read a book that I liked so much.
I could try to review it, but I’d be a failure. Some things are just too great, and touch you too personally, to attempt a real review. There are not too many things like that in my life. Bitter Moon among movies. The Great Gatsby among novels. Hardy’s apology. To an extent, Carmen. And some stuff by Mozart. But all these were a while ago. Carmen was relatively recent, but that was more aesthetic appreciation than the fire of intellectual touch.
And now Kundera.
Among novels of ideas, The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Fountainhead are the two that have touched me most intensely. The Fountainhead, Rand’s greatest fictional work, is essentially about individualism. Kundera’s TULoB: well it is hard to define what it is about; but it intoxicates as heavily and is as true, though in a very different sense. One could perhaps say it is about life and human existence and the choices inherent therein, or one could simply say it is about love, but neither of these are very accurate.
There is a line from The unbearable …: “No one can get really drunk on a novel or a painting but who can help getting drunk on [examples of musical works].” Well, for me at least, this novel itself is a counter-example.
Anyway, let me not get carried away. Some day I’ll write a post on libertarian existentialism. That day is not today. Today it is about Day 9 of my trip.
So I lay beside Jackson lake and read this book. It was pretty close to being in paradise.
Finally I got up, had lunch and started driving. It was an uneventful drive (Idaho is boring) and around eight, I stopped at the little town of Rupert and checked into a motel.
I tried going for a run but my attempt was thwarted by the many dogs (every house had at least one, and they were unleashed, and they all barked like crazy as soon as they saw me).
I did some math before going to bed.
Day 10 (July 11), Rupert, Idaho to Pendleton, Oregon.
I started driving relatively early and headed towards Oregon. On the way I stopped at a Starbucks and read my novel for a short time while sipping an iced latte. Then I stopped at a Subway and picked up lunch. I stopped at a rest area and filled up water. Around 3, the sign by the freeway announced that I was entering the state of Oregon. To celebrate, I stopped by a restroom to pee.
It was then that I realized I don’t have my wallet.
Thankfully, I still had my laptop and the rest area claimed to have wireless internet. Using the saved credit card number of my browser, I succeded in buying twenty minutes of online time. I opened google maps and searched for the Subway where I thought I had dropped the wallet. Got their number and called. No, said the sandwich artist on the phone, they hadn’t found any wallet.
My wallet was gone.
Imagine, for a moment, the incredible consequences of this discovery. Not only would I be unable to get to Portland now to pick up the lover tomorrow, I would not be able to go anywhere in a long time. Without my wallet, I had no credit cards. I had no cash. I had no driving license or id of any kind whatsoever. And there was no one I knew within a thousand miles.
In any case, staying there was useless; so I turned around and drove back into Idaho.
Then I decided to check the fuel indicator. It was basically empty. I would barely be able to drive another thirty miles. I was in the middle of nowhere in an incredibly desperate situation and had no money to buy any gas that would get me out of there.
It was a remarkable series of fortuities that saved me that day.
Fortuity one: Quarters. A few miles into Idaho, my panicked brain suddenly remembered something of immense significance. In order to do laundry at Denver, I had been forced to enter a twenty dollar bill into a change machine, which had in response spat out eighty quarters. Surely most of them were still in my backpack? Yes they were.
I dug my palm into my backpack and after a few attempts found the expected handfuls of coins. I drove into the next gas station and dropped about forty of those coins on the desk of the lady at the cash counter and asked for fuel. I don’t know what was more interesting, her utter disbelief or my intense exuberance.
Now that I had enough gas to go about a hundred miles, I started thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I had called up the wrong Subway?
Fortuity two: An atlas that shows rest areas.
I had bought a fat atlas of road maps the other day. It also had some other cool features. For instance it showed the location of rest aread. The significance of this was that I had stopped at a rest area shortly after I had bought my sandwich at the Subway. I carefully perused the map and realised with a huge relief, that I had indeed called the wrong Subway the first time around.
Fortuity three: Super 8.
Now that there was still a chance my wallet was not gone, I drove on. Then I spied a Super 8 motel just off the freeway. I exited and entered their parking lot. As expected, there was some wifi, and it was free!
I searched google maps again (with my now superior knowledge of my lunchtime coordinates) and foind about eight Subways around that region. Hell, which one had I gone to?
Fortuity four: Best Western.
I tried to imagine how my Subway looked. There was some motel next to it. I closed my eyes and tried to remember its logo. Was it a Best Western? Probably.
I now tried to search for Subways next to Best Westerns. This time Google did not fail me. There was a unique possible location.
I called them.
They had my wallet.
I will not try to describe the extent of my relief. Instead, I will merely say that I drove back ninety miles as fast as I could and picked up my wallet. Then I drove all the way back to Oregon again. I kept driving and driving till it was about eleven in the night. I stopped at some small motel
Day 11 (July 10),  Pendleton, Oregon to Portland, Oregon.
I woke up and left for Portland around noon. It took about three hours to reach the city. I checked into the hotel I had reserved and then went walking.
Portland is a pretty city. It is also incredibly European. You know what I mean? Plenty of public utilities. Tramways and buses that are free in the downtown area. Lots of squares in the middle of the city. Many parks. And so on.
Also, Portland, like the rest of Oregon, had plenty of signs warning of heavy fines if you didnt wear your seatbelt or put on your helmet. It also has some bizarre laws that are all its own. For instance, it is illegal to simply drive into a gas station like everywhere else and fill gas into your car; here the attendant at the station must do it.
I had always thought of Oregon as one of those libertarian-ish mountain west states (like Colorado or Montana) but nothing in my trip seemed to support that. Oregon is a nice state, but it not a particularly free one. At best, it is free only in some ways that align with European style liberalism. It is much like the Bay area that way.
I went to the airport and picked up the lover. We had a wonderful dinner at a seafood place and then came back to our hotel.
Day 12 (July 11), Portland, Oregon to Crater Lake, Oregon.
We woke up early and started driving towards Crater lake. It was a place I had longed to visit for years and we were both very excited.
It took almost five hours to reach it and we got our first sight of the lake soon after.
It was unbelievably blue. It
The reason for this blueness (and this is what makes this lake unique enough to be designated a national park) is the lake’s amazing depth and incredible purity. The lake basically fills the entire crater of a huge dormant volcano and is almost two thousand feet deep at parts. And because there are no inlets, the water is just pure melted snow.
It was an enchanting place in every way.
We hiked down to the surface of the water and enjoyed the sights. Then we came back to our camp-site and made a fire. As the sun went down, we cooked some dinner in my little stove and retired inside our tent shortly thereafter.
Day 13 (July 12), Crater Lake, Oregon to Portland, Oregon.
We went for a longish hike to the the top of a peak at the rim of the crater. The views of the lake were gorgeous. In fact, the view in every direction was spectacular. Verdant pine trees, layered ranges that dissove into the clouds. I am lost for words.
After having lunch at the top, we hiked down to our car and finally left crater lake in mid-afternoon. It was pretty late when we returned to our Portland hotel.
We decided to walk the city for a while and then went into a bar. We devoured a lot of excellent food at happy-hour prices and drank soke good beer on the tap.
Then we came back to the hotel and drank some wine.
It was a beautiful day.
Day 14( July 13), Portland, Oregon.

