Celerity- the congenital love of man

I think it is intrinsic to human nature to love speed. I have a predilection for the word "celerity", but I also know I will not win any popularity votes by using that word, hence I will not use it again here :). Right from childhood, most of us have this fascination for speed. Fast trains, fast cars and later on, maybe fast girls !! ;) I was no different (except maybe in the last item:). I have driven my father crazy by making him repeat, ad nauseum, the difference between Diesel and Electric Engines, Broad and Metre gauge trains, the Rajdhani and other Superfast trains, among others.
This liking for speed also manifests itself in sports. In cricket, the sight of a fast bowler making a batsman hop, shattering his stumps is always stirring. As a kid everyone wants to bowl fast. Its only the ones who are unable to do that try to bowl spin.
This same sentiment is carried over to tennis too. I loved watching Wimbledon. Big serves, quick rallies and a skidding surface while I hated the slow red clay of Roland Garros.

But there were certain incidents that niggled. I found it was very difficult to cycle slowly, for instance. But of course I didn't let that bother me much. It was much later , when I think I matured, that I seriously thought about this human fascination with speed. And I have been thinking of it ever since. Every case I think about leads me to the same conclusion-that speed is always the easier thing to deal with. It is when you slow things down that it becomes a more holistic challenge. This is my exposition of this matter with some examples that influenced me.

I will start with Cricket-my passion. As mentioned before it is impossible to not be bowled over (pun intended :) when you see Waqar Younis or Wasim Akram come up with those deliveries that seem to have a mind of their own and swerve like heat seeking missiles to find their target. Or see a still photo of a batsman airborne, swaying away, torso almost horizontal and smelling the leather inches from his nose. Or in another case, bat horizontal, making contact in front of his face with eyes closed. One must get roused by such images. For speed is something that is earthy. It thrives on the blood rushing to the head. That is the defining character of each of those images. Now think of spin in cricket. It is diametrically opposite. It is about trickery and deception, patience and skill, concentration and a war of attrition. When I see a spinner throw the ball up in the air, and I see it insidiously curving away in the air and later spit off the pitch, the batsman has to have so many skills. Stretch out, have soft hands,wait for the ball, resist the innate urge to swing wildly.... Anyone who has played street cricket will know this. It is so much more a mental contest, and one of the delights is to see a batsman stranded far down the pitch, look back to see the bails off and wonder how he had come so far down. This involves a far more subtle art-both playing and bowling spin and hence we have a dearth of both as compared to fast bowlers. Fast bowling is just about that moment and everything happens so fast there is not time enough for the mental processes to come into play. Thus fast bowling is mostly muscle and brawn while spin is wiles and temptation. During the test match at Adelaide there was a fascinating interview with Terry Jenner, formerly Warne's coach. His perspicuous observations on spin bowling were most instructive and he quoted Bishan Singh Bedi's words as a message for all spinners, that "Spin is in the air and break is off the pitch". Hence you have to go beyond the obvious to see and appreciate the nuances of spin bowling.

If we go to the green grass of Wimbledon, the surface is quick. Balls roll and die quickly. Rallies are short. And everyone loves it. Travel to the red clay of Roland Garros and its different. The surface (pun definitely intended ) is a great leveller :) The rallies are long, the ball bounces and sits up and some all time great players never manage a win there. The clay makes you stop and think. It gives you time to make a choice-where do you want to hit it, what shot do you play. It is not about impulse but contemplation. It has parallels with life-points don't come easy and one has to be tenacious, one cannot sit back and relax thinking a point is won. I feel it involves more skills than winning at Wimbledon and I have been able to enjoy the battles at Roland Garros all the more after I realised this.

Slow cycling is another example. When you go slow, your very balance is questioned. But it is quite easy to go fast. Even aeroplanes stall at low speeds, while high speeds are not a problem. My friend Harsha who learns Classical music also says that singing slowly and holding a note is what makes a good vocalist for that is when you are prone to error. Singing at higher pace is much easier.

Perhaps, to give a nerdy counterexample I will illustrate the case of the speed of sound as taught in high school . Newton thought the compression/rarefaction of air was a "slow" process and hence isothermal and calculated a value of sonic velocity which was found to be far below what was known. Later Laplace corrected it by assuming it is a "rapid" adiabatic process and the corresponding sonic velocity was accurate. Thus we have to be thankful that the process is rapid else sound would have travelled slower and many of our technological applications would not work the same. Its only in such matters that high speed involves intricacies.

I have perhaps given enough examples. Even as you read, you might have thought of some more. My idea is that speed or change is the order of nature. Time and thought, among all things flow quickest. Slowing things down is an attempt to resist change, in a sense. Hence such tasks are inherently more subtle. There is another more logical reason though. As pointed out before, when things are slower and you have to make a choice, it involves more than just your reflexes, it is about conscious thought. Speed is perhaps like war-once the first shot is fired, and the adrenaline flows, anyone can be brave. But the nerve wracking wait for an ambush is where the real test lies. Hence I love the beauty inherent in a slow motion video.

