"Man on Wire"

Man on Wire is a 2008 documentary about the Frenchman Philippe Petit who in August 1974 walked on a high wire strung between the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Apart from the obvious dangers of such an act, it was a most daring escapade - it was not officially approved and had to be pulled off almost in the manner of a bank heist.

Philippe had set his sights on walking between the towers pretty much from the moment the plans for the towers were announced - almost seeing it as his destiny to do so. He had already pulled off some spectacular high wire acts before - between the towers of the Notre Dame in Paris, across the top of the Sydney harbor bridge, etc, but walking between the WTC towers was unparalleled in scope and scale. First there was the meticulous planning for stringing a cable across the two towers that were 140'apart and 110 (more than 1000') stories high. Then there was the small matter of doing all this in secrecy - they had to sneak in with almost a ton of equipment (the cable alone weighed 450 lbs, the balancing pole another 55) and setup on the roofs with nobody catching them. It helped that the towers were not actually finished and there were no occupants above the 86th floor. This part of the story is itself so incredible and to Petit was far more challenging than the walk itself. There are numerous near misses and it is a near miracle that Philippe gets to step on to the wire at all. But step he does and in glorious fashion: He is on the wire for 45 minutes completing 8 crossings in all. In between he lay down, genuflected, and ended the walk by running across.

The documentary, which is based on Petit's 2002 book "To Reach the Clouds" tells the story of the planning, execution, and aftermath of the walk through interviews, actual footage of the walk, and staged recreations of several key moments. All the key people are interviewed and the recreations often bring home the point very effectively. He and his friends were obviously arrested after the performance, but were unconditionally pardoned and Petit was even given a life time pass to the observation deck of the WTC. Indeed, his high wire act is credited with popularizing the towers themselves which at the time were not well liked and struggling to find tenants. His instant fame brought him plenty of offers for movies, book deals, and endorsements, but he declined them all. He settled down in New York and makes his living by doing a few paid, high wire acts each year.

The documentary won a number of awards last year and is nominated for an Oscar. It is an extraordinary story - what drives a man to such extremes? It takes an effort of will to even grasp the enormity of the challenge, let alone understand it. In the documentary, he summarizes his philosophy of life thus - to push all boundaries and challenge all conventions. At which point, all of life becomes a high wire act.

The police sergeant who was dispatched to get him down from the wire said later on how he just had to stand by and watch and he realized that he was seeing something that nobody before had seen and that nobody in the future is likely to witness. They sound particularly prophetic today, given that the towers no longer stand.

The Inauguration of Obama

The obligatory post-inauguration twitters swung rapidly in an unexpected direction - a vigorous give and take about the cost of the event and whether it should have been toned down in the prevailing economic conditions. Latha and Murali came down strongly on the side of exercising restraint while Vanitha and Sangeetha joined me in mostly believing that the costs for today's events were justified. Interestingly, our reasons were different - To Vanitha (& me), the historical significance trumped the cost issue, while for Sangeetha the festivities were a way to bring everybody under one tent - essential for the long struggles ahead. I wanted to mention this Twitter exchange because it was interesting, but this post is not about that.

Instead I want to reflect a little bit about the import of the main event, partly to bookend my previous post. Acknowledging the historical significance of Obama's election has become so reflexive that most of us scarcely give it another thought. As I saw the events this morning, unfolding in an ordered and civil manner, I felt almost like I had an epiphany - how remarkable is this peaceful transfer of power? Scenes from 'The Story of India' were fresh in my mind - the bloody history of India being no different than that of any other nation - and I felt a rush of pride that India is among those countries were such a transfer of power happens on a regular basis. This is especially significant since India is a poor country and higher order concepts such as democracy are usually the privilege of the well-fed.