(In this post, I will describe the second week of my (still ongoing) road trip. The first week was covered in my previous post, where I described my sights and adventures as I passed through California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah and Colorado. In the second week, that I describe below, I travelled through Utah, Wyoming, Idaho and Oregon. For a quick Google summary of my route for the first two weeks, click here.)

Day 8 (July 7), Park City, Utah to Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming.

I had asked AM (the lover)  a day or two earlier if she would like to fly in to Portland and go to Crater Lake with me over the weekend. Got an email from her in the morning. It was a yes.

Which meant, instead of doing Utah — Wyoming — Montana– Washington state — Oregon, I should now be doing Utah — Wyoming — Idaho — Oregon in order to reach Portland in time. Washington state and Montana will need to wait.

I spent the morning socializing with a bunch of math people at the Park City conference I had rudely crashed. I even attended a math talk!

Then it was time to go shopping in order to restock on supplies. Wouldn’t want to be caught camping in the wilderness without food and water, would I?

Finally around 2 pm, I started driving northwards. The destination for today, Grand Teton National Park.

The drive was through beef country. Expansive prairies and few people. Finally, from a distance, I spied the Teton range.

If you ever get an opportunity to visit Grand Teton, you should grab it with both hands and feet. I had been there once before and was utterly charmed by the pure natural beauty of the place. Everything is picture perfect. Looming above the valleys and lakes and river is above all, the imposing Grand Teton mountain.

The Grand Teton

The Grand Teton

There’s something about this mountain. It’s incredible rugged beauty will overwhelm the first time visitor. This is a peak that gives no quarter and expects none.

I had planned to stay at a motel just outside the park (the map seemed to suggest that the best choice was Jackson, a mere 5 miles south of the entrance) and then drive in to the park and take sunset pictures. But when I arrived at Jackson and asked the attendant of the first cheap-looking motel what their cheapest rate was, he informed me it was $99 plus tax.

Swallowing my shock, I drove over to the nearby Super 8. The manager informed that the rate would come to $149 plus tax.

Wow! Never till today had I encountered a Super 8 charging more than 70 odd dollars.

I thanked the manager and informed him I was looking for something really cheap. As I was leaving, he stopped me.

“You know, just so you stay, we will give you a really really incredible deal. This is a special, dont tell anyone.”

“Ok?”

He wrote down on a piece of paper: “99 plus tax”.

“No thanks, still too high”, said I and walked out, this time for good.

“Well, your best bet is to camp then!” he hollered after me.

So camping it would be. By now I had realized that Jackson was actually the famous Jackson Hole, renowned ski resort and vacation town. No wonder everything was so darn overpriced.

I drove into the national park and started looking for a campground. But then I caught a glimpse of the Teton range, and the Grand Teton in particular, and started taking pictures.

