7 Days Later: A Little About My First Snowboarding Trip

On Monday, 21st December, 2009, I went to Mountain Creek, my sporting home, for winter sports, for that is where I learned to ski in the snow. This time, of course, it was not the skiing that I went for, though it was still for the snow. More particularly, it was World Snowboarding Day, and that gave me a free pass onto the slopes.

We were given snowboarding passes, equipment, lessons, and a lift ticket!

After about an hour and a half of lessons we hit the only slope where free previewers were allowed to go. It was fun, dealing with the undulating curves down the mountain slope, despite the disorienting feel of my head swinging to and fro -- my by was facing sideways, so my head was really going left and right, given the direction of my glide. Of course, I could not sustain that kind of a ride, and had no intention to, for I, as a control freak, wanted to first be able to control my flow -- if the flow can't be ours, it can't be, for I intend not to hit a tree and see floating stars.

Some parts of the slope were soft -- much of it, in fact, -- but the uncrowded part that we took had a hard, icy patch, towards the middle of the ride. Over there, I fell a lot more than once, or twice. The falls in the soft snow were always nice, but falls in the ice were a pain in my behind. I knew not any proper breafalls, for the snowboard's design -- a feature that had deterred me from snowboarding, all this time. Adapt my side breakfall to the board, I did not think too thoroughly, in the cold, and a back breakfall I had ruled out, given my skill, long ago. I, at one point, thought I had adapted my technique for falling to the side, but fell and realized that that fall made me roll, resulting in my hearing a snap in my arm, on my right side. I soon realized that such falls would be unwise -- more stunts, than prudent actions of the wise. So, I kept falling on the side of my behind, some times on the left, and some times on the right. It's a wonder that I finished the day walking upright.

In the days since that time I have warmed, and stretched, and stretched again, and then stretched again, till I got bored to the point that I wondered if I would stretch again. Persistent, preposterous, tenacious, asinine, whatever you choose to call it, I will pursue it till I can squat like I used to, and practice jumping like a Nordic ski jumper -- anything to shred the slopes made by man, or the Divine.

I shall hope to fully recover before this winter sports season's end is nigh, and while I still feel the tug on my hind, on the right, I still dream of jumping stairwells, walls, and anything high.

Mom, I know you said "Always use protection..."

...but I don't like the plastic bag!

I think I like the unprotected feel of the snowy slopes,
simply grinding away under my snowboard.

...and, where was I, when this happened?

Yesterday (well, day before, rather), I formally met, for the first time, a person who grew up with me, in Abu Dhabi, thanks to my friend of mine. Her (the person I met for the first time) Mom and mine had been long time friends, and she had known about me, from her Mom. Given that, and the fact that she is not the first girl I met 'from' Abu Dhabi who knew of me without me knowing much about her (I had only seen her, a few times, as a kid, but had never officially met her), I now think that a lot more people from there knew of me, than I knew people. I feel like I was an information node that produced signals, but never received any. But then, again, maybe it was just the girls who were told by their Moms who was who (maybe even with the tone of "Stay away from that big bad wolf," just kidding), but I cannot know.


While my New York friend (well, formerly a New Yorker) and I went around the city with my new friend (and her sister) two talked with fun reminiscence of their earlier days, back in Abu Dhabi, back when they were so young that a boy could get into a pillow fight with a girl. I must say, I quite enjoyed all of those conversations. In the end, though, I got to wondering, "Where was I?" Where was I when my friends were having so much fun? How many of them did I even know, back then? It was, at first, saddening, then sobering, in that I remembered that the circumstances back then (which I will not get into) did not allow my parents much time to socialize with their friends, which is why I did not grow up playing with the kids of their friends.

Perhaps I should not complain, however: I must remember that much as I like to complain that my Mom did not take me to her friends places, and did not have them over, much (resulting in my having only very limited experiences of actually socializing with people my own age), the fact is, it was my Mom whom I am grateful to (and very rightly) that I even have friends. I must never forget that it was she (along with an almost equal commitment, effort, and perseverance) who even made me have friends, in the first place. It was she who I have to thank for my first friend, for by the time that I started kindergarten I did not want to make friends, anymore.

You see, I was born in Bangladesh, in a small town called Pabna, and almost everyone around me was part of the family. Everyone, of course, knew that I would eventually go, with my Mom, to Abu Dhabi (in the United Arab Emirates) to live with my Dad, before I started school. So, every once in a while my cousins on my Mother's side would say something like "You're a foreigner! You'll go away!" While they saw it as a privilege (people back home see living abroad as having the good life), their words, along with my not feeling welcome around my paternal cousins, made me feel like people just wanted me to go away. I actually felt unwanted, and when my maternal cousins said anything about me being a foreigner, it really hurt. Of course, I was very fond of my maternal cousins (and one particular paternal cousin -- probably because he was closest to me, in age), and while when making the final preparations for my travel to the United Emirates, in Dhaka, I was too caught up in the excitement to think about how much I would miss them (nor did I think about how close I had gotten to the family members in Dhaka), when I finally got to the airport it hit me, slowly, that I was actually going to go away; much as my Father had gone away from us using the same airport, a few years earlier. Well, the realization had not fully sunk in yet. Some time after my arrival in Abu Dhabi, and I am not sure at what point (since I was still very excited that I would finally be starting school, much as I had seen my elder cousins go to school), I realized that I did not have most of the people I considered familiar, any more. Perhaps the problem was exacerbated by my depression (I am saying perhaps, because I am not too sure at what point I started getting depressed, though I think that happened after a little tantrum I threw at my Dad during my early days -- not that I ever told anyone about the depression), but I soon came to the conclusion that whoever I meet will, at some point, GO AWAY! It didn't matter how close this person was (like the cousins who lived next door to me), or how much we had in common (like the similar aged cousins from other towns), or how much fun this person was (like the cousins who came from Dhaka), or how insanely fond I was of this person (like the person who bought me candy and ice cream), they were ALL going to GO AWAY!

So, as far as I was concerned, if I were to make a new association, it would only be to break up, some time down the line; and I did not like this break up bit, so I just did not want to meet anyone. Whenever I met a new person the first thing I would wonder would be "...at what point will this person, too, go away?" So, I think it was very instrumental of my Mom to actually force me to make my first friend. The guy, very conveniently, lived in the same building, and we met when waiting for our school transportation to arrive (yes, we went to the same school). My Mom, and Dad, were very adamant that I socialize with the guy, that I ask how he was doing, that I ask what he was up to, that I visit him, and have him over, that I find activities that we have in common, even when we (my friend and I) did not see eye to eye with each other. I suppose I should be very grateful to my Mom and Dad that I eventually got comfortable enough with the guy to not ask him at what point he was going to go away; and I eventually got comfortable enough around new people to start making friends with the people I went to school with. Incidentally, this first friend of mine, and my closest, for MANY, MANY years, was the first of any of the school mates with whom I was more than just acquainted with, was the first my friends to actually leave. He left, with his family, for his home town in Pakistan, when I was somewhere around Grade 6; though my memory of the exact time is hazy, because there was a six month gap between my finishing my 6th Grade, and starting my 7th (school transfer reasons). That was the only time, that I really remembered my old thought: "When is this person, too, going to go away?"

