Tuesday, March 01, 2016

Russians climbing it right

There are several things on my mind. To filter out through, on this morning, to chagrin (maybe fate), is the history on the V Thread (aka the Abalakov Anchor) an anchor made using, but ultimately sans the ice screws. The screws are drawn out, and all that's left is ice and rope, and a 200-400lb load in the form of you, the anchored.

When its Soviet inventor, Vitaly Mikhalovich Abakov, engineered it in the 1930s, he was arrested for embracing western mountaineering techniques; something similar to the sedition charges that our dissenting loud mouths face today. Only if the dissenters in our country were arrested for "making" than "saying" things, we would see a much healthier environment despite dissent that might even lead to some fantastic application of a small principle towards solving a big problem.

The first hollow screws were developed in the 1930s and were much faster to place than their predecessors; their hollow core allowing for relief of pressure as chewed up ice could spit out the end of the screw. It wasn’t until the 50s or 60s that thicker screws were made with a larger core. It was sometime during that period that Abalakov invented the V-thread and dramatically changed what climbers thought was possible on steep ice and alpine routes.

Monday, February 08, 2016


dear doshanbe.. what curse are you closely obeying? why does all breakfast turn charred? why does the inanimate still get to win? and, what's next?




Feverish over Ev history

Sunday spent feverish about people well dead and buried by now. The 1922 British team to attempt the Everest was an A-team of all sorts. It was only a year back, in the 1921 reconaissance mission, that a possible route to the Everest - through Tibet - was identified. These two expeditions - of 1921 and 1922 - count among the best, hardest, and bravest of mountaineering expeditions on this subcontinent. The enthusiasm with which every member of the team took it up, despite the inconveniences, brings to mind that agency that i have been trying to find and lift myself through in this year.

Also managed to confirm some finer details of JBL Noel's 1913 expedition, AM Kellas' covert documentation of 1920s, and the 1921 expedition, all of which led to the 1922 expedition.
The Arun River, which originates from Shishapangma (the shortest of eight thousanders), also has a fascinating course, that ultimately feeds the Saptkoshi system, that was new knowledge for me. Oh, and Tashikak != Tashigaon, that which fired all my curiosities to begin with, was resolved.

And I guess every time somebody takes a damn lotta interest in this, at the end of the day sits Wade Davis, with his book "Into the Silence" chronicling those events. Though a 2011 book, it is available at very few vendors - at 672 pages it sits beyond the boundaries as a primer or as a lighthearted reading, and I guess that is why it hasn't received a wider audience.
Lucky to have stumbled onto the last remaining copy on Amazon India, a surprisingly cheap paperback edition available that was immediately summoned to my home.

Saturday, February 06, 2016

Make it so hard

When they end their preaching
In a quiet place under the blue
Hear the wind speaking
The words I wrote for you

I gave you my heart
And you don't like it 
But you still keep it 
And make it so hard

new hominid subspecies

such privilege for me to be sipping on my cuppa morning tea on my balcony - so many possessives to claim - while a neighborhood hobo surreptitiously swept up crushed biscuits left on the pavement (by the 4am dog lady) for the dogs of the 'hood.

Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.
truly, failing the adage, i could not teach the man to grow wheat and potato and build a stove and forage iron and dry salt, and rather simply threw him down a piece of flatbread that we call the Aloo Parantha, on the condition of keeping the pavement food back there. his stomach must manage very well if that's his usual modus breakfast.. homosapiens hyaenae

Friday, February 05, 2016

The blue eyed boys of high altitude mountaineering





Today's idling has been occupied by the fantastic adventures of Mr. JBL Noel.. one of the most fantastic creatures on planet earth in the last century. Him, and another gentleman Mr. Alexander Kellas, a chemist and physiologist, have been the two most underrated characters in the history of Himalayan expeditions, and climbing in general.

Inspiration, envy, eagerness, will to action - let's hope I follow that chain which starts today. Found a coupla nice papers to read that focus on the era of these gentleman. Had Kellas not died enroute to Everest on his very first visit with the 1922 expedition, the ill-fated 1924 expedition of Mallory-Irvine might've made it out alive.