The mountains were particularly gorgeous around sunset.

road trip (wyoming) 023

I set up my tent fairly late; it was a beautiful spot near Jackson lake next to warnings about grizzly bear presence. Cooked some dinner and then went to look for internet in the moonlight.

If it sounds like I had gone crazy, the fact is that most motels and lodges in this part of the country have free unencrypted wifi. So, you can just drive to the parking of one of them and log on.

On my short night drive to the parking lot of the Signal mountain lodge, I encountered several deer-in-the-headlights, including one that refused to move and I had to screech to a halt so that I don’t run the thing over. Finally I reached the lodge area, found the desired wifi, checked my email etc. and returned to the tent around midnight. It was a full moon and I had a most beautiful sleep, alone under the perfectly round moon and the twinkling stars, next to the lake and amidst the bears.

Day 9 (July 8), Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming to Rupert, Idaho.

I woke up to a beautiful day and sat by Jackson Lake reading a novel. It was Kundera’s The unbearable lightness of being. It was the only fiction book I had packed, the others being either math or economics/philosophy (examples of the latter: Friedman’s ‘Capitalism and freedom’; Nozick’s ‘Anarchy, State and Utopia’).

On the other hand, it is hard to classify Kundera’s book as pure fiction. One could say it is a novel of ideas, but that term is rather vague. In any case, I cannot recall the last time I read a book that I liked so much.

I could try to review it, but I’d be a failure. Some things are just too great, and touch you too personally, to attempt a real review. There are not too many things like that in my life. Bitter Moon among movies. The Great Gatsby among novels. Hardy’s apology. To an extent, Carmen. And some stuff by Mozart. But all these were a while ago. Carmen was relatively recent, but that was more aesthetic appreciation than the fire of intellectual touch.

And now Kundera.

Among novels of ideas, The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Fountainhead are the two that have touched me most intensely. The Fountainhead, Rand’s greatest fictional work, is essentially about individualism. Kundera’s novel: well it is hard to define what it is about; but it intoxicates as heavily and is as true, though in a very different sense. One could perhaps say it is about life and human existence and the choices inherent therein, or one could simply say it is about love, but neither of these are very accurate.

There is a line from this book …: “No one can get really drunk on a novel or a painting but who can help getting drunk on [examples of musical works].” Well, for me at least, this novel itself is a counter-example.

Anyway, let me not get carried away. Some day I’ll write a post on what I fancifully might call libertarian existentialism. That day is not today. Today it is about Day 9 of my trip.

So I lay beside Jackson lake and read this book. It was pretty close to being in paradise.

road trip (wyoming) 004

Finally I got up, had lunch and started driving. It was an uneventful drive (Idaho is boring) and around eight, I stopped at the little town of Rupert and checked into a motel.

I tried going for a run but my attempt was thwarted by the many dogs (every house had at least one, and they were unleashed, and they all barked like crazy as soon as they saw me).

I did some math before going to bed.

Day 10 (July 11), Rupert, Idaho to Pendleton, Oregon.

I started driving relatively early and headed towards Oregon. On the way I stopped at a Starbucks and read my novel for a short time while sipping an iced latte. Then I stopped at a Subway and picked up lunch. I stopped at a rest area and filled up water. Around 3, the sign by the freeway announced that I was entering the state of Oregon. To celebrate, I stopped by a restroom to pee.

It was then that I realized I don’t have my wallet.

Thankfully, I still had my laptop and the rest area claimed to have wireless internet. Using the saved credit card number of my browser, I succeded in buying twenty minutes of online time. I opened google maps and searched for the Subway where I had stopped an hour and half ago. I found their number and called. No, said the sandwich artist on the phone, they hadn’t found any wallet.

My wallet was gone.

Imagine, for a moment, the incredible consequences of this discovery. Not only would I be unable to get to Portland now to pick up AM the next day, I would not be able to go anywhere in a long time. Without my wallet, I had no credit cards. I had no cash. I had no driving license or id of any kind whatsoever. And there was no one I knew within a thousand miles.

In any case, staying there was useless; so I turned around and drove back into Idaho.

Then I decided to check the fuel indicator. It was basically empty. I would barely be able to drive another thirty miles. I was in the middle of nowhere in an incredibly desperate situation and had no money to buy any gas that would get me out of there.

It was a remarkable series of fortuities that saved me that day.

Fortuity one: Quarters. A few miles into Idaho, my panicked brain suddenly remembered something of immense significance. In order to do laundry at Denver, I had been forced to enter a twenty dollar bill into a change machine, which had in response spat out eighty quarters. Surely most of them were still in my backpack? Yes they were.

I dug my palm into my backpack and after a few attempts found the expected handfuls of coins. I drove into the next gas station and dropped about forty of those coins on the desk of the lady at the cash counter and asked for fuel. I don’t know what was more interesting, her utter disbelief or my intense exuberance.

Now that I had enough gas to go about a hundred miles, I started thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I had called up the wrong Subway?

Fortuity two: An atlas that shows rest areas.

I had bought a fat atlas of road maps the other day. It also had some other cool features. For instance it showed the location of rest areas. The significance of this was that I had stopped at a rest area shortly after I had bought my sandwich at the Subway. I carefully perused the map and realised with a huge relief, that I had indeed called the wrong Subway the first time around.

