Lily- A Haiku

    SBUT Nature

White Winter Lily

Stolen on nigh of blossom

Sold with her body

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A Happy Ending

Blackfield - Cloudy Now

Love and Pain by Edvard Munch

She sat there by the bed. Her head was buried in the pillow and the pillow was wet. The moon felt sad for her and wanted to console but the room was walled on all sides. Still, the adamant moonlight managed to creep through the cracks in the ceiling and cast a pale shadow on her beautiful face.

He sat in the dark corner of the room looking at her. Often he would try to reach out but would stop midway. Often he would try to speak but would hesitate on what to say. He loved her. It pained him to see her cry. He felt jealous of the moonlight caressing her rosy cheeks now streaked with tears. He wanted to go over to her. He wanted to hold her frail frame in his strong arms. He wanted to say “It was goin’ to be fine”. He wanted… But he couldn’t. It held him back. It had always held him back.

The dark room was eerily quiet now, echoes of her faint sobbing had subsided. She must have fallen asleep. Hunched in his corner he looked up his knees. He saw her. He wanted to get up, gently stroke her ebony hair, clear the few strands sticking to her wet face. But he could not. It held him back. Mustering up the strength in his legs, he tried to stand but gravity pulled him down. Filling up his lungs with air he wanted to shout out, call out to her, and beg for her forgiveness. But, was left gasping for breath. He had never felt this helpless.

He tried to think of happier times when they were together. He pictured her draped in a yellow sundress, her long hair blowing as the wind mischievously stole her silk white hat. The silhouette of her slender body in the fading sun, radiant and divine. He remembered her lips twisting into a smile and making its way to her glistening eyes fixed upon his bent shape. Her head nodding in approval to the little ring he held in his hand. They were going to be so happy together. Were… But that again reminded him of his present predicament and made him sadder. How could he have let this happen? It was supposed to be a happy ending. Was…

She woke as the moon bid adieu and the Sun took his place. She got up, wiped her face with the helm of her white gown. Tied her hair back, held her chin high and walked out of the room. She descended the stairs into the open hall where the woman in black was waiting. “You have to change”, hissed an elderly voice. She said nothing and tried to be strong. No, she said and broke down. “It’s not fair”, her voice cracking. “Life never is” came the solemn reply.

He woke up with a jerk, his body aching. Always aching. He looked around but she was nowhere to be found. Unable to get up he crawled and clawed the locked door. It was his turn to cry. He offered one last prayer, for one last chance to see her. He said he would give up anything. He closed his eyes.

Outside, the sky was overcast with glum clouds. Do not mock me she commanded and the sky held back her tears. The woman in black led her to the black Mercedes. She entered the sedan and looked at the old house for one last time. The engine was stated and they drove off. The wind carried the sound of a faint explosion, the woman in black said that it was done and paused. “The house is no more”.  She said nothing, she knew it had to be done.

He opened his eyes and saw fire. The fire was a giant beast with a thousand heads and a million eyes.  He saw the blue flames break into a smile.

“It’s time” said the fiery beast in a voice of screams.

“I have come for your heart”.

He looked into his charred eyes and said no, it belongs to her.

The beast laughed, red sparks flew out from the Jackal’s face.

“She doesn’t NEED it anymore, MORTAL.”

Give it to me or I’ll rip it out, it roared.

He put on a brave smile, “you can try”.

“FOOL! “ Bellowed the beast.

SUFFER!

The beast opened its fiery jaws and devoured him whole. A searing pain engulfed his mind.

“HOW DARE YOU!”

A giant claw ripped his chest apart. Another took his right arm. His mind went numb and he thought of her. Finally the beast stopped. There was a final burst of flames. Darkness.  He felt as light as ash now. There was no pain. He did not remember who he was. He flew. He did not remember what he was. He kept drifting into nothingness. 

The car was cruising over the bridge. She took off the ring and kissed it. She rolled down the window and threw it into the river below. The turbulent waters caught the ring and accepted the payment.

