Musings of a MuSingh

MY poem

2011-05-11T09:09:00.000-07:00

MY poem

"I did it!" I say, and I also say,
"I am doing it" or "I will do it."
Though the tense shifts its sway
In every tense " I " fit.

But sometimes, by Almighty's grace,
This vain and egotistic mind
Breaks the barrier of time and space
And the actual doer it finds.

Then humbled, it begins to sing,
"It's You! It's You! It's You!
In everyone and in everything;
The cause and the effect too!"

As long as I have Lord's grace on me
My perspective is divine.
When not, "I, Myself" rise in "Me"
To claim this poem as "Mine"

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Stamping a Cycle Singh

2011-03-21T14:42:00.000-07:00

Did you know that the Indian Govt. had come out with stamps featuring Sikhs in sports? I didn't know it either. Here is a particular one that I take a fancy to, a Sikh in the cycling sport. The stamp was released in 1990 to commemorate the XI Asian Games. With Spring officially kicked into season yesterday (and we had snow today!) I am raring to hit the road with my bike.

1) If there is a cycle somewhere, then there must be a cycle pump somewhere.
2) If there is a Sardar somewhere, then there must be an angry Sardar somewhere.

Putting the above two together it follows that:
3) If there is a Sardar on a cycle somewhere, then there must be an angry Sardar with a cycle-pump somewhere.

Showing it to be true is Saif Ali Khan captured on the left playing Veer Singh in love with Harleen Kaur in 'Love Aaj Kal'. (Look out for Saif on the vintage bicycle with his lunch box hanging by the handle bar)

Brain Food: Whey to Success

2010-09-25T13:10:00.000-07:00

Eating yogurt sweetened with sugar on an exam day before setting of for school was something that none of us three brothers would dare to miss. It brought us luck, we believed. That we did well in school perhaps only served to reinforce our belief in the mythical properties of yogurt. Perhaps, an even stronger reinforcement must have been our memory of the days when we did not eat the customary bowl of yogurt and fared poorly on the test. Conveniently, we didn't attribute the poor performance to our inadequate preparation but to the yogurt that we did not have. It was superstition being internalized.

Mom didn’t know that yogurt is rich in tyrosine, an amino acid that helps produce two neurotransmitters, dopamine and noradrenalin. She didn’t know that tyrosine aids mental alertness and memory retention. But she remembered the days of her childhood when her mother made sure that mom ate yogurt at the very least on the days she had exams. And Mom would have damned herself if she hadn't in turn passed on the successful formula to her children. If yogurt could bolster the chances of her children getting on the honors list, she wasn’t going to leave any stone unturned or any milk in the house uncultured. And were yogurt not ready on an exam day morning -- she usually made it at home -- one of us three brothers would rush to the market nearby and get some for us to have our timely bowlful or spoonful before we pedaled off to school. Yogurt remained a secret ingredient of the recipe of our success in school.

When I left home for college, bidding farewell to Mom also meant bidding farewell to the yogurt-exam ritual. At college, I did not see other students scurrying for yogurt on exam days. Those who I asked hadn’t even heard of this practice. Sometimes I wondered how they had made it to college. My performance on tests must have made them wonder how I had made it to college. Subsequent attempts to correct my undergraduate record when I went back to college to pursue Masters and even PhD did not meet with much success.

Though the dip in my academic graph, which was thankfully arrested, didn't subsequently change significantly in either direction, my relationship with yogurt experienced an ideological change: yogurt's mystical overtones were soon replaced by cultural ones. It is no longer an exam day on the calendar but rather an aloo parontha on the dining table that now makes me go looking for yogurt.

Somewhere along the journey, I lost the whey.

Shining Shards

2010-09-10T10:09:00.000-07:00

Sixty seven smiling faces
On the mirror in whole and part;
Sixty seven solemn pieces
Of the mirror or a broken heart?

The Crooked Line

2010-09-09T14:44:00.000-07:00

It was a long and crooked line
And all the people in the line
Ended up with long and crooked necks
When they craned them to make those checks
That a person not in line
Should not end up front in line
For they were standing since so long
And it would have been all so wrong
If someone standing not in line
Should get ahead of them in line
While all they who their turns await
Already late, now get more late?
So all the people in the line
Stood in line and saw that the line
Was a line and remained so
Till they were done and free to go.

The Dream That Was Not

2010-08-20T20:55:00.000-07:00

Lost in sleep I hear her rise,
Feel her warm lips on my eyes,
A kiss on each, one on my head,
And she steals softly out of bed;
Time stops while out she flies.

A wet towel lies limp on the sink,
A bathrobe hangs damp and pink,
The tub traps some silken hair,
An eau de parfum floats in air,
The shower curtain sports a wink.

She has left herself behind
Several ways she could find
Reminding me she wasn't just a dream,
Even scrawling herself on the steamed
Mirror in my dreaming mind.
...............

(Image: Painting by Alyssa Monks, Steamed 64x86, oil on linen, 2009; www.alyssamonks.com)

A Point of View from Balcony

2010-08-10T20:35:00.000-07:00

Lounging in the balcony
       Seventh floor from ground,
Above all the cacophony
     With tree-tops to surround,
On higher ground and looking high
I am lost in the evening sky.

Clouds on the dusky screen,
       Birds chirp with Dolby effect;
The breeze too is cool and clean
       The settings are just perfect,
As Nature plays the show for me
And for all those who care to see.

But roof tops on the horizon
       Antennae and water tanks,
Block the view of setting sun
       And cut my note of thanks;
An intermission, it is I find,
That Nature never designed.

It is the handiwork of man
       Who, in trying to emulate
The creator - but never can,
       Realizes it only too late
That with all his intelligent toys
He builds less but more destroys.

Cutting trees and blasting rocks
       A crime each one of us abets,
Making concrete jungle that blocks
       The wind and serene sunsets;
Blue blocked by gray, earth stripped of green,
We experience Nature on the plasma screen.

Concrete pavements, roads tarred,
Narrow alleys of brick-mortar walls,
A decent view of nature is barred
For those seated in the lower stalls;
And sky-gazing the flick
They end up with a crick.
.................

stoned

2010-07-06T15:25:00.000-07:00

Like a stone
shattering the calmness,
radiating ripples
on the still surface,
a smile skips your face,
and I wonder
what stone
rippled the calm waters of your heart?