Fortuity three: Super 8.

Now that there was still a chance my wallet was not gone, I drove on. Then I spied a Super 8 motel just off the freeway. I exited and entered their parking lot. As expected, there was some wifi, and it was free!

I searched google maps again (with my now superior knowledge of my lunchtime coordinates) and found about eight Subways around that region. Hell, which one had I gone to?

Fortuity four: Best Western.

I tried to imagine how my Subway looked. There was some motel next to it. I closed my eyes and tried to remember its logo. Was it a Best Western? Probably.

I now tried to search for Subways next to Best Westerns. This time Google did not fail me. There was a unique possible location.

I called them.

They had my wallet.

I will not try to describe the extent of my relief. Instead, I will merely say that I drove back ninety miles as fast as I could and picked up my wallet. Then I drove all the way back to Oregon again. I kept driving and driving till it was about eleven in the night. I stopped at some small motel in the little town of Pendleton and slept better than I have had for a long while.

Day 11 (July 10),  Pendleton, Oregon to Portland, Oregon.

I woke up and left for Portland around noon. It took about three hours to reach the city. I checked into the hotel I had reserved and then went walking for a while. The motel was in a great location; smack in the middle of downtown.

I went to the airport and picked up AM. We had a wonderful dinner at a seafood place by the river and then came back to our hotel.

Day 12 (July 11), Portland, Oregon to Crater Lake, Oregon.

We woke up early and started driving towards Crater lake. It was a place I had longed to visit for years and we were both very excited.

About an hour into our drive, we stopped at the college town of Eugene to get some breakfast. Eugene has this reputation of being a very hip place, but the morning was cloudy and mildly dreary and there was hardly anyone on the streets. For a while we thought that Eugene’s hipness was exaggerated. But those fears vanished once we entered a cafe to get breakfast.

It was full of the hip crowd. People who would fit in perfectly in the coolest parts of Berkeley or San Francisco. The place itself was full of signs exclaiming their commitment to organic/local produce/vegan/fair-trade/universal brotherhood/world peace etc. And the coffee was so good.

We lounged around for an hour, enjoying our coffee and breakfast and making fun of hippies. Then we left and continued our journey towards Crater Lake. It took almost four hours to reach it.

Often enough, when you have heard many great things about a place, the expectations are so high that you end up disappointed. Crater Lake met my expectations. It was as beautiful as billed, and its waters looked, as we had heard, unbelievably blue.

crater 014

The reason for this blueness (and this is what makes this lake unique enough to be designated a national park) is the lake’s amazing depth and incredible purity. The lake basically fills the entire crater of a huge dormant volcano and is almost two thousand feet deep at parts. And because there are no inlets, the water is just pure melted snow.

It was an enchanting place in every way.

We hiked down to the surface of the water and enjoyed the sights. Then we came back to our camp-site and made a fire.

As the sun went down, we cooked some dinner in my little stove. The canned soup tasted so good! Eventually, we retired inside our tent .

Day 13 (July 12), Crater Lake, Oregon to Portland, Oregon.

After waking up and packing up tent etc, we had lunch and then went for a longish hike to the the top of a peak at the rim of the crater.

The views of the lake were gorgeous along the trail. In fact, the view in every direction was spectacular. Verdant pine trees, layered ranges that dissove into the clouds. I am lost for words.

crater 003

After having lunch at the top, we hiked down to our car and finally left crater lake around mid-afternoon. It was pretty late when we returned to our Portland hotel.

We decided to walk the city for a while and then went into a bar. We devoured a lot of excellent food at happy-hour prices and drank some good beer on the tap.

Then we came back to the hotel and drank some wine. AM and I had had a wonderful couple of days but she had a flight out the next morning to Berkeley. As for me, I was going to go to Seattle where I would spend a day with my friend J.

Day 14 ( July 13), Portland, Oregon.

I dropped off AM at the airport very early (5:30) and then came back to my hotel.

A little after, she called. By a strange coincidence of heavy congestion at the check-in counter and a broken security metal-detector, she had missed her flight. Now she was flying out the next morning.

As a result we had one more day together at Portland. I picked her up from the airport (and called up J and informed him I would not be able to make it to Seattle till the next day). We rested for a while and eventually left to see the city.

It was a long, loungy, beautiful day. We walked (and occasionally took the free bus) to explore downtown Portland. We spent a couple of hours at a coffee-shop and did some math. We played scrabble in a park next to a pretty fountain.

On the subject of coffee-shops and parks, Portland has lots of both.  It is in fact an incredibly European city. You know what I mean? Plenty of public utilities. Tramways and buses that are free in the downtown area. City halls. Large squares and lovely fountains. A nice riverwalk. Cafes strewn all over the place. An air of cultured sophistication.

Overall, there were things about Portland I loved (coffee-shops, bars, parks, architecture, culture, jaywalking, proximity to mountains), things I had mixed feelings about (the free downtown bus rides and other signs of large public spending, the fickle weather) and things I hated (the preponderance of one-way streets, the occasional air of righteous hippiness, the everywhere-signs warning of heavy fines if you don’t wear a seatbelt).