He saw something glowing at a distance. It was her hat. As he floated towards it, it kept growing bigger and brighter. He reached out to touch it. It was as big as the sun now and just as bright. White strands laced its rims and he managed to grab one. Everything was white now. The toll had been paid.

The car disappeared into the horizon. He faded into the light.

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American Gods by Neil Gaiman

America :Simon & Garfunkel 

American Gods follows Shadow, a recently released ex-con with a knack for coin tricks, on an expansive adventure across America’s heartland. He is your typical hero with a devil may care attitude but a heart of gold. Teamed with a lecherous god Wednesday/ Odin, his employer, they go on to recruit the old gods who travelled to the new lands along with their believers. They are now mortal and humbled because of a paradigm shift that has resulted in the diversion of faith towards the newly emerging gods of media and technology. Odin wants a showdown with the winner drawing vitality and gaining fresh control over the minds of the people. Written in an surrealistic western tone, the novel carries an inherent sadness and an undertone of melancholy as it goes on to describe the coming of the old gods to America and their current situation. Sad huh?

Gods are immortal, omniscient, omnipotent. Gods are to be feared and worshipped. Gods are a physical manifestations of ones beliefs. They are as real as faith. Wait...

Gods are human. They are faux pas. They are cliches. But that's talking about the Old Gods right? Not really.

All gods seem to be popular à la mode. Best served with ice cream? Well in America, yes they are! Gods in America are like pies served a la mode. You may like them for a while, then the health conscious you cuts down on them and then they are entirely forgotten. They really are passing trends. You may once have  believed that god in a giant man with a cows head and 10 arms who summons dark clouds and asks for children to be sacrifices at his altar. He may have been your god back then. Now it may very well be your I-phone. You may not perform naked intoxicated  rituals to worship it (or one might, whatever) but you do so by devoting your time to it. By giving it importance, by feeding it with your belief. Crazy right?

Well this is what Neil Gaiman thinks as he writes American Gods. His book is about gods old mythical ones with cool axes and fairytales and they’re fight with the new “trending” ones like technology. The story is bland. There is a storm coming. Gods are going to fight. Our hero must save them above all odds. Typical. Routine. Not Really.

This is misdirection. The coin is up his sleeve.

This book is not some fantastical tale about gods. It about self discovery or the solemn journey of a man down the road less taken. A tale of self discovery and redemption with a supertnatural flavour. A hero with a heart who pays your bills for you and who is still love with his er... dead? Wife. The hero must choose.  A bit of surrealism her a bit of horror there. Ha! fooled ye again. The coin itself is the misdirection.

THis book really is a critique of the American Culture. In the book,  he introduces us to the personified representations of Americans’ dreams, the old gods and the new ones created in the fast-paced technological world of modern life. He has woven a contemporary myth, as relevant a commentary on society as those of old. It a satire on these modern times which  are often defined in terms of conflicting morals and ideals, as well as ethnicities and languages, and somewhere, standing undefined, is that elusive figure suggested by the term “American”. But it’s  not just about America. It’s about how loyalties change with time. It’s about the fickle-minded humans that we are.

I can go on raving about what this book is and what it is not. You may think why haven’t I mentioned Shadow, the protagonist, or any other characters as such. But that would be detail. The tale is surreally mystifying and profound and very well beyond details.

P.S. Neil Gaiman has a good taste in music, and he’s the one who stole the tiger balls. (The reader will appreciate this line after reading American Gods)

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I am a Mad Writer

I start this narrative with a lie that I am a writer. I am not . At least I am not sure about it. What makes me say so?