I have fond memories (they're fond, now) of how much care my parents took in making sure my friend and I always found things to do that we both liked (I think we were rather different personalities -- I liked climbing door frames, while my friend liked to read story books, I liked to read about science, while my friend liked to watch music videos on TV, I liked to listen to the news, while my friend considered it something for adults, and so on, and so forth), how much care they took in making sure that I did not let my frustration at not having someone who shared my interest in Star Trek, 3-2-1 Contact, and the movie Moonraker, explode. They took a lot of care to make sure that I reciprocated the same kindness that I received from my friend's family. My parents shaped me into a social animal -- they molded me into a human being. For these reasons, I think, I should just accept that my parents did the best they could to make sure I did socialize when I was a kid. While I have the gripe that they only ever went to this one friend's house, while this friend had his social interactions with multiple friends, I should learn to put up with the fact that my parents did not get the opportunity to socialize too much, themselves, and they chose to put their free time (my Dad used to get home from work at 2200) to socialize with a family that we got very close to.

Perhaps it is even a good thing that my first friend was not like me. You see, when I was around 3 years of age I got shot with an airgun pellet (accidentally, of course, by a cousin) and when I used to go to play, during my formative years (back when I was in Bangladesh), some times I would be asked by the other kids about the dent in my head, and the shooting (word get around in a small town). While I would talk about it, I did not really like being spoken to about it, and I eventually became reclusive, and withdrawn. So, perhaps it was better for me that my friend was not as oriented towards facts (hey, he liked fiction) so I never actually got to talking to him about the gunshot, at least not too much. Perhaps this is why I did not become more reclusive than I already was, while in the Emirates. Maybe being around that friend all the time helped me keep my mind off of the topic; though I have thought about it every day, since it happened, till today, and it is perhaps for this reason that my memory of it is still crimson fresh. Who knows? Maybe I would have gotten more self absorbed, had I not had a friend whose interests, relative to mine, were so off? Maybe having friends with similar interests would have helped, for then I would have been more involved in activities in which I could loose myself (I was always into activities that required me to live in the moment, where one slip could end in a fall). We may never know. Come to think of it, when it comes to the guys with whom I used to go cycling (I liked to do jumps, and navigate without touching the handle bars -- and I STILL wake up from nightmares when the drop from a jump is longer than expected, resulting in me feeling the zero g, though the craving of that feeling drives me to jump from higher and higher; I guess Garrett Soden was right is saying that it "can feel like rapture, it can feel like rape"), the sport was all that I had in common with them. Other than that, we did not have much in common (different preferences in TV shows, etc.). While I got along very well with my bikers' gang I eventually lost touch with them when I loved to a new location (some time around Grade 6) -- thinking back on this, I never, once, remembered the firing when I was actually around them, so having them was a very good thing; maybe I need to loose myself, in order to catch myself. My first friend, on the other hand, was someone with whom I did not diminish contact with, no matter who moved to a new location -- something I have to give my parents credit for -- and I have to credit his parents. Just writing this, of course, I am missing my old biking gang, differences and all; though, somehow, I still feel a lot closer to that first friend, with whom I had (and probably still have) more differences. I am not too sure if this closeness is due to our sharing the same religious festivals, or the fact that I perceived him as being more respectful of my folks, though I strongly suspect it is the latter.

Come to think of it, now, I did not have THAT bad a childhood. I may have become introverted enough, from my experiences of being asked about getting shot at (though I very much LIKE talking about it now, and spare no opportunity to talk about it); I may have missed out on varied social experiences with people from my own culture, owing to the limited time that my parents had to socialize (though that situation changed, dramatically, though not completely, past Grade 6); I may have become too absorbed in the hard sciences, and too aloof from fun social interactions, owing to a lack of the latter, but I guess that let me put up with the pains that my circumstances during my college life put me through (I used to loose sleep over nightmares, and this happened consistently for years; I still have pains, but they are project related) [though, I must admit, I feel severe pains, and I get depressed over not being able to make light of situations, like my friends can; and not being able to crack jokes out of the blue, and devilishly put a person on the spot, just for the fun of it]; I may have missed the opportunities to play with the kids who shared the same TV interests as me, the same religious festivals as me, the same level of obedience to a friend's folks, as me, the same interest in video games as me, interest in the same telecast sports as me, the same interest in football (soccer, if you are American) as me, the same interest in food, as me, the same interest in going out, as me, interest in the same kinds of toys, facts (be it general knowledge, specific branches of science, or just, plain, news categories), but you know what? I got to play with kids who enjoyed bicycling around the neighborhood, and more importantly, exploring the underground scaffolding that went into the renovations of the nearby roads (yes, we played 'follow the leader'), and that is something that none of the kids with whom I had so much in common with actually did. So, I got to play with kids who were risk takers, like I was.

So, overall, after all the give and take, my growing up was not that bad, at all. I may not have had experiences that most kids take for granted, but I did stuff that most kids did not do. Maybe I have something to offer society, from that. Time will tell. Sooner, or later, time will tell. [Yeah, I'm still a big fan of Hell March, from the first Red Alert, from Westwood Studios].

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My story, here, does not extend beyond the 6th Grade., because after this my life changed dramatically, in the realm of socializing.

How a Laser Works applets from Univ of Colorado

I really liked the Java applets used for explaining lasers on the University of Colorado's website. I just wanted to see all of the applets on the same page, so I embedded them here.

I do hope that this is not a copyright infringement, since I am only linking content from the website of the original source -- I am not storing anything from the original source, myself. Please let me know if copyright is an issue, here. Thanks. ~Faissal

For the detailed text please go to: http://www.colorado.edu/physics/2000/lasers/index.html



Light Sources





Light-Matter Interactions



















Population Inversion




















The End Result: Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation (LASER)

Feynman -- Last Journey, Pleasure of Finding, Elementary Particles &

Richard Phillips Feynman - The Last Journey Of A Genius[1988]


THE PLEASURE OF FINDING THINGS OUT, Richard Feynman Interview (1981)


Elementary Particles and the Laws of Physics - Richard Feynman

Richard Feynman's Basic Physics Intro

Richard Feynman's Basic Physics Intro

Part 1:


Part 2:

Richard Feynman's QED Lecture Series

Richard Feynman's QED Lecture Series

Part 1:


Part 2:


Part 3:


Part 4:

Today I have had espresso

This is a little piece I wrote today to my cousin's wife, given that she was so against my having espresso that she put me in an informal rehab, just so I would keep away from that infernal thing:

Today I have committed a deed rather grim.
I have tasted the juice
of that forbidden fruit.
Yes, I have ingested caffeine.

Espresso, as you know,
is that craved drug of old;
the draw that you deplore,
and yet, with it I roam in my abode,
with that drug in my veins, herein.

My PhD Expansions

1. "Poetically headed for Death" (Fall 2009)
   
2. "Parachutist high on Dopamine."
   
3. "Parenthetical headway from Desolation"
   
4. "Pathologically habituated to Drudgery"
5. "Probably hungry and Deprived" (Spring 2010, I think)
6. "Patient, headstrong Doggedness"
7. "Perpetually hard Dick"
8. "Probably habituated to Dicking"
9. "Pain in a hard Dick"
10. "Pacha-ey haDdi (Pain in the beHinD)" (Fall 2010) 
11. "Pocha haDdi (Rotten Boner)"

Making a Climbing Gym from a Door Frame

Today, I decided to try making a climbing gym out of one of the metal door frames in the hallways of my floor in the engineering building. I put the video here:



I had to use a (Japanese style) horse stand, shallow squats, and (shallow) side squats to warm up my glutes, and the other muscles in my legs, so as not to hurt myself, when climbing using the stemming technique. I also had to warm up my upper body, and especially the muscles around the shoulders (by doing Wushu style arm spins), so as not to pull any muscles.