Like the city of Portland, the state of Oregon also left me with mixed feelings. It is a beautiful state, and has many nice features, but they mess things up by their annoying meddling. The speed limits on most roads, including freeways, are too low (this is true everywhere in the US, but Oregon is particularly bad). The most common sign on the freeways are those that warn of heavy fines if you didnt wear your seatbelt or put on your helmet. Oregon also has some bizarre laws that exist virtually nowhere else. For instance, it is illegal here to drive into a gas station and self-fill gas into your car; here the attendant at the station must do it. If you decide to fill your tank yourself and a cop spies you, you can be slapped with a $500 fine. Apparently, Oregonian legislators think you are too dumb to safely fuel your vehicle and thus you (and your children!) must be protected from attempting to do so. I am serious.

I once used to think of Oregon as one of those ruggedly individual libertarianish mountain west states (like Colorado or Wyoming or Montana) but nothing in my trip seemed to support that. I mean, it does have better assisted suicide laws than anywhere else in the States. It has fairly liberal drug laws. But if you come to Oregon expecting an overall enhancement of your freedom to deal with your body and property in any manner you deem fit, you may be disappointed.  (Your better bets are Colorado, Montana and New Hampshire). As I earlier observed in the context of tobacco, Oregon’s apparent libertarianism is an accident. Oregon is a nice state, but it not a particularly free one. At best, it is free only in some ways that align with European style liberalism. It is much like the Bay area that way.

Anyway, enough about Oregon’s political identity. I’ll go back to talking of our day in Portland.

It is a blissful experience to explore and walk about a pretty city for a whole day when you have no worries or deadlines.

The coffee-shop we spent some time in had such wonderful latte that we ordered it again. The roadside Greek cafe had super-tasty food. We walked by the fountains and the river. The scrabble game was exciting. Dinner was at a really good fondue restaurant.

We came back and finished the left-over wine from the previous night. It was the perfect end to a wonderful day.

So that was week two of my trip. The next day, AM would depart and I would drive (again alone) to Seattle, and from there to Montana. There will be another (final) update in about a week!

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1. I am currently in Hawaii. It is most wonderful. And there is something truly special about doing math on the beach. Some day I hope to find out if it is as good as having sex on the beach.

2. I am in the final couple of months of my US stay. This is not the post to express all the things I feel about the last five years of my life — that would take far too long — but I’ll just note a few things. Doing a PhD, at least in math, is much more about learning than research. The USA has its good and bad sides, but I came here, like a lot of Indians, with a somewhat negative view of this country and over the years I have come to love it and much of what it stands for. I really enjoyed my grad life and I think I grew as an individual — my political and philosophical views got more refined, my view of relationships and people got more mature. I will be sad to leave, sad to no longer be a student, sad to leave my friends, a close ex-girlfriend and a lover behind on this continent. But change is a wonderful thing, in spite of everything it entails; and while there are many aspects of my identity I consider significant — libertarian, atheist, mathematician, dreamer — I am perhaps above all a dynamist.

3. Talking of girlfriends and lovers, I completely agree with Kerry Howley’s take on the issue (stated only for marriages, but surely applicable to any meaningful relationship).

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I know I haven’t posted in a fair while.

It’s been a busy time. I finished writing up my thesis and defended last Monday. Then there was a whirlwind trip to Zurich and Milan over the last four days. The next month I will be busy wrapping some things around here; also my mom will be here for my commencement.

Plans for the summer include plenty of reading and writing — I intend to write a series of posts on morality, rationality and political philosophy: in some sense it will be a long explanation of what I really mean when I say I am a libertarian. I might also go for a solo drive across the US, and stop over at campsites and cities, mountains and forests. From storm-chasing in Denver to hiking in Montana — let’s see!

Then, some time in August, I’ll cross the ocean and begin life in a new continent.

While on the flight back from Zurich on Friday I saw two movies — each for the second time — that I had copied on to my mp3/video player. They were Annie Hall and Before Sunset. I wanted to share this small passage from Before Sunset.

I mean, I always feel like a freak because I’m never able to move on like… this! You know, people just have an affair, or even entire relationships… they break up and they forget. They move on like they would have changed a brand of cereals.

I feel I was never able to forget anyone I’ve been with. Because each person have…you know, specific details. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost.

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Despite the title, this post is not going to be a complete list but more of a little story.

One day when I came back from a rather stressful day of school and in a really bad mood — I was thirteen at the time — my mom suggested I lie down on my bed, close my eyes and play Mozart’s Piano Concerto 15 on my little cassette player. I did as she said. And that was how it all began.

I discovered Mozart and I have been in love with his music ever since. His genius has helped me tide over so many difficult times.  He has made me laugh in childlike delight on so many occasions. I have occasionally tried to express my gratitude in posts like this and this but I don’t think they really do justice to his greatness.

And it would be wrong not to mention the other composers I have discovered since. Dvorak and his amazing ninth. Beethoven. Bach, Vivaldi, Strauss, Wagner. Tchaikovsky. Copland.

