"It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity."
- Albert Einstein
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
9.2.14
Sunday ka Funda
26.5.11
3 Idiots: IIT, IIM and the Minister
 |
| A distorted image of a scene from the Hindi film 3 Idiots |
Since when have IITs and IIMs become shrines that everyone has to bow before them and whatever comes out of those hallowed corridors is to be considered some holy benediction?
Environment Minister Jairam Ramesh and the hurt alumni and faculty of the institutes are both narrow-minded. Here is what the minister had said:
“There is hardly any worthwhile research from our IITs. The faculty in the IIT is not world class. It is the students in IITs who are world class. So the IITs and IIMs are excellent because of the quality of students not because of quality of research or faculty.”
What exactly is world-class? Don’t we have our own standards to judge? There is some pretty wimpy stuff coming out of Ivy League universities. The IITs and IIMs depend on government funding, so Mr. Ramesh has just given them an opportunity to crib about how they are short of money and shackled by government interference.
It is no wonder that reports mention the kneejerk response that this one statement has received. Typically, they have pulled up the minister, asking him to hold forth on the quality of politicians. Pretty lame. For not only is the minister a product of such an institute, there are many others, and quite a few of them in fact confirm what he says – not about the faculty, but about the students. The hierarchy is in place and those who get in assume they are better than the rest.
And what is so great about those students? Many take the first opportunity to go overseas and then after they have made it return with a cheque to donate to their alma mater. Those who remain here end up doing staid academic jobs; the more enterprising ones consider research to mean rehashing the minutiae of what they did at the institutes in columns, books and films and these are lapped up because our ‘youth segment’ is now interested in the techie/managerial route to success decoded in simplistic paneer wrap language.
Oh, before I forget, a little bit of mandatory failure along the way is seen as idealism. Idiots.
- - -
I had written a more detailed piece on a related subject in Understanding the Rot in Academia
16.3.11
Radiation alert: Don't read this
I am supposed to keep a cloth ready and swab the skin on my neck with betadine because radiation hits the thyroid area first. This is one among the many text messages I have got and I realise that the smart phone I am using would cause me more immediate damage than the spill in Japan. 'Flash news' is moving at great speed because the BBC mentions Asian countries. Indians love being Asians and any other thing when they know they are world players, even if it is a threat perception. Radiation is real and one is not reducing what has happened in Japan. But these chain SMSes can be lethal as much as they are ignorant.
The sun’s rays and the stuff in natural sources of water emit radiation. So stay indoors (that’s what the messages are saying: “If it rains, don’t step out for 24 hours”). Electronic goods that we use daily have radioactive emissions. So don’t watch TV, don’t wear those fancy watches and don’t use mobile phones. Medical diagnostic tools cause radiation. So don’t bother about X-rays. Don’t go through metal detectors and do not visit the loo on a flight because while they will keep an eye on whether you are smoking or not, that little device is a source of radiation. Industrial units that produce most of the stuff you need are radioactive agents.
And when your country tests nuclear power, instead of singing ‘Jai Ho’ or whatever people in Burkina Faso sing, just hide beneath the covers not because someone will get jealous of the nation’s pride bombing and give it back but because of all the radiation it has caused in the environment.
You are under threat all the time, but no one will tell you. It is indeed a state secret. So, why are they telling you now? Because it is helping business. The media, the governments and those medical units will put the fear in your heads and you will go out and buy betadine without even thinking how its overuse can have an adverse effect. It happens to be available over-the-counter, without prescription - your poor doctor won’t get his or her little ‘cut’.
Now please do me a favour and forward this to as many people as possible after reading this quickly. Write it down on a piece of paper and mail it or distribute it. You don’t want no radiation from your computer, do you?
The sun’s rays and the stuff in natural sources of water emit radiation. So stay indoors (that’s what the messages are saying: “If it rains, don’t step out for 24 hours”). Electronic goods that we use daily have radioactive emissions. So don’t watch TV, don’t wear those fancy watches and don’t use mobile phones. Medical diagnostic tools cause radiation. So don’t bother about X-rays. Don’t go through metal detectors and do not visit the loo on a flight because while they will keep an eye on whether you are smoking or not, that little device is a source of radiation. Industrial units that produce most of the stuff you need are radioactive agents.
And when your country tests nuclear power, instead of singing ‘Jai Ho’ or whatever people in Burkina Faso sing, just hide beneath the covers not because someone will get jealous of the nation’s pride bombing and give it back but because of all the radiation it has caused in the environment.
You are under threat all the time, but no one will tell you. It is indeed a state secret. So, why are they telling you now? Because it is helping business. The media, the governments and those medical units will put the fear in your heads and you will go out and buy betadine without even thinking how its overuse can have an adverse effect. It happens to be available over-the-counter, without prescription - your poor doctor won’t get his or her little ‘cut’.
