Physics Poetry Platter and Politics

A little frog in a deep barren well, lost, restive, he croaks to himself, the ringing hollowness, his only friend echoes of his own voice, his only foe. He hops and limps, then falls bereaved, long unforgiving walls, why don't they yield? Drops of rain and hope, the fall enervates  spiraling unending walls, why don't they help?  The fish-eyed night sky offers only a glimpse, glimmering ominous stars, why don't they reveal? Reveal to him the sorrow of emptiness,  so he can cry and make peace with his fate. Reveal to him the joy of unwavering silence, so he can unburden his soul of many a scream.    

Life death and the sleepless interstices within, long peaceful nights of wonder; restive isolation. The void engulfs all that lies in it; no - all that it is, like sparkling rain drops that create small waves, small waves that meet, hop, and then make way, for stillness of the lake - deep blue it rests, perseveres. The vignettes that the clouds paint, myths and mist mingle, ally, cry, make merry, and then give way, to the lingering sky - its deep blue drapes, curtains.

" Jon the Lord" of our quantum gang, the finest BS detector since the Big Bang. May we be audience to many more of your tales, Tales of "gremlins" and "English - Von Neumann" Tales of "demons" and the "theft of Shannon". Be wary before you bet our ship's Captain Kirk, On "Supremacy" or topological computers that won't work, Before Neven came Dowling and Jon shall beat John, for on all matters that are "QUBIT" he is the big Don. Your warmth and wisdom keeps us on the run, without the pun-master where is the fun? In this new family far-far away from home, Under your caring shadow newer terrains we roam. With hope that our journey has just seen its dawn, We wish you a very Happy Birthday Dear Jon . Thanks, Stav This was dedicated to Prof. Jonathan Dowling on his 65th birthday, never realizing that it would be my first and last tribute to him in life. Guardian and father figure to many students like me. In hi...

They warm the heart and dampen the eyes, the unexpected joy, a fresh gush of wind. They fill the soul and let free the mind, the sight of a friend, a gift of new bloom. Stories of a helping hand not bargained for, of glimmering lights on a dark tumultuous path, of friendly faces when in a terrible scuffle, in lands unknown and times unforeseen. I crave for miracles, and yes they do happen. They warm the heart and dampen the eyes, the heart recognizes them, as old friends, but oft they are mysteries to the mind. A new breath of life from the jaws of death, the disappearing footprints, of a Samaritan, yes strangers to the mind, but miracles, they are old friends to the yearn of the soul. The tiring stride of a broken man, seldom finds a kind shoulder to lean on. The bleeding conscience of a guilty soul, seldom finds a consoling ear to confide in. but yet when they do, the heart is drenched, and the soul greets its old companions, and yes miracles do happen.

The uproar pertaining to and emerging from the Citizenship Amendment Act has largely been associated with its relation to the National Register of Citizens exercise currently underway in Assam and proposed for the entire country by the government. The CAA has largely been criticized for being a tool that could allow all non-muslims to stay in India and to deny citizenship to Muslim immigrants. There is some legitimacy to such apprehensions and arguments given the political extremes that exist in the current ruling dispensation. At the same time, it also seems to me that the whole picture of India's immigration policy over the years is far more complicated, the NRC and CAA debates when looked at from this perspective have provided space for debate and also to some extent hope. The CAA is not the first time India's citizenship act has been amended. Under the original act of 1950 anyone born in India from the date of enactment of the constitution was a citizen by virtue of thei...

The Citizenship Amendment Bill having occupied a prominent part of the political discourse in India in recent days has deservedly won its acronym, the CAB. Although, it has become one of those pieces of legislation which has been given interpretations beyond its scope and aims. It has become a vent for those who perennially believe that the Indian government has sinister motives at its heart and wants to make India a Hindu Rashtra. There is no denying that there is a section in the ruling dispensation that does want that, but the quintessential question is, as it always is, has the actions of the democratically elected and accountable government reflected those desires? People will agree to disagree on that question. My objection is not to that disagreement but to the overarching misinformation that is going around about the CAB. Usually, I do not attach much importance to the reporting of foreign media outlets on events in India, since they are filled with biases and oversimplificat...

Some folk once sat around a table, To share a meal and sing and fable. ‘Twas sturdy but would shake and rumble When they did pause and stealthily mumble, For it was afraid of losing its guardians, Just as the fire feared of losing its radiance. The parting flame wildly wobbled a bit, When one man exclaimed in a wilder fit, We have lost our hearth, tell tales sans heart, Some gifted a gaze, others granted a glance. He then closed his eyes and fell to his chair, Tables shook and men still mumbled – But he could not yield nor could he care, Far away he saw another fire, slightly warmer. It had its own audience, just slightly quieter. He listened to their tales, unchained but entwined, In the lulling melody of crackling timbre behind. Tales of men and women, of gods and of beasts, Their wants and wisdom, conquests and defeats. Half a man, and half a bull, an old man exclaimed, In one hand his rosary, with the other he aimed, First at the heavens and then at the dun...