My Experiments with Dall-E

In November 2022, Dall-E 2 was opened to the public without a waitlist. This is a deep learning AI model that generates digital images from natural language descriptions called ‘prompts’. I signed up just to see what the buzz was about and since then, I have been quite thoroughly enjoying the artificial intelligence experience.

A new user gets 50 credits to play around with, after which you get 15 free credits every month – each prompt or variation uses one point. You can buy credits also. I have not yet explored ‘Outpainting’ which is an editor interface that lets you tweak the images that get thrown up with your prompts.

Alas, I did not use my 50 credits too well. First prompts were extremely mundane – a log cabin in the woods, for instance. Nice but meh.

I played a bit with watercolours and some nostalgia. The effects were pretty.

Photo-real images with my rudimentary prompts were a bit hit or miss.

Then I learnt that with its heavy learning material, the AI interface was aware of thousands of artist styles and aesthetics. A muddled prompt for something in the Mughal Art style threw up a pretty but somewhat confused assortment of elements.

I tried a couple of classical elements together: a koel, a mango tree, and an ornate window in the style of Amar Chitra Katha, and I was really pleased with these images.

Line drawings were satisfactory, illustrations of flowers in the botanical style were near-perfect and even this render of a phoenix was very acceptable.

I wanted to represent the epic road trips my sister and I undertook last year and I was pretty happy with a couple of results in a cartographic rendering.

As you see from the column on the right, I seized the chance to represent this blog’s title in an expressionist output.

I explored what might emerge if I suggested ‘EH Shepard’ or ‘Raja Ravi Varma’ or ‘MC Escher’.

A photo-real request for a Pallas’ Cat (this gorgeous feline was one of the highlights of the trip we took to Ladakh in August 2022) was quite stunning.  

Since many users were bingeing on androids and ghostly apparitions, I didn't go down too much the futuristic route, although a neon digital art image of a mesmerising phone screen delivered to the brief.

As this column says, we may never have to use stock images again, or struggle to express an abstract idea. I have mourned for years that I cannot draw. Now who cares?

The Namesakes

 I have come to realise:

a) That mine is by no means a very unusual name. There are very many women cavorting on this planet with this same moniker.

b) That a fair number of them are ditzy airheads who don't know how to supply their own email addresses when asked for it, and instead supply mine.

c) That these Sheetal Vyases are inveterate shoppers. Apart from important communications such as PAN Card communications and income tax messages, I receive a large number of invoices and delivery notifications to areas ranging from Los Angeles to Jodhpur, Florida to Thane.

At first, I felt honor bound to inform them of these blunders but am helpless against the deluge. It is fun, however to snoop on them a bit - their private information has plonked into my inbox quite unsolicited, after all. One namesake has been fool enough to splurge on an expensive Apple gadget with the help of a loan - lenders have written to her a cheery sort of message assuring her of their support through thick and thin. This sort of unwise financial behaviour has me judging her with disdain that is tinged with a spot of concern. We all know how quickly they will show their teeth when indeed the thick becomes thin. The Jodhpur lady is more modest in her purchases: a Japan crepe sari in Baby Pink. I hope it becomes her.  I am not so sure about the jeans purchased by Ms Jaipur - she could've done better. 

We are not the only ones, of course. The brightest of us all, the one who has made our 'naam-roshan', the one google throws up first when you type the magic words, is a Hollywood producer, if you please. She counts a movie named When Harry tries to Marry in her filmography. But she has not bothered us, and we, in our turn, will not bother about her.

Floof love

I think I have a problem. Rather, two. I have an addiction and I have a scarcity of the substance I'm addicted to.

Like everyone on the planet with internet access, I watch cat and dog videos. And panda videos. You know you have to get into the piece you're working on, there is no time for a K drama, but you can fit in a 7-min break featuring a cute labrador, can't you? Of course you can.

Re dog breeds, I'm very much in the middle of the pack. I thought Golden Retriever Labradors were my most favourite type but that was before I was introduced to the Samoyed. An utterly gorgeous double coated creature of cold climes, this ancient breed has a laughing face and a temperament to match.