Now please do me a favour and forward this to as many people as possible after reading this quickly. Write it down on a piece of paper and mail it or distribute it. You don’t want no radiation from your computer, do you?
1.1.11
Tech that...
It’s maroon-coloured, slick and light. I’d lie down with it propped on my stomach like a baby as words would dribble out of its warm, white mouth. When it fell asleep, bubbles would appear on its chin and rise up to the cheeks. My little notebook with thousands of sentences spanning six months just gave up on me. I made the error of treating it like a big child, one who could take the knocks and could hit a mean punch. It obviously couldn’t; it was not born for that. It was meant to be coddled, taken in a perambulator, stuffed with a nipple in its mouth to keep it quiet and put gently to sleep to save on battery life.
I thought I was doing everything right, except that I did not treat it gently enough. It handled my jabs, my tears, my maniacal laughter, but that day it just curled up. I thought it was a petulant sulk and I poked it, tickled it…there was a gurgle, but no delight in the sound. A balloon came up: “Critical HDD error.” I did not know what HDD was. It sounded like an illness. I persevered. It rebooted many times and it was back again to nothing, although those bubbles did appear. I had not backed up the pictures, the documents, the notes…I did not know this would be over so soon, like a fling, a brief encounter. It did not appear to be this way. After all, it had been with me to protect me when I was laid up, it was there to make me not feel lost, to stand by me and renew me. But this was just another man pretending to be a child.
I should be crying. This is my work, my memories. And they are gone. For now, at least. I may never retrieve it all. But I am not crying, I am not even angry. For me this means taking more pictures, making more notes, finding newer words.
- - -
The dependence on technology frightens me. I have begun to make notes on my cellphone about every little thing. My calendar is full every day – to remind me to get what I have got, to make calls that I will not make, to sleep on time, to wake up, to read, to write…I have not yet posted one that reminds me to breathe.
It disgusts me, for I do have a keen memory. I can remember even what did not happen.
- - -
The other day I misplaced my credit card. The company said it was lost. Lost puts the onus on others; misplaced is about one’s own fault. What is the difference? There is a lost-and-found department, but not a misplaced-and-found department although in the latter case you are more likely to find it. So, I reported lost and all transactions were blocked.
Now began the problems. In order to make my life simple I had signed up for the automatic clearance of certain bills. Poof. Calls, text messages inundated me…the bills were boomeranging. My phone would be cut off. I did not bother, until it got serious. I find these cellphone companies quite funny. You have to go through the whole computerised crap till you reach your desired destination – ‘our executives are busy playing with the dog, your call is as important to us as canine biscuit, so please stay on the line’…then there will be this horribly happy tune playing and finally someone will come and announce who they are. I am unfailingly polite.
I say, “Hi, this is Cleopatra and I want to know where Egypt is”…well, you get the drift. I give them my name, my number, and whatever else they ask.
When I mention my problem, the person at the other end sounds as though a condolence is necessary. “Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry to hear about it.” Huh? Get to work, damn it.
“Can I put you on hold while I check?” Yes, please.
“Sorry to keep you on hold for so long,” says the bloke who has appeared within five seconds.
“So, what do I do now?”
“No problem, F,” (yes, they do get familiar sometimes), “Just log in to our website.”
“Just a minute. I am calling you, so you tell me what I can do.”
“You first pay at our billing centre or through online transaction or the phone, and then we will adjust the amount in the next cycle when your credit card accepts.”
“But my credit card company is ready for you.”
“Please discuss this personal matter with Mr. X who is in change of your account.”
“Is there a Mr X in charge?”
“Yes, yes, he will be happy to help.”
I dial Mr X who listens patiently. He is on the road so will solve the issue as soon as he gets to his office. “It’s all cool,” he says.
“Cool?” He really said it and told me not to worry since I am an old customer and have never reneged on any payment. I feel like a prison inmate who has been let out on bail.
Problem is almost getting solved. I send an email. One little glitch. I typed out my number wrong!
Poke, poke, poke. Little note. Reminder. Call hotline. Send email saying I am me, but my number does not have that particular digit, so do make the rectification. I am not paying for someone else.
- - -
The touch screen froze.
I thought I was doing everything right, except that I did not treat it gently enough. It handled my jabs, my tears, my maniacal laughter, but that day it just curled up. I thought it was a petulant sulk and I poked it, tickled it…there was a gurgle, but no delight in the sound. A balloon came up: “Critical HDD error.” I did not know what HDD was. It sounded like an illness. I persevered. It rebooted many times and it was back again to nothing, although those bubbles did appear. I had not backed up the pictures, the documents, the notes…I did not know this would be over so soon, like a fling, a brief encounter. It did not appear to be this way. After all, it had been with me to protect me when I was laid up, it was there to make me not feel lost, to stand by me and renew me. But this was just another man pretending to be a child.