The stone enveloped;
Your face -
the still surface,
conceals the bottom.
And I stand by the shore,
longing to dive in
to ripple your face
for the same dimpled smile
and drown myself
in the depths of your heart;
My life fulfilled.

Let me in, let me sink,
shall not make a splash
neither swim.
Open your heart
think me in.

(image from http://prairiepathways.com/)

13.1 Boston: A wise choice?

2010-06-20T19:58:00.000-07:00

Hmmm. Did I choose the wrong race for my first half-marathon?

Runners on runnersworld.com and on the 13.1 group on Facebook who say they have been training on the Blue Hills course for the 13.1 Boston this weekend allude to the hilliness of the course. Hills kill me, whether biking or running.

Most part of the trail I have been training on is flat. Distance wise, I feel okay; I have run 12+ a couple of times last week and, going by those runs, the 13 this Sunday should not present a problem. What raises doubts are those drops and climbs on the elevation map.

Update: I completed the race in 2:19, a timing nothing to boast about. I was surprised at how strong I felt at the end, which means that there are quite a few minutes in that timing begging to be shaved in the next race. Am and Smee too had fun. They came over the previous evening. Earlier in the day I collected our race packets from Boston and even managed to eke out a bike ride along the race route. "The reported hills are for real," I later reported to Am and Smee that evening as we sorted through our race bibs, shirts, and timing-chips. Ah well, so be it, we collectively groaned and, wondering if the anticipation of the morn would allow us any sleep, we drifted off to sleep that was partly attributed to the bedtime stories I was telling my nephew in his adjoining room. "We overheard the stories," they confessed.

The race was poorly organized: the aid stations not only ran out of Gatorade but also ran out of cups for water; volunteers served water directly from the gallon containers and runners cupped their palms to drink; the live bands at the promised locations along the route, where were they? The organizers received lot of flak for this race and rightly so. What saved their hide was the beautiful weather and the charming route. It wasn't a good race for those seeking to better their PR. However, it was the first race for the three of us; we were there to have fun and we sure had loads of it.

Adrift

2010-06-15T11:27:00.000-07:00

desires sprout wings
from feathers of whims
with shafts and vanes
of prayers and hymns.
feathered desires,
ice forged on fires.

o'er mountains of future
o'er valleys of past
they soar and glide
no ground too vast
for them to cover; neither a sky too high
for their wings that flap in the blink of an eye.

holding together
these feathery things
with air in them
wind beneath their wings
desires drift untethered unpinned;
and I adrift, a feather in the wind.

copyright © musingh

'Salaam' - 'Sat Sri Akal'

2010-05-31T16:08:00.000-07:00

"Salaam," the runner wished me as we crossed each other on the trail. The salaam caught me off-guard; I was expecting the customary exchange of a smile and wave I am used to on the trail. Like some others, this runner too, going by my turban, must have mistaken me for a Muslim. The moment was too short for me to articulate a response but the earnest and sincere manner of his greeting was not lost upon my subconscious, which, reflexively, had me smiling and waving back.

Being greeted with some version of "salaam" is not new to me. On these occasions when the busyness of those moments do not allow me time for a conversation, I smile and wave back. "You are simply reinforcing their beliefs that turbaned people are Muslims," a friend confronted me once. I refuse to buy that. May be he is right; but if I have to choose between being a friendly Muslim returning a Salaam or a non-friendly Sikh miffed at being Salaamed, I would prefer the former, especially if I perceive a sincerity in the greeting.

Once, though, I did get a chance for a conversation at Stop & Shop, the grocery store. Standing in line at the check out counter, the person next to me wished me "Salaam Alaikum."

"Walaikum Assalaam", I replied and then continued with a smile, "In our Sikh community, the greeting would be Sat Sri Akal".

I caught a puzzled look crossing her face.

"I am from the Sikh community," I explained. "Most people in the US who wear a turban are Sikhs, not Muslims. The two communities are very different from each other."

The lady was turning redder than the beets at the produce section. "Oh I am so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

'No no. You have not offended me at all," I hastened to reassure her. "It was a nice gesture on your part. You wished me peace and I wished you peace and we don't have to be Muslims to say Salaam."

We chatted some more and I managed to slip in the Sikhs-India-Peace-Justice-Equality-Service sound bytes till it was my turn at the counter. I noticed her occasionally glancing through my cart, perhaps, to get a clue to the dietary habits of Sikhs? Nothing in my cart must have stood out except, perhaps, for the couple of bottles of Malta Goya that I use to bake bread with.

Should that give her ideas for a Puerto Rican "Como está?" next time we meet, I will have my Punjabi "Kiddaan?" ready.

Marathon? Ha ha ... 43 ha ha's to you

2010-05-25T11:05:00.000-07:00

Running a marathon is no joke; running 43 marathons in 51 days is definitely not, unless it can be perceived as a joke on the body, in which case, who better than a comedian to pull it off?

Eddie Izzard, a British stand-up comedian, more popularly known for wearing heels than for wearing running shoes, ran 43 marathons in 51 days for charity Sport Relief. What makes it a feat (no point in calling a feat 'remarkable'; isn't a feat by its very nature remarkable?) is that this cross-dressing comic is (or rather was) no athlete, and he trained for just 5-weeks before launching off into a 6-marathons-per-week schedule for 7 weeks. "The bloke is not an obvious athlete, and thats putting it mildly," read one comment on a website.

Many of you would obviously need no introduction to Eddie Izzard; however, the unfortunate few who have not yet had their funny bone tickled by the double Emmy Award winner can look him up on youtube. This guy is hilarious.

To run or walk more than 26 miles each day is not a joke. There is only so much a body can take. But how many of us even try to assess how much this 'so much' is that we believe our bodies can take? And while the physical aspect of the run is definitely important, even more important is the psychological aspect of this feat, the will-power to get the body on the road, the mental stamina to stay on course and complete each marathon, not just on an isolated day but each morning, day after day for 51 days. That is what sets his time on the road different from other marathoners.

What's the significance of the numbers 43 and 51? Well, the numbers translate into 6-marathons per week for 7 weeks. But why 7 weeks? Being mathematically-challenged, I can still understand 52 marathons in a year, which translates into one marathon a week. But why 51 days? May be I am reading too much meaning into something where none exists. Perhaps, it must have been Forrest Gump-like when Eddie must have said, "I'm pretty tired... I think I'll go home now." And it simply happened to be the 43rd marathon on 51st day.