Tuesday, February 02, 2016

Social prow

Clothes maketh the man
Naked people have little or no influence on the society.

This adage was running in my head a coupla days back. Then yesterday, irregardless of my anti-sociality, or maybe giving up on sociality, I put on a traditional kurta. Then by the evening I had 3 friends who I haven't met in a while. It turned to be a dense nightover.
I got 2 compliments over the kurta, which is not bad (out of 3 in the best case scenario), and which fulfills the purpose the kurta was made for. This is like walking out with an umbrella in the summers to have it rain. Or is this like flesh attracting scavengers? Or a social consciousness?

What crap to start my Doshanbe with. Next frontier: eusociality.

Coldplay's shallow India of Colors and Chaos


Reminded of this passage from EM Forster's "A Passage to India" after watching Coldplay's latest MV out - Hymn for the Weekend. It is average, shallow like the rest.



This coming from people who brought out Andy Serkis and animation pioneers for their next to last video - Adventure of a Lifetime

Realism of The Revenant (2015)


"If we ended up in greenscreen with coffee and everybody having a good time, everybody will be happy, but most likely the film would be a piece of shit."

I wondered throughout if it was all done for real, but yes it was. The Revenant, a 2015 movie, nominated for 12 oscars, is a beefy deal to get over with. Glad to have screened it tonite when Yogi was over. "Starkly beautiful and uncompromising", as one review calls it; ditto.

I did know it would be about the outback, and especially focused on survival, unaware of the background that it is based on the trapper expeditions in the harsh American north. Also didn't know the man behind it - Inarritu - all of whose movies I have enjoyed and found a lot of awareness encapsulated. Babel also had a similar theme of unfolding drama among people of diverse ethnicities and languages. But whereas in Babel the camera swept back and forth between interconnected dramas unfolding in the Moroccan deserts to the Japanese clubs to the Mexican and American border, here the camera is set solely on the American outback, and all "different" peoples - Arikara, Pawnee, Siouxee, French, English - converge here to create an epic drama.

After watching this movie, I admire the skills of the trapper and the survivor even more. Just a week back was I introduced to Nessmuk, a legendary American wilderness survivalist, pulling me back into the feverish thought; and today came The Revenant. Long wilderness reveries to follow in the near future.
Stories started to swirl off the set of the film in the summer. Crew spoke of enduring a “living hell”, of being forced to work in -25C temperatures, of travelling for hours to remote locations in Canada and Argentina to film for a mere 90 minutes, the result of Iñárritu’s decision to shoot only in natural light. 
Leonardo DiCaprio went through hell to play indestructible fur trapper Hugh Glass in The Revenant
PS: 2016 Oscars had some predictable outcomes
- Best Director for Alejandro Inarritu - two consecutive Oscar wins is a feat not seen in the last 65 years, and one which establishes the dominance of the Three Amigos (the Mexican trio of Inarritu, Guillermo Del Toro and Alfonso Cuaron)
- Best Actor for Leonardo DiCaprio - and his first Oscar!
- Best Cinematography for Emmanuel "Chivo" Lubezki. He is now the first cinematographer in history to win three consecutive Oscars, following gongs for Birdman (2015) and Gravity (2014)

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Physics made Interesting

Through a long chain (toys > finite time singularities > euler's disc > tippe top > rigid body forces > MIT) I bumped into the character of Prof. Walter Lewin. Acknowledged as one of the best teachers of our generation, Lewin studied in physics and astrophysics, then followed with taking up teaching (for good) at MIT (Cambridge).



His striving for pedagogical frontiers is exceptional, and teachers need to see and understand more of him - this 75 year old guy swinging on a pendulum in the name of physics (and under the assurity of physics), and riding out on fire extinguisher-powered tricycles on his last lecture at MIT.
It was surprising to see even baby bro join in and enjoy the lecture alongside me - he, who has not touched Physics since 2005 and surely sees no reason to.