It started innocuously enough. I watch quite a bit of content from Korea, so YouTube thought nothing, I assume, of pushing originating-in-Korea dog and cat videos at me. It started desultorily enough but I got inveigled into following their daily lives and now there are three that I cannot live without: MilkyBoki, mochamilk and HoyaDanchu.

All three feature Samoyeds paired with other dogs and cats in some combination or the other. Milky of MilkyBoki lives in Korea but the other two are Korean-in-Canada. They are individually and collectively adorable.

This is Milky, all flat out at the park:

 This is darling Wooyoo (Korean for, yes, Milk)

 And the baby of the lot, Danchu (Korean for button)

These are enormously popular channels and, I suspect, hugely lucrative. They celebrate subscriber milestones, they receive marketing merchandise for placement. Wooyoo and Mocha of Mochamilk even have their own book out. These fellows are celebrities of a kind - a phenomenon that I'm old enough to be amazed by. This Internet-worked world is throwing up unimagined scenarios.

Now I've watched them all, more or less. Nothing new till there's another update on just how much fun Danchu had in the snow.

Game on

“I’m in love,” I told Shweta.

“Twentieth time this year!” she said.

It’s true. I’m what they call a dil-phenkh. My heart waits eagerly to find something worthy of worship – and in the world of East Asian drama, there are so many, so many demi-gods.

I’ve stayed for the most part with Korean dramas, but a couple of Taiwanese series, one lovely Thai story and a few Japanese pieces (mostly movies) have made it to my binge list. Chinese dramas, I’ve hitherto steered clear of, simply because of their length. 30 to 60 episodes per story are a bit daunting without strong recommendations.

But the mood came upon me and I watched a movie called Love O2O. Such an intriguing concept for a love story, I quickly devoured it in all its forms – I read the exquisite manhua (still in progress), watched the 30-episode drama version and sought out an English translation of the novel (A Slight Smile is Very Alluring) that all these are based on.

University Days: A frame from the manhua

Love O2O: The drama version

The movie version

[HERE BE SPOILERS – because I’m going to rave about it and don’t know when to stop]

Bei Wei Wei is a computer science student at Qing University, Beijing, who is addicted to an MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game) called Dreams of Jianghu – she’s an ace player and ranked among the top ten gamers in the server. One day, she gets proposed to by the No 1 ranking Yi Xiao Nai He – in the game, of course. They should ‘marry’, he says, to win an upcoming couples’ tournament. She agrees. What follows is an immensely sweet (and yet not cloying) courtship. They battle monsters together in beautiful synchronisation, take down enemies, Yi Xiao Nai He fights some badass duels to protect her honour, they fly across the game landscape on a giant phoenix... and the two find themselves spending a lot of time at the game’s Sunset Point – a beautiful cliff edge overlooking a low sun that never sets, and where players hardly come because there are no monsters here to kill, no experience points to be gained, no missions to accomplish.

Normally not interested in meeting her online friends in person or in outing her gaming identity, Wei Wei is still all a’flutter when he finally suggests they meet. Yi Xiao Nai He turns out to be Xaio Nai – computer geek, hacker, programmer, super achiever and all round University star. They take their online love offline (which explains O2O) and then from a university romance, the story of this Alpha Pair becomes immersed in the mechanics of a new game that Xiao Nai and his team are developing.

Running contrary to every screenwriting formula, the love story has no hiccups, no misunderstandings... just development, development, development. To the last, Wei Wei is Xiao Nai’s most devoted fangirl and while he’s cool, impassive, unruffled in all his dealings, his eyes soften for Wei Wei every time he looks at her. The characters are wonderfully drawn. The leads are very alike: strong, passionate, decent and kind. The support characters, particularly Xiao Nai’s band of boys, are delightful.

Had I come across this seven or eight years ago, I’d have had no time for this post. I’d have been hooked to the nearest MMORPG I could lay my hands on and hacking at monsters. But older, wiser and altogether much more wary of my obsessive nature, I have not done so. (Yet.)