My point after all this is only that even as we continue to be enthralled by speed let us recognize that it is a natural urge, while next time you see Muralidharan or Warne bowl, and/or somebody play them well, take a moment to reflect that there is much more to it than meets the eye.

The REMINISCENCES

As I promised, this is the introduction to the REM that was written in 2006.Its something thats special for me, and that is the reason am putting it up. It was titled, quite appropriately, as Footprints on the sands of time.

Foot prints on the sands of time…….



On the third day of September in 2002, when four hundred and sixty odd Destiny’s children were brought together by fate from different parts of the country, to change lives, change their life, and have the time of their lives, the expanse of the entire nation was injected into this eight hundred acre Wonderland.

We entered with apprehension of the years ahead but leave with comprehension of what these years mean to us, for however high we rise in life, we will always remember that these were our roots, this was where our outlook was moulded.

It’s been an epic journey, one that seems to have gone past in the blink of an eye. Like diamonds cutting diamonds were we, polishing each other and getting ready to face the world, as stereotypes were banished, and true friendships were forged- Friendships that have endured and transcended those early days of ragging, the late night GEC-NIT fiascos, the euphemistic Club Inductions, silly TV room fights, the bucket party brawls, and the halcyon days of Agate life, even as tragedy has befallen some of our mates on the way.

The chariot of time moved on. We started growing out of our shadows. The innocent became worldly wise, the brash and the outspoken mellowed with tinges of prudence, the stoical became sentimental and the proverbial ugly ducklings found their wings. As a wise man once said “Young men think themselves immortal”, so did we, thinking this would never end.

Trail blazers all the way, we stood at the forefront of some monumental events-The first Pragyan, the last of the departmental symposiums, and the first and maybe the last NIT Fest.
Finally at the end if it all we look back at these years well spent and awaken to the inevitable reality. A familiar lump forms in the throat, and you will time to pass slower But like a ball of wool, it seems to run quicker at the end; you clutch wildly but time rolls on, inexorably. Apprehension of the future returns and you say to yourself- “If only……”
When again will we feel so joyful at other’s joy, or so gloomy at another’s heartbreak? Perhaps never again.

Life might suck us into its whirlpool of hypocrisy and cunningness. But years hence when we meet again, with greying hair and furrowed face, tired of plodding on through life, the sight of a buddy from these golden days will surely make us tear apart our veneer of propriety and for sometime at least go back in time and relive these REMINISCENCES.
The Eagles put it best when they said: “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave………”

For you have left behind your foot prints in the sands of time…..
Remember this when the Tower of Time recedes in the rear view mirror and you see yourself driven away into the sunset. Do not weep that its over, instead smile that it happened.

The writing of the REM.

Continuing on with my theme of sloth and recycled creativity, today I will post, to increase my post count, what I consider will stand as my best writing ever. But only a fellow NITTian will perhaps understand and concur with what I say.
Every year at the end of eighth semester, we outgoing students bring out something like a memoir of the graduating class, titled appropriately, REMINISCENCES. It is one bundle of nostalgia and joy rolled into one, as it gives an irreverent, tongue-in-cheek, account of each individual’s life at NITT with special emphasis on his accomplishments, or lack thereof, written by his or her inner circle of friends. One left handed compliment, delivered in a typically sarcastic manner here, we consider to be worth volumes of paeans sung in our honour.
And I had the honour of writing the introductory page to the REMINISCENCES titled “Footprints on the sands of time…” It was something I always dreamt about since the first time I had seen the REM., and I was elated when it finally came true-that I would get to speak on behalf of my entire batch of five hundred, for to be honest, there were people more talented than myself, but I probably wanted it more than others. As one of my favourite maxims goes- The race isn’t to the swift, nor battle to the strong, but victory goes to the one who wants it the most.
I remember that hot summer afternoon in March clearly. I was scribbling away lying on my bed, looking out through my window at what we fondly called the RCG (Ruby Cricket Ground :), with the rumbling of the “train fan” on the ceiling for company. Just then Vicky popped in, saw what I was doing, and commented that I have a long afternoon’s work ahead of me.
I normally take a long time to write, lovingly lingering over each word, playing with it, and admiring it with shameless narcissism :). But that day I finished within an hour. Once I started, I wrote with pure emotion, the words simply flowing, with none of my customary puns and word play. Infact I was almost in tears when I finished. That was one of the rare times that I wrote from the heart, with the head playing second fiddle.
When the REM. was published, people came and told me that I had translated into print their very feelings and made them nostalgic already. Among them were some really gifted people who wrote better than I did, and I consider that one of the best moments of my life so far.
So that was my best salute to NITT, NITTians, and the NITTian way of life.
Enough said in this post, so I will post my write up for the REM. in my next post.