Like the quintessential inquisitive young adult I got to my computer and typed in the words "Define: Writer". The result was eye-opening. The first link said, a writer is "a person who writes books, stories, or articles as a job or regular occupation." Hmm... retrospect. Being schooled in a typical school with typical teachers and typical (read: boring) academic curriculum, this thought never crossed my head. I used to write essays on mundane topics like "the impotence (er. importance) of discipline". One night, while downing my seventh cup of coffee fumbling on words, googling (again!) fancy sample essays while cursing the teacher and the clock (which again smiles and says 2 hours to deadline) I break-down. Introspect. What am I writing, why am I writing? Does writing simply means- using a system of more or less permanent marks used to represent an utterance in such a way that it can be recovered more or less exactly without the intervention of the utter-er. Ha. I laugh at this definition which in turn mocks me. What do I do now? Google again. I say motivate me Google, and like the rising sun Google shines forth this quote:

"Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.”—Enid Bagnold

Almost brought a tear to my eye. I exclaimed to myself yeah! there is a metaphysical realm to it. it not just a mere conglomeration of words! It is to create a flower out of cacti. So with the keyboard in front of me and a new blogger ID, I the toiling vintner, shall grow words for grapes as they grow on adverbs and metaphors that so they can then be turned into the sweet (and intoxicating) wine. Wait ... rewind, retrospect.

“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.”—Samuel Johnson

Damn, I didn't do that! I have to be a reader first. So I march to the library and pick up "Moby Dick". Crumbling under the weight of its sentences (and the sheer mass of the book) I set it aside. As Nathaniel Hawthorne said "Easy reading is damn hard writing." Its easier said than done. Anger. Failure. Resentment.

Somehow I got on with reading the works of the greats and the not so greats. I got myself a Goodreads account and then the critic in me started rating the greats. All is well now that I've read a lot, I can write - I thought. And life has been thus, living this lie.

Being as writer and being a good writer are two entirely different things. So what makes one a good writer? Reading and writing a lot. Agreed. But you do need someone to tell you: “You suck” in your face (or on some major social forum).

But then again what gives a person the right to judge others? Not going into the ethics of it, we need writers to judge writers. Theoretically every person must have read a lot and written a lot to judge a person who has done the same. So that’s where other writers come in :

1. To provide judgmental (hurtful) commentary

2. to provide more stuff to read.

This is how I see myself in the milieu of writers today, on the keyboard I slog

I do still wait for some comments perhaps from some anonymous surfer who laid a casual eye.

As the day passes by I chuckle to myself "Writing is its own reward, Sigh."

Going by definition, I am a bard too. Kidding. I am a confused writer, the Mad Hatter. Am I a writer? Do I want to become one if not, then? . I’m troubled to answer I must admit. I’m afraid I will burst into flames at some point if I do. I’m afraid I will fade into obscurity away if I don’t. I’m uncertain if I must become selfish in order to grow into who I want and need to be. But I do know this silent solitude in me is the only thing I've known for years. And I do not wish to watch it go.I need inspiration, motivation and feedback. Arrgh... breakdown, rebellion,, apathy. I am what I am, an agent of chaos. I like being confused. It makes writing interesting. It lets me live in a different world amongst the eccentric characters away from mediocrity and mundanity where everyday is full of promise and well madness. After all
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

Simply because I haven’t got a clue, nor do I give a damn.


Credits: Snoopy, Calvin, Mad Hatter

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I can get no “Satisfaction”

The photograph is old, low quality, black and white (not by intention but by design) and well...  Priceless. We see four people playing musical instruments. A person is singing into a mike and two more are positioned to record the instruments, one on a boom between the musicians and another in front to a nearly five foot tall amplifier. On the floor behind the amplifier a technician looks for guidance from the small group of men huddled in front of the stage. The stage is set up for a musical concert with lights, amplifiers, cameras and evidently, audience. The word “Circus” is written on a banner overhead. Circus? But where are the tightropes, the gymnasts, the elephants and surely the people on stage look like junkies, hippies...er... rockstars rather than clowns. This “Circus” is The Rolling Stones' TV special entitled The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus ( Recorded on 11 December 1968).‘ The project was originally conceived by Mick Jagger (Singer,The Rolling Stones) as a way of branching out from conventional records and concert performances. Jagger approached Michael Lindsay-Hogg, who had directed two promos for Stones songs, to make a full-length TV show for them.