The graphics in the movie are better of course, but the drama is beautifully detailed and benefits from the build-up that 45 minutes x 30 can offer. The lead actress Zheng Shuang is fine but you’ll forgive me for throwing the better part of my love at the feet of the scrumptious Yang Yang.

I’m still caught in the tail-spin of this binge. What shall I do next? There are two more dramas based on novels by the same writer, Gu Man. Or if I’m willing to wait and keep pace with it as it airs now in Korea, there is the very tempting ‘The Great Seducer’ which is loosely based, I hear, on Les Liaisons Dangereuses.

Dheera sameere...

Very so often random browsing of the internet and youtubing is a fairly useless occupation, yielding an hour's entertainment perhaps but very little of enduring quality. But today I've hit upon a sublime album called Tranquility by L Subramaniam. Five ragas, all creations of the master violinist himself.

On Wynk Music, if you have access to it: https://www.wynk.in/music/album/Tranquility---Dr-L-Subramaniam---Violin/si_9206

I am not blown away but rather, wafted away on calm, scented breezes.

Drenched by Hallyu

So, I’m engulfed by Hallyu. This is the Korean Wave that has taken grip of so many parts of the world, and why not? Why ever not? 

I had read about K-dramas a few months ago and the incredible following they were beginning to have in India. Even K-pop, although that’s not quite my thing, has a cult following. I was intrigued but I hadn’t looked further.

Earlier this month, I had some time and a binge watch was due. Was it to be the next season of Suits? Or the Pakistani drama Besharam that I’ve been saving up? Netflix suggested a few Asian dramas and after a little research, I settled for Playful Kiss. So charming! I loved the experience, and have lost my heart to the hero Baek Seung Jo.

There is a rich world out there. I’ve since watched a Taiwanese drama, there seem to be quite a few Japanese offerings and I’m eager to sink my teeth into the iconic Boys over Flowers and later perhaps, Descendents of the Sun.

As it happens, I’m a prime candidate for this sort of addiction. I’m obsessive, I love television, I’m a sucker for romance and I like to sample different cultures. There’s next to nothing on the Saas-Bahu scene and this is just perfect.

Shaad piyala*

Someone on Twitter just now asked for ways to be happy. No, not seeking the real thing, she was putting together an article - for the many pages that will need filling up for Women's Day, I presume.

I was tempted to respond and did, with a couple of 'commonsensical' suggestions that would be acceptable to our periodicals. But as I thought about that question and answer - both so pat - near-hysterical laughter welled up within me. How does one answer that question in polite circles? How does one attempt the question and still sound measured? The real answer, by all accounts, is obscure, arcane, beyond description... but some have tried.

O Nanak, the entire world is in sorrow;
He alone is happy who has been blessed
with initiation by a Perfect Master.

Or, as the colossal Shankara puts it:

yogaratova bhogaratova
sangaratova sangaviheenah
yasya brahmani ramate chittam
nandati nandati nandatyeva

Through yoga or through pleasure
In company or alone
He, who trains his mind to revel in Brahman,
Enjoys bliss, enjoys bliss, he alone enjoys bliss.

_________
* From Sultan Bahu:
Sar devan akhan naahi shaad piyaala peeta hu... They’d give up their heads than give up His Secret, they who have drunk from the Cup of Gladness.

Something's got to give

Sheetal Vyas has had it up to here with people being so clever on social networks.
  
And I sound like half a million other people right now thinking the very same thing, never mind how clever they were themselves being half an hour ago.

The way our social media mutates... the way it is juggernauting its way through the way we are, the way we communicate, the way we perceive the world and connect with it... by when do you think it'll start hacking away at our egos instead of building it?

Explaining myself

There is no doubt that I'm a lot more online when I have deadlines than when I don't.

Close friends know at once by the number of posts, likes and comments I have up on various social platforms that work is looming. It's not that I avoid work - it's just that after closely reading and editing a few dense paras of text, I need to look away. Normally I'd shut the computer and go away but with tight deadlines, I can't afford the time off. So breaks necessarily must come from other online diversions.

