Intelligent Buildings

Ever since the turn of the millennium, one is hearing and reading a lot about intelligent buildings. Over the last few years, quite a few seminars have been held in various parts of India on this subject. As an architect, I have attended one or two such seminars. In the IT-BUILT Seminar at IIT Kharagpur, for instance, one kept hearing about these amazing intelligent buildings. Several eminent speakers discussed how such "super intelligent buildings" are the only possible built forms of the future, gradually replacing the "stupid" buildings that architects have created over the centuries.

During the same period, actor Russell Crowe was nominated for the Best Actor Oscar for "his depiction of a maths professor whose brilliant mind succumbs to schizophrenia". He had earlier won a Golden Globe Best Actor's award for the same role. The movie, "A Beautiful Mind", is based on the life of Professor John Nash and explores the fine line between genius and insanity.

Adolf Hitler once wanted to eradicate all sub-intelligent human species from the face of the earth, leaving just the "super-intelligent pure" humans to rule the roost. His vision included a world inhabited only by the beautiful and intelligent supermen. We all know what happened to Hitler and his dreams.

What happens when we build only "intelligent" buildings? What do we do to all the existing "stupid" buildings all over the world? Do we send the Taj Mahal to a concentration camp? Do we gas-chamber the pyramids? It would take a long time, anyway, to round up all the idiotic architecture of the world.

Then, what happens when intelligent buildings turn insane and go berserk? Are we considering the possibility of living in a schizophrenic building? I’m sure it will be interesting, but is it safe for our children? Are we really ready for intelligent architecture?

Some answers, please, and soon. These thoughts are driving me intelligent.

The Party Animal

These days I often find myself in a party
With folk who are sexy or mundane or arty;
A few of these people are certainly older,
Though most are much younger and patently bolder.

There’s good food, generally, and plenty of booze;
Palates get duly sated, people tight, tongues loose.
Everybody speaks but no one listens at all,
Like Dylan laments in ‘A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall’.

There is a great deal of fun, frolic and laughter;
It all changes totally the morning after.
As I wake up my day is already half gone,
My head feels larger than that of a mastodon,

It throbs like the piston on a travel rep’s bike,
Or as if a few kids are inside with a mike.
My throat is drier than the summer Sahara,
I rush to the fridge for lime and lots of warra;

As evening progresses, I begin to regroup,
I pep myself up with a packet of Knorr soup,
I get to feel refreshingly hale and hearty;
Soon I find myself in a similar party!

High School Blues

The wheels keep moving round and round
Which makes the car move, I have found;
But the motion of the car, it's clear
Ain't round, confound it, but linear!
Which means my knowledge of Motion
Is a bundle of confusion.

In Geography once I was told
How rivers and mountains unfold;
It's force of gravity, my chum,
That adheres us to earth, not gum.
Otherwise all I ever found
Is that the world ain't flat, it's round.

And then we have blooming History,
A peek in darkness, a mystery!
You look back and see what had been
When you weren't e'en on the scene!
This flirting with dates that have passed
Leaves me most completely aghast.

Then Maths is one more puzzling chore;
Why, two plus two is always four!
All that Lambda, Mu, Pi, Delta
Makes me scamper helta skelta.
And then the square of x and y
Really makes me wonder, why?

And then comes dear old Chemistry;
Where atoms form the swirling tree
And water becomes H 2 O
And behaves odd at minus four;
The atomic table lays the rule.
You know now why I gave up school.

Heart-Brain By-Pass

If you let your heart decide,
Which road you have to take,
You might miss the rocking chair
And end up in a quake!

If you let your brain decide
Which way you have to turn,
You might have to spend your day
To balance what you earn.

But, if you let your soul decide,
You won’t ever be wrong,
You’ll perhaps discover soon
Life’s nothing but a song.

Yet, if you let the soul decide,
One advice you must mind,
Regrets make the errors grow;
In life there’s no rewind.

