Wednesday, 2 July 2014

The numbered world

These days a normal person goes to office with :
1.     Mobile phone
2.     Wallet
3.     Driving Licence
4.     Credit card
5.     Car keys
6.     Home keys
7.     Office keys
8.     Sunglasses
9.     Reading glasses
10.  Ball-point Pen
11.  Wrist watch
12.  Loose change (coins)
13.  RFID card for office
14.  Customer site Identity Card
15.  Handkerchief

Some carry two more:

16.  Cigarette pack
17.  Lighter

Life has become so incredibly complex (and numbered)…..

There was a time in our lives when we did not even need to wear anything – jumping around in our birthday suits was considered de rigueur – life was so simple and exciting !!!!… And then it all started building up.

If you look around today it is numbers, numbers all the way….. You have on an average at least 3 credit cards with 16-digit identifiers followed by a 3-digit authentication code. Each has its own “T-pin” number about 6 digits long, which you need to memorise. Each month you get three bills and need to verify those bills against all those numbers….

If you need to raise a dispute on any card bill, you will have to respond to an emotionless, automated voice, punch in your card number (16 digits) and card-specific T-pin number (6 digits) on the hotline and hope you can talk to a human being at the other end. If the call falls through for some reason, you will have to repeat the process.

I must confess - I lost this battle; threw out the T-pins and never raised a dispute since. If they send wrong bills I simply do not pay – till they call up, and then I voice my opinions.

Then, of course you, have the ATM card and another 6-digit access code to memorise – and only 3 chances to get it right with the ATM machine !!! Not fair at all, or rather impolite, if you ask me.

Go to your drawing room and you have a TV set with 92 channels and about 31 buttons on the remote. 60 of those channels show runs and re-runs of very similar soap operas – with 7 base variations of 4 basic plots. 70% of the faces and about 80% of the ads are common.

A villain in one serial is a do-gooder in another and a dying man in a third. And his wife in the first serial has just died in the second. How do you know what to follow ? That is one losing battle – with total confusion reigning supreme….

There was a time when I watched cricket on TV – but that was before the game reinvented itself as the International Cricket Circus and those guys in the field actually played cricket instead of vending biscuits and motorcycles….

Then there is the stereo / home theatre set with 27 control buttons, multiple types and multiple formats of CDs…..  The music too, has changed – you either get the loud jackhammer class of music with someone screaming like a donkey being given the treatment with the jackhammer or you get re-mixes of old lovely songs sung afresh to that same jackhammer music. The single remote can control the Stereo unit, the TV and….. I am so confused that I have never used it….

Go to your workplace and you have to not only take care of 25 server passwords – you have to change them every quarter !!! Then you have more 6-digit access codes for your own office, your customer’s office and your vendor’s office. Then of course, there are other passwords – e-mail, workstation, applications and so on…

They gave me a new phone at my desk after installing the latest digital PABX. This one needs a 9-digit access code before I can dial a 12 or 14 digit international number !! How often can one rattle off 21 or 23 digits from memory ? It apparently has a voice-activated redial facility – but simply refuses to accept my voice command. That is going to be another losing battle, I am sure…..

The other day I forgot my ATM access code in a foreign country, after having spent a month in India and using the access code for my ATM card there. I knew I had only three chances to get it right, and only 10 dollars in my pocket. The ATM machine spit out my card with the first two tries… I gave it up – went home, changed into a comfortable pair of shorts and vest, switched off the TV, darkened the room and had a l-o-n-g swig of whisky. No luck – numbers raced through my mind like a torrent – but I knew they were not the ones I wanted… A couple more swigs – and I realised it was hopeless. Returning my card meant the Bank would give me another set of numbers to memorise….

Next morning I borrowed some money from my colleagues…. Two days later I tried again…. Same result – two tries – two sets of wrong numbers – and I did not dare a third attempt. That evening I tried the same exercise – a few large pegs of whisky in a darkened room. The only difference was that I kept holding the ATM card in my hand and staring at it while a Tagore song played in the background.

Three pegs and five songs later it came back to me – I remembered the code. Finally. I drove over to the bank immediately – and – what a relief !!! I could, at last, withdraw some money……

There was one a time when I dreamt beautiful dreams – last night all I dreamt about was 6-5-0-8-9-3-4-8-2-1-7-4-6-3-2-0-6-4-1-1-0-0-7-6-6-7-9-6-5-4-3-6…. They came at me like an infantry moving forward, armed with guns and spikes – I was running and they were chasing…. Chasing till I woke up….

I have been dreaming numbers for a long time now…..I wonder – where will it all end ? What will happen when my memory starts failing me ? You tell me…. If I want to jump around in my birthday suit once more I’ll have to join a nudist camp – right ?


**********

Sunday, 4 May 2014

Air travel economics – then and now…

Some thirty years ago, in the February of 1984, I boarded my first plane, a B737, to travel from Kolkata to Delhi. 

It was a landmark event in my life. Air travel was a big thing back in those days, with only the upper echelons of government and corporations being privileged enough to avail of it. And the heroes and villains of Bollywood and Hollywood. The more vile the villain, the more gleaming his aircraft.