Fauja Singh: World's Oldest Half-Marathoner

2010-05-16T23:10:00.000-07:00

Fauja Singh, who is now 99-years old, ran a half-marathon yesterday to become the world's oldest half-marathoner.

He completed the race, ING europe-marathon luxemburg, in 3:32:30 hours on May 15.

However, the star of the event was disappointed that he did not break the record for the fastest half-marathon in the M90 group (the age group of 90 & above). Currently the record is held by the Swedish Victor Burger for running it in 3:21:17 (in Gothenburg, 2002).

Fauja Singh lost 15 minutes due to an error he made on the route: he ran the route of full-marathon for some time before realizing he was on the wrong route and then headed back to the half-marathon route. This error cost him an extra 1-km, resulting in an additional 15 minutes.

The record for the oldest marathoner is held by the Greek Dimitrion Yordanidis, who in 1976 was 98 years old when he ran the 26-mile marathon in 7:33 hours. Fauja Singh is training to break that record and is considering to run the next NYC Marathon by when he would be 100.

And here I am, still groaning from the bicycle crash I had 2 weeks back.

[Information about this event collected from this source. Pics from BBC and The Guardian]

Wannabe Hero

2010-05-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

(This is the first part of the series on heroism that I intend to cover from my reading of "The Denial of Death" by Ernest Becker.)

Human beings have an urge for heroism. They seek to be heroes and are often inspired by others’ acts of heroism. They enact their heroics in the theater of the world and seek recognition of their heroism from the social world they identify with or care most about. Their social world can be large, for example, such as an individual leading an army to war or a doctor fighting global poverty and hunger. Or the social world might even be as small as their own self in which case the heroism becomes very personal and private.

Both, acts of heroism and their recognition are symbolic in nature. As per Becker, each society – nation, religion, etc – can be understood as a hero-system, a set of beliefs and values about what constitutes a hero.

“The fact is that this is what society is and always has been: a symbolic action system, a structure of statuses and roles, customs and rules for behavior, designed to serve as a vehicle for earthly heroism. Each script is somewhat unique, each culture has a different hero system. What the anthropologists call “cultural relativity” is thus really the relativity of hero-systems the world over. But each cultural system is a dramatization of earthly heroics; each system cuts out roles for performances of various degrees of heroism …” [5].

A hero-system could thus differentiate societies. Also, this implies that heroism is performed in different roles – warriors, athletes, philanthropists, scientists - and to various degrees - national or local hero, personal loss or martyrdom. Also, as per Becker, “it does not matter whether the cultural hero-system is magical-religious-primitive or secular-scientific-civilized. It is still a mythical hero-system in which people serve in order to earn a feeling of primary value …” [5]

Heroism can therefore be best understood when examined at both macro and micro level. At the macro (i.e., social) level, we would need to understand how these hero-systems are formed and how they are sustained/changed over time. At micro (i.e., psychological) level, we would need to understand how hero-systems influence individual behavior.

At the reflective, self-analytic, psychological level, as per Becker, “the question that becomes then the most important one that man can put to himself is simply this: how conscious is he of what he is doing to earn his feeling of heroism?”

............................................................................................................
Ernest Becker. 1973. The Denial of Death. The Free Press

You got to take chances ...

2010-05-08T18:30:00.000-07:00

Watched Eight Under today on TV. The movie had dogs in it and my love (or call it weakness) for dogs ensured that I watched the whole movie, at times even sitting through the ads. Though the movie wasn't the same as Marley & Me (which, each time I watch it reminds me of my black lab I had in India), this one too had its moments.

In the movie, Jerry with his team of 8 Huskies at a base in New Zealand serves as a guide to a scientist on an expedition to collect a meteorite rock. The weather makes conditions dangerous for the expedition, but the scientist insists on continuing with the expedition: "You got to take chances for the things you care about", he says. On that journey marred by severe conditions, Jerry, with help from his dogs, twice saves the scientist's life. All make it back to the station; however, both the scientist and Jerry are injured on the journey. So the team evacuates the base and flies back to the US, leaving the 8 dogs behind for lack of room in the plane. Back in the US, Jerry wants to go back to the base to get the dogs but finds no pilot ready to fly him there. Later, a conversation with the person who had raised the 8 dogs intensifies his desire to get to the dogs. "You got to take chances for the things you care about", Jerry insists, packing for the trip. A change of heart sees the scientist and his other 2 team members join him on the expedition. The movie ends with them reaching the dogs and bringing them back.

I am such a sucker for dog movies.

...................................................................................................

A couple of must-watch videos below:

1. A Husky saying "I Love You".

2. A dog saves another dog who is lying hurt on a busy highway hit by a vehicle.

Moustache O'er the Handlebar

2010-05-05T07:30:00.000-07:00

"And you should get yourself a helmet", she said looking at my turban. "Also a mirror on your bike".

I nodded.

I had waved down the cyclist for directions to N-street but was getting more than I had asked for. I am not complaining; she turned out to be the kind of help that I could have only hoped for, not expected. Her concern was refreshing especially after my crash a couple of hours earlier where cars had passed by without stopping to offer help though seeing me fly over my bicycle handlebar. (scroll at the bottom of the post for videos)

Started out as a Beautiful Day

"N-street will take you to Beach street. How bad is your knee hurt?"

The John Wayne in me replied, "Not so bad." The Woody Allen in me wimped, "It is better I avoid the hills."

"In that case", continued the cycling Samaritan, "you should avoid the Beech St; it has a wicked hill. I will take you around the hill, some rolling hills. Follow me." I did not want to take her away from her ride; she looked like a serious rider, lycra and all, out to have a serious ride, but she ignored my protestations and off we set to the Plaza, me trying to stay with her, the guilt of holding her back overpowering the complaints from my knee, wrist, and ribs.

The day was turning out to be not so bad after all. You almost get killed on the road and people pass you by without stopping; you stop someone just for directions and instead get offered water, energy gels, and are led to the water hole. Life has a knack for balancing itself out at the end of the day.

I had set out for a relaxed Sunday 40-mile ride to my friend Champ's place. The deal was I would help him buy a bike rack and he would later drop me back. The forecast had said chances for showers but it was turning out to be a nice day and I had to stop at more than a couple of spots to click pictures (yes, I was carrying my cellphone today).

