Just thoughts

By Rithvik  

I have heard great things about ‘A Brief History of Time’. It has been on my reading list for as long as I can remember. I can tell with absolute certainty that this book deserves all the praise it gets. I had a collection of facts, partial understanding of some concepts and theories, and titbits of information about astrophysics stowed away in my head. This book not only aided me in organising the knowledge and making connections, but also taught me how a scientist would go about using information such as this and experimental data to create theories and hypothesize. I must admit that I was quite struck by the length and nuance of the verbal arguments and chains of thought Hawking embarks upon in the book; being more used to equations, formulae and numbers, these quasi-philosophical discussions and ‘proofs’ gave me substantial discomfort. But the more I think about it, I realise more the effectiveness of this kind of reasoning. The mathematics will let one make predictions (limited, ...

  I I was planted in 2016 in an urban residential colony, where everything was green. The roads were lined with myriad trees, arching over the tarmac forming a lovely ceiling, shielding vehicles and passers-by from the cruel sun on hot summer afternoons. Two-way roads were partitioned not by iron and concrete barricades, but by picturesque bougainvilleas almost always in full bloom with pastel-pink flowers. Birds ruled the canopies: flowerpeckers, Shikras and a plethora of passerines in between. Empty plots of land were usually kept unkempt, becoming ecosystems in their own right— shrubs and herbs grew unchecked, and warblers, Grey Francolins, peafowls, many reptiles and little critters found a happy home in the thickets. In the centre of this paradise was a huge piece of public land, completely vacant. If you ask any citizen of Coimbatore what the fate of 6.5 acres of empty land in a residential colony would be, a) they wouldn’t believe that such a thing even exists, or b) they ...

Lovers cannot match that glue That binds my heart to thee. When tragedy falls, and all is blue Thy song shall always set me free. Alone in thine abode, I fall into this State that others perceive as misery bleak; But do you know, darling, that 'tis but bliss So absorbing that I forget to speak? I am in raptures, yet i have seen you not- I have only, from afar, heard your call. But how have you, with just that, wrought Love that I just cannot stall?

I wonder what winter has in store for me Does it have thin sleet, chilly winds, Cracking frost, or maybe, a carpet of snow? Does it have christmas trees, soothing fires or perhaps, cozy hot chocolate? Does it have silent, dark, dreamy, Surreal lovely nights? I sit, writing, and await the first real winter of my life. Tell me, love, will it be what my mind hopes it could be?

Against stupidity, the gods themselves contend in vain. The book is, I daresay, as profound as the quote. Authors come, authors go, but few, I think, can become immortal through their words. And no reader can deny that Asimov is one of those authors. My father, from whom I have inherited this love for reading, now reads little outside his subject area. One of these rare excursions of his back to the world of fiction was Asimov's ‘The Gods Themselves’. The relatively small book has ever since been on his suggestion list to me, ranking up there with epics such as ‘War and Peace’ and ‘Godfather’. Last month I read it. And boy, oh boy, did I love it. Almost everything was perfect with that book. The storyline was awesome. The imagery was so tastefully done <insert italian chef kiss>. The pace of the story was the most unique one I have ever come across. And I noticed no literary devices to make the story sound any more nail biting that it actually is. Yes. None at all. Just the s...