Most companies in the regular course of events, provided train fares for business travel, with the junior officers travelling first class and the rest, three-tier sleeper, second class. Very seldom would one find normal working class people like me, boarding a flight.

As the plane started accelerating on the patchwork of a runway at the then Calcutta airport for take-off, I still remember  hearing funny sounds emanating from the rear of the craft, like pots and pans falling down in a distant kitchen… and then we took off on screaming engines, leaving the pots and pans behind.

Little did I realize then that I would be spending a large part of my work life rushing about in the skies in pressurized metal tubes, looking down upon things and picking up geographic details about this planet till I became a repository of useless bits of information.

There was only one domestic carrier back then, and they called the shots. The food was nothing to write home about – in fact it sometimes caused widespread flatulence to the discomfort of every other passenger on the flight. The air hostesses were by and large gracious, only the aircraft were always somewhat dated.

A few years later I made my first “phoren” trip – to the US and that was my second flight. All those stories they said about drinks and movies being available for free on international flights, were lies – on one airline I had to pay for the beer, while they charged me a dollar to watch a movie on the other one.  I noticed people curling up their feet under them on the trans-Pacific flight and thought, “how boorish and uncultured these people are…” I sat like the perfect gentleman in my seat, although I had taken off my shoes. Some fourteen hours later when we were about to land, my shoes had grown visibly smaller and I could barely walk – I remember hobbling out of the plane with swollen feet…..

Those were the days of “smoking flights”; smokers were generally located in the rear cabin. Good food, a good drink or two and then a good smoke – air travel was wonderful, although the rear cabin became messy after a while.

And then came the first of the many fuel crises…. And all these airline companies started to economize. This economic drive started taking many forms. The first was the smoking ban. Then aircraft wings gave birth to winglets. And then over the years many other measures followed.

In the middle of all these happenings, the Indian Government, true to its style of swimming against the current or being completely oblivious of it, decided to “open up the skies” – and the Indian passenger was suddenly swamped with a bouquet of airlines on the domestic circuit. With air-hostesses wearing skirts. A far cry from the demurely-clad ladies of the original domestic carrier.  I have the distinct impression that it was those skirts that drew the crowds away from the grand old airline, initially.

As if that was not enough, the food on these private airlines was simply superb. But competition began to heat up. Then one of these private airlines started serving free alcohol on domestic flights.

Finally !!! Heaven had come to India !!!

One got to see staid gentlemen in suits and ties being physically carried out of the aircraft at nine in the morning – after a two-hour flight through Heaven on six pegs.

Needless to say, something had to snap. Something did. The grand old airline went running to Mommy, crying, and racking up more losses than ever. Mommy cracked the whip and issued a diktat – NO ALCOHOL ON DOMESTIC FLIGHTS. That was it. Heaven had a blip. And adult Indians were admonished like school kids and told “not to do things”. And that airline went belly up. Economics, they say.

By and by came a new set of aircraft with “fly-by-wire” technology – whatever that meant. The first one crashed, killing all aboard.  Then no one wanted to fly those planes, until…. until there was a hefty salary increase for the pilots – which automatically dispelled all fears.

Then everyone started flying the new machines and no one wanted to fly the old B737s because they were now “old and unsafe”, but which were till then, the bulk of the fleet. In sheer desperation the government recruited retired pilots from the Indian Air Force to fly these oldies. These magnificent men – highly trained as they were - had honed their flying skills on supersonic fighters. It was like asking F1 drivers to drive vintage taxis along pot-holed roads.

The ancient B737s with the new pilots took off at a forty-five degree angle, with engines screaming, sucking the breath out of the passengers…. And they touched down with a series of thuds that left one wondering if one had actually landed or been shot down.

I had accumulated so many points on domestic trips during this period that I took my entire family on a vacation using my frequent flyer points. I should not have done it – I realized later. The grand old airline got merged with the national carrier right afterwards. And both have been lying belly up side by side since then.

Meanwhile the economic drive kept making its presence felt in bits and pieces…. Frequent flyer programs got modified over the years – benefits are now available only on the web-site. I have held gold and silver cards on many of these airlines – a lounge facility and some extra kilos of luggage are the only visible perks. And of course, a set of flashy baggage tags that I can show off to my neighborhood barber. Period.

Not to mention the fact that we now have to print our own tickets. Gone are the days of those nice little booklets, with tear-away slips for each leg of a journey. I am sure the airlines have saved a fortune on these paper tickets over the years.

***

Back in 2001, I happened to take a domestic flight in the US – a two-hour trip from Portland, Oregon, to San Francisco late one evening. Rushed to the airport from a meeting, with no food for about seven hours and I was famished. For one used to domestic flights with snacks and food in India, I thought I would get something to eat on the flight. There was only one air hostess who said she could serve me only beer and pretzels – and the beer would cost a dollar.
“What about me buying some food ?”
“Sorry Sir, there is no food on board. I can give you two packets of pretzels, if you wish.”
The beer did help a bit, but it was another three hours from then that I was able to eat something. Rude awakening – that. And then I realized that most domestic flights in the US were similar – highly economic.  They saved on the food, they saved on fuel by not carrying food, and the pretzel makers made a killing. The only time I had an onboard meal in the US was on the five –hour flight from LA to NY.

