Category Archive: Uncategorized

I have lost count as to how many times I have completed 'Swami and Friends' by R.K.Narayan, but having some free time to dispose, a nice sunshine to bathe in and a comfortable swing to lie upon made me remember one of the true pleasures of life: reading a good book on a lazy afternoon. So I picked it up and started all over again.

For starters, its a very simple book which moves episodically through the life of a 10 year old. The book is the reflection of the adult world in the eyes of a child. It recounts the 'case of the Mondays', elaborates upon the draconian system that is primary school, dwells upon the incongruity of adult actions in the eyes of a child, nostalgically reminds us of the innocence that permeated the friendship of our youth, and tells us a story of small pleasures and big disappointments. As far as I can remember, its the only book that never fails to bring a tear to my eye in the end and I have had my share of maudlin texts. What others fail to evoke in their elaborately ornate languages, this book accomplishes in the honesty of its portrayal of friendship and the heartbreak that accompanies its termination. The last chapter deals with Swami saying goodbye to his friend Rajam who is boarding a train for good. Due to some misunderstanding, Rajam has not been talking to Swami but Swami always remembers the good old days they had together. Swami brings him a book which Rajam takes. He tries to say something but his last words are drowned in the whistle of the starting train. Swami and his friend, Mani stand watching the train go. One of the last paras goes like:

Swaminathan and Mani stood as if glued, where they were, and watched the train. The small red lamp of the last van could be seen for a long time, it diminished in size every minute, and disappeared around the bend. All the jarring, rattling, clanking, spurting, and hissing of the moving train softened in the distance into something that was half a sob and half a sigh. Swaminathan said: 'Mani, I am glad he has taken the book. Mani, he waved to me. He was about to say something when the train started. Mani, he did wave to me and to me alone. Don't deny it.'
'Yes, yes,' Mani agreed.
Swaminathan broke down and sobbed.

There is nothing illustrious in the writing, but somehow it manages to strike at the very core of my heart. Maybe, its just appealing to the basic human need of friendship and his weakness and despair at finding himself at loss of it. I don't know. What I do know is that while we have been desensitized to the whole notion of fragile emotions by the reckless onslaught of commercial media, while we watch another news item depicting the suffering of a human being with the cold stare of a manager firing his employee, while our feelings get stretched and trodden and abused and manipulated by greed and consumerism, it doesn't take a lot to wake up to simple beauty.

Sometimes, I wonder, why are we being treated with the sensationalism and the violence and the gore and the immorality that's seeped into every fiber of today's entertainment ? Why do we need to feel violated in order to feel entertained ? What's the need of prying into others' private lives to justify our own miserable existence ? I guess its too late to make a fuss. Mediocrity, it seems, is here to stay. In the quest of satiating the palate of the lowest common denominator, its a shame that we as a society has had to give up simplicity and intelligence.

Well, its been raining like crazy here in Haldwani. The mighty gods of downpour haven't gotten tired after a relentless onslaught that has lasted more than 15 days straight. Added to this, the fact that I have had a mild fever has prevented me from leaving my house and going on strolls down the roads of the town a lot.

Most of my visits have been to the local market with the barber shop being my most regular flirtation. A head massage at a mere Rs. 10 is a real steal and another 10 for shave with a thorough champi doesn't hurt either.

I have a TVS scooty here. Weighing at a mere 20 kgs (I guess), I sometimes wonder if its going to hold up to all those gusts which are the hallmark of these mountain areas, but it has performed just great till now. You have to leave the country for a long time and drive in more controlled regions to appreciate the skill that is required to drive on one of these market roads. Its almost magical how order springs out of utter chaos, how maddening mess gives way to self regulated patterns. At first its all scary. The honks, the trucks at sniffing distances, the odd cars springing on the road from nowhere, the dogs, the cows all jostling for their 2 yards, the seemingly infinite traffic jams. But its funny how everything resolves itself. And you don't really see anyone caring too much. They just sit there on their lunas and cycles and rickshaws and cars, all stuck in that small area, but hardly anyone gets flustered enough to start throwing tantrums. Yes, the honks are blaring with the continuity of a bass guitar in a rock concert but thats more a way of saying, 'I am still waiting but please, do take your time'. Nobody expects anyone to go anywhere. Nobody CAN go anywhere unless someone just evaporates. But the horns keep blaring, as if to break the monotonicity of the static harmony that has resulted from the extreme pandemonium. And you wait and wait and wait until you see a glimmer of hope as the vehicle in front of you moves just so slightly. Really, the exhilaration of seeing that one movement beats the joy of most of the achievements of an average human being. It takes time but somehow it all starts to make sense. The crowd helps each other to start two lanes each going in the opposite direction. The sun starts to seem more benign as even the wind starts to sway the adjoining trees. Slowly but surely the huge mass of humanity divides itself into two portions, each grazing past each other with the proximity of two finely cut blocks of magnets and the speed of a turtle on a crack. It takes another 10 minutes but I am off, my scooty blaring its throat out at a healthy speed of 30 kmph.