A tiny note to add - his status royale at MIT was snatched after charges of sexual harrassment surfaced, which happened a coupla years back. It was after his term ended at MIT (during his involvement with MIT's online education platform, OpenCourseware). Disciplinary action ensued, and all his lectures were taken off OpenCourseware thereafter.

Coincidentally, t'was Walter Lewin's birthday just yesterday, on the 29th of Jan.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Watchin them birds on the street

My first falcon sighting. To chance upon a Shikra, in the middle of urban Delhi, is surprising. Thanks to the drifter day, I got to notice it, perched on the branches of the tree next to my balcony, feeding on carrion. A long observation ensued. The bird was not nervy to my presence, as I had assumed. We both checked each other out aplenty. A very curious squirrel kept pestering the bird, while it lounged on its breaks between the feeding cycles.

PS: Shikra derives from the word "shikari" or hunter, as it is trained and used in hunting by the falconers. It is comparable to a German Shepherd (of domesticated birds world), as in being a utility bird that could fetch game for other more prized birds.


It also turns out that Shikra is not a falcon, but a type of hawk (also called "little banded goshawk") - an Accipiter. It probably was a female, "her" spots match more of whatever females I could find on Google for a confirmation.

The shikra is a small raptor (26–30 cm long) and like most other Accipiter hawks, this species has short rounded wings and a narrow and somewhat long tail. Adults are whitish on the underside with fine rufous bars while the upperparts are grey. The lower belly is less barred and the thighs are whitish. Males have a red iris while the females have a less red (yellowish orange) iris and brownish upperparts apart from heavier barring on the underparts. The females are slightly larger.

Armchair ornithology FtW. This is why we need surviving canopies in our residential areas.

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

day of new wallpaper ideas and statistical analysis experiments


In the meantime


As a consumer, here is some interesting bits about the world I've consumed in the itinerant new year holidays:


Rubrics and hubris of all sorts, sorry.


Falcon 9 onshore landing is the newest feat of perfection

Space X re-entry re-imagined



Satisfying re-entry, from Lko to Delhi. Things not too pensive, as were in the last re-entry - bills and landladies to take care of first thing, then finding precious foods and other items foraged on by  the scavengers of the house, then laying my last job to a rest in a graveyard of deadbeat things I happened to get into and get out of.. and then to a start.

Today, by some dint of fate, there are no bills to be paid, no chaos to fathom in the physical space (always be knolling ethic in place), hot girls on my tow, and a bike undergoing the annual instar. Oh, and a new job come through consent to exploitative terms to deal with.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

lko stadium run

Today marks the grand occasion that I went out for a run. It has been a while since my last 'un - far back in November. However, as the year draws to a close, any purposeful activity will be indulgent and give far more satisfaction - meeting so many people builds up a resignation to the winter vacation days, and to poor health, which is broken by the act of intent, such as going out really early in the morning for a run. At this trough of existence, things like this are a positive step towards a crest. Besides, it takes care of my drinks and the pork of last week, juicing out those calories.

Through the run, was a novel companion sight of chemtrails, which got more fascinating with the rising sun. There were two of 'em (chemtrails), to the East, cutting two diagonal gashes across the cloudless sky.  One of them curved sharply, suggesting a drastic change of course for some jet. There is an air base nearby, and I can imagine that's where the parent body of those chemtrails takes off from. Above the open expanse of Colvin Taluqdars' playfield, the rising sun seemed like an orange bulb dangling from the firmament on a white chemtrail wire.

The early mornings bring out two kinds of people - the deadbeat, crowding at the temple, and the spirited, crowding at the stadia, separated by the river Gomti. The temple crowd is middle aged and oddly shaped - mostly obese - and emanates the fragrance of Marigold and Jasmine. A lot many of 'em prefer to come to find their God in swanky cars, which now neatly stack in the parking lot built along the river.
At the stadium, all age groups and both the sexes find representation. The standard atomic unit of a coach and a team formed clusters at the periphery - cricket team, hockey team, judo team, etc. Since everybody was still at warmup, there was no actual sport to be seen, but a boy-dad duo kicking a big maroon ball around.