Here in India, the US malaise started spreading within a few years – “budget airlines” were introduced. Everything – including the passenger’s dignity, is on a short fuse. Leg space is at a premium on these flights  – I guess they put in a few extra rows. A shortie like me finds the knees brushing against the seat in front – and I can only pity the longer specimens of our species !! At least they sell food separately like street vendors (or should we call them “aisle vendors” ?), and that is a relief.

The Government, of course, does not see them as “budget carriers” – I once bought a one-rupee ticket on one of these budget flights and paid some two thousand rupees in taxes.

Things have started changing on the regular, “full-fare” international flights too…. (The drama starts at the airport these days, where it makes perfectly good sense to walk in naked and then dress up after the security check.)

The economy class seats feel distinctly smaller, or perhaps I have grown fatter over the years, and the “personal TV screens” are but six inches from your face if the fellow in front pushes the seat back. Enough to give one a healthy squint. But they still pack those seats with useless items – a pillow, a blanket, head-phones, and sometimes a newspaper – where should one sit ? And keep all that stuff ?

Ever travelled on those turbo-prop aircraft in these highly economic times ? I once did, from Kolkata to Dhaka. The plane was kind of hanging in mid-air while a flock of geese over took us in mid-flight. I am sure they reached Dhaka long before we did. Or one of those ancient Tupolev aircraft ? The toilet has a big window and no lights. Kind of shocks you till you realize there cannot be anyone peeping through that window at fifteen thousand feet to watch you do it.

Once upon a time the onboard food on the international flights was filling. Then economic drives made it adequate – the number of dishes or courses went down. Then as oil prices spiraled, the quantities too started to dwindle. Of late I have noticed that they serve just enough to keep one from feeling hungry for the duration of the flight. You can hear you stomach growling upon touchdown. Amazes me how they figured that out.

Just a few years ago the food trays were larger than the pull-down tables. Then they were changed to fit in just right. Now the trays are smaller than those tables.  That was also the time when the tray was full of food items and the cutlery was placed over the tray. Now the cutlery, by and large plastic, fits in the tray among the different bowls and there is space for something more. Having a meal with plastic cutlery in those cramped confines is also a challenge. One needs to hold the fork or spoon parallel to the wrist, pointing to elbow, to eat. Try it out, you fortunate ones, who do not travel too much…. An elephant, stuffing hay in its mouth would look more elegant.

The salad once had three or four olives in it. Now there is only one, and that too, in three slices. I am sure some Consultant found out that if you saved two or three olives per tray per flight, then over a life time, you could save a billion dollars, and of course, some olive gardens !!! A part of the green initiative, I suppose…. Reducing the “carbon footprint” and effects of “global warming”..blah, blah and blah….

I am sure all of you remember time when the drinks trolley had only alcoholic beverages and there was a “drinks round” followed by food. Now that trolley carries three or four bottles of different kinds of alcohol crouching carefully behind row upon row of canned fruit juice or sparkling water. And the drinks are served WITH the food. The wine glasses have vanished from the economy class. The whisky tumblers have grown smaller over time – the last one I had just the other month was the size of a three-rupee tea cup on the streets of Kolkata. Single malt has all but retired to the business and first classes. The supposedly Scotch whisky I had on flight a couple of months ago, tasted like “Phosphomin” – that green solution a doctor once gave me as a kid. (My parents had to literally fight it out to give me a dose – but that is another story).

I made the mistake of asking for a salad dressing on one of the recent trips. The air hostess raised her eyebrows, smiled and said, “Sir, this is economy class !!!” As if I did not know.  

Tickets and olives gone, serving less alcohol than a thermometer, food that would keep a Barbie doll hungry, and these airlines still say they do not make money. Devastating economics, I must say…

No wonder Bollywood and Hollywood heroes and villains have taken to luxury yachts these days.


***

Sunday, 27 April 2014

The Electrical Foreman & Electrical Engineering Theory

It was at my first job at a hydro-electric project, that I began to learn my subject seriously. (I mean, who does in college ?) I purchased all the Electrical Engineering text books prescribed by my erstwhile Alma Mater with my first and second salaries and then started studying, albeit with a glass of whisky in hand. Learning came late to me in life... like a...

I had this large team headed by three electrical foremen – one in charge of plant and machinery, the second heading the work of transmission and distribution lines, while the third was an assistant to the other two. Managing this bunch forced me to study many things.

I have written about foremen in the past; this class of people, a genre that has held the traditional industries in thrall for more than a century – from the days the first factories were born, and up till now, exist in their pristine form in the traditional industries.

In those days back in the eighties, each had his own style of work or “gharana” with their own fan following that extended from the lowest workmen to the highest project managers. And they went to ridiculous lengths to preserve their brand of expertise, with the firm belief that nothing of what they knew could ever be gleaned from books or any other source, but them… Contesting anything uttered by one of this species could be quite similar to a short visit with a mamma crocodile guarding her clutch of eggs, only more dangerous……

The eldest among these three men, let us call him “Sen Babu”, was a man old enough to be my father, and who had learned his work the “hard way”. A quintessential Bengali, the only thing that made his blood boil was the word “nonsense”. It was from him that I learnt the basics of electrical engineering practice – right from how to assemble a motor to identifying the gauge of a wire.

