Late one night not long ago, my brother-in-law drove us several dozen miles to a lonely lighthouse. You might wonder, why a lighthouse. One answer could be that it had become something of a habit: On both immediately previous days, he had driven us several dozen miles to a quite different lonely lighthouse.
(At low tide a few mornings ago, thirteen. Read on.)
(Some of you reading this have walked and run with me, played tennis and basketball, squash and cricket with me. This one's for each of you.)
Five of us trooped into a beautifully restored downtown Bombay theatre the other night, to watch The Odyssey on the big screen. Full house, surprisingly little legroom at least in our row, but a splendid three hours.
You've probably heard of Alpha Centauri. It's often called the nearest star to us, though strictly it is the nearest star system to us. That's because Alpha Centauri is actually three stars - Alpha Centauri A, Alpha Centauri B, and Proxima Centauri. Proxima it is - the name may have given it away - that's the nearest star to us.
What is it about ants? No, I mean it. In all my writing over the years, ants have been a frequent and nearly beloved subject. Some, when set down in a maze and faced with a choice, tend to turn left. Some have walked on stilts while compatriots have had their legs (sadly) trimmed. The late great myrmecologist, EO Wilson, described a charming experiment in which a live ant, smeared with pheromones only exuded at death, was promptly ferried - frantically waggling limbs notwithstanding - by his mates from the nest and dumped outside.
Several years ago, I spent a few days sending an email appeal to everyone in my inbox who might have been able to help. Some folks did, and some wheels turned, and the result was that a certain Major crossed a border for the first time in over six decades.
Some mornings, I wake up thinking of Ahmedabad. It's a city I've visited a few times; for a few reasons, it's a city I've never really warmed to. But I've roamed widely there, often by autorickshaw. And on those mornings I'm talking about, it's two of those rides I remember.
Heading for the famous Jog Falls, we made an early start from Shivamogga on NH 206. The town looked like a war zone, because entire stretches of buildings and shopfronts had been demolished to widen the highway. Homage to the ravenous automobile god, but not calculated to make us feel positively inclined about Shivamogga. Even if I'm in a car, I thought, I would welcome a little hardship in driving - narrow roads, traffic - if that will preserve the character of a town. Yet it never happens that way. Obsessed as we now are with wheels, the car's needs always dictate how a city develops.
Through those six minutes, my only thought was - and I cannot imagine I was alone - "what would I be thinking?"
The Only City: Bombay in Eighteen Stories (edited by Anindita Ghose)
Long years ago - well, 1977 - Billy Joel sang these lines:
Here's a factoid that, over a century later, still stuns: In 1914, the mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan published an academic paper in which he spelled out 17 - yes, seventeen - formulas to calculate π (pi).
My friend Arjuna is an archer in the army. He has been on several campaigns, always victorious. His bow is as tall as he is. It is made of wood but strengthened with sinews. The combination makes it firm, supple and elastic. I say that, and marvel at the expert ease with which he handles it, and I know I - man of letters and numbers as I am - would never be able to pull the string back as he does.
Nearly six years ago, I lost a good friend to cancer. It was tragedy compounded, because he had lost his wife to cancer a few years earlier. That left their two daughters, orphaned in their 20s. More recently, another good friend has been struck with the disease. I know others too, as I'm sure you do as well.
One day you spot the young enchanter you've had a crush on for months, but haven't yet found the gumption to speak to. Still, you're affected in ways you've heard about forever. You know - maybe you feel your heart beat faster? Maybe you think it skips a beat or three? You know the feeling, no doubt. But is your heart actually beating faster, or skipping beats?
On a stargazing trip between September 19 and September 23 this year, I spied a supernova.
In South India, they're worried. For following some stated national priorities, for performing well at them in comparison to the North, the states of the South might be punished: They stand to lose a certain quantum of political power.
The autumn equinox - well, autumn in the northern hemisphere - came and went a few weeks ago. I spent it, as I mentioned in my last column here, at the Hanle Dark Sky Reserve in north India. Four nights with some 40 other amateur astronomers, in the open at 14,000 feet, temperatures hovering just below freezing, photographing the splendid night sky.
In late September, forty amateur astronomers and photographers from all over India converged on the tiny hamlet of Hanle, in Ladakh. We were at the Hanle Dark Sky Reserve (HDSR). This is one of very few spots in India where ambient light doesn't overwhelm the night sky.