In many ways, driving in India is much safer than driving in America. The obvious reason is the speed. When your highest speed is just 40, you can hardly expect grisly mutilation as your fate, if caught in an accident. But more than that, its the lack of a surprise element in the Indian context, which makes driving here so safe. Once you have driven here for 2 or 3 days and had your share of perpendicularly darting dogs, suddenly springing motorcyclists thinking they have a jet pack, reckless car-drivers thinking... well hardly, you kind of stop taking things for granted. You view every corner with the suspicion that would have done Sherlock Holmes proud. You see every street animal as a potential trap, specifically placed at that location to start moving at the worst possible time. You hardly have to ever look into the rear view mirrors as you can always take the presence of another driver right by your throat for granted. No need to look sideways too, since that space too would most probably be taken. Might as well put a cello tape on the horn and be done with the responsibility of pressing that darn button every 2 microseconds. Where are the surprises ? I say, you have to be a real 'good' driver to screw up here in India.

I cannot believe how much attitude these advertisement guys are trying to pour into each one of their creations on the Indian television. I am pretty sure that they have the innocuous aim of just wooing the yuppies (yo!), but have they no regard for me who just shudders out of goosebumbs whenever another such stupid creation presents itself on the TV ?

Wherever I see on the TV, there are dudes doing things which cool people ought to do, you know speak incoherent Hinglish, sport spiked hair, wear skin tight Baniyans so that their bulging muscles dance indecently in front of your eyes. And then their are the girls, again indulging in cool stuff highly associated with gangs of 21st century teens like rolling their eyes, breaking into a dance at the least possible prod and generally behaving as if each one of them is the last girl in a world that has just suffered an atomic war that has selectively wiped out all the other girls. Some cases in point:

There is this ad about the new CBZ motorcycle. Those at the drawing boards wrecked their brains and figured this thing: If the old CBZ model had a 150 cc engine and the new CBZ has a 160 cc engine, which is the one word which would appropriately describe this humungous, almost brilliant leap in technology. Nevermind that Royal Enfield has been consistently churning out 350 and 500 ccs in India for like a millenium, a 10 cc increase over 150 can only be done justice with one word: Xtreme. So like the morons they really are, they have gone ahead and called it CBZ Xtreme. Notice how they have omitted the E in Xtreme because proper pronunciation would not let their product get registered on the limited comprehension radars of 20 somethings and who knows: a CBZ Extreme might after all, not turn out to be as Extreme as Xtreme. With this much of Xtremity, I expect nothing less than a machine that breaks window panes with its sound, regularily breaks the sound barrier, and produces fumes of aqua regia in place of the regular exhaust of CO2 and CO. No it does nothing of the sort, and I am pretty certain doesn't hit anything more than 120 kmph (Pulsar 180 doesn't). Xtreme. Let me just say: My Foot. Thats not all, the model driving the bike proudle says: Thinking is such a waste of time. I would say it would be. For the demographics you are targetting, it would be a surprise if the overhead produced by thinking doesn't fuse their brains into one clogged lump. Thats what these people selling products would have us believe, that thinking is a waste of time. What next, take out our wallets and courier them to you if only you rope in king khan telling us that it would be a cool thing to do ? There is another bike ad in this regard although its a bit less obnoxious. I think its Apache from Honda. Everything is fine with the ad and I like the look of the bike but I just wish they would have refrained from projecting an extreme image of the rider replete with the bad boy image, leathers all over, and chicks going ga ga all over him with the guy himself employing most of his time wheeleing and stoppeing the bike.