Some stretches, and the Dragon Walk, the Frog Walk, the Horse Walk.. these helped me make the best of the chance morning I got. Then a seemingly-long walk back home. 

Monday, December 28, 2015

Making amends (again)

we have drifted apart so many times, but like magnets, our fields pull us little by little to bring us back again, o blog.

the world has claimed to come up with things more beautiful, but you remain as appealing as before, and my paths never meander around you in daily continuity but put you in the middle.

i remember you as often as the friends i can't find the time for (or vice versa); and not at all like the friends i don't find the time for. i have not been short of thoughts or words welded well to represent those thoughts, but much like a quick jerk-off, they have come often - an onset of virile moment - and shed as soon, irresponsibly. you shouldn't consider that there is someone else.

you will love to know my love - that i've lost, found, and regained over this time of absence, - better over these vacations.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Monkey Business (no more)

Nov 24, 2015. ~2PM. I am stirred from my sleep by some noise in the house. 
It is a delayed reaction, and my being comes to a sufficient amount of waking and cognitive sensory processing only 5 minutes later. The noise is still there. A low moan strikes my ears, the location of whose origin seems to be right outside my bedroom door (that opens to the balcony). It sounds familiar… like rhesus monkeys. Some of ‘em are probably inside right now.

Stepping off the bed, I cautiously strain my neck to see what beastiary my dining space - where the food is, the fridge is, adjacent to which is the kitchen - now boasts. A lone russet figure sits busy on the table. I am more of a surprise to it than the other way round. It is startled, and gives me a hate look. [Threat display is a behavior every being in nature often uses to defend themselves from aggression, more like an open declaration of hostility, beyond which things will be hella different from the different situation that has already occurred].

I step away from the general access path from the dining to the balcony, via the gallery. I watch it scurry out - and reunite with a baby monkey; and hence end our trifle confrontation. 
It turned out to be a female monkey, a mother, foraging for her child. Both of them now sit huddled outside, on the balcony. I rush to close the balcony grille, and successfully manage to.

Then a gander through my dining. The place is clear - there are no other monkeys. Examination tells, there hasn’t been any destruction at the table. The fridge is open, but all its contents seem intact. The kitchen hadn’t been touched - my sleep lasted a bit short than its expectations. She was a mother that put herself at a great risk for her child, to make out with (apparently) nothing.

Then the answer - that she could find no food in the house, or nothing that qualified as “food” to her. There isn’t a single natural food in my home. An old rotten orange, that she tried to bite into, lies on the table - the lone extant fruit in our household that is used for erecting incense sticks. I feel ashamed.

Wednesday, November 04, 2015

Crackin' Intolerance

India is such a huge nation, that to see trash opinions being doled out by the political class, amplified by the media class, and reacted to by the cattle class is terrifying. Intolerance is the latest "in" thing, and we are made to believe that the government that has in past gained huge vote banks on intolerant lines has nothing to do with encouraging these intolerant opinions, and it is not in protocol to give an open condemnation; that this tolerance of intolerant opinions is coincidental; and that we should all agree, without protest, that there is no intolerance in our society whatsoever, and call it a "jolly good day" every waking hour.

Five minutes of listening to these opinions have shut down my pyloric valve. Severe constipation might follow, a psychosomatic response to the verbal diarrhea from these protostomes that encapsulate several prejudices in a pithy dispatch - such viscerally vicious statements should be met with body's autonomous response and nothing else.

People in this country have a very limited thought space, as is, and yet others litter that space with garbage with existential abandon, and make one completely resign to not thinking at all, or giving them a cleanup job that leaves no time to think. It reflects our cultural attitude towards  garbage - there is so much of it generated that we just quit thinking about it instead of formulating wise civic policies to handle that menace. Our streets and neighbourhoods reek of it sometimes, but that is okay, we can always insulate ourselves further, and even mislead our guests about our standards of sanitation and hygiene.