But alas, today, I wish I hadn't - a series of depressing articles came up for inspection and I'm now anguished as well as stressed for time. I think I'll watch a few cat videos before I go back to how tough pigeonpea has it in Rajasthan.

Test

So I finally downloaded Swype on my iPad, which makes it an absolute pleasure to type out long sentences. Makes it possible to blog on the go, respond straight away to urgent mails when earlier I found myself waiting till I got to a computer. I learned to type on qwerty keyboards as a teen and type fairly speedily, so you can imagine the torture of tapping.

Hurrah for Swype.

Meel ka paththar

This blog turns ten years old today, and I’m stunned by this.

Constancy is not a trait I’ve associated with myself, tending to think of my serial obsessions as something I latch on to and then detach myself from after I have rapaciously extracted their potential.

Blogging was THE thing to do when I started this webpage – a band of energetic, voluble, articulate speakers had sprung up all over India. It was an exciting time – these blogs seemed to raise us beyond ordinary eye level to make eye contact with other people ‘like us’. But gradually, a large number fell off – off blogging, at least. Many decided to save their words for the books they would write, or maintained them as repositories for work written elsewhere. Among the not-so-ambitious, many tired of keeping it up... blogs died and, to my sorrow, were removed.

People’s reading lists no longer include blogs as they used to, reader counts have dropped, and in the ten years between today and 8 Oct 2004, audiences have fragmented rather more severely. In 2004, you had some sort of an elevated stage on which you played out your part; social media has democratised that to such an extent that all people now exhibit much like street musicians – to passing crowds who might stand diverted, perhaps for a minute or five.

Oddly, I’ve stayed on, blogging almost unfailingly every month this decade. I tried to examine this – why do I blog? The fact is, I enjoy it. It’s not about being widely read, though that, when it happens, is very pleasant indeed. It’s that a blog post can be about anything or nothing, as serious or flippant as I wish, it could be one word or five hundred. It’s about putting it down and putting it out. It’s wonderful to be seized by an idea, write it and share it.

I had said once, when I was being self-conscious about this website, that this was to be a mosaic of posts from which a picture of me might emerge. But that, now, seems absurd. How can that be?

Sandra Simpson puts across the impossibility of it in a wonderfully poetic haiku:

trying to make

myself understood —

the sun in a spoon

The most that can be achieved is a record of a certain type of chatty mood. Still, it is here, and ten years old. Happy Birthday, Blog! 

Mukammal jahaan

It is almost time, I hear, for the next season of Coke Studio – the material is ready even if the airing is postponed indefinitely due to the political turmoil in Pakistan.

Mixed feelings. I wish the new team well but I expect, I fear that they cannot match the genius of Rohail Hyatt. Nothing lasts forever and I am happy that the end of CS as propelled by this man tapered down not due to a dilution of music or integrity but other circumstances. So easily it might have happened, as it all too often has, that corruption seeped into the show. It didn’t here and that heartens me considerably.

Anyone who followed and listened to the previous season will know that Hyatt took Season 6 to a new level altogether. Hitherto, these had been studio sessions – not entirely jam sessions – but well-rehearsed, well-constructed pieces that were recorded all together. This brought a remarkable synergy to the music and I was a bit doubtful when Season 6 started with the concept of recording disparate strains in various locations that would be later put together on the console. What would the difference be then between Coke Studio and, say, AR Rahman or any number of Bollywood composers who take this structuralistic approach as well?

I had reckoned without Rohail Hyatt. In Season 5, he had experimented briefly with the idea with Koi labda. With the band Symt laying out the overall mood and theme but leaving preplanned room for an insert, Hyatt had Sanam Marvi record an aside later. This was so neatly integrated with the main recording as to appear seamless. Technicalities apart, the song is sheer pleasure, and one of my enduring favourites.