Then there is all this talk about forming gangs. Not groups of people who share common interests but gangs who do all the cool stuff. I think Airtel has an ad regarding this. There is a gang of dudes who like racing toy cars in abandoned garages. Their carefully manufactured images include, tight fits, spiked hair, and guess what, tattoos reading 'Tom', 'Dick', '&', 'Harry'. Real ingenious I would say because the whole notion of tattooing is so naturally cool and new as the number of people who have resorted to painted hair or pierced navels or tattoed bodies in search of a unique identity still dwindles at a mere 200 million worldwide.

The bottom line is that its not the product I have problems with but rather the things they are being projected into. As always, I have problems with the irrationality of cultivating a personal image based on corporate whims and secondary expectations, a trait that the media is propagating extremely carefully.

I would never have thought that it was even possible. After the immense wave of mediocrity that swept the Indian media in the wake of the mentally retarded shenanigans which were the hallmarks of idiots like Ekta Kapoor, I would hardly ever have thought that things could go any worse from there. Believe it or not but they have. Just when you thought that in an era of mindless and cheap entertainment, mindless and cheap entertainment could not get any more mindless and cheap, they surely have. Ofcourse there are some saving graces, islands of creativity teetering on the brink of exhaustion in a sea marred with popular acceptance of sub-par creativity but all in all, its a sad story.

News channels have yet again fallen down in the quality of their contents. While the front page of Times of India routinely features atleast 50% space as advertisements and 30% of the space with news like 'Man in Jabalpur pays 10 lakhs for a special Phone number' or 'Owners of these fancy numbers once sold Chole Bhature' in bold, other papers, traditionally held in a bit of respect, have started following suite. News channels like India TV keep themselves in business by sensationalizing every bit of trivia happening in the country. Of late, the news that has hogged all the headlines has been the conviction of Sanjay Dutt in the Bombay Blasts. It seems news channels have opened up temporary offices outside the jail in which he is housed. We are being fed with every little detail of his life. What he eats, where he sleeps, the gory details of his toilets, his minimalistic attire, how he is being treated like a normal person. The last bit of useless information that made into the category of 'breaking news' was about Sanjay Dutt feeling a bit of pain in his chest. News Channels, seeing the potential of taking the viewers for a ride, immediately organized for expert panels of medical practitioners, each of them trying to predict his illness and its repercussions. Similarly, there was this case of a child of 17 being beaten to death by his class teacher. You wouldn't believe but news channels prepared elaborate animations depicting how the teacher might have beaten him. They reached his home and started pestering his moaning mother with retarded questions like 'How do you feel'. Everyone in the village from his friends to their relatives to the school janitor to the dogs and cats had their 15 minutes. Its news journalism at its most heartless.

The saas bahu genre is holding its post strong in this battle of sanity versus insanity. From what I could make of off the discussions in my family, Tulsi seems to have died (or changed). I would say, about time now. People in our world generally die off when they reach an age of 125. But Baa seems in her frolicking best. Rolling around merrily at a ripe old age of atleast 200. There are atleast 2000 characters per serial and I am guessing, atleast 5000 such serials on Star Plus alone. And each of those 5000 serials tries to dish out another concoction made out of the same old stories of revenge and betrayal and love and hate and vamps and bahus doing pooja every single day. Grandaughters have started looking older than grandmothers, women viler than your average Hannibal Lecter, audience more numb than hippies on LSD.

Every channel now has a host of reality shows. Most of these shows are concerned with young and budding singers and I must say they are a helluva talented bunch. But then these shows go ahead and try to use their brains and add emotions and reality bites and behind the scene footages to dilute an otherwise perfectly good idea. Anyways, its still better than anything else on the conventional channels. The one good thing that has happened is a dedicated channel for cricket. Now I can sit in front of the TV all day like the mindless couch potato I am.

Before leaving for India, some of my good friends tried to do what every good friend should do when he comes to know that I am flying from Air India: make me nervous by recounting their horrendous experiences while flying with the carrier. Their rants usually were thinly veiled in statements like : "the food is great and they give lots of it too, afterall it never reaches on time" or "you will never miss a meal since the air-hostesses will wrench your ear if it comes to that if you do not wake up to eat it" etc. So I said to myself, well, how bad could it be, huh ? I mean, I am not someone who is especially famed for the size of his appetite and the expanse of his tummy. Neither am I a particular stickler for punctuality. And all that drivel about monstrous air-hostesses should really be an over-exaggeration of minor inconsistencies. Needless to say, and contrary to my expectations, my flight with Air India was more than interesting. Let me just mention the good things with Air India and be done with them in the begining:

1. The food is good.
...
...
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Now that I have painfully listed all that was commendable with the service, lets get on with the more interesting part:

For beginners, there is not such thing as a young, beautiful Air India hostess. You might as well find unicorns roaming around in your backyards before you get to see one of those female mythical creatures who are supposed to serve you murg mussalam, look below 45 and occupy an Air India flight all at the same time. Thats the stuff legends are made of. I might as well, someday, tell fabled stories about young stewardesses serving in Air India to my grandchildren. Anyways, they were over the hill, hopelessly face-painted, frustrated aunties who do not find it inappropriate to snub passengers at the slightest possible pretext. There was this one guy who was sitting beside me and the lady came over to ask him if he wanted some water. He said no so she moved on. I do not know what happened then but the guy stopped her when she had moved ahead and asked her for water again. She turned back, took a glass, gave it to him alright but not without an expression which said "Don't you dare do this again and if you do, might as well provide your eye balls in a platter since I will anyways gouge them out of your freaking sockets". I am not exaggerating when I say that I almost choked out of fear. He would have done all this one more time had I not caught his arm and force his head down to damp the last syllables of his fateful sentence "Can I have the Orange juice". I swear, she turned, and her eyes were blood shot and I almost caught the glimpse of the hidden hatchet. I would have given him up. Seriously, I want to live. I would have given him up but maybe she did not hear the full sentence. She just saw my fear stricken eyes and the dude beside me struggling in the grasp of my arms, gave me a menacing look, and silently creeped ahead. If ever there was a guy who had a near death experience, it was me. And I am not exaggerating.

Then there were all these ill made informational videos coming on the 'SHARED' television sets in the plane. The most notable among those videos was the one where they tell you how to wear the life jacket and inflate it. My bullshit detector went berserk when it showed a young air-hostess. And she was smiling too. I instantly realized that this particular video was not meant for this particular flight and began to watch them with a more objective eye. They were all smiling and laughing while strapping on the jacket. Now I am not an expert on human emotions and expressions when subjected to conditions of extreme stress and tension but I find it hard to believe that someone would be rollicking merrily when told to strap on a life jacket because the plane will have to make an emergency landing on the Atlantic Ocean. I never get it. How come all these emergency informational videos and posters show self-assured, happy people? By definition, an in-flight emergency instructional item refers to a time when you would do well to rein in that useless smile of yours and try to do something more important like, um... I don't know, maybe SAVE YOUR LIFE. But no, even the kid is laughing in the video. Which brings me to the kid who was behind me all the time blasting my ears off. How much do they weigh ? Maybe 40 pounds ? I don't know, shouldn't they be counted as extra baggage ? How come I dragged my 50 pounds baggage from the domestic terminal to the international in LA (atleast 15 miles) just to find that I had to check it in and the people behind me got to bring this 40 pound shrieking machine right into the plane ? Please for god's sake, atleast put them in the compartment above... Hee Hee Hee... Just kidding...

Seriously speaking, it wasn't all that bad really and I do have this obsessive compulsive disorder of adding a bit of spice to everything. Life would be too darn drab, if it were to be coloured just with the monotonicity of reality.

Of late, I have employed a major portion of my free time sifting through some of the most admired and creatively endowed creations of American cultural history and there is something that strikes me as very odd vis-a-vis the same scenario in the Indian context. It seems that the regional/social/economical diversity that permeates the very air that we breathe as Indians has had delitereous effects on the national consciousness as a whole.

The effect I am talking about here is a lack of a unified national cultural history in the Indian context. The lack of marker points down the memory lane of the 60 years we have been independent. These marker points ought to have been produced on the artistic radar had we not been such a hugely divided society. Subjectively speaking, the only field which does tie the Indians together and makes them forget the petty divides of religion or economic status seems to be cricket. And as expected, the silent jubilation, the subdued enthusiasm which wells up the eyes of my father when he talks about the 1983 victory is the same with any person who had the fortune of being a part of history at that time. It does not matter for him if he is from Southern India or Northern India or Eastern or Western. These are the marker points I am talking about. Events in the history of national consciousness which make its citizens feel a greater sense of bonding among themselves. Sadly for a country as diverse as India, we as a population have proven to be woefully inadequate at identifying/producing those unifying experiences.