It was a fun exercise session. It left me drenched in sweat; my face was so wet, my eyes stung (a little) from the salty sweat!

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20th August, 2009:

The sides of my buttocks are still aching from yesterday's exercise. I'll have to give them a few days' rest. More warm-ups, followed by stretches, I guess, then. All the better to work on horse stands, iliotibial band glute stretches, hurdler's stretches, butterfly stretches, and splits.

I Thought It Was A Slingshot!

I thought it was a slingshot, and I wanted to give it a try. I thought it's elastic cord would make me fly. I thought in a hurl I could reach the sky. I thought a tug would bring me back.

Watching the first person I saw launched go told it to be a swing. Like Tarzan the rider rode at the end of a long string. An elastic cord, and he would have hit the dirt, therein. A pendulum, for sure, not a bungee cord, though damped it was, by wind.

This, I surely had to try, for g's I can fall for, I don't know why. In dreams, night and day, in zero g's my body sways, and breathing heavily each time I awake, often exhausted, often drained.

That sinking feeling I have always entertained. Often in horror, often in pain, now, since with awareness it is no longer a bane, I dwell upon it, in fact pursue it; this feeling keeps me enthralled in a quiver, unashamedly cheerful; this feeling I long for, in this state I wish to remain.

So I gather up my courage, butterflies in my belly, to me, bats in my belfry, perhaps, to thee, and hurry off, in glee. That rising uneasiness within me, rising like a plume from my belly, with my heart racing, resting only as I don the flyer's gee, I await, sometimes in silence, sometimes making conversation with the dame in line ahead of me.

When my turn comes, I align myself, and grab my cords, very surely noting the all important rip cord, making mock pulls as the winch pulls me sky high, positioning my arms like I were deploying a parachute, though knowing this altitude was probably too low for even a standard BASE jump.

I thought I had my body aligned, I expected to have an extremely smooth ride; how wrong I was, expecting a smooth run, being so stiff, so static, so stubbornly inflexible, that before my first dip I felt more than just the g force.

. . . . _ . _ . __________________________________________

Of course, I adjusted myself, mid-air, as you can plainly see, thus adjusting my orientation suddenly, from circus trapeze artist's to a skin diver's thus cutting faster through the air, and then reorienting like a pendulum in motion, my arms somewhat outstretched, my back a bit arched. I soon realized a nightmare scenario: my body was not properly oriented; for as soon as I reached the end of my first swing, when the tension in the cords was the least, my body turned. My top heavy body (well, I think I am top heavy) turned, sideways, right into the new direction of the swing. Had the first swing been the result of a parachute opening, I would have just turned a full 180 degrees, and hit the cliff head on. I can't even imagine the training that BASE jumpers have to put themselves through. Of course, I had bigger fish to fry, so to speak (or, I think so not).

I soon realized I was not in optimum position for breathing, and I even wasn't totally prepared, mentally, for when I went into my first reverse swing I struggled to breathe, that fear that you are losing control when you are in free fall severely taking hold of me. After some hesitation I could breathe, but it was not a totally unimpeded action. I had trouble breathing every time my swing changed direction. Eventually, during my fifth swing (counting reverse swings as actual swings), I was finally able to arch, and breathe freely, even during the tense free fall-like state, so I was able to concentrate on tasks at hand. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but I think that a non-breathing jumper is a candidate for an unconscious jumper, and an unconscious jumper is a good candidate for a dead jumper. I know that body orientation is a big part of what goes into the training of skydivers and BASE jumpers, particularly more so, for the latter group, who are actually veteran skydivers. So, maybe my problem with being able to breathe during free fall, and with keeping my body weight evenly distributed while swinging are part and parcel of problems that jumpers are trained to tackle with. I don't have a way to be sure, right now.

Adrenaline High at a Physical High

Last night, I got word from a friend that the Perseid Meteor Shower might still be visible. Having been disappointed the night before, owing to the weather, I decided to stay on campus, and watch the shower. While I ended up getting disappointed at not seeing a single shooting star, I did climb up to the roof of a rooftop cabin (no idea what's in it), and I got to shoot a far better view of the George Washington Bridge (GW) than I could otherwise have while resting my camera against a tripod, and holding it from swaying in the wind. Later on, my friend told me (from looking at the pictures that I took from my vantage point) that the light pollution in New York City had impeded my view.

The view of the GW, from there, was like something I would normally expect to see in an action movie (although, from much closer). I put the video on YouTube, and it can be seen here:

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Here's something from the description of the video:

The George Washington Bridge, at night -- I had a view like one from the movies. Of course, my digital camera was not able to capture the bridge, and its roving light, in all its glory.

I am putting up this video primarily to store it for a future occasion, because I loved that scene.

Of course, my liking that view, combined with my vantage point (on one of the highest points on that building), combined with the anticipation of seeing a meteor shower, combined with the exhilaration of having climbed up (literally) to that vantage point, combined with the vertigo of being on a sloping rooftop (though, slightly) while looking down at an injurious drop altogether made for such a wonderful experience, I think this video has significance for me that is well beyond my words. Unfortunately, that significance will probably be lost on anyone else who might choose to watch this video. Perhaps, then, I have most fittingly chosen the soundtrack that goes with this video: it is the second (and last) song played during the closing credits of the movie: "The Hurt Locker" (2008, released in 2009).

O, and yes, that feeling I got on the rooftop is a drug, and that rush I got up there may well be "a potent... addiction," as Chris Hedges is quoted in the movie (though, he was talking about war).

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I think I have always liked being on a high place, with a good vantage point. Perhaps I got this from having lived at my grandmother's place, when I was younger: I used to climb atop the roof, with my cousins, and the highest point on the roof was about the size of a very small room, and its boundary wall/railing was perhaps half a foot high. On two sides of that plateau was a drop of about head height, on one side the drop was about two head heights, and on the opposite side of that the drop was four stories (that is three stories, if you are British). I remember, my cousins and I used to go there, and lounge around, casually, and it was the most normal thing in the world. Most of the time the cousins whom I went up with were girls, BTW, so I was not fulfilling some crazy boyish fantasy. I used to go there from the time I could climb (onto railings), till the time I was five (after which I moved).