Scene of The Fall

It was somewhere in Ashland when coming down a small hill I went over a pothole, the handle flew out of my hands and I flew over the handlebars. The next few moments were a blur. 4-5 cars that were close behind me -- and the drivers who could not have failed to see me crash -- veered away carefully but almost as if hastily, passing me as I lay sprawled on the road. Was it because they saw a turbaned guy on the road or were they simply avoiding the risk of a liability?

I hobbled to my bike, stood it on the sidewalk and feeling I might pass out soon, lay on the grass. It was a beautiful day: the sun was out and so were lots of other stars. But why were they floating and why was Earth spinning so fast on a leisurely Sunday?

After a few minutes on grass (not the other kind) when the stars vanished and Earth slowed down to a crawl, I surveyed the damage: bleeding knuckles, wickedly bruised shoulder, tender wrist, and ... ah! the knee. Ahhh!

I was in two minds: call Champ to pick me up or finish the ride. Throwing all caution to the wind and all discretion into that damn pothole, I chose to do the latter, ruing my decision with each pedal I biked. A ride that should have been completed well under 3 hours took me 4 hours.

I think I might have broken a rib, fractured my wrist, and damaged my knee. The knee worries me the most. I hope it heals soon and that I can prepare for the 13.1 Boston next month. But what hurts me more than any of these physical injuries is the fact that no one stopped to offer help or to see how bad I was hurt. It does not bode well for bicyclists on the road and for a humane society in general.

...................................................................................

(I have put together a few video clips here of accidents where bicyclists fly over the handlebars, more to remind myself of the day than to laugh at other people's misfortunes.)

1. Regular cyclist over the handlebars.This could happen to anyone, to you too.

2. Here is one of a kid on a mountain bike. He must have known the risks of what he was doing.

3. Didn't Momma tell you "never" let go of the handlebars? (not exactly 'over the handlebar' but I had to just include this one here).

4. Below is one of a kid on a tricycle who goes flying over the handlebars. I do not find it funny but rather concerning; I have a 2-yr nephew whom I recently got a tricycle. And add to it, we have a very similar sloping street where we live.

5. The following one, I hate to say it, but what the heck was the guy thinking or not thinking of? This one is too funny to be taken seriously. Again, this is not an 'over the handlebar' video, but worth a look.

6. The last is a slideshow of pictures from crashes during bike races. Some pictures are dreadful, reminding me how lucky I am to get away with minor injuries.

Finally, an article about which brake ought one to use, front or rear? This is especially relevant for those like me who do not want to go over the handlebar again.

Operation 'Trail Cleaning'

2010-04-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

Weather-wise, the choice of the day for trail cleaning could not have been better. Joined the group of volunteers for cleaning the ARRT (Assabet River Rail Trail). The team started from Lincoln Street, I joined them at Hudson St and completed the section till Fitchburg St, turned back while the fellow volunteer continued, I hope, till Washington St.)

The picture on the right is one I took yesterday when running. However, today was sunny and not a single speck of cloud in the sky, as you can see in the picture below.

As compared to the number of people running, walking and biking on the trail, the volunteers were few. But then it turned out that there wasn't much trash on the trail and hence not much work.

After the cleaning, I headed to join friends playing tennis-ball cricket on tennis courts. We keep forgetting to bring the SoundDock with us to the ground. Most times we play we have the whole ground (all the 6 tennis courts) to ourselves and we have been talking about having Bhangra music in the background while we play.

Today was Boston Marathon

2010-04-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

Today was the 114th Boston Marathon and at least a couple of records were broken. Robert Cheruiyot of Kenya won the men's division (2:05:52) and Teyba Erkesso of Ethiopia won the women's (2:26:11). (trivia: no American man has won the Boston Marathon since 1983.) Cheruiyot, a 21 year old farmer from Kenya took home $150,000 and an additional $25,000 for breaking the record. "I am going to buy some cows," he said.

Half-marathons are apparently catching up in the country, winning fans from both categories: new runners as well as those who have run full marathons. This article discusses why it is becoming the fastest growing distance event. (In 2007 there were estimated 500 half-marathon events and 650, 000 finishers. The registration fees being $50 on an average indicates the moolah at stake and an whole industry at work.)

Another article takes the incident of a person selling an entry to Boston Marathon (which is illegal) to discuss why it is so difficult to get into this prestigious race.

Watching the Boston Marathon coverage is making me look forward to two events: 1. Fauja Singh's preparation for the NYC marathon this year. If he finishes, then at 99 he will be the oldest person to run a marathon. 2) The second event is the piddly 13.1 Boston, a half-marathon coming up in the last week of June that I intend to run. Ahem.

The Marriage Cookie

2010-04-18T08:09:00.000-07:00

A popular saying in Hindi when translated means:

"Marriage is a cookie of the kind that one who eats it later regrets having eaten it and the one who doesn't eat it also regrets not having eaten it. Therefore, why not eat the cookie and regret it?"

Uh well, if research on marriage is to be trusted, it might call for revising this old adage.

An article in yesterday's issue of NYT discusses some studies on how relationships affect health and physical well-being. In general, researchers have found that:

Healthy marital relationships hold the best promise for health and well-being. Married people, on an average, live longer and healthier lives than unmarried people.
Unhealthy marital relationships are not good for health and well-being. "Troubled relationships can leave a person far less healthy than if he or she had never married at all ... if staying married means living amid constant acrimony, from the point of view of your health, you’re better off out of it".

Staying single and unmarried is not good for one's health and well-being. However, it is still better than staying in an unhealthy marriage or losing one's spouse (to death or divorce) in marriage. Single people who have never married have better health than those who lost their spouse.

The idea that the article seems to suggest is: get married and stay on top of it, intervene early to resolve even small disagreements and avoid the "drip, drip" of negative interactions. Relationship stress and arguments in a marriage are unavoidable; however, arguments in themselves do not hurt the relationship as much as the emotional tone of arguments -- lack of affection and warmth -- that cause real damage. Work for a happier relationship, "try harder to make it better", but in case the relationship does not get better, then get out of the relationship.

The key point that the article seems to make is that it is relationships and not just the institution of marriage that plays a role in one's physical well-being.