And oh, Bizet! I love Carmen. I could listen to the Habanera all my life. In fact I could watch every performance of Carmen that has ever taken place. I have come to appreciate opera more over the years. This aria from the Marriage of Figaro is magical. It is Mozart after all. But if I have to pick one piece that touches me most intensely — sends tingling sensations through my body and makes me feel part of some indescribable greatness — it would be this miracle. Has there ever been another song as moving? Operas are great. I am going to see one this week — Die Walkure — and the very thought makes me excited.

I cannot say I am anything close to an expert on classical music. I know nothing about the technical aspects of music. I can barely tell keys.  I can’t read. I can neither sing nor play any instrument. But I just love hearing the stuff. It makes me happy. It can make me happier than almost anything else can.

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Conversations, news and movies inform me that it is pretty common for a person to say bad things about his or her ex. I have always found that practice mystifyingly alien. It is not that I necessarily have any moral objection to saying such things; just that I cannot ever imagine myself doing it.

A part of this attitude has probably to do with my general distate to voicing private matters in public, even to close friends. But a lot of it also has to do with pride and self-respect; it seems to me that it is impossible to say really bad things about someone you were close to for an extended period of time in the past without disrespecting yourself. How can you today badmouth someone you loved and respected in the past without implying that your judgment, taste — in a sense your entire existence then — was in some fundamental way flawed or false? I mean I see that people can feel pretty strong negative emotions after a bad break-up but still… I simply don’t get it. I don’t think I can ever publicly put down or even strongly criticize anyone I had been together with for a reasonable period of time; however acrimonious the break-up, however hurt I were in the process. Maybe I am just weird in this way.

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I like driving fast. And no urban freeway rewards the skilled, fast driver more than the historic Pasadena freeway, the  section of the 110 north of downtown LA .

In many ways, the Pasadena Freeway is an anomaly. The oldest freeway in the US, it connects the business district of Los Angeles to the city of Pasadena. It is a narrow, winding 8 miles long stretch of concrete road with several features to strike fear into the heart of the novice driver. The lanes are narrower than usual, the curves unrelentingly sharp and the traffic always heavy. The exits have a 5 mile speed limit, the entrances have stop signs and neither have any acceleration or deceleration lanes. The maximum speed limit is 55 miles per hour, yet traffic on the faster lane often goes at 80. Every aspect of the design of this freeway is outdated: the curves are underbanked and designed for traffic no faster than 40, the shoulder nonexistent. And fierce lane changes are the norm.

All of which makes it the most fun urban freeway to drive in probably all of US. Going fast on empty interstates is a joke; you just have to press the accelerator. To drive fast on the 110 safely requires real skill. I need to take the 110 two to three times on most weeks and I know it like the back of my hand. And oh, what a joy it is to pass those fancy convertibles and sports cars everytime: me in my ancient Corolla, veering smoothly from lane to lane, passing all those drivers many of whom are clearly out of their league and just want to get out of there, feeling the g-forces on my body as I conquer those curves at speeds that are about thirty miles faster than the recommended one yet not so fast as to make me lose control in any manner. My driving skills are one of those things I take pride in and the 110 is an arena where it is amply rewarded.

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How a fired advertising executive became a Starbucks waiter and now thanks the coffee chain for saving his life.

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All time favourites are of two kinds.

The first kind is what I call ‘love at first sight’. You like them from the start and by the time you are done with them, you know they are going to become an all time favourite. Your appreciation for them peaks at or towards the end of your first experience with them and future reflection upon them does not increase your liking much higher.

In the second kind, much rarer, you don’t particularly like the object on first taste. By the time you are done with it, you still don’t exactly love it, though you are aware there is something very interesting about them. It is only on reflection, over the next few days or even weeks that you succeed in unraveling the many layers of quality that wrap around them. You fall in love slowly, the process is intrinsic rather than external and the eventual effect is a powerful, permanent one.

I am not trying to imply that one kind of favourite is superior to the other; nor am I saying the opposite. The above is merely an observation and nothing more.

Examples of the first kind in my life: Harry Potter, The Fountainhead, Surely you are joking Mr. Feynman, Saving Private Ryan, No Man’s land, The lives of others, Chungking express, When Harry met Sally, Satyajit Ray movies, most Tarantino movies, Top of the World, El Condor Pasa, Carmen, Dvorak’s 9th symphony, solution to IMO ’99 problem 3.

Examples of the second kind in my life: The Great Gatsby,The old man and the sea, The outsider, American Beauty, most Polanski movies (particularly Bitter Moon), Strawberry fields forever, Bangalore, TJ Bolivian blend coffee.

Some things however, I can’t decide which category to put in. Examples: Mozart’s music, Hardy’s Apology.

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Newness

Eliezer has an unusual suggestion on how to spend New Year’s Day.

Sometime in the next week – January 1st if you have that available, or maybe January 3rd or 4th if the weekend is more convenient – I suggest you hold a New Day, where you don’t do anything old.