The band playing was a one-time English supergroup consisting of John Lennon(multi-instrumentalist/vocalist,Beatles), Eric Clapton(guitarist, Cream/Yardbirds), Keith Richards (bassist, The Rolling Stones) and Mitch Mitchell(drummer, Led Zeppelin) that Lennon put together called “The Dirty Mac”. In the picture, we see the singer, John Lennon singing into a mike and looking away with a peaceful demeanour. Eric Clapton , and Keith Richards are strumming their guitars and Mitch Mitchell is drumming away.





So how does this photograph depict or remotely call on to expertise?

Well, the fact that the members are multiple Grammy winners, inductees in the Rockand Roll Hall of Fame (with Clapton being inducted 3 times); era definers, legends...(to cut it short “Gods of Rock”). Seeing John Lennon, Eric Clapton and Keith Richards on stage together should give one an idea that something magical is about to happen. This concert indeed seeded the formation of a super group-”The Dirty Mac”. Which perhaps answers our inquisition into context of the photograph, the explanation to which, lies ahead. Colvin’s idea of “practice makes perfect” and “no substitute for hard work”, “deliberate practice” and “adopting a new mind-set” is reinforced by the fact that the members, who are accomplished musicians, became so only after years of hard work. For example, Eric
Clapton started from an early age of thirteen. “He preserved his practice sessions using his portable Grundig reel-to-reel tape recorder, listening to them over and over until he felt he'd got it right.(Clapton 2007, pg 22)”[1]. He is also known to have broken strings mid-concert.  The Beatles' producer, George Martin, tells how Lennon "had an inborn dislike of his own voice which I could never understand. He was always saying to me: 'DO something with my voice! ... Put something on it ... Make it different.(Coleman 1992, pp. 369–370.)” So we can  clearly see that even this legend was not blessed with an innate musical voice. In the words of  biographer Barry Miles, "Lennon simply shredded his vocal cords in the interests of rock 'n' roll.(Miles and Badman 2003, p. 90)

Expertise or Godlike?

Experts are portrayed to embodiment perfection. They are not supposed to be challenged and are prodigies that are sent down by God. We see that Eric Clapton was compared to God's image in the episode "Holy Crap!" of season two of That '70s Show.(You will have to watch the episode to find out) But when we look deep into the lives  of these gods, we find their imperfect mortal forms perhaps similar to the ones in Greek Mythology. We see the amount of time and devotion that these people had to give in. Under the veneer of stardom and fame we see hippies and junkies who love their music. We do find that this fame coupled with the fiery urges of youth develop into arrogance, ignorance and indulgence into worldly vices. One question that comes in my mind after reading these articles on “talent‘ is that how are these “tips” relevant in those times to today's public? As Colvin states, “those extra steps are so difficult and painful they almost never get done.( Covin, last paragraph)” But what motivated, say, Eric to pick up his guitar?

These authors (Colvin/Coyle) seem to ‘upvote’ the concept of “Tabula Rasa‘(theory that  individuals are born without built-in mental content) , it does not seem true. Therefore, the picture is black and white not by intention but by fate. It oozes awesomeness  and expertise par excellence. It motivates to practice harder, do what you love - as the title  suggests (which is actually a song by The Rolling Stones) . The “Circus” is clearly that level  which is reached at the very end of ”Stairway to heaven.” (Led Zeppelin, 1971). So as I listen to  “Yer Blues (Beatles, The White Album)” and write this piece, I can definitely say (and many would

agree) this photograph is the manifestation of expertise itself.

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The "tip" of Talent

*The following is a critical review of  Daniel Coyle's, The Talent Code: The Sweet Spot

Daniel Coyle (2009), The Talent Code: The Sweet Spot (chapter one of part I: Deep Practice)

     Are prodigies brought down by storks or are they forged in the fires of determination as the assiduous hammer of practice strikes the Persistent. Widely believed to be a ‘sent-down-by-God’ kind of an affair, talent is supposedly innate. But if this be true, how is it that we find individual talent coming out in numbers from similar socio-geographical backgrounds? Are the Gods too fond of their patron?

“Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.” -Stephen King

    In his cultural myth-breaker, ‘The Talent Code’, author Daniel Coyle goes a step ahead and clearly claims that -Talent isn't born, it's grown. In the focused excerpt, we find the author emphasizing on the presence of a “sweet spot” which requires “deep” practice to bring about expertise.

       The author starts by narrating his journey across the varied geography in search of talent “hotbeds” which he describes to be similar to the voyage of Charles Darwin (The English Naturalist who went around the world and later gave his theory of evolution). He too was in pursuit of finding similar evolutionary amongst the so called ‘hotbeds’ or “Chicken-wire Harvards”. He then goes on to state the similarity in his observation that "talent" is "the possession of repeatable skills (Coyle, 11)”, and there is a particular thought process and routine which much be undertaken to sharpen one's skill. He draws our attention to the “split second” variations in the cogitation of these prodigies, stating that this change is due to deeper practice- where one struggles on the edge of one’s ability thus ends in learning from one’s mistakes. He goes on to cite Robert Bjork (chairperson UCLA), stating that "One real encounter, even for a few seconds, is far more useful than several hundred observations (Coyle, 18)" and the fact that the human brain has infinite potential and the more the number of obstacles we face, the more we learn.


     Further he goes on stressing on the importance of deep practice by giving the example of Roosevelt's “ Airmail Fiasco” which was solved by Edwin Albert Link, Jr.’s unlikely Blue Box device which trained the pilots Link's trainer permitted pilots to practice more deeply, to stop, struggle, make errors, and learn from them. During a few hours in a Link trainer, a pilot could “spend hours inhabiting the sweet spot at the edge of his capabilities in ways he could never risk in an actual plane. (Coyle, 24)” The Air Corps pilots who trained Links were no braver or smarter than the ones who crashed. They simply had the opportunity to practice more deeply.
 Coming onto “ Brazil secret weapon”, the authors unveils Brazil’s secret in form of futsal - football’s poor cousin- which produced some of the greatest footballers of all time.

       The author’s emphasis on the presence of a “sweet spot” is brought out wonderfully through the tapestry of examples given, though the actual definition is not very clear. We are told that “There an optimal gap between what you know and what you're trying to do. When you find that sweet spot, learning takes off.(Coyle, 19)". But as to how to find this mystical edge (so that we can take this leap of faith?) is still hazy. He just goes to stress upon the need to deep practice ad nauseum (which is rather ironic given the subject matter focuses on concentrated practice and not mere repetition).

     The concept of deep practice seems to be derived from Kolb’s theory of experiential learning(Theories of Group Process,1975).  Kolb's research found that people learn in four ways with the likelihood of developing one mode of learning more than another. As shown in the 'experiential learning cycle' model above, learning is:

• Through concrete experience
• Through observation and reflection
• Through abstract conceptualization
• Through active experimentation.

This is exactly what Coyle describes as deep practice.

           The only commendable aspect of the given article was the variety of examples and instances which presents the idea in a simplistic way thus allowing the most casual reader to imbibe his ideas with ease. A good takeaway from this book is the fact that “Having fun” isn't the primary goal of people who want to get good, though they find what they do pleasurable on some level (or at least necessary) and push through all the difficulties and challenges. The cognizance of the author does not seem to be path-breaking.  It avoids becoming just another syrupy self-help book by stressing the importance of hard work and dedication, but it doesn't bring too many new insights to the table.

References:

"The Sweet Spot" by Daniel Coyle

Wikipedia: "Insight learning", "Airmal Fiasco".

http://www.brookes.ac.uk/services/ocsld/archive/theories.html

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The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Sight, a brilliant and disturbing short sci-fi film by Eran May-raz and Daniel Lazo, imagines a world in which Google Glass-inspired apps are everywhere.