Do People Live in Dubai?

In a mail group I belong to a question was raised by Paul Varghese whether people live in Dubai. What an incredible question! Of course they do. Apart from plain knowledge, history and logic also suggest that people do live in Dubai. Let us examine the known facts, according to www dot freakipedia dot com.

Dubai was in fact established by two Indian brothers who went to live there, and Indians are people, of course they are, no matter their behaviour. Since it was first settled by these 2 brothers, it was named Dubhai, ‘du’ being the Indian for ‘two’ and ‘bhai’ being the Indian for ‘brother’. Later, for some reason, the 'h' fell off. (God knows why, must be the Arab pronunciation.) Still later other people joined these brothers in Dubai. Thus it became populated. Later it became popular.

Nowadays people who live in Dubai are called Dubyas. I heard from someone that one of them migrated to the US and became their president, though the source is suspicious. This same person (who gave me the Dubya info) once told me that people of Nepal are smallish fighters and they are called Napoleons, and that a few of them migrated to France to become dictators and brandys. (Or should I write brandies?) Anyway, I later discovered, to my chagrin, that this was not entirely true. So you may ignore this fact - as I already told you, the source is dubious.

Dubai has many interesting places nearby. One such place is Hatta. It is a valley in the Hajar Mountains. Of course, the Himalayas too have hajar mountains, but they are bigger. People live in Hatta, too. They are called Hattangadis. Some of them have migrated to Mum-bai, which is the sister city of Du-bai.

The Dubyas of Dubai have boats which they call Dhows. Dhow sailing is a popular sport there, especially on December 2. Nothing can be popular without people. That is another proof that people live in Dubai.

Then there is Bur Dubai. This is named after the elder of the two brothers. Here Bur means elder and nothing else, so don't smirk. Bastakia is in Bur Dubai. It answers the age old question, "Kya kia?" "Basta kia." What it means I'm not too sure. Perhaps it has something to do with the wonderful bus service of Dubai, 'bus' to 'bas' is understandable, especially to a Bengali. Anyway, the mere presence of a bus service proves that people live in Dubai, or at least they travel in Dubai.

Then of course the world famous Dubai World Cup is held annually in Dubai, as the name suggests. It is actually a horse race, supposedly the world's richest, held at the Nad al Sheba club. Would it have been held in Dubai if none lived there? Who would have organised it? Plus the very presence of a club suggests people.

QED.


Note: Hajar in Indian means thousand.

Daffy Deals

Or

My Love Ignores Me

(With due apologies to Willie Wordsworth)

I wondered madly as a clown
That turns cartwheels in crazy guise,
When all at once I saw a frown
On her forehead, above her eyes;
The more I try to primp and please,
The more we get like chalk and cheese.

Continuous as the tap that drips
Through sleepless night till rooster crows,
I keep trying to come to grips
With lyrical rhyme and candid prose;
Ten thousand words I bring to taste,
Yet my fervour goes to waste!

The others smile, but she, alas,
Looks uninterested, like Chappell Sir,
I fret, I worry, I beg and curse,
(I'll probably get peptic ulcer);
And there she sits like Buddha Jade,
Quite oblivious of my serenade.

Later, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
It flashes on my inward eye
That my chances are completely screwed;
And my heart goes roun' and roun' --
I'll end my days a lonely clown.

Ode to Winter

(With due apologies to Johnny Keats)

Season of feasts and fellow feeling-ness,
Close bosom-friends of the maturing age:
Conspiring with the gang how to load and bless
With food and wines around the river’s edge;

To bend with the intoxication of smoky haze,
And fill our extended bellies to the core;
To swell the coffers of our tinted gaze
With a sweet Black Forest; or a couple more,

And still more, until the cholesterol creaks,
And the stomach turns as the diarrhoea drips,
And the head swirls while the vision freaks;
No more, you say, until the summer’s trips.

