Zen and the Art of housefly termination

When it comes to evading capture/ death, houseflies are like the Charles Sobhraj of the insect world. Houseflies, it turns out, see the world in slow motion. As one researcher puts it, houseflies evading swats are like Neo evading those bullets in the Matrix. It has also been studied that they are capable of banking at 90 degree angles almost instantaneously, making evasion of contact lightning quick. 

It is not a trivial matter at all. Numerous stories/ movies highlight the herculean task killing a housefly is. Who can forget the brave little tailor who killed seven in one blow? Or Mr. Miyagi talking about focus while trying to capture a fly using chopsticks. Or the most hilarious and telling references in Eega by SS Rajamouli (or Makkhi in Hindi) where the hero reincarnates as a housefly and wreaks havoc in the villain's life. If you haven't seen this one, you must. It is probably the third most played movie on TV after Sooryavansham & Jaani Dushman (not the Sonu Nigam one) - so, you won't have to wait too long.

This pursuit of flies has driven humans to engineer some extremely innovative (and some ghastly) means of singular destruction. 

Didn't see that coming...

The fly swatter - This thing is a work of bloody genius. I remember the introduction of the fly swatter to me as a young kid, and it totally blew me away. All those years of fruitlessly slapping our hands together, sometimes knocking items over, and in comes this harmless looking spatula that is a 100% times more successful. 

It took me some time to understand that not only does the partly flexible design help the swatter act like a whip aiding a quick and sharp swatting action, but its pores also create a suction which draws in the fly during approach. Imagine the WTF moment this must have caused for the first fly who bore the brunt of this. And since I don't really believe flies have a very organised social system wherein they would discuss threats to the species, the fly swatter would have been the cause of last minute bewilderment for a lot of flies.

Game. Set. Zap.

The bug zapper - Nothing, however, compares to the brutality of a bug zapper. Have the PETA ever spoken against this? I am not sure, and I am amazed considering how some of their concerns are rather ludicrous. This device is pure evil.

It's the fly equivalent of getting the chair. And although I have personally relished being Sampras and Sauron rolled into one, and zapping a whole school of flies in one go, it is disturbing that that has been recreation for a lot of us. 

There's the big box version of this too replete with purple-white tube lights - the metallic Mareech who draws the playful flies with its glittering appeal and then becomes their nemesis. 

Unaided assault

What if you do not have any of the above devices and are infuriated, annoyed and almost over the edge with that one single fly zooming from one corner to the other? There is hope. However, first you must breathe. Rash swatting hardly ever wins over a housefly. 

There are a few things one needs to be careful about. Flies, as mentioned earlier, have a heightened sense of perception (as they are seeing things in slow motion) - so, a change in lighting is sure to be sensed. This fact is useful in determining the direction of approach especially in unaided palm attacks. The diagram here shows what to and what not to do.

What else? Remember, thanks to their perception of time, the fly is a fraction of a second ahead of you. So, you do not plan to kill it at t = t* (where t* is the moment of impact) but at,

t = t*+α where α is ~1/30th of a second

Contrary to common perception, flies travel at 4-5 km/h which is ~1m/s, so this amounts to covering 3-5 cm of the region around impact.

If all this math fails, our last resort is to call Vidya Balan and let her talk the flies into submission.

Movie Review : Udta Punjab (2016)

Release date: 17th June 2016
Director: Abhishek Chaubey
Rating: 4.25/5

Hardly does a movie come with the burden of expectations that Udta Punjab carried on its shoulders. And though this might not be counted among the greats, it is definitely a movie that will be remembered for some time to come. A well knit plot, rock solid performances, hard-hitting sequences and a very vivid message - Udta Punjab is more a well-done project than a film-maker's creative whim.

The story revolves around the lives of four young individuals - eventually melting into each other, thanks to the drug menace in Punjab. A drug-crazed pop star, a Bihari immigrant girl who unwittingly falls in a drug trap, an ordinary policeman who resolves to fight the system from the inside and a doctor specializing in rehabilitation who becomes his aide.

Abhishek Chaubey, with the likes of Ishqiya & Dedh Ishqiya under his directorial belt (and a slew of others as a writer), does a fantastic job of bringing alive the Punjabi heartland. There are characters and episodes thrown here and there who are very believable, and even manage to evoke a few laughs in an otherwise dark subject - without being over the top (SRK in Rab ne bana di Jodi is what I call 'over the top'). 