Season 6 went international. Serbia and Italy provided entire orchestras, and individual musicians from Nepal, Turkey, Bangladesh, Morocco and Norway were roped in for small accents and airs. So then these were songs that were created between some overall controlling vision and the fluidity of so many inputs – the lyric and the tune were the choice of the singer, the basic voice recording was made, sent to the orchestras who then clothed them with sounds of their choosing. (The relish, the delight that coursed through these video conferences was palpable and very contagious.) At the end, I imagine it was Hyatt who put the song together – muting out whole tracks, adding here a touch of flute from the Bangla artiste, here inserting the finishing chords from the heavenly Oud. Inordinate attention seems to have been paid to every sound, every note on these songs – the result is a set of polished pieces that will endure any number of listens. The synergy that I feared would go missing was very much there, but in a different way. What was once smooth was now textured, interpretations were unusual, listeners found something old, something new... Parts of the experience were somehow meta – ‘is this how the Serbian brass section sees this tune?!’

With Rohail Hyatt leaving, he will obviously take this work aesthetic with him – for, unless they are very evolved and supremely devoted to their craft, the new team will want to bring themselves in. They will want to change, assert, leave their stamp. Already the website www.cokestudio.com.pk has been shorn of its archives – I tried to find credits for Season 6 and couldn’t.

Nevertheless I am excited. New energy, a new way of doing things, a new season.

===
The title is from Nida Fazli's sher:
Kabhi kisi ko mukammal jahaan nahin milta
Kahin zameen toh kahin aasmaan nahin milta

कभी किसी को मुक्कम्मल जहाँ नहीं मिलता
कहीं ज़मीं तो कहीं आसमां नहीं मिलता

No one has ever achieved a complete perfect world,
Here the earth eludes us, there heaven

In Koi labda, Symt uses this as ground, expressing the inadequacies of our lives.

The unkindest cut

We feel that the local man in charge of our regular power cuts has given over to megalomania. We used to have them initially in two-hour slots spaced out considerately for households needing to use kitchen gadgets for the day's meals and such, for harried people leaving for school and work as well as others doing their morning kriyas. (Electricity is strictly not a requirement for this activity but it helps, of course – the buzz of household gadgets keeps other intruding sounds away, and there is always the menace of mosquitoes that can be held at bay with a breeze propelled by electric power.) Of course this also served for everyone requiring to charge their tech paraphernalia.

The first cut used to occur promptly at 10.30am and was restored at 12.30. As humans, whose thing in life is adaptability we, accordingly, adapted. Early in the morning, we fought over power plug points, made our chutneys, sent off last minute mails at 10.25 and sat back in somewhat of a smug attitude. In the break, we puttered around the garden, caught up on the bird scene in the neighbourhood, read the newspapers, and some even going so far as to read a book! It was idyllic.

At 4.30 in the afternoon was our second cut of the day. Walkers would reach promptly for their shoes, others for grocery bags, the colony uncles chose to huddle for leisurely powwows. Dusk would gently fall, leading some to make quite a to-do about their sunset pictures. With normal life restored at 6.30, the populace would withdraw indoors to prayers, television and dinner.

Now this is a thing of the past. The man at the switchboard has lost his rhythm. Sometimes, at 6.30am, when most of God’s creatures and snuggling in their razais, dreaming their last dreams of the night, they are awakened most rudely by a cessation of fan-blades. Now having thus dragged oneself out of bed, there is no easy method for obtaining hot water for one’s ablutions, the overhead tanks have not been filled and plans for breakfast must be altered very quickly to include Spencer’s wheat bread. You will note that I said ‘sometimes’. For, at other times, it is another time. Sometimes, 7am, sometimes 7.15, once 8am, occasionally 11am and now he has passed over the morning slot altogether. For two days now it has been 12-2pm and 4.30-6.30pm, which gives us barely two and half hours in between to get the fridge cold again. Food is spoiling and for persons who worry about laptop batteries forming the wrong kinds of memory, this is bad indeed.

Although I have described vividly the torments of unexpected cuts, I have not yet touched on the other kind – the torment of uncertainty and hope! What happens when the citizenry is expecting a power cut and it doesn’t occur? As a sample, I studied my father. At 10.40, it becomes clear that the schedule isn’t being adhered to. Having put off eating so that he can maximise on the router being available, he is famished. Should he have breakfast anyway? Or perhaps he should fit in one more response to an email in the next five minutes before it might be shut down? He teeters, Dear Reader, between work station and kitchen in the most piteous manner. But worse, when we have braced ourselves comprehensively and nothing at all happens. “Is it a festival today? Or some holiday?” Why, we wonder in private, aloud and during every interaction, has there not been a power cut. Having no faith in free lunches, we wonder what retribution will be like.