Cause & Effect

Every time I have phuchka near Victoria
My soul gets inundated with euphoria;
Next day, as the feel-good factors soften
My bowels move violently, and often.

(Phuchka is the Bengali name for the North Indian Pani Puri and one of the most tasty Indian snacks. Hyegiene is the last word that one could ever associate with phuchka.)

Three Years Down The Line

Three years back on an April’s morn
In some jaded lives a spark was born –
This group was formed for e-mail chat,
To laugh or cry on this and that.
But lately all seems, oh, so bare,
Those lovely mails are hardly there,
Though we’d started bright and bold!
To think we’re all but three years old.

At first we had some fun and games,
Three score members, guys and dames,
Mail box full of memories,
Two line wonders, tall stories.
But somewhere some have lost the thread,
Perhaps busy earning bread.
At this rate this group will fold;
Alas! We’re only three years old!

A few souls still take precious time
To pen some lines in prose or rhyme
And keep us young and fresh and cool,
And form a sprightly cyber school
So hey, you silent childhood fren’
I want to hear from you again!
May we strive for silver, gold
And become more than three years old.

Today is one more April’s morn,
A sparkling time, when hopes are born,
So come on, pal, ignite that spark,
You can’t type? Well, simply bark!
Or boo or hiss or laugh or wail
But for God’s sake post a mail,
Do resurrect us from the cold
Though we’re only three years old.

(This one is about our school e-group, which started with much fanfare but is slowly dwindling into oblivion, or perhaps not!)

The Passage of One More Year

Another brand new year has come;
The previous year is past,
Greetings over cyber space
Fly furious and fast.
Alas, I just fail to see
What all is there to cheer!
To me, it just portends
The passage of one more year.

As the year comes to an end,
And we reach the thirty first,
Glasses are raised to merry cries,
And perhaps to quench the thirst.
The party’s on, crackers burst,
While I just smile, I fear,
To me, it just portends
The passage of one more year.

The dancers revel, the revellers dance,
The midnight masses roll,
The tumblers reveal bottoms up,
The senses take a stroll.
The food lies scarcely touched;
As the spirits disappear…
To me, it just portends
The passage of one more year.

Self Sacrifice

O George Bush!
I'm waiting for you to give the push.
When the push comes to the shove,
I shall be the bleeding white dove.


(Written after 9/11 but before the invasion of Iraq.)

Uppers & Downers

Every time I have some booze,
The main-screw in my brain turns loose;
But when I have some pot or hashish
I feel distinctly Ogden Nashish.

Ditty on D.T.

There was this guy, Samuel L Clemens,
Whom you may perhaps know as Mark Twain,
He suffered (I suppose) from delirium tremens,
For he gave up smoking time and time again.

When asked how he could do it so often,
He'd smile benignly, and cop a subtle feel,
His eyes would light up, his voice soften,
He'd say, "Giving up ain't such a big deal!"

"When your throat burns, and your eyes hurt,
And your stomach feels disgustingly queasy,
And you heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart,
Then giving up becomes remarkably easy."

"Of course, as the new day dawns
You feel refreshed, rejuvenated, without regret,
You stretch like a cat and stifle your yawns
And reach a lazy arm for another cig'rette."

"You have to do it, you know, to start again,
So another chance to give up comes along."
Thus spake Zarathustra … err … ummm … Mark Twain,
Or so I’m told, though I may have heard wrong.

The Birth of Religion

(This piece was developed from a mail I received a few years ago from a friend in Kerala.)

Religion today has become a major player in world politics. People are using the ‘Religion’ card everywhere to gain political advantage. From terrorists to local councillors, everyone is invoking religion to muster support. The actual role of religion in one’s life is gradually becoming irrelevant. Time is ripe, perhaps, to have a close look at religion in general, and history of religion in particular, to get a clear picture.