I think my love of being at a high vantage point has stayed with me, since then. When I was in Grade 2, and school was suddenly closed for a few day because some locally important political figure (well, basically, a rich and powerful tribal leader) died, as soon as I was dropped off by the school bus I crawled (through the unoccupied hole where the air conditioner used to sit) into an the abandoned office of a local driving school (at the corner of my apartment block), crawled up the stairs (so as not to slip and fall over the mess they had made on the stairs) and peered out the air conditioner hole that I had been eying from outside. I knew it was risky to be outside, alone, given the rowdy local population of refugees who had arrived during and after the First Gulf War (they were middle school bullies, practically terrorizing the neighborhood, whom the police did not do anything about), but I figured that as long as I kept my head low (literally) I would not be spotted. I was careful not to venture too far into the air conditioner's hole, left I be seen from outside -- knowing that there was really only one entryway to the place, I did not fancy getting cornered, and beaten up. I stayed there, for some time, enjoying my own little vantage point, knowing that I was on higher ground (higher than the pavement, anyway), with relatively quick access to the outside, and that I could observe, without being observed. It felt good to have found that place by exploration. At some point I heard the sounds of voices. They were Arabic words, and the voices were those of some of the local bullies. They sounded rather close to where I was. I knew that if I tried to escape then I would get spotted, and those guys were far better runners than I was. I knew that jumping out the air conditioner's hole was not an option. So, I stayed put, being quiet. Soon, they, too crawled in through the hole, downstairs, and I realized that my only hope for safety was to say real silent, and to stay put. I knew that getting caught by them in an enclosed space was the last thing I wanted. I also knew that if they came up then I would surely be caught. So, I could either try escaping, and surely get caught, or stay put, and hope that they do not come up. I took my chances with the latter, because I figured that the group of three voices would not be interested in the more cramped confines of the upper floor, which was even messier than the bottom floor. If I had understood their language I would have felt like an eavesdropper. Of course, I was so confident that I was safe from detection, upstairs, that I was not even frightened. My heart did not go racing, and when they left I did not even feel a rush. I only had that quiet satisfaction of having found a vantage point. Some times after they had left, when I was sure they would be far enough away from the building to not spot me coming out, I got out, and went home. Come to think of it, I was happy with my little adventure that for a long time I entertained the idea of becoming a military sniper. I even tried joining the US Army during my sophomore year of college. Of course, there were some legal barriers to my entry, and so I did not go. When my boss at my second internship asked me what kind of position I would like to have taken had I joined the military (he figured I would have liked that, given my interest in parkour) I told him I would have liked being something of a stalker, getting closer to the enemy than the rest of the larger force, observing, reporting, and taking out important targets. He likened my description to the role of an artillery forward observer (which was perhaps not that far off), though I now think (after having read Gary Shcroen's "First in: an insider's account of how the CIA spearheaded the war on terror") I would have liked a role more akin to that of the troops painting ground targets with lasers, for aerial bombardment. They get pretty up close, and personal. Of course, after paintballing, I like CQB, and right now I am not 22 anymore, so I am not joining any military.

I'm not sure where my passion for high vantage points and exhilarating vertigo will take me next, but I do fancy climbing (like many who have done it before me) the spires of Gothic buildings. Heh heh!
 

What is your education worth?

A friend of mine (on Facebook) just asked: "What's your education worth?!"

I just had to put my answer on my blog:

"That depends on how you define education. If you define it as the learning of course material, explicitly, then it is not worth much (and don't get me started on how little respect I have for that kind of 'education'). If you define your education as the learning that helps you enter or master what you are doing (be it work, or sports), then you can measure the worth of your education by the results it is producing. I think this is why Prof. Kranc once told me: 'Working is a part of your education.' So, as far as I am concerned, while Bill Gates was a dropout, I certainly think he taught himself enough to be considered educated in his line of work."

Yeah, I had to make the comment about Bill Gates, because, prior to me, another friend had commented that Bill Gates had gotten to be rich without a degree. Of course, I have little affection for the man, for his company has fraudulently put many companies out of business (DOJ vs. MS Anti Trust Suit), so I just referred to the man's being good at what he does. Of course, I also do acknowledge his charitable efforts.

________________________________________________

A friend of mine joked, when he saw my comment, that I was talking Sun Tzu, so I had to respond:

"Heh Heh! Hey, man, maybe I do think along the lines of "Art of War" when I tackle research problems. A few days ago, I was thinking how to get a material that will behave a certain way, and it turned out I would have to understand the chemistry of the material to proceed. "O well", I thought, "looks like I will have to get up close, and personal with the material, rather than be the observer who sees things from afar." Of course, I prefer to compare it to rock climbing, where if you want to conquer a vertical wall you have to pull yourself "up close, and personal," getting intimately close to the wall, bringing it too close for comfort into your personal space, and then push the wall under! Just as that act of conquering can give you a delirious vertigo, a successful project can give you an "engineer's high" (yeah, I coined that; look at the appendix to: Back in Training -- Butterfly Kicks and Cartwheels)."

Z-Scan, finally!

Z-Scan, finally!

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DISCLAIMER: I am not claiming that the information is this article is error free, so use it at your own risk. This article represents my understanding of the original paper by Sheik-Bahae, et. al., at the time of the article's writing. I have found flaws in the way I had understood the paper, since. My main motive for writing the paper was to let out my frustrations at my experiments, and this was the closest I had to having a person to talk to, for me to vent. Perhaps acting on misunderstood instructions exacerbated the situation, at the time, but this article, essentially, one frustrated graduate student's extra long rant.
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Here are my instructions (my tutorial) for doing a z-scan.

Okay, so I (we) finally got the laser (Continuum PY61C Nd:YAG picosecond pulse laser) working properly, and got our closed aperture z-scans!

Here are the steps for setting up the laser, roughly (click on any image, to enlarge):

1. Clean the dye system's internals, a few times, using fresh dichloroethane (laser grade).
2. Put the laser in free run.
3. Find the lasing threshold.
4. Optimize the laser's back mirror (the mirror to the left) for laser intensity, or, rather, photon count inside the cavity), and also stability -- observe on a slow oscilloscope.
5. Optimize the prism position, for stability
6. Repeat steps 4 and 5 iteratively.
7. If necessary, optimize the aperture position, though you should not need to do that every time you set up the laser.
8. Choose an oscillator flash lamp voltage: if your oscilloscope's electronics are sensitive enough, then just go two notches above the threshold; if not, then choose a voltage so that when you start q-switching the laser pulse train shows up on your fast oscilloscope -- you have to have prior knowledge, from bitter experience, for this, or you can find this out the hard way, as you go along.
9. You will probably see longitudinal modes on your slow oscilloscope. Kill them by adding fresh solution of Q-Switch 1 laser dye to the dichloroethane reservoir. If there are none of these modes, then go to step 10.
   
10. Now, inspect the laser in the fast oscilloscope. You should see a pulse train with a Gaussian envelope function. If the envelope function is not Gaussian, then re-optimize the laser optics (back mirror and prism). If you do not see a pulse train, at all (but you can confirm, on the slow scope, that the system is lasing), then you did not choose a high enough voltage to pump the flash lamp with (you goofed up on step 8), so you increase the voltage supplied to the oscillator flash lamp, by a notch, or two, and go back to step 9.
11. Add more laser dye (Q-Switch 1) until you have only 8-9 pulses left in the Gaussian pulse train.
12. Play with the rotation of the half-wave plate, the thickness of the obstruction to the photodetector that activates the Pockels Cell, and the timing of the gate of the Pockels Cell, to get a stable output beam (I won't go into the physics of this, as that is beyond the scope of this article). Your beam (check it with an IR card, once the beam exits the laser housing) should have a single lobe. More than one lobe, and your beam is unacceptable -- in that case, you will need to go back to playing with the back mirror and the delay prism.
    
13. Now, you should have a beam that you can do a z-scan with -- it's fluctuations should be within plus/minus 10%.

Now, put the laser through a Glen prism, so as to counter-act the effect of the quarter wave plate that sits prior to the laser's amplifier housing, then put it through a half wave plate (so you can rotate it, by rotating the half-wave plate), and then put it through a polarizer, which can be used to reduce the intensity of the beam. The complete setup is here:

Now, here's where my problem was, and the whole point of writing this article:

1. When you get the beam past the polarizer, make sure that the beam characteristics do not change: make sure that you do not have more than one lobe in the beam that gets into the polarizer (if you do have more than one lobe, then go back to Step 12 of setting up the laser), and make sure the beam looks no different when it exits the polarizer (except in intensity) from when it enters the polarizer. If the beam looks different when it exits, then make sure the beam is not clipping off inside the polarizer housing, and if you see two lobes in the beam exiting the polarizer (remember, a beam with only one lobe went in) then you probably do not have the Glen Prism set correctly, as your beam is clearly not polarized in one direction, only -- i.e., your beam is probably circularly polarized, from when it went through the quarter wave plate that sits before the amplifier (this quarter wave plate is there because the KDP crystal that converts 1064nm to 532nm requires a circularly polarized beam, though the KDP crystal's output is a vertically polarized beam -- so, you will not need the Glen Prism if you are using 532nm).
   