Don’t read any book you’ve read before.  Don’t read any author you’ve read before.  Don’t visit any website you’ve visited before.  Don’t play any game you’ve played before.  Don’t listen to familiar music that you already know you’ll like.  If you go on a walk, walk along a new path even if you have to drive to a different part of the city for your walk.  Don’t go to any restaurant you’ve been to before, order a dish that you haven’t had before.  Talk to new people (even if you have to find them in an IRC channel) about something you don’t spend much time discussing.

And most of all, if you become aware of yourself musing on any thought you’ve thunk before, then muse on something else.  Rehearse no old grievances, replay no old fantasies.

If it works, you could make it a holiday tradition, and do it every New Year.

I think it is a beautiful idea.

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The Center for Science in the Public Interest is an interesting organization. Ostensibly, its purpose is to be a “strong advocate for nutrition and health, food safety, alcohol policy, and sound science”. It publishes a health newsletter and has several programs to educate the public on various issues related to science, nutrition and public health.

Scratch deeper, and a frightening picture emerges. The CSPI is one of those entities that believes in science but not in freedom. It believes in equating the nutritious and the safe  with the universally good, and is happy to enforce these value judgements on others by any means at their disposal.

Their latest target is “alcoholic energy drinks”. This is from their website:

The nonprofit Center for Science in the Public Interest today filed suit against MillerCoors Brewing Company, formerly Miller, over its alcoholic energy drink, Sparks. The product has more alcohol than regular beer and contains unapproved additives, including the stimulants caffeine and guarana. The lawsuit is asking the Superior Court of the District of Columbia to stop MillerCoors from selling the controversial drink, which is also under scrutiny from state attorneys general.

Drinkers of caffeinated alcoholic drinks are more likely to binge drink, ride with an intoxicated driver, become injured, or be taken advantage of sexually than drinkers of non-caffeinated alcoholic drinks, according to a 2007 study conducted at Wake Forest University.

Sparks products contain 6 to 7 percent alcohol by volume, as opposed to regular beer, which typically has 4 or 5 percent alcohol. Also unlike beer, Sparks’ appeal to young people is enhanced by its sweet citrusy taste, redolent of SweeTarts candy, and the bright color of orange soda. (Sparks Light also contains the artificial sweetener sucralose). In October, MillerCoors plans to release Sparks Red, which will have 8 percent alcohol by volume.

They have already stopped Anheuser-Busch from selling a similar product. Shockingly, they do not have an action project to ban the serving of coffee to a customer who has had a glass of wine — yet.

The rest of their website contains arguments in a similar vein. They go on about how the raising of the drinking age has saved lives, how alcohol is a terrible drug that deserves to be severely restricted from just about every place imaginable, how the trans fat ban will save fifty thousand lives a year and so on. They want to employ every coercive technique imaginable to stop such horrors from happening.

It always surprises me when I read this kind of analysis.

In the CSPI worldview, the only negative costs are those that are directly measurable, such as death and disease. Any action that reduces these figures is good. But clearly extending this reasoning to everything leads to absurdities. For instance, ban all cars today and the number of speeding related deaths will become zero. No one advocates such a thing because the costs in terms of inconvenience, quality of life and — may I mention it — freedom will be too high. How is it that when they rile against unhealthy or unsafe foods and drinks, they completely neglect the intrinsic cost of taking away from millions of users something that they enjoy? How is it that they put absolutely no weight in their analysis upon the fact that they are taking away my basic right to live my life the way I deem fit?

It is possible that CSPI is acting in good faith and in their moral code, these intrinsic costs are negligible or at any rate, low enough to merit coercive regulation.

But everyone has a core, inalienable ethical belief and here is mine. There’s only one word that accurately describes actions such as those of CSPI. That word is “evil”. It is irrelevant to my moral code that they may not view things the same way. There is simply no other way I can think of people who believe in imposing their personal choices on others. And unlike bandits or robbers who commit crimes for their gain, the evil that such organizations do never stop.

(Hat Tip: Reason Hit and Run)

Also read:

Jacob Sullum’s old article on CSPI and their pseudoscience.

My post on smoking bans in San Francisco.

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I wrote a short story (“Middling”) sometime in early 2002 (or late 2001?) that I remember not being particularly pleased with. It was one of many results of a period when I tried my hand at fiction and poetry; doesn’t everyone go through such a phase? But anyway, I think it was a bad story. So I was really surprised yesterday when an old friend (let’s call him T) who had read the thing back then, mentioned it to me saying he had found it beautiful. “One of the most relevant to the human condition stories I have ever read”, were his words.

This prompted me to take a second look at it, and alas, I do not agree with his assessment. Middling strikes me as cliched in content as well as poorly written — corny is the word — and if I ever publish a collection of my writings it will not be included. Nonetheless, T’s reaction suggests that at least some people might think of it somewhat more highly than I do, so here it is. I made some minor edits but it is essentially the same as the version I wrote seven years ago.

Middling

Mahesh Rao smiled.

It wasn’t a simple everyday smile of the kind we see in people around us everyday. It was a smile that was an odd mixture of defeat, irony, self-derision and triumph. An observer would probably have mistaken it for a peculiar frown.