The maid discusses the cuts as much as she discusses the weather: “Ee rozu teesinadaa, akka?” and then tells me how it was in her locality these past 24 hours. We have concluded that we have a control freak on our hands. Our lives will run, he imagines, on his say-so (as indeed they do). Do you think he breaks out into maniacal laughter every time he pulls the plug? Or that his eyes gleam when his hand hovers on the button and then withdraws, knowing well the consternation he is spreading?

As I write this, my father has been wandering around the house muttering to himself. Tufts of hair stand upright on his head, and he wears a pinched look. There has been no cut today.

Rabba Rabba mee barsa

Praise be, it’s raining! Coming down purposefully, bounty intended in every drop.
August is nearly ending and it seemed as though the winds had died, the clouds were no longer drifting and we in Hyderabad haven’t received even half our allotment!

But a good, prolonged shower (accompanied with thunder and lightning, if you please) dampens those complaints – the ixora is looking up, the car looks scrubbed in a way we can’t manage and I have occasion to share this video (via Sowmya) that is many kinds of smart. Indeed, what is the right way to conduct ourselves when caught in a sudden downpour?



And, whyever not a haiku?

reaching
where the hose won’t —
summer rain
Harriot West

Bah

I'm beginning to really dislike feminists. Super aggro, man-hating, society-reviling feminists who're on the case ALL the time. For heaven's sake, let up sometimes and just be a PERSON, yes?

Edited to add:
That came as a reaction to some very silly and extreme views I encountered here and there. I swear I didn't know this movement was rising:

Guru Poornima Diary

So excited about Guru Poornima! I can’t explain it but I’ve been waiting for it like one might for one’s birthday. Much is happening today at Isha Yoga Center, and I am not there, alas, but the multi-talented people there are super kind to those of us who live elsewhere: proceedings will be livestreamed and I will catch it online.

+++

I came across the Guru Paduka Stotram a few years ago. It is written by the magnificent Adi Shankara to whom I bow almost as deeply as I do to my Sadhguru. It moves me tremendously, in various ways. I have tried to learn the words and can now join in recitations with some concentration. It is simply gorgeous and it’s going to reverberate all day in my room.

Here is a link to the whole thing: words, meaning and significance.

+++

The feet of the Guru hold immense fascination for the disciple. It seems strange if you look at it, but it is so. As Shankara says: “Nalika nikasa padahrtabhyam...” Feet attractive akin to a bunch of lotuses...

It reminds me of this story that’s told of Amir Khusrau. A poor man, it is said, once came to Nizamuddin Aulia asking for alms. Having nothing at that moment to give, the saint pointed to his rather tattered sandals. The man was disappointed but nevertheless bore them away.

As he left the town, he encountered Amir Khusrau, who was returning from Delhi, his carts, camels and horses laden with royal gifts from the Sultanate. As their paths almost crossed, Khusrau scented his Master. "Bu-e-Shaikh mi aayad,” he muttered,“Bu-e-Shaikh mi aayad!" (I smell my Master, I smell my Master!). Prompted, the man told him how he could only get these sandals from Nizamuddin Aulia.

Khusrau made a trade – he offered the man his entire entourage in exchange for his Pir’s sandals. And then he came home triumphantly holding the sandals on his head. The Pir saw the footwear and asked to be told how. When Khusrau told him the price he had paid for them, Nizamuddin Aulia said: "Arzaan khareedi." (You got them quite cheap).

On the other side of May

It has been more than a month since I blogged but May was a super super busy month. There was no time; besides, all thoughts in my head were chased away by the immediacy of life. I was at the Isha Yoga Center to attend a 21-day Hata Yoga Course. The sessions commanded all our attention, and during the breaks, we saw to bathing, washing and drying of (all-white) clothes, visiting the temples and the teerthakunds and, in general, keeping out of the weather – which ranged from swelling torrents of rain to sweltering heat compounded by humidity.