America, even though its a relativey young society, nevertheless boasts of a strong artistic tradition (atleast in the 20th century) which is shared evenly among its people. Experiences ranging from the rocknroll era of the 60s to the advent of blues and jazz and rock and others. A rich Television culture which seems to have deteriorated now but which used to be much more intelligent and informative and humurous back in the 60s to the 80s (I have been watching reruns of the great Johnny Carson, letterman, family sitcoms like Bewitched etc.). A tradition of various sports (the choice of the sport notwithstanding). A movie industry which produced some really great works before it got infested with talelntless freaks. A decent tradition of literature and a brilliant culture of science and technology. The achievement of America does not necessarily lie in reaching these milestones but it lies in building a national character which identifies and takes pride in all this. Not as segregated people but as citizens of the same country.

It must be noted that I am not demeaning any culture, far less pitting Indian against American. If anything, I have always maintained that Indian culture has had far more depth and beauty than its American counterpart. But I feel sad if I have to think of 5 events in Indian history when I felt sort of proud and happy at being a citizen of India rather than being a Northie or a UPite (the wars not counting) and I find difficulty stating even 2. Its both sad and amusing at the same time when I read the comments on a Johnny Carson video. People from remote areas of the country, in their 50s and 60s, share a collective nostalgia about him starting back in 1962 all the way upto 1992. Its refreshing to read the sentiments of the middle class, middle aged Americans on the video of Don Mclean singing about the Chevy. I wonder if there is anything we as Indians can remember so fondly.

To wrap it up, I understand that language is but one of the most important factors involved here. I understand that diversity has played its part here but thats not the point. There has to be a set of causes to any effect. What I am sad about is the effect.

As most of you might already know, David Letterman has been one of the most proficient late night talk show hosts during the last 2 and a half decades. He hosts the late show on CBS nowadays but prior to 1993 he used to be the host of Late Night with David Letterman on NBC. I just love his earlier shows from 1983 to 93. I love his act more for mindless and often very innocent entertainment than for any intelligent humor. Of late he seems to have become more politically angry and has stopped doing the antics which made him cutting edge during the start of his career. Anyways, here is an incomplete list of the letterman clips I could find on Youtube. As I said, its mostly just mindless innocent humor. If you are looking for something more intelligent, Dave is not the way to go:

1. Dispensing hot towels at a bus station - Larry 'Bud' Melman

2. Rena Smaha and her monkeys

3. Dave visits Taco Bell

4. Excursions

5. Dave interrupts the Today's Show

6. Letterman visits the GE building

Its one of those perfectly fine days when your time is passing by without too much of a hassle, when nothing particularly startling happens to break the pleasing monotonicity. Its one of those days when you suddenly ask yourself a very simple question. Or atleast I sometimes do: Is there anything 'really' worth spending my life for ? Its obviously one of those tantalizing questions which prod you to think a little deeper but which, at the same time, make you vaguely aware of the fact that if you still do not have the answer to this question somewhere in your gut, you might never really be able to find it. It makes you painfully cognizant of the truth that if you have still had to ask this question to yourself, you might probably just have followed the tide till now. As painful as this knowledge might be, it certainly doesn't stop one from asking the question itself. If only for a purely academic, even futile purpose, nobody should be unfortunate enough to lead a life without ever being courageous enough to stare the stark truth in the eye.

So here I am once again musing over this conundrum. Not that I think I can find an answer. Just because sometimes it feels nice to think that while everyone seems to be passing another day, another week, another year trying to meet the deadlines, shaping their future, climbing up the ladder, I am somehow vaguely aware of the futility of it all. If I remember correctly, Watterson, through his mouthpiece Calvin, once said:

"The problem with people is that they don't look at the big picture. Eventually, we're each going to die, our species will go extinct, the sun will explode, and the universe will collapse. Existence isn't only temporary, it's pointless! We're all doomed, and worse, nothing matters!"

As painfully vestigial life is, it no doubt has to be led. Thats not the worst part. The worst part is that most of us lead hating it. Not hating in the 'I am suicidal' kind of way. But just in the 'It sucks' kind of way. And this is where the question rears its ugly head. There is only so far you can go pretending to be happy before you are forced to verify the authenticity of the facade.

Frankly speaking, I have only met one person in my life who was definitively able to answer this question for himself and I did learn something very important there. Its called passion. Not in the Orkut Profile sense of 'I am passionate about reading and hiking and sports and movies........'. But in the more muted sense of way. Such a passion becomes something so personal that it seems kind of vulgar sharing it with the society on as futile a stage as a social networking site.