To understand religion, one must first understand legion. Before you ask why, let me remind you that everything has to have a root. Like beer. Or arrow. There is a school of thought that believes that legion is the root of religion. This is the school I attended once, albeit intermittently.

In Roman times soldiers were formed into legions. In those days men couldn't count too well. Thus ‘legions’ came to mean ‘many’, irrespective of the actual number of men in the Roman ‘Legion’. A ‘legionary’ was the leader of a ‘legion’. Why it would be so is one of those unsolved mysteries of history.

Legionnaire seems to be the French form of legionary, but it isn’t. It simply implies one belonging to a legion. The most famous Legionnaire of all times is of course Legionnaire Beau Peep. This little Beau Peep never had any sheep to lose. Thus when he lost sleep he couldn’t count sheep. Owing to his quaint French accent, one can imagine him saying "lost sheep" when referring to any vessel passing through the Bermuda triangle, but that is quite irrelevant to our serious discussion of today.

Legionnaires, too, sometimes had their legions to lead. They would lead until it was time to take French leave. Thus, as the French leaves piled up, a thorough record had to be maintained. This led to the birth of a study of legion in ancient Mesopotamia or thereabouts. All this study material was neatly stored in a folder marked Re: Legion. Needless to say, this led, albeit indirectly, to the birth of religion. Obviously, some scribe must have misspelled ‘Relegion’ when translating the folder from Latin. The rest, as they say, is history.

It is well known that Karl Marx described religion as the opiate of the masses. This assertion only reveals Marx’s pathetic lack of experience in the subtle nuances of opium based hallucinogens. In this respect one would do well to remember the not-so-famous saying of the other Marx, Groucho, "Legion is the Mass of the Opiates." There is no record of Groucho ever having said this, but who else could have made such a statement? This one small sentence draws at once a vivid and descriptive picture of the Roman Legion, the Chinese Opium War and Einstein’s Theory of Relative Mass Movement. If you ask how, well that’s another unsolved mystery.

Historically ‘hysteria’ is another word that can easily be linked to ‘mass’, ‘opium’ and ‘religion’. However no one has to date linked hysteria with legion. If we do so we get ‘stampede’ under Roman boots. That is not too significant by itself but if you only consider the undeniable fact that Roman cobblers made Roman boots then perhaps you see the light. If and when you do, you can explain it to me, I can’t make head or tail of all this.

Coming back to legions, legionnaires and legionaries, leghorn has absolutely nothing to do with legion. Yet legions had to be fed; as the well known adage states, you cannot fight on an empty stomach. So one can imagine legions of leghorns marching down the Roman trade routes, with their own legionaries perhaps, to be methodically converted to Chicken Sicilian. Until the advent of Bird Flu, at least.

Leg irons are another example of ancient Roman militarism. You have perhaps noticed that leg irons are nothing but legions with an ‘space’ and a ‘r’ within. Which is most interesting, to say the least. However all that is beyond the scope of our present discourse, so we shall move on to the next important item.

As we have already established, legions gave birth to religions, and thank God they did! Because religions gave birth to holidays. To think how many holidays would have been lost if it were not for religions, especially in India, makes one shudder in awe and bewilderment. And of course it goes without saying so I shall go without saying anything further.

Vanity Fare

One day, without trying too hard
I wrote some verses on humanity;
I thought, oho! I’m now a bard!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One morning as I sat on the potty
I composed a ditty on insanity;
As a musician I could be a hottie!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One afternoon, in a seminar in Silchar
I held forth on fertilisers and organity!
I’m now a Guru of agriculture!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One evening, while chatting with my wife,
I analysed the virtues of monogamity;
Oi, oi! I’m an expert on life!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

The other day I met some lady friends
And discussed Pierre Cardin’s urbanity;
I do indeed keep up with the trends!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

On line with an Al Qaida fanatist
I thrashed out Kashmir’s Pakistanity;
So I’m a great political analyst!
..... It’s a rum thing, vanity.