   
   
   
2. Have two apertures, for alignment purposes: one before the lens that focuses the collimated laser beam onto the sample, and one that sits as the final aperture, serving as the aperture during closed aperture z-scans.
   
   Personally, I have three apertures: one before the focusing lens (seen between the second mirror, and the focusing lens in the following picture -- o, and remember that the Glen Prism should not have been there, for the 532nm wavelength beam; and also note that while this article talks about doing a z-scan with a 1064nm beam, I chose to use a 532 nm wavelength beam for the pictures),
   
   

   

   
   
   one after the sample (which I use for alignment purposes), and the final aperture, which I use during closed aperture z-scans. I do not touch the final aperture, during alignment, just so I have the personal satisfaction that the final aperture had the same diameter throughout the day, eventhough I may have had to realign the beam during the course of the day, to account for the beam's movement, as the ambient and equipment temperatures shift during the course of a day's operations. For the purpose of this article, though, I will only talk about two apertures: one for carving the beam (the one before the lens) and one for the closed aperture z-scan (the so-called final aperture).
   
   
   
   
3. Ensure that both the apertures are EXACTLY the SAME HEIGHT, and that they are bolted down in the exact same fashion/manner along the same line of screw holes on the optical table. That way, you can be sure the the apertures are aligned, and the any beam that goes through the centers of BOTH the apertures will be: (1) parallel to the surface of the table [and, thus, maintain its height], and (2) aligned along the screw holes. This second clause is important because the z-scan stage is mounted on the optical table, such that it's movements are aligned with the screw holes on the optical breadboard (optical table)
   
   
   
   
4. Align the laser beam to go through the center of BOTH the apertures. Here is my painful way of doing it:
   
   (1) Play with the first mirror (call it mirror M1, the one right after the laser housing, past the colored optical filter in the setup's picture) until the beam is as close as possible to the center of the first aperture (call it aperture A1, the one before the focusing lens).
   
   (2) Play with the second mirror (call it mirror M2, the one in the picture above, immediately past which I was able to 'illuminate' the path of the laser beam) to very finely position the beam at the center of A1. Ensure that the beam that gets through A1 is VERY CIRCULAR, by closing and opening the aperture, the check that the beam really does close in, on itself, as the aperture is closed. If the beam is not circular, to start with, then CARVE out a circular beam with this aperture A1, by closing the aperture just enough, but making sure that the beam which makes it past aperture A1
   (a) is indeed very circular, and
   (b) closes in onto its center, as the aperture is closed further.
   
   VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: When doing step (2), of this section, it is NOT absolutely necessary that the point of highest intensity of the beam be at the center of the aperture. Your beam may even dim drastically, as you go across the diameter of the beam, from one point on its circumference to another; but that's okay! Pretty much anything goes, as long as
   (i) your beam, past aperture A1, is circular, and
   (ii) its intensity profile has only ONE GLOBAL MAXIMUM.
   I know that my tone, in this paragraph, sounds rather prudish, but not being aware of this was what kept me from making progress for a very long time.
   
   If you are doing a closed aperture z-scan, then, personally, I would try to make sure that the diameter that I settle on, for aperture A1, is at least twice the diameter that I will use for the final aperture; but that is just my personal bias.
   
   (3) Repeat steps 1 & 2 of this section ITERATIVELY until you are very satisfied that the beam hits aperture A1 DEAD ON/PERPENDICULARLY.
   
   (4) Follow the beam, and see if it hits the final aperture (call it aperture A2, the one past the sample).
   
   (5) REPEAT steps 1, 2 & 3, centering the beam on aperture A2.
   Note that the beam that hits aperture A2 will probably have a larger diameter than the beam that went through aperture A1 (it does, in our setup), because the beam hits the focusing lens, after going through aperture A1, and past its focus, it diverges. You might notice the 532 nm wavelength beam converging (towards the extreme right of the picture) here:
   
   
   
   You should now have a very well aligned laser beam, at the scanning platform.
   
   
   
   
5. Now, you should be able to put a 1mm path length (or longer) quartz cuvette into the beam path (mounted on the z-scan stage) filled with carbon disulphide (we'll call it CS2, henceforth) and take a z-scan of it, to calibrate your setup. Make sure you have a way to repeatably start and stop your z-scans at the EXACT same points (right down to the stepper count of the stepper motor that you use to drive the z-scan stage), and take multiple calibration curves, just to be sure. Your CS2 curve should look like this:
   
   
   
   The symmetricity of the peak and dip (one should look like a reflection of the other, in the x-axis/abscissa, if the start and end points of the scan were placed at zero, on the ordinate) indicate good laser alignment and the smoothness of the curve confirms a stable beam. Once this curve has been obtained, it is confirmed that the z-scan setup is configured properly and hence, all z-scan work can proceed.
   
   
   
   
6. Take all your z-scan data, for all your samples, as well as at different points on each sample, just to be sure.

Here is the formula you can use to calculate the Chi3 (aka, 3rd order optical non-linearity susceptibility) of your samples, from your z-scan data:



There is a paper with some more nifty little formulae, including a data sheet of CS2 properties, here:
Third-order nonlinearities in GeSe₂–In₂Se₃–CsI glasses for telecommunications applications
Optical Materials, Volume 31, Issue 1, September 2008, Pages 75-78

Another paper with other useful relationships is here:
Ultra fast third-order non-linear response of amino-triazole donor–acceptor derivatives by optical Kerr effect
Optics Communications, Volume 281, Issue 20, 15 October 2008, Pages 5239-5243



In the event that your samples have a high two photon absorption (TPA), take your readings at the intensity that you would expect to take your data, and then for every one of these readings increase the power (to increase TPA) and then repeat the same measurement. So, you should have two sets of readings for every position, for any given sample (one at a lower power, and one at a higher power). Last time, for example, we took one reading at 10 uJ of energy, and another at 20 uJ of energy for every point on the samples that we were testing. You can then use the following formula to subtract the TPA from the NLO (self lensing/intensity dependent refractive index change) curves:



Once you get the curves from this formula you can use the above formula, for Chi3 (aka, 3rd order optical non-linearity susceptibility), plugging in the higher of the two beam energies used, for the "Light Intensity Incident on Sample" value, into it to get the Chi3 of your samples. I am not sure why the higher of the two energies is plugged in, but that was the number that gave me answers closer to the Chi3 value that I had calculated (for the same samples) in a previous experiment.


If all has gone well, then you should now be able to publish! Check with your professor, to find out.

Back in Training -- Butterfly Kicks and Cartwheels

I'm back in training, after an injury to my right hip joint, early last February, at an indoor climbing gym. The injury was sustained from repeatedly jumping up to reach a hold (on the first puzzle that I climbed, that day), while I was not really used to jumping upwards (yeah, I was not conditioned for it). The following picture was taken when I had reached the top of that puzzle:



Needless to say, I still climbed (and finished) 5 puzzles that day, over the hours that followed.

I do not know what that kind of injury mine was called, maybe a muscle strain, or strained tendons; but in any case, it was uncomfortable (on the right side) training for squats, horse stands, and splits.