I must admit that the expertise and meticulous approach of these foremen were unparalleled. My team, under Sen Babu, did a fantastic job. With only about ten or fifteen men, a couple of winches, a few rollers and no loudspeakers, tea-boys or compounders, we laid miles and miles of cables up and down the hill-sides, along trenches, up along steel structures or strung them with wires across hill-tops.

Sen Babu had a healthy loathing of the way the utility companies went about the cable laying job. If any of the workmen did not work properly, or was out of synch with the rest of the gang while working, he was threatened with banishment to these utility companies…

Sen Babu had heard about Fleming’s left-hand rule and joked that he must have been a Bharat Natyam dancer, because this rule, in his opinion, was useless in real life. If one wanted the motor to turn in a particular way, all one had to do was to switch terminals…..why enact “mudras” with the fingers ?  

To make an honest statement, he actually demystified my subject for me…While explaining three-phase circuits and wiring, he would often exclaim, “Teen gachha taar – eteo confusion ?” (Just three wires… and you are still confused ?)

*****

There was this newly-arrived high-power motor at the site, which I had been asked to install. I did remember a thing or two about motors from my college days – they whined and kind of spun uncontrollably when powered up – but they were supposed to have three, or at best six terminals. This particular one had nine !!!! It was not mentioned in my professor’s notes. And neither in those books that I had bought. And the metal plate from the manufacturer that contained the suggested connection diagrams had fallen off in transit. A conspiracy of Fate, if there was one – stupefying an already bewildered engineer….

I stared at it for so long that my foreman brought me some tea… and then he confessed that he too, had not seen a motor with nine pieces of wire sticking out of it like some freak octopus. One smart fellow in the team (an aspiring foreman) explained that these motors worked with “German connection”, but could not explain what that connection was… It took us two full days to solve the “mystery of the nine terminals”…  and there was nothing German about it!

(I came across this “German connection” thingy once again many years later at one of the steel plants in India. This time it was a couple of  transformers that had the disease. What I learnt was that they always gave balanced three-phase voltage irrespective of the load. Pretty smart people, these Germans, I must say…..).

About four hundred odd motors and fifty odd transformers later, the installations were complete and the plants and equipment started running. We entered the support and trouble-shooting phase while the civil engineering group started building the actual dam. Sen Babu simply amazed me. He could put his screw-driver to a motor and diagnose its problems straightaway. He could repair circuit-breakers within the hour. And all this while he kept teaching me. We had star and delta connections for lunch and dinner. And complex control circuits, wire splicing, cable-jointing in between. And let me share a secret with you – in all the control circuits I have devised,  implemented and maintained ever since, I was never bothered with any stability calculations of the kind they taught us in college. Remember that funny control circuit theory paper in college in which half the class failed routinely ? I, for the record, had managed to scrape through, like a cat hanging from a ledge… The control circuits worked just fine without those calculations. If they did not, they blew a fuse.

Time and again, Sen Babu would ask me, “Ei sob ki college ey shikhechhilen ?” (Did you learn this in college ?) and “Ei bepare apnar boi-te ki bole ?” (What do your books say about this ?) If my text book did not explain a particular practical problem, he would flash a knowing smile…. “Bujhlen shaheb, engineering amader kachhei shikhte hobe….. Oi Phleming aar Eewton ki korechhe – apnader jibon ta khali kothin korechhe…Electrical shudhu konsep… haath lagate parben na… tipey tipeo dekhte parben na…. dekhte gelei shesh.” (You need to learn engineering from us… All that Fleming and Newton did was to make your life difficult…Electrical (engineering) is all about concepts… you cannot touch electricity, neither can you squeeze… try it and you will be finished…)

Food for thought there…. In all the years since then, I am yet to fathom out why they taught us the rest of the stuff across all those ten semesters. My expertise grew to the extent of those five chapters and it was enough to win me laurels then. And it has remained limited to those five chapters ever since.

One fine morning, a conveyor belt called it a day. We rushed out to investigate. He brushed aside the crowd milling around,  pressed the starter button and declared, “Motor ka khatiya khadi.” (A rough translation would be : This motor is ready for its last journey.)

I was amazed. I asked him how he knew.


He then propounded his greatest theory on electrical engineering – something I remember to this day, more than thirty years later : “Shunun Shaheb - jeta cholbe, seta jolbe na; jeta jolbe seta cholbe na; jeta cholchheo na, jolchheo na, setatey power nei.” (Look, Sir, that which runs will not burn, that which burns, will not run, that which neither runs nor burns, does not have power.)


A truly original hypothesis that I am yet to find fault with. Wish they taught that to us in college and built the entire electrical engineering syllabus around it……

Friday, 17 January 2014

THE SPIRIT CHILD

Note : Between 2009 and 2011, I used to travel to Ghana very frequently on business. This story is not my own in totality; it was inspired by a talk on the BBC radio service I listened to regularly while in that country. This is real – a primeval practice common among the tribes of Northern Ghana and surrounding regions.