Upcoming Half-Marathons in Massachusetts

2010-04-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

Following are links to few half-marathon races coming up this year in Massachusetts. I doubt whether I will achieve the fitness and training to run a marathon this year; but I intend to run at least one half-marathon.

Heartbreak Hill Half-Marathon - May 16, 2010 [Newton]
Boston's Run to Remember - May 30, 2010 [Boston]
Worcester Half Marathon - June 13, 2010 [Worcester]
13.1 Boston - June 27, 2010 [Boston]
Boston Athletic Association - October 10, 2010 [Boston]
Baystate Marathon & Half-Marathon - October 17, 2010 [Lowell]
Monson Memorial Classic - November 14, 2010 [Monson]

And here is a link to the calendar of events for biking in Massachusetts.

Becoming and Being - A Heideggerian Runner

2010-04-05T11:01:00.000-07:00

Many run; only few are runners.

I am of the lot that runs but is not yet a runner. Being a runner entails doing things that my lot does not do. Being a runner means having rituals around running (such as this and that). Any non-runner can don shoes and hit the road, I have been told, but it takes a runner to wear the right shoes, tighten the laces the right way to the right degree, wear the right layers, religiously empty one's bowels even if takes more than an morning hour on the seat, check the weather forecast for the wind speed and direction, confirm the forecast hasn't changed since last checked the previous night, strap on the gps, be particular about what one has for dinner, ...

I have yet to develop such rituals.

I am primarily a bicyclist who started running last summer in an attempt to introduce some variety to my riding. At the trail-end, (it marked the midpoint of my ride), I would rest my bike while I ran a mile or two and then bike back home. Running seemed to exercise certain muscles that biking did not and I found running helped my biking. This encouraged me to run regularly. The biking+running routine continued until winter set in. When the weather turned cold, I barely ventured out on my bike. Running became my sole cardiovascular activity in winter.

When it began to snow, I took to the treadmill. In the company of an elite runner, a couple of times I ventured to run on snow and even in rain. I discovered that running in rain isn't as bad as I earlier held it to be; however, running on snow, especially in a snow storm with icy winds blowing in the face, is definitely no fun. Running on icy paths is worst; one must be crazy enough to do that.

I have now begun to enjoy running in a way I have not enjoyed before. It reminds me of the times when as kids my brother and I were woken up for our early morning runs. Sometimes we would drag ourselves out of the house, other times we were marched out. I don't remember enjoying running then. Sometimes we even cheated, sprinkling water on ourselves to pass it off as sweat and earn our entry back in the house. My elder brother was a different case, though; he was a runner, a long-distance runner minus all the rituals.

This time, however, running is different. I am beginning to enjoy it. In January, I ran 5-miles plus for the first time. Since then, I have been running 6-mile plus two to three times a week. Some of this running has gone to my head, most of it has gone to my knee. My head is swelling; my knee is swollen. The knee has begun to hurt and I think it might be ITBS. Now this is where biking seems to help. By working the quads (which is an important muscle in balancing the knee) and relieving the tension in the lower back that in the past has been associated with sciatic pain, I find that I run better the day after I have biked. Bicyclists too develop ITBS but my knee never smarted from my riding before and even now biking is proving to be therapeutic more than aggravating the pain from running.

Sans the rituals, I might not yet qualify to be a runner; but, hopefully, running the half-marathon in Boston will have me rubbing shoulders with runners. And that might make me a runner by association.

Games Snakes Play

2010-03-28T19:55:00.000-07:00

Holy Snakes!! I spotted them first in the garage and then in the backyard. Finding them basking on a pile of firewood in the garage, I told them, "you must go". Just missing stepping on one in the backyard, I told it, "you must go NOW!".

Snakes, whether in the backyard or in garage, make me nervous.

One after another I caught them, put them individually in a jar, and released them in the fields by the trail where I often biked. (In the third such episode, a snake escaped from the jar and hid in my car. I spent two terrible days looking for it and did not then dare to drive the car until I had recaptured it. )

These snakes were garter snakes, mildly poisonous and largely harmless, a fact I wasn't aware of when I first saw them. Coming from India where we often had Cobras - one of the most venomous snakes - in our garden, I have been wont to keep my distance from snakes in general. It was only after I had photographed the snakes in my garage, looked up the pictures on the internet, and learned about their harmless nature that I ventured to catch them. Reading about garter snakes, I also learned an interesting fact about their mating ritual.

During the mating season when snakes come out of brumation, female snakes secrete pheromones that attract the male snakes. Interestingly, some male garter snakes too have the ability to secrete these female pheromones. Pretending to be female-snakes, these she-males lure other male snakes away from the den where the female snake hibernates. And having led the other snakes away from the den, these she-males then give them the slip and retreat to the den to mate with the female snake. Their ploy, though not always successful, does give them a marginal advantage to mate and pass on their genes.

The male snake - whether a she-male or a regular male - upon copulation with the female snake, leaves a gelatinous 'male-plug' in the female that will not let another male snake subsequently mate with the female snake. This plug stays inside the female plug for a couple of days after which it dissolves and the female snake is ready to mate again.

Female snakes are not passive partners; they too possess a gift that gives them the last say in procreating. After their refractory period lasting a couple of days when the male plug of their former mate dissolves, these female snakes can mate with another male-snake. With the sperm of these two mates in their bodies, the female snakes can choose which mate's sperm to retain and which one's to reject.

Ah! The games snakes play.

Riding in a Bubble

2009-04-29T20:15:00.000-07:00

It was cooler today, in the 60's, as compared to 90 yesterday, as I went for my bike ride. The temperature dropped sharply late evening and the bike trail was swamped with bugs at few places, especially near the swamp. I swallowed a few bugs on the way back, which must have given me an extra oomph to buzz off cuz I made good time. But this post is not about bugs. It is about birds and sounds. And being aware of those sounds. About awareness itself.

On the trail, seeing a fellow rider with his iPod made me reflect on why I don't carry mine when I go biking. It is because, I told myself, I want to be aware of my surroundings when I ride. Listening to iPod would cut me off from the woods I am riding in, and thus disconnected from the woods but connected to my iPod would be as if I am on the stationary cycle in the gym, which I don't quite enjoy. The whole purpose of biking outdoors would be lost.