I thought I would train for pull-ups, push-ups, and strengthen my fingers, while my right hip joint healed, but 6 months passed, to no avail. My training for butterfly kicks, moon kicks, and cartwheels were on hold, all this time, and I had only started on them when I got injured (though I did try cartwheels, on one or two occasions, during the last 6 months). Then earlier this week, I tried a few two handed vaults, and, surprisingly, my right hip did not hurt. The next day, I tried doing the "Iliotibial band and buttock stretch" (AFTER a warm up) and I felt great: my discomfort in my right hip was gone! Now, I knew that warming and stretching was all that my muscles, tendons, and ligaments needed, but I had not figured that I was not stretching the right muscle! After that I was able to do horse stands, squats, and train for splits with far less pain than I have experienced in the past 6 months. This was GREAT!

So, now, I have included the "iliotibial band and buttock stretch" in my daily routine, just for good measure, and I shall hope to be kicking my way skywards, soon! Last night, I decided to slowly ease my way back into training for butterfly kicks (and cartwheels), before going on to the moon kicks. The results are here:



Clearly, I am not swift enough, yet (though I did not realize that until I saw the video). I am sure there are other problems, like my not kicking hard enough with my supporting leg (I think), but this was the first day in 6 months. Perhaps my problem with being slow stems from the fact that for the past few months I had only been slow exercises, in trying to avoid the rapid build-up of muscle mass (I was trying to build up lean muscle, by doing all exercises very slowly -- namely, slow push ups, slow pull ups, and finger hangs -- thus keeping my body as close to its failure limit, as possible). Now that I think about it, perhaps I had been training only the slow twitch fibers, and neglecting my fast twitch fibers, entirely. I have decided to restarted training my fast twitch muscle fibers after seeing this video. I am thinking that vigorous, extremely quick, exercises might still keep me close to my limits. I would appreciate any tips from readers. Thanks.

O, in case you were wondering why was so worried about my mass, see the contrast from April 2009 to May 2009, here:



Once my right hip joint feels really comfortable I will start trying moon kicks, again.

On another note, I am really glad that I tried the two handed vaults, en route to doing pull-ups at the park, earlier this week. They made me remember that tremendously good feeling I used to get out of clearing obstacles, particularly at speed. It is a feeling that I cannot truly describe to a person who has not had a similar experience, unfortunately. Maybe this is what is called the runner's high; it is a kind of high, nevertheless. One three other activities that I have done convey a similar feeling of greatness:

1. Skiing: this is the activity that comes closest -- the quick turns, at high speed do it, though I like it better when I make a wide turn at very high speed, leaning my body as much into the turn, as possible, barely trying to keep a grip on the snow, as I shoot for the tightest radius, while the g's build up, pushing me into my skis. More importantly, I enjoy that sinking feeling as I ski downhill, the ground falling off, from beneath my feet.
   
2. Skydiving: that feeling of accomplishment after a skydive is similar, though not comparable in intensity (in may case), since mine was a tandem dive, in which you neither pack the chute, nor do you deploy it, nor do you independently land it. Tandem skydiving, to me, is a cheap thrill, in that regard, for it is fun without responsibility.
3. Engineering: Now, this is something that come surprisingly close -- not in the intensity of the feeling, for that feeling of accomplishment upon completing an engineering project is very subtle, comparatively, but the feeling certainly is very similar, and lasts a whole lot longer (though the feeling from my tandem skydive lasted 3 weeks!). I remember once writing to one of my professors: "Engineering is my high, Professor, it is my drug."

The intensity that I feel from clearing obstacles at high speed (or while experiencing the ground rush of jumping off of a high place, or while getting that sinking feeling, as I ski downhill at high speed) make me proud to be able to have pictures to show like this:





~Faissal

_____________________________________________

Appendix:

This is something that I wrote earlier, when writing to my professor about the 'engineer's high' (and I'm probably the guy who coined it):

Engineering is my high; it is my drug. Researchers say that those who have tried cocaine and have tried activities like climbing, skydiving, or other activities that simply consume a person in the moment report that a person derives the same feeling from this drug as this kind of activity (Sources: Falling: How Our Greatest Fear Became Our Greatest Thrill--A History by Garrett Soden; Base 66: A Story of Fear, Fun, and Freefall, by Jevto Dedijer). While I have not tried the drug, myself (and I am sure my two Corning Inc. drug tests can prove that), I have tried the activities that I have mentioned; and I know how much I crave that feeling I derive, and how far I am willing to go, to get it (basically, I will try everything besides taking the drug). Now, actually getting an engineering project to work gives me that same feeling I get from these activities; certainly not as intense a feeling, but one that lasts a whole lot longer (from a few days to a few weeks, rather than a few minutes, to a few hours), and one which will allow me to continue to work, rather than leave me is a stupor. --Faissal, 16th May, 2009

My Second Indoor Climbing Trip, 31st July, 2009

My heart was racing. I felt bunched up. I could not breathe, though I knew I had to. A short hesitation, a failure to push and I would land so close to the climbing wall that I might, inadvertently, bounce into it, right off of the cushioning mat(tress). A push too hard, and I would probably roll, upon landing, and become a human projectile, barrel rolling into the legs, below the knees, of my climbing partner, and others, who were standing just beyond the edge of the mats. Improper muscle tension, and, while I would neither roll onto people, nor into the wall, I would crumple, upon reaching the ground, and ram my knees right into the floor, the mat giving way underneath, until the force of the impact would hurt my bones; and this, just before my hands hit the floor, my wrists deforming from the impact. I never like to take mats for granted.

I knew it was too risky, though I liked the adrenaline, getting all pumped up for such a jump. Something alluring about that faintly (well, not to faintly) sickening feeling, just before the action starts. Something strangely inviting about that situation, the occurrence of which gives one nausea. In the end, I decided not to chance it. If there would have been no one nearby, whom I might roll into (you roll to minimize impact, if you fall from a high place), maybe I would have taken the plunge, literally (though there is now no way to tell if I really would have), but right then, there were a few people near my landing spot, and one of them was a very cute and precocious little climber (you might think this kid was born on the crags, and had to climb down to reach safety). So, I paused, arched my back, and breathed, letting my diaphragm sink deep within. No sense depriving myself of oxygen, and causing me to get tired, and fall. I slowly shifted position, going leftwards, at least not coming down the same way I came. I put my feet on two footholds, my hands on other holds, the right side of my body facing the wall, and the left side of my body peering into space. Ah, that oh, so familiar position! The same position I had been in, a few feet higher, and a few feet behind, hoping to thrill myself with the ground rush of freefall! But I was still too high, and I had to get a few feet lower. I went on, resisting the temptation to push off with my right leg (my left leg was, at times, just jutting out into space), to get that shrill thrill, until I was, again, a few feet lower, and few feet more leftwards, having practically gone down like I had been climbing down a staircase against the climbing wall. Here, I arched, and breathed, again letting my diaphragm sink deep within, not letting my ribs fly too far out too quickly, so as not to hyperventilate. Finally, I arched forward, and jumped.

I hit the mat with the balls of my feet, trying keep my feet flat (without hitting my heels), keeping my legs relaxed, and my glutes tensed. My back bent forward, and as my shoulders came forward, while trying to keep my knees from bending too much (I tried not to let them bend past 90 degrees) I braked my momentum with my pecs, as my hands went right through the softness of the mat, and were stopped by the hard ground (no, the mattress had not failed; it had just reached its limits). My downward motion stopped just as my knees were feeling the collapsing mattress getting hard (yes, they touched the mattress; o well): I had not maintained proper form -- either that, or, being tired, I had reached the limit of how high I could jump from without, needing to roll.