Anyways, being a graduate student I often come across people who are constantly bargaining away their time for meeting deadlines and studying hard. I am not saying there is anything wrong with that. I just hope they find the effort worth the investment of something as precious as life and that they seriously enjoy doing what they do. If thats not the case, I hope that they are atleast trying to do something which makes them happy for a considerable portion of their day.

As far as I am concerned, I must say I cannot pinpoint one single thing I could devote my life to. I envy those who have an answer. I am just trying to find it for myself. It might be music (even though I suck and it doesn't matter). It might be Physics. It might be something entirely unrelated. Or it might just be the fun of exploring uncharted waters. Its certainly not money. Its certainly not a lot of scientific publications. Its certainly not a plum job. Life is too priceless to be wasted on things so ephemeral. And its too worthless to be spent doing something "meaningful".

Depicted above is widely regarded by many greats like Kasparov, Capablanca etc. as the most brilliant game of chess ever played. The game was played in 1851 between Adolf Anderssen and Lionel Kieseritzky. The two greats locked horns in this informal game which was played in an official tournament in London during a break.

In this game Anderssen sacrificed a bishop on move 11, both rooks starting on move 18, and the queen on move 22 to produce a checkmate which stands unparalleled in its brilliance.

The moves of the game with small annotations (source: Wikipedia):

White: Adolf Anderssen
Black: Lionel Kieseritzky
Opening: King's Gambit, C33

1. e4 e5 2. f4

This is the King's Gambit: Anderssen offers his pawn in exchange for faster development. Although this was a common opening in the nineteenth century, it is less common today, as Black is often able to eventually equalize development, so White will be down in material.

2. ... exf4

Kieseritsky accepts the gambit; this variant is thus called the King's Gambit Accepted.

3. Bc4 Qh4+

Black's move will force White to move his king and White will not be able to castle, but this move also places Black's queen in peril, and Black will have to waste time to protect it.

4. Kf1 b5?

This is the Bryan gambit, named after Thomas Jefferson Bryan. It is not considered a sound move by most players today.

5. Bxb5 Nf6 6. Nf3

This is a common developing move, but the knight now attacks Black's queen, forcing Black to protect it instead of developing his own side.

6. ... Qh6 7. d3

With this move, White now has solidified control over the critical center of the board.

7. ... Nh5

This move threatens Ng3+, and it protects the pawn at f4, but it also sidelines the knight to a poor position at the edge of the board, where knights are the least powerful.

8. Nh4 Qg5

9. Nf5 c6

This simultaneously unpins the queen pawn and attacks the bishop.

10. g4 Nf6 11. Rg1!

This is an advantageous passive piece sacrifice. If Black accepts, his queen will be moved away from the action, giving White a lead in development.

11. ... cxb5?

12. h4!

White's knight at f5 protects the pawn, which is attacking Black's queen.

12. ... Qg6 13. h5 Qg5 14. Qf3

Anderssen now has two threats:

* Bxf4, which will trap Black's queen (the queen has no safe place to go),
* e5, which would attack Black's knight at f6 while simultaneously exposing an attack by White's queen on the unprotected black rook at a8.

14. ... Ng8

This deals with the threats, but undevelops Black even further — now the only Black piece not on its starting square is the queen, which is about to be put on the run, while White has control over a great deal of the board.

15. Bxf4 Qf6 16. Nc3 Bc5

An ordinary developing move by Black, which also attacks the rook at g1.

17. Nd5

White responds to the attack with a counter-attack. This move threatens Nc7, which would fork the king and rook.

17. ... Qxb2

Black gains a pawn, and threatens to gain the rook at a1 with check.

18. Bd6!!

With this move White offers to sacrifice both his rooks. Huebner comments that, from this position, there are actually many ways to win, and he believes there are at least three better moves than 18. Bd6: 18. d4, 18. Be3, or 18. Re1, which lead to strong positions or checkmate without needing to sacrifice so much material. The commercial version of the chess-playing computer program Junior recommends 18. Nc7+, followed by Re1. Garry Kasparov has pointed out that the world of chess would have lost one of its "crown jewels" if the game had continued in such an unspectacular fashion. The Bd6 move is unusual, because White is willing to give up so much material.

18. ... Bxg1?

It is from this move that Black's defeat stems.

19. e5!

This sacrifices yet another White rook. More importantly, this move prevents the Black queen from protecting Black's g7 pawn — in fact, the Black queen will not be able to easily return to defend Black's king at all. It sets up a dangerous possible attack, 20. Nxg7+ Kd8 21. Bc7#.