It was, all said and done, an empowering exercise. But I say that carefully at the moment, with reasoned judgement. I know that to be the truth but state it without proper conviction – if I could only convince my very sick body that its ills are temporary, that its effect on my mood is because of errant chemicals, that this too shall pass and I shall come once again, in the space of a few days, to enjoy the exhilaration of a fast-paced bout of Angamardana or a drawn-out indulgence of Yogasanas.

But I am down with a stomach upset that has now lasted 10 days. The acute phase has passed but I still retain distaste for food, a persistent feeling of revulsion for everything and a rather alarming stupor. It would still be ok, but the illness is accompanied by a faint feeling of shame that not so much sadhana has helped me put my mind above this matter. It is susceptible still to these sways.

***

Much happened in my absence. I voted before I left but the results of the elections came out later, and we knew only the very sketchy details before we went back into the next sadhana session. I missed all the hysteria, the TV analysis, the handwringing on social timelines... all of it!

***

I learn that the IPL is almost over, the French Open is under way and that the FIFA World Cup is upon us. Has it really been four years since the vuvuzelas! Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Steep curve

My father was telling me today about a talk he gave in 1995. He’d been asked to give an address at the Annual Convention of the Computer Society of India. He had talked on this subject before but it had been to smaller groups comprising more general audiences. But on this occasion he was talking about ‘Demystifying the Internet’ to people who worked in the field of computers. The talk went well – the packed hall was peopled by hundreds of curious specialists and it was, he says, quite the largest number of people he had addressed.

My father jumped on to the internet bandwagon fairly early. He was part of Shammi Kapoor’s ‘Internet Users Club of India’ in 1994-95. He would bring home dot matrix sheets full of lawyer jokes in font Lucida. On our first computer, I remember playing code games on DOS mode. He signed me up for my own hotmail account in 1998 (I think!).

And now in 2014, he sent me this infographic that tells us how far we’ve come, how rapidly the world has changed. 2.4 Billion people chattering away!

My father was born in 1941 – he has seen technologies come and he has seen them go: the VCR, the pager, floppy drives of various sizes...  “I’m blessed in many ways,” he said to me today, “and I feel so lucky to have ridden this wave.”

Teething troubles

So I succumbed and acquired a tablet.
I enjoyed Nishu's iPad tremendously when I visited her and she urged me to get one as well. I was very susceptible to that suggestion. I seriously considered an android - they said terrific things about the Nexus 7 - but then came down in favour of this solid 3:4 aspect ratio. And there was the matter of the retina display that spoilt me for the rest of the world.
I felt elitist, my middle-classness raised a din at having to pay more than I strictly should but I let instinct subdue my samskaras.

But what a lot of work this new gadget is! I'm unfamiliar with the Apple ecosystem, so suddenly Apple ID, iTunes and iCloud... it all hit me at once. Giving them my soul's deepest secrets was a mandatory step - they would need my credit card details to even let me over the threshold. And bummer, they charged me Rs 60 right away, confirming their dastardly intentions of charging me whatever they felt like, whenever they felt like it. Some frantic netsearch later, I am assured they just need to check I had been truthful - my 60 rupees (just one dollar, some superior First World person said) have not been snatched away, just held as surety. Yes, but they should have said.

Gift horses

I am grateful to online music websites. Really. So many hours of music; discovering ragas, performers, genres, music that would not have come my way but for the easy access.

But I have to grit my teeth at how they are organised. Hari Prasad Chaurasia (Pandit) and Pt Hari Prasad Chaurasia have separate listings. I clicked on a Raga Bageshri by Pt Shiv Kumar Sharma just now and was amazed to have flutey notes emerge from the speakers. There are numerous links that don't go anywhere. And I came across this gem yesterday: a 60-min delineation of what I think was Gorakh Kalyan by Ustad Rashid Khan described merely as 'Vilambit ek taal'. Grrrrr!