The performances of the four leads are immensely commendable. Shahid amazes once again with a maniacal portrayal of Tommy Singh. His roles in Kaminey, Haider and now in this movie show how he can bring his mad-game on - a persona that is quite in contrast to his real life image. Alia delivers another gem and it is beyond brilliant how she pulls off this pitiable, de-glam role with as much elan as she jives with to 'Saturday Saturday' and 'Chull'. Diljit and Kareena's portrayal is as heart-warming as their story in the movie, and one can only hope we see the pair in an out and out romance sometime soon.

It's remarkable how some of the new age directors are able to sketch characters not as much through episodes/ incidents but through long sequences of them reflecting in their loneliness. This helps a lot in the way one connects with the turmoil going through the head of both Tommy and Alia.

All this is superbly complimented by a fabulous background score. Amit Trivedi's compositions are mesmerizing as always. From the trance beats of Udta Punjab, the playfulness of Da da dasse to the soulfulness of Ik Kudi, his music is as contextual as it can be without losing his trademark flavour.

Hats off to everyone in this movie for handling such a controversial issue and doing it successfully. 

Walking, Fast and Slow

I think I was in the seventh grade at this time.

I was walking from one end of my school to the other. We were days away from some school event and there were a lot of 'things to do'. Suddenly, I had this impulse to jog, and when I say jog, I mean more of running lightly than walking quickly.

My mind quietly told me that jogging, instead of ambling along, could actually turn out to be a time saver. It almost sounded ridiculous to one part of me but I jogged nonetheless.

Over the years, this turned into quite a habit. And I am anything but an athlete. Let me try to define this whim of mine. I jog when traversing a path from A to B such that,

distance (A, B) <= 50 meters.

An incident last year bore testimony to how deeply rooted this habit was. I had barely recovered from a knee dislocation and was standing at my table when someone called out to me. Subconsciously, my limbs commanded me to sprint. I almost tripped before my voluntary controls took over and slapped my reflexes shut.

Cut to yesterday. In one of those reflective shower moments, I found myself asking, "Could this really save any significant amount of time, ever?"

A depleted Android pedometer app and good old Google came in handy to look for an answer.

My pedometer tells me I register ~5000 steps on an average working day (I am discounting weekends for this exercise since walking activity is bound to be more erratic on those days). I can be sure I do not have my phone on me for ~20% of my walking trips on the office floor.

Therefore, average steps per day = 6000

* assumptions/ facts in blue, calculations in black

I am assuming I can (and do) jog half of the times I need to displace myself. So, our calculation base will be 3000 steps.

Average comfortable walking speed of an individual = 3 kmph (this is stated to be 5 kmph here but my experiments with a pedometer point towards this average)

Moderate jogging speed (that which looks socially acceptable) = 5 kmph (lower end of what the internet calls as jogging speed)

Average step size = 70 cm (some adjustment done)

Thus, Distance traveled = 3000 * 70 / (10^5) = 2.1 km

Time saved by jogging = (2.1/ 3 - 2.1/ 5) hrs = 17 mins

Weekdays in a year ~=  250

Time saved in a year = 250 X 17 = 4250 mins = 71 hours

To put this into perspective, let's see what use I could put these additional hours to.

• Indulge in a marathon of the seven seasons of Game of Thrones. Nah, I haven't and I don't want to watch the Game of Thrones. BOOM. There, I said it.
• Go around 3/80th of the world if I were Phileas Fogg.
• Spread these 4250 minutes cautiously over the entire year and snooze the alarm by 10 mins every frickin' day!
• Watch Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar 24 times, which is still five short of the number of times I have seen it already
• Play Justin Bieber's Baby 1140 times on loop which is merely 1,391,730,521 times less than the number of times it has actually been played on Youtube.h

Or, write about 140 of such pointless posts!

The Cruel Mistress

Knocking at the door was never her habit,
She would move around on a tip toe.
I still remember her first touch,
Even though, 'twas over two decades ago.

It was her nature to be playful,
Often in the corners she would hide.
And sometimes, as I lay snug on my bed,
She would sneak in and lay by my side.

She was a traveler, full of vim,
Her packed stroller only a yearly sight.
Our romance was always numbered in weeks,
The annual goodbyes now rather trite.