But then, I continued talking with myself, here I am biking in the woods but still not connected with the woods. Still lost in the world I carried with me in my head when I left house. It was as if I left the house in a bubble and was traveling in the bubble. Why wasn't I listening to the birds around? And just as I thought this, my mind focused on the sounds around and the bubble burst. I heard a bird. Then another. Then another in the distance. Then another sound which I didn't know where it came from but it was definitely a bird. And suddenly there were these bird sounds all around. So many of them. Some loud. Some not so loud. Some seemed near, others far.

It was as if the birds had suddenly started chirping all together, in sync, then one after another, then again together. They were conducting a symphony in the woods and I would have passed through totally unaware of it. Just as I have been passing through in my bubble over the last few days.

I listened to the sounds around for a few moments till my attention got diverted to the biker in front who I wanted to pass. It was one of those cases where he was riding at a speed just slower than mine, not slow enough for me to easily pass, and fast enough for me that demanded an extra push on my pedals to leave him at a respectful distance. With my attention completely on this passing exercise, the sounds of birds were history. Having passed the biker, something else caught my attention and then something else and so on and on. I reached home. The birds too went to their respective homes and slept.

I am reminding myself to listen to them tomorrow morning first thing when I awake. We will see how that goes.

Soundtrack

2008-12-24T06:45:00.000-08:00

Armed with my iPod and a book, I went to the gym. I also had my brother for company. While at the gym, my brother put on the TV that I eyeballed every now and then, watching news on CNN and then later the movie The Bourne Identity on TNT.

On treadmill and stationary bike, I burned more energy today than I had over the last couple of workouts. So I should have returned home a happy person, right? But I didn't. Not exactly. Rather I returned with this thought that has been growing only heavier with time.

I have been thinking, why did I 'need' my iPod, or a book, or TV at the gym? Was I seeking to multitask to be more productive? Or was it because I did not enjoy the gym and wanted to distract myself from the banalities of the workout?

I can rule out the first option; I wasn't seeking to multitask. The truth be told, one of the reasons I went to the gym was to get a 'break' from the reading + writing I had been doing earlier in the day. And yet I had carried a book with me to the gym. Do I enjoy reading? Yes, I do. But my idea of a break from reading is not exactly another reading, even if a non-academic one.

Moreoever, while at the gym, I read the book only part of the time I was on the bike. So if I really loved reading, why did I not read it all that time? So what was I doing the time when I was not reading? Watching the TV.

Was I watching something important or interesting on TV? No. Not really. If I had planned to catch up with the day's news or to catch up on the market performance, I would have put on those particular channels. But I did not choose those channels, which I could have as there was no one else at the gym other than me and my brother.

I realized that the book, music and TV were only distractions from the activity I was engaged in: running and cycling. Was it because I thought these activities didn't require my attention and that my attention would be better served by being elsewhere while I jogged or biked? Or was it because I thought I needed to have my attention away from running and cycling?

A positive answer to the first question cannot be the correct explanation because even while at the gym I was well aware that I wasn't employing my attention optimally.

That a positive answer to the second question might be the likely explanation has been bothering me. If I need to divert my attention from the activity I am engaged in, then it tells me something about my attitude towards that activity. It means that I don't enjoy running or cycling. I go to the gym not because I enjoy working out but to be fit and not gain weight.

So it might be that, at least in this case, I am interested only in the outcomes (of the workout) but not in the process (of working out).

Now I know that not everything that we do in life is fun or interests us, however, we do it it because we think it is important. Well, how many people I know would be glad to continue their jobs even if they didn't need to work for money? How many people I know would be glad to continue working out in gyms and fitness clubs even if they had the physiological state of being fit and healthy forever?

There is something to be said about being absorbed in the activity that one is engaged in. I guess it is similar to Thoreau's idea of walking. Contrastingly, it reminds me of the book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, in which the author, Robert Pirsig, takes his bike to the mechanics and is put off by sight of the mechanics working on his bike with loud music blaring in the background.

Truth May Not Set Us Free

2008-11-12T09:53:00.000-08:00

It is a myth, George Lakoff suggests, that "the truth will set us free. If we just tell people the facts, since people are basically rational beings, they'll all reach the right conclusion." He proceeds to shatter this myth by explaining:

"But we know from cognitive science that people do not think like that. People think in frames...To be accepted, the truth must fit people's frames. If the facts do not fit a frame, the frame stays and the facts bounce off. Why?

Neuroscience tells us that each of the concepts we have - the long term concepts that structure how we think - is instantiated in the synapses of our brains. Concepts are not things that can be changed just by someone telling us a fact. We may be presented with facts, but for us to make sense of them, they have to fit what is already in the synapses of the brain. Otherwise facts go in and then they go right back out. They are not heard, or they are not accepted as facts, or they mystify us: Why would anyone have said that? Then we label the fact as irrational, crazy or stupid. [pg 17].

I think this thesis can be applied, in general, to explain how people react differently to the same event. However, my question is, where do these frames come from? How do they develop? How do they change? Which conditions are favorable for their change and which conditions are not? How can we study what a person's frame is? Are frames generic or are they content-specific?

"Stop Nagging Me!"

2008-07-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

Guys, if you have had your women repeatedly asking you to do things, so much so that you had to ask them to "stop nagging" you, here is an explanation for their "repeated requests" and our "repeated delays" in doing those tasks.

That women have been labeled "nags" may result from the interplay of men's and women's styles, whereby many women are inclined to do what is asked of them and many men are inclined to resist even the slightest hint that anyone, especially a woman, is telling them what to do. A woman will be inclined to repeat a request that doesn't get a response because she is convinced that her husband would do what she asks, if he only understood that she really wants him to do it. But a man who wants to avoid feeling that he is following orders may instinctively wait before doing what she asked, in order to imagine that he is doing it of his own free will. Nagging is the result, because each time she repeats the request, he again puts off fulfilling it. [31]

In her book, "You Just Don't Understand", the author, Deborah Tannen, suggests that we ought to treat the conversations between men and women as "cross-cultural conversations" because boys and girls grow up in different worlds. Getting educated on the other world is surely a much needed education, for me at least.

I do believe that women have been unfairly labeled as 'nags', and that we men have an important contribution to creating conditions that are conducive and provoke what we see as nagging. The above explanation by Tannen makes sense: it is how the dynamics between the two in the relationship play out that will determine whether 'nagging' will occur or not. Nagging, then, to a large extent, can be seen as co-constructed by both parties.