****
The phone rang as Sarah was going through her mail in the morning. It was the Pastor from the village she had visited last week. His voice was very quiet. “It’s over. The child is dead,” was all he said and hung up. Sarah stared at the phone in stunned silence. A lump in her throat almost choked her.

In all her years as an aid worker out in the scrublands of West Africa, where the sparse vegetation struggles for life against the mighty Sahara, she had seen, heard and lived with human misery in all its myriad forms; it was her life’s mission to help the unfortunate people living there - but this was one bit of news she had thought she would be able to prevent happening…. the murder of a three year old boy by the “concoction man”, aided and supported by the child’s parents.
 
Her breakfast lay untouched on the table as she rushed out the door. She gathered a couple of her African colleagues, called her driver and asked him to take her to that village.
 
A dusty three hours later they were there. She rushed to the hut where the child lived. His parents were quietly preparing for his burial. A small crowd had gathered; no one was crying – there was silence in the air – a silence that was loud and pregnant with untold thoughts. There he lay quietly, as if asleep – and Sarah knew the little boy would never open his eyes again. She had known him for barely two weeks.
 
His problem ? He was born with “hydrocephalus” – commonly known as “water in the brain”, giving him an unusually large head. By the time Sarah and her team had reached his village and got to know him, the child was three years old. His parents had cared for him all these years, fervently hoping that his condition would go away, but it did not. He could barely walk, and his mental faculties were impaired.
 
The village doctor had been consulted – all the old men gathered for a meeting with the parents and they all had decided that this was a “spirit child”- one that should not be allowed to live, because if he did, he would grow up to kill his parents. His young mother did try to put up some semblance of resistance though, but was easily overpowered by the force of argument of the village elders, her husband, and the fear of the unknown. They had ignored their village Pastor completely during this meeting.
 
Sarah had come on the scene after this decision had been made. She wanted to take the child away to a hospital for proper treatment – that would mean two days by jeep to the nearest helipad and a one – hour flight before he could get proper medical care. The Pastor had been her staunchest supporter in this.
 
After two days of protracted negotiations, coupled with the gentle persuasion from the Pastor, the village elders had relented, but not the village doctor – also known as the “concoction man”. Oddly enough, the child’s parents had sided with him.  They told the Pastor to ask her to come back next week for the child.
 
And then, this.
 
Sarah slowly walked around the village, accompanied by the Pastor, asking people, young and old, if this was right. They all said yes. The concoction man proudly said that the evil spirit inside the child was so strong that he had to administer three doses of poison before he could put him to eternal sleep. “But don’t you think this was murder?” asked Sarah. “No”, said the man, “murder applies to human beings, this child was not human. I have saved his parents from danger.”
 
Sarah went back to the hut. She looked into his mother’s eyes. They were blank. And there were no tears.
 
This may be a devoutly Christian country, but ancient tribal traditions ran deep. So did the fear of the unknown and the para-normal. And they created a schism that Sarah knew she and the Pastor would find very difficult to bridge. But they only served to make her resolve harder – to try and save such children if she could. She witnessed the burial.  

**** 
Back in her office the next day, she pulled out her worksheet and put a small cross against the child’s name. That was the thirty-seventh cross in a list of forty such names.
 

***** 

Monday, 30 December 2013

SILENT SOUNDS

(I had published originally this to a group of friends around March 2008...posting a revised version here....)


A significant part of my childhood was spent among the Santhals (an ancient group of tribes inhabiting the Chhota Nagpur plateau region of eastern India and mentioned in the Vedic texts and epics) – I used to visit their strikingly clean villages, have some of their food, play with a special set of bows and arrows they had made for me, and of course, listen to the numerous stories of how they could predict the weather and future seasons by simply observing nature….

Those were the days when most houses were not for the humans’ exclusive use, they were shared to a fair measure, by the flora and fauna of the immediate vicinity: frogs, snails, lizards, insects, butterflies, bees were our constant companions both inside and around the house, and many a happy childhood hour was spent simply watching their antics.

I distinctly remember watching long lines of ants scurrying from one place to another and my Santhal gardener telling me that heavy rains were in the offing. If there was a heavy cloud build-up and the frogs started croaking, he said the rain would be heavy, while if the frogs remained silent, then there would be a storm and light rain….I used to be surprised at his confidence, but do not remember now how many of his predictions ultimately came true or not. They also told me how wild animals and dogs howled and cats became restless before a flood or any natural calamity, how you could predict the rain by looking at the moon the previous night, and many such things…

Many decades have passed in between – I do not know if those villages exist today, or, if the “Murmu” and “Tirki” uncles of my childhood are still alive or not, or if their knowledge of nature has been passed on to their progeny. Forget the frogs and butterflies, you do not get to see many ants in and around the house either, in these “fertiliser – pesticide – Lizol” – infested days…..

These thoughts came to me as I was reading some very interesting articles recently, about which I will talk now….  (I have deliberately retained some hyperlinks along the way for background reference.)