This season I waited with wistful eyes,
Staring into memory's abyss.
Her last visit, I recalled, had been rather dull,
Perhaps, I sensed, there was something amiss.

The bother soon turned to despair,
As my eyes met her cursive ink.
She won't be able to make it this year,
She said, she needed some time to think.

I lay there in utter silence,
As the biting truth I tried to bide.
But soon, I was wont to her absence,
And I mustered the courage to step outside.

Two dainty hands pressed against my eyes,
Her giggles obviated any guess.
She knew how to tease, she always will,
The Delhi winter is a cruel mistress.

Movie Review: Wazir

Release date: 8th January 2016
Director: Bejoy Nambiar
Rating: 3.75/5

There is a reason Mr. Bachchan is the phenomenon he is today. Despite the demi-god like reverence doled out by his fans, it is mind boggling to see him don a new hat in every movie, try that extra bit hard every time and, most importantly, deliver.

Bejoy Nambiar has given us Shaitan and David in the past - both movies bereft of big stars, both off the beaten Bollywood formula and packing a lot of substance and both nowhere close to being box-office successes. On this occasion, he changed the plan and went in with two stars. However, refreshingly, Wazir is not about Amitabh or Farhan, the 'stars' but about Panditji (AB) and Daanish (Farhan).

The movie opens with a dream-like sequence depicting the paradise of a family life of Daanish and Ruhana (Aditi). Everything is near perfect till an over-zealous attempt by Farhan to nab a terrorist, while out shopping with his family, ends up in his daughter losing her life. All credit to Farhan for making the audience live the subsequent emotions of grief and anger. While he is still guilt-ridden, despite having avenged his daughter's death by killing the terrorist, he meets disabled chess aficionado Pandit Omkarnath. 

It is revealed that Pandit had lost his daughter the previous year - an accident which he firmly believes was anything but. The two men bond over their shared loss while it becomes more and more evident that a widely popular minister has a hand in Pandit's daughter's death. As Pandit becomes more vocal of his suspicion, his life is threatened by the minister's henchman called Wazir (Neil Nitin). What follows is Daanish's headstrong mission to uncover the truth and bring the perpetrators to justice all for the sake of friendship. It is fascinating how the game of chess and its nuances are woven into the plot, and one doesn't need to be a pro to appreciate the beautiful analogy. 

Pandit and Danish, evidently separated by decades in their age, display a heart-warming friendship that is aptly celebrated in the credits track 'Atrangi yaari'. Aditi Rao looks like a breath of fresh air in each frame she occupies (her appearance can actually be counted in frames). Her chemistry with Farhan in a few silent sequences is rather beautiful. Meanwhile, Neil Nitin might have created a new record for the lowest screen time in a titular role.

The tight plot and gripping performances are topped with slick editing as the movie packs everything in a mere 102 minutes. The music is very pleasing with Atrangi Yaari and Tere Bin being personal favorites. Ankit Tiwari's soulful rendition of Tu mere paas brings the pain of the couple to life.

Wazir is precisely what we need more of. Unfortunately, we might not have too many directors/ producers taking these risks if their earnings remain a mere quarter of the likes of Dilwale. 

The delicate art of posing

Regret over the past is the largest source of human misery. And there are few things that bring more pangs of regret than revisiting how one looks in old photo albums.

That weird hairdo. That ill-advised colour of footwear. That awful gesture that seemed cool then.

The camera catches just a single instant (unless it is an iPhone 6s). And that's mostly a bad thing because, as Murphy would have it, at least one of your body parts will choose that precise moment to go out of whack. Mastering your limbs not to desert you in these instances is an art. And an intricate one at that.

The nuances of posing for photographs vary as per your stage of life.

Aww, so cute! That's Hitler, btw.

Till about the age of ten or so, you cannot possibly go wrong. Everything you do can be passed off under the garb of cuteness/ innocence/ playfulness. Both 'awful' and 'awesome' are spelt more like 'awwful' and 'awwsome'. Really, even if you are an ugly kid, no one would dare tell you that. This is the phase of photogenic bliss.

This, of course, changes drastically as puberty strikes - a complete anti-thesis of stage one. No matter how hard you try, you end up looking awkward. This can be blamed on the rather sudden sense of self-awareness. The minute you see a camera, you start getting bothered by where your hands are, or if your toes are pointing where they should. You worry and you start getting creative, and there lies the pitfall.