Softly, he muttered to himself, “Your time has come.”

All his life he had never excelled in anything except at being middling. He always got middling marks in school, he was middling in all the games he played, he wore middling clothes and he lived with his typically middle-class parents in an unremarkable part of the town where the sun seemed to rise and set at the same times each day. He couldn’t remember a single field in which his accomplishments could be described as good or bad. It was always middling.

All through school, his teachers had predicted that he would definitely fail that year. He had proved them wrong each time by always passing, albeit by a slender margin. Sometimes he felt it would have been better if he had failed…

“But how could I fail? I am not a person who fails or succeeds! I am just middling!” Mahesh abruptly realized that his thoughts had broken free of the shackles of his brain and he was screaming at the top of his voice; he shut up as suddenly as he had begun.

He needn’t have. Standing alone at the top of Majestic Tower, the tallest structure in the city, there was not the slightest chance that anyone could have heard his outburst.

But why? Why did everyone have to be good? Was there no chance in this world for the mediocre? He wasn’t born a genius. It wasn’t his fault that he was middling. Why should he denied the happiness, the success that everyone else seemed to have? Of course, he was allowed to succeed. But it didn’t make a difference. He was, after all, middling. But so what? That’s the way the world worked. But why? Why not? Why? He wasn’t talented! So? Why should only excellence be rewarded? To hell with the outstanding! What did he, Mahesh Rao, lack that the smart rich kid who stole his love have? And even if that smart kid had something he didn’t have, why should that matter? Excellence be damned! And why was he called Mahesh Rao? Why not Mahesh Sakzo? Or Huyrn Rao? Why such a commonplace name like Mahesh Rao?

Because you are middling, you fool, he told himself wearily.

He was weary. But then he had been so for almost as long as he could remember. Weary of being average. Weary of his inability to say with regard to anything, “Yes, I am good.” Weary of his firm belief that he would never be able to say it. Weary of the fact that he was never particularly happy or deeply sad. Weary of the sameness that he felt all around him and above all in himself. Weary of all the comparisons and realisations. Weary of every second of the 17 years he had spent on earth. Weary of life…

But not for much longer, he thought.

There was once, and only once, when for a short time he felt that he wasn’t middling. That was when he had loved Sheetal, the most beautiful and the most intelligent girl he had ever met. He had risen above his mediocre self and wooed her in style. He had spoken to her in the most charming manner he could imagine He had tried to make her feel like a princess.

He still remembered the shrill, cruel laughter with which she had rejected his proposal. Shrill and cruel as the jagged edge of a piece of glass. Or a piece of rock maybe? He wasn’t sure.

Sheetal had ever since been in a ‘steady’ relationship with Vikram, Mahesh’s classmate. Of course, Vikram and Mahesh were as different as chalk and cheese. Vikram was the first boy in class. He excelled in every sport. His father was one of the richest men in town. He was anything but middling. So it wasn’t too surprising that Sheetal preferred Vikram to him.

Yet that rejection had hit Mahesh harder than anything else in his middling life. He sometimes wondered why. Was it because he had tried his hardest, played all his cards and yet failed to succeed?

Since then he had planned for this day. The day that would prove that even an ordinary, middling boy could do something extraordinary. He had played his cards well this time. Considering that Majestic Tower was 25 stories high, he couldn’t see the slightest chance of failing. And he had also arranged for sufficient publicity. All his friends, the police, the media and even the local politician knew by now what he planned to do. He could already see the huge crowd building up under the tower.

In his mind’s eye he could see the next day’s newspaper headline. ‘An ordinary person commits an extraordinary suicide’. Or maybe, ‘Middling in life, but not in death’. Wow, what publicity he would get the next day! Maybe they would even organise a gala funeral for him! Or a grand dinner maybe. Where everyone would remember him and shed tears. Why, even Sheetal might be there! He would be the toast of the town. After all, who had ever heard of a middling youth jumping from the tallest tower in town in full view of a television crew and half the local population? A middling person was expected to die in an ordinary manner. Not like this, he thought triumphantly.

He stepped over the railing and on the thin slab that separated the terrace from nothingness. He still held onto the railing by one hand. He leaned forward so that his hand supported his entire weight. He now only needed to let go, and…

Yes, now was the time. He could see the television crew, the scurrying policemen and the vast crowd watching him in dreaded anticipation. They would be watching him succeed. He prepared to let go.

He could hear a faint voice from below. It was that of his mother. She was pleading with him not to jump. For a moment he wavered. Then he steeled himself. No ma, don’t stop me now. For once I am going to succeed. I am going to succeed this time, dear mother. I promise you, I won’t fail, he whispered to no one in particular.

He let go of the railing…

When he opened his eyes, he was on a long white bed. Everything around him seemed to be a blur. Then as his senses cleared a bit, he could hear voices around him. “Brave fellow, risked his life to save this idiot…” “Caught him just as he dived…” “Have you heard, the police have announced a reward for Vikram Agarwal!” He could also see Vikram standing a short distance away, the toast of the town.

He closed his eyes again. He had failed, after all.

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