*****
The Tsunami of 2004

It is a well known fact that long before that great tsunami arrived from the Indian Ocean on 26th December 2004, all the animals living along the coast lines had fled the area….

This was a report published in a Sri Lankan newspaper on 30th Dec. 2004 : Reports after Sunday's tsunami say that despite the enormous number of human casualties—116,000 deaths and rising, at last count—many animals seem to have survived the tidal wave unscathed. At Sri Lanka's national wildlife park at Yala, which houses elephants, buffalo, monkeys, and wild cats, no animal corpses were found on Wednesday.

In Phuket, Thailand, where the north-bound tsunami wave first struck land, an elephant was seen to trumpet wildly, break off the chains that tied it to a tree, and rush to higher ground, quite some minutes before the disaster struck.

How did they know ? Science, perhaps, has an answer, or perhaps, two answers – infrasound and / or electromagnetic waves.
****
History is littered with tales about animals acting weirdly before natural disasters, but the phenomenon has been hard for scientists to pin down. Sometimes animals get crazy before a quake, sometimes they don't. Here's what we know: Animals have sensory abilities different from our own, and they might have been tipped off to that Sunday's disaster. Do they listen to silent sounds ?

First, it's possible that the animals may have heard the quake before the tsunami hit land. The underwater rupture likely generated sound waves known as infrasound or infrasonic sound. These low tones can be created by hugely energetic events, like meteor strikes, volcanic eruptions, avalanches, and earthquakes. Humans can't hear infrasound—the lowest key on a piano is about the lowest tone the human ear can detect.

A second early-warning sign the animals might have sensed is ground vibration. In addition to spawning the tsunamis, that Sunday's quake generated massive vibration waves that spread out from the epicentre on the floor of the Indian Ocean to the Bay of Bengal and travelled through the surface of the Earth. Known as Rayleigh waves (for Lord Rayleigh, who predicted their existence in 1885), these vibrations move through the ground like waves move on the surface of the ocean. They travel at 10 times the speed of sound. The waves would have reached Sri Lanka hours before the water hit.

Mammals, birds, insects, and spiders can detect Rayleigh waves. Most can feel the movement in their bodies, although some, like snakes and salamanders, put their ears to the ground in order to perceive it. The animals at Yala might have felt the Rayleigh waves and run for higher ground.

*****
We all understand the “electromagnetic waves” part to some extent. Let us talk about the other piece : Infrasound.

Infrasound is sound with a frequency too low to be heard by the human ear. The study of such sound waves is sometimes referred to as infrasonics, covering sounds beneath the lowest limits of human hearing – 16 hertz down to 0.001 hertz. This frequency range is utilized by seismographs for monitoring earthquakes. Infrasound is characterized by an ability to cover long distances and get around obstacles with little dissipation.

Volcanoes produce low-frequency sounds : Possibly the first observation of naturally occurring infrasound was in the aftermath of the Krakatoa eruption in 1883, when concussive acoustic waves circled the globe seven times or more and were recorded on barometers worldwide.
Although volcanic eruptions are frequently reported with audible observations such as 'booms', 'roars', 'gunshots', or 'jets', these sounds form only the tip of the iceberg in terms of the total radiated sound energy.  Volcanoes are much more prolific radiators of intense sound in the infrasonic bandwidth (i.e., below 20 Hz), which is below the threshold of human audibility. 

Our selective hearing is perhaps fortunate because even small eruptions can produce ~1 Hz infrasound which exceeds 100 Pa at several kilometers from the vent.  If our ears were as sensitive to this low frequency energy as they are to audible sounds (e.g., at 1000 Hz), the equivalent sound pressure level (SPL) of 140 dB would be loud enough to cause pain.

Infrasound was also used by Allied forces in World War I to locate artillery; the frequency of the muzzle blast from firing was noticeably different than that produced by the explosion, allowing the two sources to be discriminated.

Infrasound sometimes results naturally from severe weather, surf, lee waves, avalanches, earthquakes, bolides, waterfalls, calving of icebergs, aurora, lightning and sprites. Nonlinear ocean wave interactions in ocean storms produce pervasive infrasound around 0.2 Hertz known as microbaroms.

Scientists accidentally discovered that the spinning core or vortex of a tornado creates infrasonic waves. When the vortices are large, the frequencies are lower; smaller vortices have higher frequencies. These infrasonic sound waves can be detected up to 100 miles away, and are used to provide early warning of tornadoes.

Infrasound can also be generated by man-made processes such as sonic booms, explosions (both chemical and nuclear), by machinery such as diesel engines and wind turbines and by specially designed mechanical transducers (industrial vibration tables) and large-scale subwoofer loudspeakers. The Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty Organization uses infrasound as one of its monitoring technologies (along with seismic, hydro-acoustic, and atmospheric radionuclide monitoring).

Whales, elephants, hippopotamuses, rhinoceros, giraffes, okapi, and alligators are known to use infrasound to communicate over distances up to hundreds of miles. It has also been suggested that migrating birds use naturally generated infrasound, from sources such as turbulent airflow over mountain ranges, as a navigational aid. Elephants, in particular, produce infrasound waves that travel through solid ground and are sensed by other herds using their feet (although they may be separated by hundreds of kilometers).
While we now know that animals can detect infrasonic sound, how do humans react ?