As the awareness of your loosely hanging hands dawn on you, your instincts tell you that 'doing something' might make you look good. And this is what happens.

   

Good luck on how you
feel about this later

V for 'Very awkward'

And don't even talk about the struggle that is having braces on one's teeth. Even if you stand next to Barack Obama, the centre of attention in the picture will always be those shining metal braces. And no, trying not to open one's mouth while smiling only makes it worse. You totter across your teenage years in this quandary but you believe in the Lord and tell yourself that this, too, shall pass.

And then you rush into the twenties. You are the center of your own universe and, needless to say, nothing says "I love myself, b**ches!" like an appropriately hash-tagged selfie.

The rise of the 'Selfie' and other (unrelated) trends 

Web sources say there are a million selfies taken everyday. Logic would say that this number must be understated since a lot of people are closet selfie-tards. Even if we assume each selfie takes 20 secs (which, as I would go on to point in the next paragraph, might be a conservative estimate considering the nuances of it), this amounts to over 230 man days. Basically, between your waking up today and the time you land up in bed again, the world aggregates almost a year of ego-clicking.

I, for one, have never figured my way to a proper selfie. It is just a lot of things to do at once - ensure your whole is visible, that the camera is not excessively close to you, that you are looking straight at the lens and not squinting, and press the 'click' button after that. And somehow, this has to capture the background well enough to shout, "I was here!".

Moving as per life stages, I am now tempted to talk about pre-wedding and wedding photo shoots. However, at this precarious stage of life, broaching that topic might not go down well with a large segment of my friends and acquaintances. All I would say is that, in my opinion, doing pre-wedding photo shoots is like listening to Honey Singh songs. You laugh at everyone who does it and keep claiming you are too cool for it, but, you will eventually do it, and quite willingly.

Needless to say, photographs are memories. Most of us remember ourselves looking super dapper in our memories. And we do not want the printed memories to testify otherwise. So it is understandable that a lot people go out of their way to look good in pictures. Meanwhile, some others go pout of their way to do so.

When Nature came Knocking

Carefully he nudged it along with a little stick,
The tyre wobbled, but kept in its file.
Just then the first drop of rain kissed his cheek,
And quietly flowed into his heartfelt smile.

His pace quickened, his friend he beckoned,
Their run back home was a joyful caper.
The drizzle, however, wasn’t a call for indoors,
But the time to bring out little boats of paper.

The sky, soon enough, shed its azure,
The pitter-patter quickly turned to thunder.
Anything but gentle this shower was,
How much longer, the boy did wonder.

His friend went home, mother dragged him inside,
Their boats now sunk under a bed of water.
Their tin roof looked rather keen to give,
His mother’s forehead betrayed a hint of bother.

That night went by, so did another couple,
The relentless Indra refused to rest.
The crack of dawn was heard in their ceiling,
Time had come to abandon their nest.

Mother, in one hand, clutched a tiny bag,
And held his trembling fingers with the other.
Men, women, were all wading through the streets,
They weren’t alone, was all he could gather.

His aunt’s house was another storey, a refuge,
These desperate times had led them to seek.
Their path was tricky, marred by flood,
The rainwater, soon, of their sweat reek.

Blaring horns few days back, now calls for help,
All means to reach out rocked off the grid.
Shelter, food — all rendered too scarce,
The water failed to ebb, but some lives did.

T’was barely the city he knew, the young boy,
Even the old tea stall had been swept away.
They’d walked, nay swam, for hours on end,
“We’re almost there”, his mother did say.

The torrent raged on, only growing in fury,
The deluge threatening to engulf them two.
Some kind hearts with brave hands came forth,
Of their tired feet, now, they had a boat in lieu.

They made it to their aunt’s place, at last,
It’d taken a beating but, yet, in place.
The boy and his mother huddled with the others,
And prayed for the ever-so-elusive sun’s rays.

The storm did abate, but not before it had,
Brought down the city down on its knees.
Walls had come down, but the hearts were stronger,
A lot of good, and some bad, all come to cease.

Days later, the boy, the mother, started anew,
His evenings, he began to playfully spend.
The tyre kept company, so did the stick,
But silently, he missed his good old friend.