I found my attention wandering at times during Obama's inaugural address. It was infused with an unusual amount of current-world talk and eschewed some of the soaring rhetoric that I was expecting. This may be the genius of Obama at work - his ability to capture the pulse of the nation, the mood of the moment. We need to feel hopeful, but be fully aware that we are in desperate times. When he talked about how his father would not have been served in a restaurant 60 years ago and here he was taking the oath of the Presidency, some of the real significance sank in. This was not some ordinary glass ceiling being shattered - this was the son of a immigrant who would have been a slave just a few generations earlier, the product of an inter-racial marriage, born during a time when inter-racial marriages were illegal in 13 states, a person without privileged upbringing or political connections - taking over the reigns of a most powerful nation. Could this happen anywhere else? Think of the xenophobia that erupted when Sonia Gandhi seemed the front runner for PM.

Another only-in-America moment was the performance by Izhtak Perlman, Yo Yo Ma, Gabriela Montero (a Venezuelan citizen), and Anthony McGill. Very PC in its composition, but escaped being a cliche due to the quality of the performers.

Now that the pomp and pageantry is over the hard scrabble of everyday life can begin, but this day will remain special for a long time.

Chiweenies, Chipincers, & Cats

I took a shuttle to and from the Acura dealership today and it was the same driver both ways and on both occasions I was the only passenger. The driver was a Mexican lady and I recalled from a previous visit to the same dealership that she was a friendly, talkative sort. She was soon describing what a nice weekend she had had - just relaxing in her backyard with her dog in her lap and watching her cat tear around. So she had a cat and a dog and apparently they got along quite ok, but the cat (which was bigger than the dog) was in the habit of scaring the dog to the endless amusement of its owner. Turns out the dog was quite new - a replacement for the earlier one that one fine day ran off from home. The first dog was apparently a 'chiweenie', which is a cross between a chiuaua and a dachshund. The second one was another cross breed - this time between a chiuaua and a Pinscher. Why this preference for the cross breeds I wondered? It was no accident - she actually preferred them. According to her, the pure bred chiuauas are very illtempered. They are always in a bad mood and resent anybody else spending time with their owner. The cross breeds on the other hand, are apparently very well behaved.

She was sad for the cat - he missed playing with the first dog - they were apparently fast friends. She also had another kitten now that her daughter (an avid animal lover) had rescued from some friend of hers. More family information was forthcoming - my driver has 3 daughters and they all live with her. One of her daughters also has 3 daughters of her own, but I am guessing they live elsewhere since she announced that her house had 4 women and 3 male pets. No grandsons, I asked? Not until one of the other two daughters were willing to oblige came the reply. There was nary a mention of a husband or son-in-law, although one of weekend activities was talking to her father. I was tempted to ask, but that would have made this post too long. Also I need something to talk about next time. :-)

On gold, Rolexes, & the meaning of life

I made my maiden visit to Srini & Shubha's house this past Saturday and a Pongal themed pot luck dinner was preceded by some unusually animated discussion. The topics seemed innocuous enough - purchasing fakes (watches) from China started us off and for some time the debate was about how easy or difficult it was to tell the fakes apart. A surprisingly forceful Sanjay expressed the thought that he couldn't see any reason for buying such expensive watches. My counter was that it was useless to try to see a practical or pragmatic reason behind most decisions made by human beings. I contended (& still do) that practical considerations account for a very small fraction of the rationale behind most of our choices. Sanjay and Srini were quite vehemently opposed to this claim and examples and counter-examples were thrown around. I asked Sanjay about his MR2 purchase - which to my eye is not a practical choice - but he was quite firm in his conviction that that was not the case. I had clearly touched a nerve here (perhaps he had had to defend this choice before?), so I let that subject drop and moved on to my favorite current gripe - the Indian obsession with gold jewelery.

I have never been a big fan of gold (no doubt influenced by my father's opinion on this) to the point that the only time I have actually seen all of Malini's gold jewelery is on our wedding day. Except for a couple of small pieces, we left all of it with her parents in India. A recent article about gold in the National Geographic reminded me of my distaste for the Indian obsession with gold. I was rather dismayed to learn that my home state of Kerala is in fact the epicenter of this obsession and resultant trade.