The only intolerance we should show is towards time. Time, that is finite, will not wait while we sit and discuss or try to understand the nature of our politicians and our politik, - their understanding of religion, their definition of patriotism, and the ulterior motives behind foisting such retrograde constructs on a contemporary society that is trying to match shoulders with mature, diversified, and tolerant societies. Time wants to talk about progressive concepts, breakthrough research, and here we are squandering our money, and airtime on whose shit stinks more. One could derive through calculations the money circulated in the system over our daily fix of offensive garbage, and wonder how they - the common man - is never in loop of that money circulation, and if such spending could have - rather unjudiciously - simply been doled out to some community in death throes, on the verge of losing their art, their culture, their tolerant heritage, their song and their science.

Even my last hour of the daylight, on the 11,091st day of my life was irresponsibly spent in this reaction. FML. FMP.

Sunday, November 01, 2015

Ootheca and the Ancient Astronauts

This morning, I came across a curious object in the forest. It was a green-colored spongy ball the size of the palm of my hand. It was about as heavy as a paper rolled into a ball of the same size. There was some detritus - a leaf, a coupla pine nettles - lodged in this object that was closed from everywhere. Gentle wind blew this morning, and I deduced this had been carried to its present spot by that same wind through the night. Realizing that anything so fragile lying so bare on the forest floor (which was most likely an accidental occurence) will not last for long in the daylight hours, I carried the ball home.

My impulse, that this was an Ootheca - the cocoon sac that the Praying Mantis weaves and lays egg in, kinda like an incubation chamber - turned to be correct. The Mantids - the females, in this case - are industrious, artful spinners that build this colossal structure overnight from their spit. Meticulously, the female mantid would spit some, then lay an eggs, and wrap them neatly in more spit, to total about 100-200 eggs, that results in a ball the size of the mantid herself (comparing it to humans, it is akin to being in labor, building a house, then giving birth, all by oneself; but the distinctions make this a lesser worthwhile comparison).
Striking gold Ootheca felt special, since I have the Mantoidae in my mindae of late. My obsessiveness has resulted in a few GBs of nothing but extreme closeups of them in their nature, just lounging.

The Ootheca is a brilliant labyrinthine structure. The mantids indeed work very hard on something that offers an evolutionary closure. It is a very resilient structure, that can withstand winds and cold for months. The Mantids generally take 2-3 months for incubation. For something of that small a size, that is a long while. The while gets even longer, when temperature and moisture conditions are not appropriate. For this reason, predicting a mantid hatching is difficult, unless done in a controlled manner. This fact is put in intelligent use among insect/mantis breeder communities, who collect and keep the Ootheca in cold storage, and produce suitable conditions in a controlled environment to initiate the hatching. Yes, it will survive the period of unfavorable conditions, almost like plant seeds. It is a structure that seems to offer insights into how we can populate other worlds with the species of our own that can be frozen (in development), transported, and later made to "hatch".

Back home, when my guess was unconfirmed, I put my curiosity to the first person around, a village boy about 16 years old, Amit. He had seen it before. "It comes from the meteors at night," he said. It was surprising, since, firstly, there was an existing cultural explanation of an Ootheca, and secondly, because it connected to the outer space. I asked a senior villager, 75-year old DK, and his reply resonated with Amit's, "It is a fragment broken from the stars".
Then I hastened to ask a third village person around - a resident of another Himalayan region called Garhwal (aka Garhwal-is, as against the first two who were Kumaon-is), Vir. "It is the dropping of creatures living in distant stars," Vir said with confidence. It was happening to discover a cultural commonality, that had a connection to the outer space, and maybe even a keen insight into how life came to be on this planet.
That there is an understanding of space beyond Heaven and Hell, a un-earth-centric theory that talks of cosmic plularity, and that it exists as an understanding among the commoners, is thought fodder for me. The Ancient Astronaut theory also came to my mind, and this could offer some insight into how/why life started / was started.


I, for one, will welcome our new Mantid overlords.