Infrasound has been known to cause feelings of awe or fear in humans. Since it is not consciously perceived, it can make people feel vaguely that supernatural events are taking place.

Horror movie makers have used this for years. Irréversible is one such movie by Gaspar Noé. Alfred Hitchcock used infrasound to produce unease or disorientation in the audience in some of his film soundtracks.
Is that why when we watch horror films on television these days we are either bored or sadly amused, because the amplifiers at the broadcasting station or the TV set would have filtered out the infrasonic sounds in the sound track ?

The Infrasonic 17 Hz tone experiment

On May 31, 2003, a team of UK researchers held a mass experiment where they exposed some 700 people to music laced with soft 17 Hz sine waves played at a level described as "near the edge of hearing", produced by an extra-long stroke sub-woofer mounted two-thirds of the way from the end of a seven-meter-long plastic sewer pipe.

The experimental concert (entitled Infrasonic) took place in the Purcell Room over the course of two performances each consisting of four musical pieces. Two of the pieces in each concert had 17 Hz tones played underneath. In the second concert, the pieces that were to carry a 17 Hz undertone were swapped so that test results wouldn't focus on any specific musical piece.

The participants were not told which pieces included the low-level 17 Hz near-infrasonic tone. The presence of the tone resulted in a significant number (22%) of respondents reporting anxiety, uneasiness, extreme sorrow, nervous feelings of revulsion or fear, chills down the spine and feelings of pressure on the chest.
In presenting the evidence to the British Association for the Advancement of Science (known simply as the BA), the scientists responsible said: "These results suggest that low frequency sound can cause people to have unusual experiences even though they cannot consciously detect infrasound.”

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The Ghost in the Machine

Research by the late Vic Tandy, a lecturer at Coventry University, suggested that the frequency 19 hertz was responsible for many ghost sightings. He was working late one night alone in a supposedly haunted laboratory at Warwick, when he felt something was watching over him, his anxiety was growing, and could detect a grey blob out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to face it, there was nothing.

The following day, he was working on his fencing foil, with the handle held in a vice. Although there was nothing touching it, it started to vibrate wildly. Further investigation led him to discover that a newly installed extraction fan was emitting a frequency of 18.98 Hz, very close to the resonant frequency of the eye (given as 18 Hz in NASA Technical Report 19770013810).

He deduced that this was why he saw a ghostly figure — it was an optical illusion caused by his eyeballs resonating. The room was exactly half a wavelength in length, and the desk was in the centre, thus causing a standing wave which caused the foil to vibrate.

Vic investigated this phenomenon further, and wrote a paper entitled The Ghost in the Machine. He carried out a number of investigations at various sites, believed to be haunted, including the basement of the Tourist Information Bureau next to Coventry Cathedral and Edinburgh Castle.

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The “Flying Dutchmen”
This term loosely refers to the phenomenon of abandoned ships found at sea. The most publicised case was that of the “Maria Celesta” where investigators found the ship completely abandoned, as if all on a sudden. There was unfinished food at the dinner table, and there were the captain’s log entries right up to the end, which showed everything to be perfectly normal. Not only had the crew disappeared, they were never found.

Scientists surmise that perhaps the infrasound from the ocean was responsible. The deep ocean, under certain conditions, emits sound waves at 7 Hz. Apparently this matches with the natural frequency of the human brain and the resonance can drive people mad, even to commit suicide. But I guess this is yet to be proven under simulated lab conditions…..

*****

While reading and thinking about this, a thought struck me – could this also be the reason for the famous Bermuda Triangle mystery ?

If you think about it, most ghost stories are around empty houses, or tunnel-like structures – structures that could typically resonate at low frequencies.

Ancient ceremonial burial sites were commonly designed as a large room with a long, narrow tunnel leading to the outside – was it by coincidence, or calculations based on some ancient wisdom, that this design was adopted – one that could resonate at infrasound frequencies and strike a sense of fear and awe among the living who dared to enter ?

Is it possible to theorise that when life emanated from some primordial soup, all creatures had more or less the same faculties of sense, which got modified over time to suit the particular immediate environment ? Mankind too, had the same aural faculties as other animals ? And then, at some point in our evolutionary history, our aural faculties moved into a higher frequency range to adapt to our immediate surroundings for reasons of simple survival ? And then, the skills of the ancestors in listening to these “silent sounds” passed into folklore ?

Is there a science behind the ancient folklore of different communities of the world – from the aborigines of Australia to the Santhals of India and the Red Indians of North America ? All these communities possessed (and perhaps still do) the capability to “read” Nature – and predict natural occurrences.

Can the so-called “paranormal phenomena” be explained by these “silent sounds” ?

You decide – and let us know….


