Reflections

So here is a mathematical answer to a question that I have quite often asked myself and seldom troubled my friends with: “Does life move in Spirals or Circles?” The course that life takes is often described as a maze by some and a road with lots of twists and turns by others. A complicated web of events, people, emotions and thoughts, caught between these is you, the spider. A lot of our religious books refer to the course of life as “the cycle of life”, which essentially means “the circle of life”. It is perhaps the phrase used most often during those innumerable philosophical discussions that boring people like us have over drinks with friends. Yes, I have been ranting for quite a while, without really bringing in what I promised: the mathematics! In laymen terms, a circle is a two dimensional figure which is a collection of all points that are at equal distances from a given point. Essentially, a circle starts and ends at the same point. A spiral, is a three dimensional figur

It has been a long time since “The Fountainhead” that I came across a novel so satisfying as “A Certain Ambiguity: A Mathematical Novel” by Gaurav Suri and Harosh Singh. Certainly not two of the known strata of intellectual authors that I have tried to read over the past year, kudos to them for the book! Now the book does not boast about a great vocabulary or the use of satirical statements that make you smirk at the wit of the author. Neither does it transport you to a fairy land. It talks about two things: Mathematics and Philosophy. Or rather one, Mathematical Philosophy. The book has two subplots, one being the narrator’s story and the other being the story of the narrator’s grandfather’s arrest when he came to America as a mathematics student. Both the stories run parallel and get interspersed with each other by the end. Each one complimenting the other. The story is simple, without any romantic drama that often accompanies a novel. A grandchild follows into the footsteps of hi

While looking for “Crime and Punishment” by Dostoevsky in the college library, I chanced upon a collection of poetry and prose by Christina Rossetti, a Victorian poetess born to Gabrielle Rossetti.   An occasional poet myself, I couldn’t resist the growing feeling of reading the book. Besides, the nine days of navratri vacations needed to be spent doing something worthwhile! What better way than indulge in some poetry and mathematics: both of them being things that I take keen interest in! Christina Rossetti, sister of Dante Rossetti writes about death very poignantly. Or perhaps I just happened to chance upon a lot of poems dedicated to that theme as I adopted the technique of randomizing the selection of poems to read! One such poem is: After Death The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept   And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may   Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,   Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept.   He leaned above me, thinking that I slept   And c

A flash of Golden light, That woke me up from the slumber of the previous night: The yielding touch of white fluffy cotton pillows, The sun shining bright with a tinge of red, The mellow sounds of water flowing from the tap, And the morning breeze whispering in my ears, An arm slung over the waist as if protecting, Fatigued body unwilling to stand, A million fast cars, And the careful knock at the door. Faint orange memories of beautiful lands visited, The leaves cracking beneath the feet, The familiar sounds of the evening chirps of birds, And the spotted brown barks of the trees, A hand held with the firmness of belief, Tireless feet walking towards no particular destination, A million scornful eyes, And the pink laughter of children playing around. The violet night blanket, The bright glittering street lights, The ocher sand tickling the feet as it washes away, An arm wrapped around with a caressing touch, An uphill walk in the blue pajamas, A million laughing lips, And the green s