(Here's a link providing chapter summaries of the book mentioned above)

Back to Future

2008-06-29T14:42:00.000-07:00

I recollected a conversation with a friend that happened several years ago. We had been to the same high school and were discussing the success of our batch (most of who were batchmates since 1st grade). The overall success of our batch at that time left a lot to be desired and we wondered why it was so. Lack of talent was not the reason; rather, we might have had too much of it. So what was the reason that so many of our batchmates were still struggling with their careers?

The reason I still remember that conversation is because of an explanation he offered. “I think what we do is anticipate the success of our endeavors, taste the success in our imagination, and then decide that we do not want that success. It is not really that great, not worth all our effort, and so we give up our efforts on it. Perhaps that’s why so many of us keep switching our careers and are still struggling on that front, perhaps looking for a success that is worth fighting for.”

The reason I recollected that conversation is because of a book I am reading. In the book titled, “The Motivated Mind,” the author, Dr. Raj Persaud, a psychiatrist, discusses the results from a study by psychologists who, to their surprise, found that

“those who frequently fantasized about what would happen after they achieved their goals in the end were much less likely to be successful than those who simply had a clear idea of what they wanted and a positive expectation of achieving it.

One theory as to why wild fantasizing about desired outcomes is so counterproductive when it comes to actually achieving goals is that if you mentally enjoy a desired future in the here and now, then this curbs current investment into a possible future. After all, if you are having a fantastic time fantasizing about that date with Julia Roberts, why bother going through the strain of actually getting fit?” [98-99].

Though the above theory is not exactly the one my friend had offered, may be he was onto something here.

Soulmate(s)

2008-06-02T17:39:00.000-07:00

Interestingly, in Philosophy, whereas the concept of 'soul' has been extensively deliberated, the concept of 'soulmates' has not been so. However, outside philosophy, especially in popular media, most, if not all, books or movies on romance have the concept of soul mates embedded in them. It does not take a philosopher to speculate about soul mates, and many a philosopher might have actually been born out of a sorrowful 'soul mate' history.

Going through such a phase myself, of late, I have been wondering about the concept of soul mate. Not about my soulmate in particular, (though it could be the case), but about soulmates in general.

1) What if there can be more than one soulmate for a person? If we were to assume that soul is multidimensional, then cannot a soul have a mate for one dimension, and another mate for other dimension?

2) What if a person can be one's own soulmate? In its current form, a soul mate is understood as external to oneself. So, the search for wholeness is externally-oriented, seeking to fill in one's incompleteness from outside. But what if the internal holds the potential for wholeness?

What set me off thinking was Richard Bach's book 'A Bridge Across Forever', in which he writes at one place:

"If the perfect mate, I thought, is one who meets all the needs all the time, and if one of our needs is for variety itself, then no one person anywhere can be the perfect mate! The only true soulmate is to be found in many different people."

And how does the idea of evolution of a soul fit in with the idea of a soulmate? Do soulmates evolve together? Because evolving entails a change in wordviews, values, abilities, knowledge, etc, then how does one soul's evolution affect its soul mate's evolution?

How does one know when one has found one's soul mate?

Thoreau and Nanak: If you wanna walk ...

2008-05-13T04:06:00.000-07:00

Commonalities often run through messages of great thinkers. To appeal to our nobler aspirations and point us towards the higher ground, they often use metaphors or an actual site to simulate the higher ground. Continuing the conversation from the previous post, a case in point is Nanak's and Thoreau's metaphorical and literal use of the concepts of walking and path, and of the price of admission for this journey.

Nanak says:

jau qau pRym Kylx kw cwau ] isru Dir qlI glI myrI Awau ] iequ mwrig pYru DrIjY ] isru dIjY kwix n kIjY ]20]

If you desire to play the game of love (for all), then come to me with your head on your palm. To step on this path entails a readiness to give your head without any hesitation. (SGGS pg 1410)

Thoreau's concept of walking reflects this spirit. In his book, Walking, Thoreau writes:

We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return -- prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again--if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man--then you are ready for a walk.

Whereas Nanak used the words street, path, and steps in a metaphorical sense, Thoreau used walking in the literal sense. However, there is a strong overlap between the two messages. Both address the walker's conception of walking, of what it means to walk (on a path) and what it takes to walk (on that path). The message is about the price one should be willing to pay for the walk, about the knowledge of what it takes to walk that walk, and about the willingness to pay the price.

The mood in both is contemplative, that of absorption and meditation, of being completely immersed in the activity. The path is one that leads to higher ground. And the price for admission to this trail is high: readiness to give up life (in Nanak's case) and family + friends (in Thoreau's case).

A high cost for the higher ground.

Here and Now

2008-05-08T16:16:00.000-07:00

7:45am. A knock on the door. I swivel my chair and see Kennie at the door. I have been expecting her. We leave for our morning walk.

Today is the first of - hopefully - many more morning walks. We have decided to have a morning walk built into our routine.

Cutting through the fields, we reach the 'trail' - once a rail track now a paved 5-feet wide trail that passes through open farm land, cuts through woods, crawls through a tunnel, and brushes several backyards on its way to the bridge over a river. Cyclists, walkers, runners, skaters frequent this trail.

We walk a walkie-talkie: walking and talking. I recollect a passage from Thoreau's Walking:

"When we walk, we naturally go to the fields and woods ... Of course it is of no use to direct our steps to the woods, if they do not carry us thither. I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit. In my afternoon walk I would fain forget all my morning occupations and my obligations to Society. But it sometimes happens that I cannot easily shake off the village. The thought of some work will run in my head and I am not where my body is -- I am out of my senses. In my walks I would fain return to my senses. What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods? I suspect myself, and cannot help a shudder when I find myself so implicated even in what are called good works -- for this may sometimes happen."

I mention this to Kennie. With me, it has mostly been walking for the purpose of thinking. Usually when I am writing a paper, or prepping for teaching, and am confused about something, I usually take a break and go walking. Sometimes I am thinking about the paper all the time that I am walking, and sometimes not. But when I get back to my desk, I have attained a clarity that is a result of not only the physical activity of walking but also of thinking.

Thoreau, however, would take a strong objection to what I would call as 'walking'. "I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks." For Thoreau, walking is not just a physical activity; it is a state of mind, a state of being that entails being 'here and now'. It means not carrying the village to the woods. "Our expeditions are but tours, and come round again at evening to the old hearth-side from which we set out. Half the walk is but retracing our steps."