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Flying Still

"Flying without feathers is not easy; my wings have no feathers." 

                                                                                          ~Titus Maccius Plautus

Continuing with my crazy obsession with flight,  here's SmartBird - a flight model of an artificial bird that’s capable of taking off and rising in the air by means of its flapping wings alone.  The wings not only beat up and down but twist like those of a real bird — and seeing it fly leaves no doubt: it’s a perfect technical imitation of the natural model, just bigger. (Even birds think so.) Its wingspan is almost two meters, while its carbon-fiber structure weighs only 450 grams.

But this is just a robot, what if human could flap their own wings and fly like a free bird, into oblivion? 

Here is a model devised by Douglas C. George:

Its been man's obsession to fly since he first set his eyes on the mighty creatures who awry of the world, spread their wings and soar,

"When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return. "
                                                                                                              ~Leonardo Da Vinci 


Source:  www.ted.com

http://www.dcgeorge.com/ProjectFalcon.html

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On Wings Anew

"Though Minos blocks escape by sea and land.

The unconfined skies remain

  though Minos may be lord of all  the world

his sceptre is not regnant of the air, and by that untried way is our escape."

                                                                                                                     Ovid's Metamorphoses

Such were the words of Daedalus, the father of Icarus, spoken as the two of them sat, trapped in a tower by the evil king Minos of Crete. Daedalus saved them by creating a set of wings for both himself and his son using the feathers of birds. According to the Greek mythology, he was actually quite successful, except for the tragic mistake of binding the feathers together with wax, which melted when his son flew too close to the sun.  Symbolic. Refering to Indian mythology and the epic saga of Ramayana, we see the villain, Ravana, abducting the Sita in a chariot with wings. Dramatic.

From biblical angles to the mutant in X-Men, man has always wanted wings. Earliest experiments to mimic birds failed rather comically and Leonardo Da Vinci’s designs remained on paper. But there was a breakthrough and two brothers finally got it (W)right. Thenceforth came the era of the giant birds of steel. The airplanes today have a fixed wing system but the future seems to be more flexible.

A curious cat purring lightly at a bird, lunch, slowly it moves toward the winged creature with the stealth of a trained predator. As it gets closer, the features of the bird get sharper. But wait, the cat is confused, still it attacks and instantaneously the bird takes flight. In flight the steel joints glisten, the cleverly concealed eye for a camera captures everything. The terrain has been mapped, the unheard conversations recorded and it’s another successful mission for our ornithopter.

There is a stereotyped view that hovering bird is a prototype of a plane.  The prototype of a plane is a kite. The difference is obvious: kite is staying in the air due to overcoming of the air drag, while the bird relatively to the air – with its wings fixed – is always going down.  As hinted above, an ornithopter (from Greek ornithos "bird" and pteron "wing") is an aircraft that flies by flapping its wings. Designers seek to imitate the flapping-wing flight of birds, bats, and insects. The mechanics inside is divided into flexible wing mechanics and flapping wing mechanics and goes on to add various principles like low Renyolds’ number flight dynamics. Not going too technical here,

One may say - why all the hustle, where is the advantage?

·         
Vtol i.e. vertical landing and take- off: I don’t need to explain this to the gamers out there but for the “lesser” kind here it is.  Imagine no runway!  VTOL allows the craft to operate from a diverse array of airfields, using less space to get airborne unlike CTOl where one has to use a runway to gain enough momentum to take off.

·         Lighter, far less complicated: It works on simple wing design. Unlike airplanes and helicopters, the driving airfoils of the ornithopter have a flapping or oscillating motion, instead of rotary. As with helicopters, the wings usually have a combined function of providing both lift and thrust. Theoretically, the flapping wing can be set to zero angle of attack on the upstroke, so it passes easily through the air. Since typically the flapping airfoils produce both lift and thrust, drag-inducing structures are minimized.