20. ... Qxa1+ 20. Ke2

At this point, Black's attack has run out of power; Black has a queen and bishop on the back row, but cannot effectively mount an immediate attack on White, while White can storm forward.

21. ... Na6

This move was probably made to counter 21. Nc7, which would fork the Black king and rook, and it prevents the bishop from occupying c7 as part of a mating attack, but White has another dangerous attack available. 20...Ba6 is a much better try.

22. Nxg7+ Kd8 22. Qf6+

This is a queen sacrifice, on top of the earlier sacrifices of a bishop and both rooks, and Black cannot avoid taking the queen.

22. ... Nxf6 23. Be7# 1-0

At the end, Black is ahead in material by a considerable margin: a queen and two rooks, plus the advantage of having both bishops, while having only one fewer pawn. But the material does not help Black. White has been able to use his remaining pieces - two knights and a bishop - to force mate.

Here is a step by step procedure for killing that mouse that has been pestering you at nights for so long. The inspiration for this is a real life incident that took place at one of my friends' house. He happened to trap the mouse in a small enclosure but now he is hanging in the dilemma of what to do with it. The mouse has been sitting in that dark enclosure for a few days now (I guess) and apparently it has become extremely annoyed at having been kept deprived of any food whatsoever. He expresses his anger by nibbling at the enclosure's wooden interiors. There is another twist to this story. A moral one. His roommate doesn't want to kill the mouse. So here is the situation in a nutshell:

The Cast: 2 roommates. 1 mouse.

The Scene: Mouse trapped below a table. All exits closed. Its dark inside. And lonely. The mouse is infuriated at this blatant disregard for rodent rights. He starts polishing the wood of the table. Roommate 1 who happens to share the room with the table which stands on top of the mouse who is nibbling gets crazy by the constant sound of dentine workout. He cannot take it anymore. But he cannot do much. The other roommate doesn't want to kill the mouse. And they sure can't let him go.

The Dilemma: Should they kill him or should they take the humunguous risk of trying to open an exit and catch the mouse so that they could throw him out ? Should they feed him ? What if he comes back again ? And with vengeance ? What if he nibbles through the table and comes out in the open to set matters straight with the two ? What if he bites through the floor and falls in the room below ?

My stance is that the mouse should be killed and killed fast. Opening the exits and trying to catch him is far too dangerous to be considered as a possible option. He might run away and who knows what all possibilities might present themselves to him as means of getting back to his captors with interest. The shoe rack, the cupboard, the foodgrains, the linens are all possible targets. And it is only too well known how devastating a pissed rodent can prove to be. The only option is to kill him and here are some of my suggestions as to how to do it. We have all seen rodent killing baits and sprays but all those methods seem to be too demeaning for a mouse that has suffered so much. His death should be special:

1. Concentration Chamber: Get some of the stuff Hitler used to use and pass it below the desk. Close the exit, wait for 20 minutes then open to find the mouse dead. Even if he is not dead, I am sure he would atleast be inebriated in which case you can get a hold of him and throw him out. Make sure to bang his head with a spatula before throwing. This will ensure that even if he gets back to his senses, he will have no recollection of what has been meted out to him and by whom. You do not want to be in his bad books.

2. The magic: This is a very delicate technique. You will need 2 swords. Start from the left edge of the table. Make a hole just big enough so that you could insert a sword into it but not big enough for the mouse to come out. Insert one sword upto the end. Move a bit to the right and carry out the same procedure with the second sword. Now take out the first one and insert it to the right of the second. Keep doing it till one of your swords touches something soft. Once it does, give it a final violent push. The mouse is dead. Now on with carpet cleaning.

3. The deathly workout: Take two gongs and place them on two opposite sides of the table. Ring one. The mouse startled, will run to the opposite side. Go to the opposite side and ring the other one. The mouse will run to the previous side. Keep doing this all through the night and the mouse should be dead by the morning due to exhaustion. The mouse might be intelligent but its not that you have nothing going for you. You have more expendable fat.

So here were my kickass techniques for killing a mouse. If nothing works out you can atleast transfer your pains to the apartment below:

Dig a trench in the floor all around the table. The trench should be big enough to see the ongoings of the apartment below. Open the exit. The mouse runs out and falls through the trench in the house below. All done. You have a ruined floor and carpet but you also have the satisfaction which only comes from seeing someone else endure the pain that has resided in your butt till now.