The tension in my glutes helped, as I just popped right back up, and moved forward, a little, and then, just as I stood up, came to complete stop, after a step, or two. It felt good! My partner was a little bit impressed (this was her first time at a climbing gym), despite this not having been my highest jump that day; though I think she was getting a bit jaded, by then.

That day, I generally tried climbing down any puzzle I climbed up in the bouldering room, sometimes coming down the same way I came, and sometimes, taking a different route -- if you climb out in the wild, like I tried (did) here:



then it is best that you are comfortable downclimbing, as well as upclimbing -- you do not always have a mattress to jump down on to, out there. Sometimes, I jumped, either I was too tired, or I just did it for the fun of it -- the jumps done from the higher places were for fun.

Other than climbing up, then climbing down, for most of my climbs, that day, I also tried climbing overhangs. The slight overhangs were the easiest, of course. My climbing partner, despite this being her first time, tried an overhang, too -- and with some success. My primary problem with the more inclined overhangs was that while I was able to hold onto the handholds, with both hands, I fell whenever I let go with one hand, to grab another hold -- at that time my supporting arm just gave way. Sure, I was following the the advice (or, rather, trying to follow) given in this video (about using your legs to propel yourself, rather than your arms, to pull yourself)



but pushing with my legs, while hanging from an overhang, I could still not make it bearably easier on my supporting arm, when I used the other arm to reach for a handhold.

Of course, this was good news, since it was a tremendous improvement over the last time that I was there, when I would have to take breaks from climbing, or just have to jump off the wall, simply because my fingers were getting too tired. Now, I know I have to concentrate on conditioning myself for holding on with one arm at a time.

After a lot of bouldering, my climbing partner and I took to the room with the belay ropes, and tried our hands at it. We had tough luck with even the slightest overhangs in this room, but we were able to climb, and I was able to try my hand at pulling myself up using just the belay rope. Maybe, next time, I will remember to hold the rope between my feet, the way the military guys climb up much thicker ropes. Alternatively, maybe I will put the belayer's equipment on myself, and use that belay device, so that I can rest my arms for extended periods of time, during the climb. Hey, my friends call me Spiderman (including my climbing partner), so I had better be able to climb unassisted!

A video of me climbing, while my partner holds the rope, as well as me climbing using the rope, is here:


I shall hope to build on this experience, for my next climb.

P.S. It just occurred to me that I could put my supporting arm into a lock, when I let go of the other arm, to reach for another handhold. I'm pretty sure this is what some of the leaner guys at the gym were doing, considering how they over moving on overhangs. Also, I am beginning to doubt that anyone could move from handhold to handhold on overhangs without using locks, unless, perhaps, they had the build of Dan Osman.

I should try and practice locking my arms, front and back, next time I go for pull-ups.

Cruelty, thy name is woman!

Some days ago, I was working in the laser lab, setting up a z-scan, and using a soundtrack to keep me company. It was trance, and I like trance. I couldn't make out the words, but I liked the tune, and the feel... it felt like that high after an adrenaline rush; that rush you get after having been in a position so exasperating, that you could not breathe.

The piece, itself, is here:


What I did not realize, however, was that the piece was also downright depressing (to me). I was probably so entranced by my work that for the time I was immune to depressing effects that the piece would later have on me. You see, there's more than one way to get a high out events that surround you. One way is to participate, willingly or unwillingly, in an filled act, and the other is to sit tight, willingly or unwillingly, while a situation that you have no control over unfolds, with you sitting tight in sheer terror, or in tremendous agony.

While I like the rush that you get in the immediate aftermath of an adrenaline filled action, and also the rush you get from sitting out a situation in which you, or your computer avatar (as in a video game), are in immediate danger, but all you can do is lay low, because there is nothing you can do about it, this piece, somehow, reminds me more of the agony when there is more than just your own life that is at stake, while there is nothing that you can do about the danger.

More precisely, it reminds me of my mood when I first went into a pond, when I was around (probably a little over) three, not knowing how to swim. You see, my Mom did not know how to swim, either, so she was the last person whom I wanted in the water, with me. At the time, my Dad was working in another country for as long as I had lived, so you can understand my attachment to my Mother. The pond was right in front of my Aunt's house, and my cousins were in the pool, with me (and they all knew how to swim, and how to float). While I did not realize it at the time, I was being held afloat by one of my cousins, which is why I did not go under. I still felt I was in a very precarious position, though: I felt like I was in a position where I could go down any minute, but that there was nothing I could do about it. No, it is not this precarious feeling that this song reminds me of. It reminds me of the agony I felt when my mother got into the pool herself. I remember feeling like a fish out of water (pun intended; in actuality, I was feeling out of my element) as soon as my Mother announced that she would try the water, herself. I felt that my whole world was unraveling. It is one thing to be in a position where you could loose your own life, but it is entirely different when the dead could be someone else. Now, I worried that I could loose her, but might survive, myself, and thus have to deal with the pain of loosing the dearest person I had. It is this feeling that this song reminds me of. Further more, this song reminds me of that feeling of loss, as I saw my Mother in the water, right next to me. She did not even try to put me at ease.

I never inquired how she kept her head above the water, and she never bothered to tell me. Over the years that followed, however, I would wake up from recurring dreams in which I thought my Mother would drown; and this happened every few weeks. Some of those dreams seamed to last forever, and I developed not just an intimate knowledge, but also, a strange fondness for the sadness that comes with knowing that you are going to loose a loved one, but that you cannot do anything about it. It is a strange kind of fondness: you feel saddened by it, but it is so familiar, that you cannot truly escape it. Sooner, or later, its banality becomes reason for its acceptance.

Sometimes I would see some progress: I would have dreams in which I was alone, and would swim to safety (how that happened, I do not know, for I still did not know how to swim), or that I would grab an empty nearby boat (some of these dreams had rows of empty boats) and paddle to the other shore (and I never figured out how I had gotten into the water, so close to my side of the river, in those dreams). Of course, those dreams in which I was alone were few, and far between. Soon, my progress would degenerate into Sisyphean labor, in that I would soon go back to dreams in which I could loose my Mom, just after one dream of progress.

Just about a year, or so, after the 'incident' at the pond my Mom and I were trying to cross a river, somewhere in Bangladesh, and we could not find a boat. The kids (well, I call them kids, now) who were swimming in the river pushed a half-sunken boat to our side of the river, and drained the water out, while the boat was still in the river. Since we had no alternative means of transport, this was the way to go. I remember the ride being very smooth -- and not in a good way. The ride was not jerky, but we were always in a state of going up and down. I had ridden in a Fokker, twin engined, propeller equipped airplane when I was three, and had asked my Mom and Dad (he was visiting) to hold me during the bumpy ride; but ride was far worse. We had no idea if the boat had a leak, or even why it had been left half sunk in the middle of the river; we had no paddle (oar); I was too shaken (and, I was less than five) to even think what I could do; and our boat was being tugged, and pushed to the other side by kids who could not have stopped the boat from sinking, if it sprung a leak. While I do not think I was that shaken, I do remember that just before our boat ride back (and a boatman from the village that we were visiting had kindly offered to give us a ride on his fully functioning, oar driven boat) I needed to visit the men's room, but I just could not let it out. I'm still not sure if it was the lack of water over a whole day of journeying, or simply the result of fright. I remember the serenity of the boat ride back; how calmly the boatman took his boat across the river. I remember those moments of tranquility. Those moments of reflecting that the previous boat ride could had taken our (my Mom's, and mine) lives (or, so I thought). It was one of those moments when you calmly reflect on the sheer terror that has gone by. A time when you feel that you are indeed vulnerable. Somehow, the part of the song during the lyrics
"strung out on those feelings
"cuz people just need things
"no sense in believin'
"just to turn me on"
(I found the lyrics later) reminds me of that feeling, and that reflection of vulnerability, during the boat ride back.