·         Capable of long time loitering and hence great for surveys and stealth missions.

·         Finally the element of surprise, camouflage and to say a more natural feel in a sense.

·         Understanding the real birds a bit better

·         Maneuverability which the steel giants defiantly lack.

These are few of the many advantages that an ornithopter has over the conventional aircrafts we see today.

What are people in practice doing?

The Colorado Division of Wildlife has used these machines to help save the endangered Gunnison Sage Grouse. An artificial hawk under the control of an operator causes the grouse to remain on the ground so they can be captured for study.

In 2011, AeroVironment, Inc. announced a remotely piloted ornithopter resembling a large hummingbird for possible spy missions.

In 2008, Schiphol Airport started using a real looking mechanical hawk designed by falconer Robert Musters. The radio controlled robot bird is used to scare away birds that could damage the engines of airplanes.

In March 2011, scientists and engineers at the Festo Bionic Learning Network introduced a robotic SmartBird, based on the motion of a seagull. The SmartBird weighs only 450 grams and is controlled by a radio handset. On video, its flight appears remarkably realistic.

Today’s aircraft have nowhere near the agility and precision of nature’s best fliers. “Bats are different from most animals—and from most engineered materials—because they have very flexible wings that offer a lot of interesting aerodynamic properties,” says Kenny Breuer, a mechanical engineer at Brown University. Patrick T. Mather and his team at Syracuse University have created a material with a similar quality: The polymer chains line up to make it stiff and stable in one direction, but 12 times as elastic in the other. Five to 10 years from now, such a material could allow the wings of small unmanned aircraft to flap by expanding and contracting, which would enable planes to fly at slow speeds and pivot precisely during surveillance missions.

So that was the past, the present and now how are these toys going to invent the

future?

In the Dune universe created by Frank Herbert, an ornithopter (or 'thopter) is a type of aircraft that is one of the primary modes of transportation on the desert planet Arrakis. Herbert describes ornithopters as "Aircraft capable of sustained wing-beat flight in the manner of birds" in his 1965 novel Dune.  The craft achieve takeoff primarily though the beat of their wings, with jet power assisting in propulsion and stabilization. His ‘thopters and carryalls were used for transportation, spice harvest, with maul guns could be used in combat and also for space travel.

That was Frank Herbert’s world we have our own:

·         Integration with swarm robotics: Imagine, Thousands of crows pick up litter everyday across cities everywhere across the world, but are they crows?

·         The flapping mechanism of the bird is similar to that of fishes while they swim. In the future we may have biomechanical submarines disguised as sharks, whales or whatever tickles the designers’ imagination. These can be used for mapping underwater terrain, under water tourism, military and what not.

·         With advancement of technology one may even even try to recreate extinct birds and dinosaurs in order to study their flight behaviour.  Going a bit into fantasy, throw in a flame thrower and viola your very own dragons!

There are endless applications of this fascinating concept. Our imaginations may be restricted now, but one can let go and end up creating something worthwhile.

 Lastly, making a rather bold comment, airplanes are too mainstream. The future belongs to amphibots, ornithropters and to the ones who give wings to their dreams.

 “A bird is an instrument working according to mathematical law, and it is within the capacity of man to reproduce it.”

                                                                                                                      Leonardo Da Vinci

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Happy new Year

*Posting after a long time, sorry guy.

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Happiness IS in your head

With mirth they seem'd be laughing
but had a smile seared instead.
With pain abraded and sadness in place,
Is happiness in your head?


with heads held low and stinging rays of hope
faith grows heavy as lead.
The coal is wet and the brazier grows cold,
Is happiness still in your head?

The urge to do is done away with
the pyre burns and the forest, in dread.
The vision goes bleary and senses askew
Happiness can't be in your head.

Will the fog fade and the obscured sky be clear?
When will the the truth be told, the petitions be read?
Will the promises ever be kept, them songs be sung?
Happiness is in your head?

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