I should be crying. This is my work, my memories. And they are gone. For now, at least. I may never retrieve it all. But I am not crying, I am not even angry. For me this means taking more pictures, making more notes, finding newer words.
- - -
The dependence on technology frightens me. I have begun to make notes on my cellphone about every little thing. My calendar is full every day – to remind me to get what I have got, to make calls that I will not make, to sleep on time, to wake up, to read, to write…I have not yet posted one that reminds me to breathe.
It disgusts me, for I do have a keen memory. I can remember even what did not happen.
- - -
The other day I misplaced my credit card. The company said it was lost. Lost puts the onus on others; misplaced is about one’s own fault. What is the difference? There is a lost-and-found department, but not a misplaced-and-found department although in the latter case you are more likely to find it. So, I reported lost and all transactions were blocked.
Now began the problems. In order to make my life simple I had signed up for the automatic clearance of certain bills. Poof. Calls, text messages inundated me…the bills were boomeranging. My phone would be cut off. I did not bother, until it got serious. I find these cellphone companies quite funny. You have to go through the whole computerised crap till you reach your desired destination – ‘our executives are busy playing with the dog, your call is as important to us as canine biscuit, so please stay on the line’…then there will be this horribly happy tune playing and finally someone will come and announce who they are. I am unfailingly polite.
I say, “Hi, this is Cleopatra and I want to know where Egypt is”…well, you get the drift. I give them my name, my number, and whatever else they ask.
When I mention my problem, the person at the other end sounds as though a condolence is necessary. “Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry to hear about it.” Huh? Get to work, damn it.
“Can I put you on hold while I check?” Yes, please.
“Sorry to keep you on hold for so long,” says the bloke who has appeared within five seconds.
“So, what do I do now?”
“No problem, F,” (yes, they do get familiar sometimes), “Just log in to our website.”
“Just a minute. I am calling you, so you tell me what I can do.”
“You first pay at our billing centre or through online transaction or the phone, and then we will adjust the amount in the next cycle when your credit card accepts.”
“But my credit card company is ready for you.”
“Please discuss this personal matter with Mr. X who is in change of your account.”
“Is there a Mr X in charge?”
“Yes, yes, he will be happy to help.”
I dial Mr X who listens patiently. He is on the road so will solve the issue as soon as he gets to his office. “It’s all cool,” he says.
“Cool?” He really said it and told me not to worry since I am an old customer and have never reneged on any payment. I feel like a prison inmate who has been let out on bail.
Problem is almost getting solved. I send an email. One little glitch. I typed out my number wrong!
Poke, poke, poke. Little note. Reminder. Call hotline. Send email saying I am me, but my number does not have that particular digit, so do make the rectification. I am not paying for someone else.
- - -
The touch screen froze.
15.12.10
Men love honey traps
This South Korean invention will have video calls from a virtual model. Mina is 22; a real model posed and recorded about a hundred messages. She has now been transformed into an App.
One would imagine that as technology progresses people would understand that the progress in mindsets would follow. Apparently it isn’t so.
This is for lonely men; women are not supposed to feel lonely or want someone to talk to them.
Here are some lines she speaks:
“I saw a horror movie today and I’m so scared.”
This just reinforces the belief that women are fearful little creatures who need to be saved even from horror movies, when the bloke who is watching her is the one horrified of his own life.
“I miss you honey! Good night, I will see you in my dreams.”
Fine. It would take a fool to believe this, knowing that he has got the application, and he knows she has never seen him. But it can give men the power to believe that their invisibility, their lack of grooming, their persona are irrelevant and they can get away with being bumpkins and bums.
“Are you still sleeping? Time for breakfast!”
This line assumes that she is the one who will be serving him. I am sure she is not waking him up to get her breakfast in bed. So the spoilt brat of a man can get a bit of extra snooze and the scent of waffles instead of getting egg on his face.
At $1.99, Mina comes cheap, which is again a problem because men will begin to think that women are easy to get. You think I am just over-reacting to some fun? She is on call. Said one bloke:
“Mina called me while I was working overtime. This is just great.”
Poor, tired souls, these men. And they need women for refreshment.
And this one clinches it:
“I wish I could meet Mina before I die.”
The martyr fella. It isn’t a fantasy; it is payback time for all the charged up moments she gave him. Now if only Mina could land up there with an ice pick. Dying can get lonely.
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