A Bend in the Lane

I was googling the web for schools that adopted the Socratic Method for teaching. I was appalled to find that there were hardly any. Even not many colleges use the Socratic Method (barring laws schools and a few liberal arts college like St Thomas Aquinas College…which by the way is a pretty 'cool' Catholic college in California that has no textbooks except the 'Great Books' of great men, where there are no majors or minors or specialisations for the four years of education). Honestly! I mean, sure, Socrates can be a pain lots of times. Reading the Republic beyond Book 4 gave me a splintering headache. But, just reading his dialogue teaches Logic and Rhetoric that are no longer taught in many schools as subjects.   I found this interesting experiment a volunteer conducted in a Grade 3 classroom. It's pretty awesome how he simplified Binary Arithmetic to the third graders using nothing but questions (aka SM). I wish someone had taught me permutations and combin...

Should we be proud about the achievements of our fathers and forefathers?   Don't say 'of course' right away. Give it 2 seconds of thought. I first had this argument with a couple of pals on a train. Without reaching any particular conclusion, we changed the topic after a bit, as it raised a lot more ideological differences than were necessary when embarking on a vacation. Recently, it surfaced again. So, I posed the question to a eight or so people. Most, including Mom, felt along the lines of, "Of course. But not to the point of haughtiness."   There was just one who, said, "No. Maybe happy, but not proud. Because you didn't contribute to their achievements." My take exactly. Personally speaking, I have numerous reasons to be proud about my grandpapa and even my great grandfather. But, I am not proud about them. I view their achievements with gladness and admiration. But not pride. I wonder if this is just me being the fundamentally e...

My sister, who lives somewhere in an undisclosed town in the Great Mid West, usually gifts me a sack full of beauty products every time she visits me. Subtlety was never her forte I suppose. A week ago, I opened this exquisitely packed set of 'body butter' that she gave me this Feb. (Note to all boys who are reading this post: body butter is a schmanzyfancy name for moisturizer, which is something we women rub on our skin to prevent it from drying among other things) There were six medium sized tubs packaged in pastel colours and sleek black lids, quaint seeming words printed in fonts evocative of a bygone era. Each tub had a separate name, for e.g, the tub I first opened was labeled "Warm Ginger Bread". Other labels were, "Vanilla Pound Cake" "Caramel Something Something", "Crabapple Eatable Thingie" and "Vanilla Yada Yada". And, just below the label was an old school recipe for warm ginger bread or vanilla pound cake ...

Auden is to be read sitting beside your window, during the silence when the creaking crickets pause for breathe on a moonless night, with a golden lamp lighting the page and a green snake twirled around your neck for company - But all the clocks in the city Began to whirr and chime: "O let not Time deceive you You cannot conquer Time. "In the burrows of the Nightmare Where Justice naked is, Time watches from the shadow And coughs when you would kiss. "In headaches and in worry Vaguely life leaks away, And time will have his fancy To-morrow or to-day. "Into many a green valley Drifts the appalling snow Time breaks the threaded dances And the diver's brilliant bow. "O plunge your hands in water Plunge them up to the wrist; Stare, stare in the basin And wonder what you've missed." "The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the tea-cup opens A lane to the land ...

You should read this - whether you are a fan or a critic of the last pope. Even if you couldnt care less. Read it. Skip the first 20 paragraphs and begin reading where you find the B&W picture. The first few paras are dripping with a little too much Polish nationalism for my taste.

Noticed how people are generous only when their comfort isn't threatened, courteous only when in good humour?

John Constable is often relegated to the back benches when we talk about great painters. I like him. I don't care if his settings are usually parochial or too country-ish. I rather spend an evening looking at his works than getting nightmares over Picasso or Dali's work. Constable, is a marvellous painter. To illustrate my point, below is one of his best paintings (imho), At Hadleigh Castle : Can you hear the gulls cawing? Sense the clouds gliding across the evening sky? Hear the sheep bleating? Hear the hollow whispers of the wind in the ruins? Well, if you don't, its probably because, you are looking at a low resolution image of a cheap duplicate that I stole from some site. When you actually stand in Tate Britain gazing at the huge painting, you shall hear them all.

Recently, a couple of pals accused me of being uncompromising and that I do not make exceptions. (This was in the context of how if I didn't want to do something, I wasn't going to do it for anybody's sake). But isn't compromising an overrated Asian virtue?   If one begins to compromise on the small things, can one live life the way one wants to?   Too often we give up things for our foolish-rational-twin, for the brats, for the bosses, for the pals, for the partners, for the folks (this is forgivable I think), for society. I am no rebel, but must I really compromise for the little things, and one day wake up to find that I am an unfulfilled person?