It reminded of the following story:

Guru Nanak, was traveling in Mecca when a Qazi, challenging Nanak's open mindedness, invited him to join them in the prayers (Namaz) at the local mosque. When the namaz ended, the Qazi was offended that Nanak had not gone through the motions others went through in the prayers. Nanak replied that had others been actually praying, he would have joined them in those motions. But they were not wholly present: During the prayers, the Qazi was worried about the new-born calf at his house falling into the open well and another was thinking about the upcoming business deal of Arabian horses.

I experience this wandering every time I go to Gurudwara. I am not present there. Thoreau would say, what business have I in the Gurudwara, if I am thinking of something out of the Gurudwara?

Whether it is Thoreau’s walk, or Nanak’s prayer, or Buddha’s vipassana, the idea of being present in the present is to be focused, to be in the moment, to be aware and mindful, not so as to avoid being someplace else, but to be here and now.

Artist or a Copy Cat?

2008-05-04T10:11:00.000-07:00

This morning I was on Skype with my brother and his family in India. Engaging my 6-year niece in a conversation, I showed her (webcasted) a sketch of a handsoap bottle I had drawn recently. Last time I was in India, my niece and I spent quite some time sketching together. It had helped the 'bonding'; it also helped her on her homework. She continues to display a healthy interest in coloring assignments and drawing which, if she continues, will hopefully also continue forging the common ground between us.

Today, on Skype, holding my sketchbook close to the webcam, I asked her:

Can you see the drawing?"
"Yes"
"What do you see?"
A pause. Then,
"A spray"
(I held back my urge to correct her right now.)
"But it is a copycat," she added.
"What!"
"Chachaji" - she was refering to me - "is a copycat. Last time he copied my bicycle. Now he copied the drawing from a bottle. Chachaji is a copycat."

I have been scratching my head since then. Does sketching an object mean that I am 'copying' it in my sketch? And as one who sketches, am I a copy cat?

Was my niece just being a precocious kid or was she calling attention to the Emperor's clothes?

Mustang Passion in a Junkyard

2008-05-03T16:28:00.000-07:00

Chanced upon an interesting talk on NPR on the way home from a 3-hour shopping at BJ's. (My motivation for putting on the radio was a rather political one: I was seeking an update on the Guam primaries). The program had a 10 minute segment on a person Delonzo Rhynes in Indianapolis, who restores junkyard Mustangs to their original glory.

Delonzo Rhyne collects Mustangs, not as in a collector of Mustangs, but runs a "dumping ground for Mustang", or "a graveyard where Mustangs come to die". From this wreck, he creates new Mustangs and has a new name for the restored Mustangs - "Thunderhawk". Towards the end of his interview, Rhyne laughs. It is a hearty laugh. He laughs as if he can't help himself. He is having lot of fun, he says, and it sure did come across in that interview.

Delnozo's passion for his work left quite an impression with me. Reminds me of the line in Illusions by Richard Bach: The more I want to get something done, the less I call it work. It was good to hear a man in love with his work: Enjoying his work, giving his customers a great product, making money, (the first car sold for $125,000 and the next 2 are ready for around $150,000 each), and having a good laugh too.

Crisis Resolved

2008-05-01T14:55:00.000-07:00

The crisis has been resolved. MM, my committee member, found out that he can still stay on my committee even after moving to North Carolina University. Even more encouraging is the interest he expressed in continuing to serve on my committee, and so it will be. At the dissertation defense, we will have him on voice or video conference.

Monday Evenings

2008-04-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

Kennie and I have now established a Monday evening routine. I am done teaching my class at 5:00. Kennie calls me at 6:30 after she is done teaching, drives over to pick me up from my department and we head home. (My 'high profile' lifestyle of having a Fulbright scholar as my chauffeur is not lost upon her.)

Sometimes, we first stop by her apartment, unwind over dinner, and then I walk to my place. If I cut through the woods, it is a 2-minute walk. Otherwise, it can be a 10-minute walk, which is not bad when it is not snowing or raining. Other times, we first stop at my place and then either we have dinner or she just drops me in the driveway and heads back to her apartment.

When something comes up for either of us on Monday evenings, then either I take the bus home or if I have driven to the campus, I drive back home.

I have been trying to avoid driving to the University. The walk from the house to the Bus Stop is shorter than the walk from the campus parking lot to my department. However, Kennie prefers to drive daily to the campus. (She is not a public transport kind of a person, which to me is surprising because the concept of 'public transport' is more coherent with her bigger picture of life and society. But more on that later.) She lives a 2-minute walk from my place, and hitching a ride with her in the evening becomes convenient.

Today we stopped by my place and had dinner. I cooked pasta. Over dinner - in fact before I had even put the pot on the stove - Kennie raised a couple of interesting questions. Should scientists and researchers ought to continue with their research even when they realize that the 'system' is likely to misuse the outcome of their research? Can we (should we) decouple the researcher (scientist / philosopher) from his or her ideas? That is, if an evil person had splendid ideas, should we accept and use the ideas or disown and denounce those ideas?

Hmmm. I will take this up in my next posting.

A Cheshire Signpost

2008-04-28T09:59:00.000-07:00

So that I do not get lost once I get going on this blog, I have decided to create some signposts along the way, some kind of trail-markers, so that I know where I am going, what I am trying to achieve, and - lest I forget - where I come from. So, here is the the first signpost of the series:

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where -" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"- so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
- Alice in Wonderland

With such a signpost, who can ever get lost? I have no doubts that eventually I will get somewhere. Just got to keep walking for now.

The End of the Beginning

2008-04-28T05:50:00.000-07:00

A blog like this one, I was warned, can be construed as a delusion of grandeur were I to assume that it might actually find an audience.

I don't let this idea bother me. I must admit that, to an extent, I don't want to care about the audience. On other occasions I do write for an audience, for a specific audience. I have to; I live in a publish or perish kinda environment.

But here, on this blog, will be space - my 'man cave' - where I can break free and run around ... even if only in circles.

If you want to join me on this journey, you are most welcome, except that we may not go someplace. Travel we will, for sure, but we may not arrive.

"If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there." Thus spoke the Cheshire Cat.
-- Alice In Wonderland

What does a road to nowhere look like? When roads going nowhere intersect each other, what does the resulting crossroads look like?