Tuesday 6 May 2014

Pushpa enjoyed everything


"Pushpa enjoyed everything in the social circles of Bombay..."

It's been two years. The paperboat has sailed a little further, soaking in a bit more wetness as it went. More humility was learnt. A bit of arrogance and naivety chopped off. Life has been safe. Academia. Aha. Very safe. Afternoon's rice and evening's curry have been the issues of the day. Don't worry, we're all safe.

"In the social production of their lives, men enter into relations independent of their will..."

Lessons have been learnt through bad investments of time and energy. Tales have been realised for what they are, tales. Each lesson saw the addition of another Post-It reminder on the inside of my cupboard. Have quite a few now. I've loved, and lost... Hated love, and then realised that, indeed, to have loved and lost was better than not having loved at all... I've avoided people and places... I've haunted people and places... But, I've also made peace... I've met all sorts of people. A different kind of all sorts of people. Either they are different, or I'm wearing a new set of synthetic a-priori lenses.

"I have... some other commitments"

Existentialist angst achieved new depths. Susceptibility to weakness experienced, and realised. Written, not. Read, not so much. Thought, not so much. Known myself more, not so much. New skills learnt, naught. Old skills lost, quite a bit. Everything I was proud of about myself - love, principles, commitments - has melted away, leaving me disappointingly naked in the penetrating Hyderabad afternoon sunlight. But thankfully, it causes more worry than pity.

"The truth is, I had completely forgotten her"

I made some amazing friends. Some amazing, simple, beautiful people. Not more of the middle-class balderdash of fake interest, sympathy, and ego massages. No more hanky panky "oh, you lost the sock your mom gave you, that's terrible, here let me give you a hug, would you like to talk about it". But true middle-class survival for existence; you listen if you are made to, you talk if you can make someone listen. And the truth, always - you are alone. Many lessons in life were undelibratingly learnt. I wish lessons in class had proceeded so as well.

"If I may, if you permit me, I was wondering..."

Who am I? I'm no one. I'm just a person you have met. We can have a chat... Catch a chai or wine. Or take a walk. Or we can climb a tree. That's who I am. A person to be with you right now, right here. You have ideas? I would love to hear them, and think them through. This naked hamster loves to play with your ideas. That's my vocation and avocation (If I say chalo, need to be getting back to work now, you know that I don't like you and I think your ideas are stupid or inconsistent; I don't have any work...). And that's who I am. I also like silence. A lot.


But, Pushpa enjoyed everything in the social circles of Bombay... The greens, the trees... The people... The ferris wheel... The talks, the walks, the debilitating heat... The birds... The poetry... The pictures... The mineral water... The love... The hate... The weakness... The strength... The books... The ideas... The aesthetic... The insolence... The subalternity... The silence... The teas... The rocks... Pushpa... Enjoyed everything... And I'm going to miss you all.

Monday 5 May 2014

The Grand Hotel


An infinitely large hotel (a truly Grand hotel) with infinitely many guests (a “full” hotel, by finitist standards) can always fit one more guest in, by moving each of the guests already occupying a room to the room next to it (thereby leaving room one free for the newcomer). In fact, it can fit infinitely many new guests in (by, this time, moving each guest to a room with a room-number twice as large as the one they were occupying, thereby leaving all the odd-numbered rooms free for the infinitely many newcomers). And, if infinitely many guests move out – it will still be full.
William Lane Craig (1991) “The Existence of God and the Beginning of the Universe.” Truth: A Journal of Modern Thought. Volume 3.


Two morals:
(1) The [physical, macroscopic] real makes an unsuitable host for actual infinity, because
(2) Even when it comes to infinity, our intuitions are modelled on the finite

Rather a simple solution: Infinite sets are a different kind of sets, than finite sets. They have radically different properties. (Georg Cantor, 1932)

Interesa? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georg_Cantor