Compiled & collated from these sources :









Wednesday, 4 December 2013

Mistri - uncle

(For the uninitiated : “Mistri” is a generic word in most north-Indian languages for the common artisan – be it a mason, carpenter, plumber, technician, mechanic, watch maker or any such calling where a certain amount of experience, skill & dexterity are required to perform tasks…)

Sandeep was an electrical engineer in charge of commissioning a new breed of electronic elevators that had been introduced in the Indian market. He had never studied electronics  properly in college, and now had to make up for lost time by working hard throughout the day and poring over those college text books at night. (He had in fact, bought those books only after he graduated.)  After all, he had an image to maintain – a façade of invincibility – the company he worked for looked upon him as the last resort whenever it faced problems with those new fangled inventions. It was, indeed, a far, far cry from the days when Boolean algebra and the difference between a thyristor and a transistor flummoxed him completely.

Poor planner that he was, he compounded his problems by enrolling for an evening MBA course. Very early in the three-year ordeal, he wished there were forty hours to a day – there was simply not enough time to study electronics and management subjects. Somewhere along the way he realised that he had begun to think and talk differently – his dream of conquering the world with his engineering prowess had begun to vaporise, lost in the haze created by Economics, Accounting and Law. His mind was one big mess, with Schmitt triggers, debits, credits, flip-flops, economic laws and Companies Act rolling around always in one ungodly heap……

In the midst of all this, his boss called him one day and asked him to commission an elevator on an emergency basis at the private residence of a filthy rich businessman – the fellow’s mother was in hospital and he had to finish the work before she was released. These were assignments he hated – working in office buildings and hotels was OK, but private residences ??? They were an absolute no-no as far as he was concerned….. The boss explained that he was aware of Sandeep’s revulsion for installing elevators in private residences, but this was an emergency with a deadline, and he was the one person who could be relied upon.

He landed at the assigned site and found the installation team had done a very good job indeed. He started his work. There were about seven kids in the house all between six and ten years of age, all terribly excited over the fact that very soon they would have a lift of their own…. As soon as they returned from school they crowded around the installation area, asking questions and passing comments.

“Mistri-ji, itni lambi taar kahan lagega ?” (Where will you use these long wires ?)
“Mistri-ji, yeh lift kab chalega ?” (When will this lift run ?) and so on…. They bothered the installation team no end…. And then it was Sandeep’s turn to become the focus of their attention.

Late in the afternoon on the first day itself, Sandeep was busy testing out the connections on top of the lift car with the children watching and chatting animatedly, when he heard a loud male voice ask, “Lift ka bada mistri aya ?” (Has the head mechanic for the lift come ?) And all the kids chorused, “Haan aya, idhar hai.” (Yes, he is here..”)

Sandeep braced himself for a barrage of questions, but then heard the voice say, “Chalo, thik hai.”(OK…) and move away.


At home that night, he could not sleep. “Mistri ???” “Bada Mistri ???” “MISTRI ???” the words kept ringing loudly in his head…. From childhood he had associated that word with masons, plumbers and carpenters – people who used primitive tools for their trade. And here was he, a graduate engineer working with oscilloscopes and digital probes, in addition to being a management student…. being called a “mistri” ?

The next day, he wore a tie to the site. The installation team was very appreciative – told him he looked different, and they kept working quietly and fast… till the kids came home from school. The first to break the silence was a six-year-old girl, “Mistri-uncle aaj humko lift chadhayenge ?” (Mistri-uncle, will you take me for a ride on the lift ?)

Sandeep stopped working. “Mistri-uncle.” With a wry smile he took the little girl into the lift car and gave her a ride from one floor to the next. She squealed so loud in glee that the rest of the kids simply rushed over and wanted a ride too….. “Mistri-uncle, mistri-uncle…” was the chant… if they did say something else, it did not register…..

The tie, instead of adding to his sartorial elegance, had only managed to add one more epithet.

A day later, his work was done. He gave the lady of the house a ride and asked her to sign-off on the handover document. “To aap-hi hai mistri-uncle ?” (So you are the Mistri-uncle ?) was her appreciative question. Sandeep nodded in grim agreement.

He found a new mission in life… to shed the “mistri” image completely and comprehensively.

*****
More than a quarter of a century later, Sandeep found himself working as a grey-haired, bespectacled project manager of a large multi-component, multi-vendor, multi-phased IT project in a foreign land. Technical issues, people issues, cash flow issues, logistics issues, delivery issues, quality issues, vendor issues, in addition to customer demands, all came together almost everyday – a never-ending set of challenges that changed its hues by the hour.

Most of the problems needed to be solved by somebody else – there were very few that he could address himself. Hectic days slipped into cool evenings over a shot of Scotch…

One evening, he was in one of the Scotch sessions with a few members of the vendor team, most of whom were in the first few years of their respective careers… After a couple of pegs, when the ties, shoelaces and tongues had become quite loose, and they were having an animated conversation about deadlines and delivery challenges, one of the fellows suddenly looked at Sandeep and said, “I have decided something today.”
“What ?” asked Sandeep.
“I have decided to become a manager like you.”
“Why ?”
“Your work is so easy. You write a mail and people appreciate. You conduct a meeting and people rush to finish off what you assign. And then they appreciate you once again for telling them what to do. Look at us. There is no respect for engineers. We are like “mistri-s”. Nobody appreciates the technical work we actually do.”

“Have another peg,” said Sandeep.


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