That melancholic feeling on the boat ride back is the high point, for me, when I am listening to this song. The song "Holy Ghost," by the "009 Sound System." Most of the time, when I am not absorbed by what I am doing, this song reminds me of those horrid dreams (It's hard to get this song out of my head, even when I am not listening to it). I suppose this is partly why I like to do things that demand attention to the here, and now, so that I may loose myself, and my thoughts, to the current activity, and avoid going into a depression. This has been the case, for me, for many, many years. Of course, I also think that my resulting interest in parkour, free running, tricking, rock climbing, skydiving, paintballing and skiing has to do with my inheriting thrill seeking tendencies from my Mother.

It's interesting, to me, how over so many years I mentioned those dreams to my Mom, and she never told me anything. I told her I was still having those dreams after I had gone abroad, for college; and yet, she never said anything. Then, one day, when I was twenty two, or twenty three, I mentioned such a dream again, and she just so annoyingly casually said what could roughly be translated as: "You need not have worried: my feet were touching the bottom (of the pond)."

I was SO Disgusted! I had spent MOST of my life waking up to recurring bad dreams, and she had to wait about 15 YEARS to tell me this!?! It had never occurred to her that she could have told me this when she was IN the pool?! Or, at least, she could have told me when I first started having bad dreams! She never seems to give any thought to the consequences of how she treats me.

All she had to do was to tell me that she was safe, for after she did, the dreams stopped!

Cruelty, surely thy name is woman!

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AFTERWORD:

Perhaps the above is why I choose to define "woman" as a female who is in a position to cause you a lot of hurt. Any other female is either a lady, or just a girl.

And it's not just my mother who has caused me to come up with this definition. Some time when I was around twenty one, a cousin of mine (whom I was very fond of) was flying for the first time. She was flying alone across international borders, and had a stopover in Bangkok. All the time that she was out of site of immediate family, her brother (who was in London) and I kept in near constant contact by phone, e-mail, and instant messenger, in case either of us got word of her arrival at her destination. Her brother and I were both studying abroad, and we never knew how word would travel, and we wanted word as soon as possible, to relieve our anxiety. Sure, she got to her destination just fine, and everything was alright. When I spoke to her later, however, she mentioned that when she was in Bangkok, she was planning a little prank on her little brother: she would have the family tell him that she had gotten lost in Bangkok, and that there was no word on her (and I would have been affected by that joke, too, since there was no way I was going to allow this, especially since the thought of a young girl lost in a place famous for prostitution is unnerving, to say the least). She said that her husband forbade the joke, when she told him about it. Now, that sent me thinking back to the night of her flight: there we were (her brother and I ), late at night, and early into the morning; we had neither eaten, nor had anything to drink, nor had we slept; and, in my case, I was not even in a position to take a rest room break; and there she was, and all she could think of was her little bit of joke! I wanted to break her nose the moment she told me about it. She was one of the reasons that I had always wanted to visit home, when I started living abroad (at five), and I had never thought I would have ever wanted to hurt her. It's a good thing she told her idea over the phone; for, in person, I would probably have just acted out on impulse. I guess betrayed love begets the most prejudiced revenge.

P.S. Don't worry, Sis, I have calmed down.

A different kind of excitement, 19th July, 2009

"Excuse me," Bulbul said, "my friend wants to take a picture with you." He had not even introduced me, nor given me the chance to say 'Hi,' but here he was, getting my camera ready to take a picture with a lady I had never even met. We were in a small enclave of concrete, in the 'not the most well lit' of settings, and she looked a little bit dazed, as if she did not know what was going on. I tried to squeeze in an introduction of myself, telling her my name, and holding me hand out part way, so that she would notice, and shake hands if she was accustomed to that, but would not feel obliged, since my hand was not fully extended. It could just have been me, but I thought I saw her pull back her right hand, a tiny little bit, in case I came across as too forward about shaking hands. On a side note, it was all good that she did not shake hands. I mean, let's face it: we're boys... girls let us shake hands, we want a kiss; girls let us touch the cheek, we want a hug, girls let us give them a hug... well, we're boys.

I had only seen her, a few minutes before, dancing on the stage; and only just found out that she was an actress in Bangla movies. Thankfully, Bulbul needed no introduction there, backstage, since he was one of the organizers of the show. She was approachable, of course, and she was willing to take a picture. I found it a little bit surprising that this lady, who seemed to pull her hand away only a few short seconds ago, now moved in closer to me than I am accustomed to, very nearly putting me on the defensive. Maybe I have an over-inflated view of my personal space.

We took turns, taking pictures with her (we took a picture, each), and then we left her to relax, after what I am sure was a grueling day. On the way back, I realized what we had just done. We had walked up to a lady, and effectively said "Dekhi-to, dekhit-to, shundori-ta sha-they chobi ni-te dey-naki dekhito!" (Let's see if this dame lets me take a picture of her, with me). To be more politically correct, we had effective said "Apa-moni, apa-moni, apna'r sha-they akta chobi nei, dekhito!" (Let's see if this lady lets me take a picture of her, with me). It wasn't that I had felt very certain that a lady who was recuperating (catching her breath) from her last performance would have acquiesced to two strangers (well, one of them not a complete stranger) wanting fan photos with her. I was not sure she would have balked, either. At the time when Bulbul had asked her for to take those pictures I had felt a certain kind of uncertainty, that things could go this way, or that; and hence, the excitement. It wasn't that I had been standing at the edge of a precipice, deciding whether or not to jump, nor was it that I was skiing down a hill at high speed, deciding what move I would use at that next crest, it was just that uncertainty. It was an uncertainty about the reaction of a human being, a reaction that could have gone this way, or that, but could be heavily influenced by that guile of the asker/requester. The very realization that we had steered a human being's response, albeit so mundane a reaction, was enough to give me an adrenaline rush, for I am more accustomed to seeing this sort or steering in work related circumstances, than in social circumstances. That little, minuscule event finally led me to understand the joy that some guys get at approaching random girls, and asking to take a picture with them. It's not that I would want to go around town, and try to take a picture with every pretty girl I run into, just for the sake of a whole hoard of pictures, but the challenge of taming probabilities is enticing. Of course, let's not treat human beings the same way that I treat sheer rock faces and smooth skiing trails. The latter are stuff to be conquered, but the former are human.


The following is a collection of short clips taken during the show, a concert of Bangla/Bengali songs, in Queens, NYC. Pardon the sound quality: I had not known that my digital camera would stop recording sound while zooming in and out. The concert, itself, was held on 19th July, 2009.



Here are some of the pictures from the event:

























This lady said she drove 22 hours, from Dallas, to see this event.




My friend, Bulbul, and I took photos with the performers, ourselves:

Yeah, the above lady is the one I mentioned when I started writing this post.
















Wow, these two, above, certainly posed the same.



P.S. I really liked the chorus of the track "Roopban nache komor dulaiya," which the actress danced to, at the event. The closest version that I could find to that soundtrack is located here, though I am not a fan of the kind of dance shown on this video (which is why I did not bother to embed it).