On most occasions, people just gloss over my overwrought arguments ("Oh, there goes that loud mouth again..."), but not this evening. Folks were skeptical and wondered why I found this desire for gold so troubling. (In a confusing move, Srini challenged my stand on gold with my choosing to work at Qualcomm. I am still puzzled. :-)) The question was posed, "So what's so wrong with liking/buying gold jewelery?" I was about to expound on how obvious it was when I realized that I had not thought it through. I tend to have instinctive reactions and have learned to trust my instinct, but could I now defend it?

I was able to crystallize my thoughts - its what the obsession over gold does to people that bothers me. People at every economic level spend a substantial amount of money to feed this obsession and this of course unfairly affects the people at the lower levels. So many poor families get into life long debt in trying to put together enough gold for their daughters' weddings. This is money that could be used far more effectively to raise their standard of living by investing in say, more nutritious food, better housing, education, etc. What makes this more pernicious than other society-imposed compulsions is (as the article makes clear) that the impact is beyond just the consumers. The mining and extraction of gold is done at a huge cost to people and the environment.

As human beings we are constantly searching for meaning - either explicitly or implicitly. We want to feel that our actions and choices are justified by some overarching theme or principle. I contend there is no such thing - each of us but a random jumble of wants/desires/compulsions and it is fruitless to attempt any rationalizations.

As the discussion wound down, Sanjay had an interesting thought to share. He wondered if we were affecting some essential balance in the make up of our physical environment by all the extraction of minerals and other materials. Would we at some point in the future be spending our efforts on putting back all that we have taken out? A little too Jack Handey perhaps, but still food for thought.

Going With The Flow

Surprising as this may sound to some folks, I am not one for planning. Sure, given a trip or some immediate task I'll do as much planning as the next guy (maybe a bit more), but when it comes to the "big" things in life, I am mostly likely to just go with the flow. Since I am wont to be less than generous about my motivations, I have generally put this down to laziness. Or perhaps even a reluctance to face facts and make hard decisions. If you just go with the flow, then you have to put in less work up front and there is less scope for disappointment.

I am curious - how widespread is this approach? Do most people have a "life plan?" Did you know what you wanted to do in your life, when you wanted to reach the traditional milestones (graduate, job, marriage, kids, house, etc)? How many people know today what they want to be doing 5 years from now, 10 years from now?

Much in my life seems to be the result of some accident and some of these have had a profound impact on how my life has evolved. A good example is how I got a job at Qualcomm. In late 1992 and early '93 the job market was bad, especially for non-residents who needed an H-1. So my search was mostly limited to the big names - Microsoft, Intel, etc. In those days on-campus interviews at Va Tech worked as follows: Companies would shortlist students for the interview from all the submissions they got. If all spots were not taken, anybody was free to sign-up for those spots on a first-come-first-served basis. This was only on one day of the week - Wednesday, I believe - and on that day, students would line up very early in the morning (sometimes as early as 3am) to ensure that they got the spot they wanted.

Now, one week in January '93, Mr.Murty (Vinay) wanted to sign up for some company, but he didn't have a car and it was too cold to walk to school. I had a car, but wasn't really interested in signing up, especially since I already had an interview with Intel lined up. Vinay gave me the hard sell (promised me a donut I think) and I went along. Even though we got there around 5am, there were already several people in line. After chatting with some of them I realized that all the spots for the company I was targeting would be gone by the time my turn came. I had to find an alternative, even if only to justify sacrificing my sleep and standing for 3 hours in the cold. I went over the list again, but couldn't identify any company. As I wondered what to do I noticed another mutual friend who had just joined the line (it was past 7.30am now). I went over and asked him what company he was targeting. He replied, "Qualcomm." Me: "Really? What do they do?" Friend: "Not really sure, something to do with communications." Well, as you can guess, I ended up signing up for the one spot that was open.

Then came the day of the interview and I still had no real clue about this company or indeed what position I was interviewing for. There were two interviewers - one for hardware and one for software and as luck would have it, the spot I had signed up for (without any awareness of it) was with the software person. I obviously did well enough to get an invite to San Diego. (The h/w interviewer invited nobody back.) I knew I had done ok on-site because I was asked to meet with a manager later in the day and indeed the recruiter confirmed this after I got back to Blacksburg. But for a while there was no offer. Apparently, Franklin who personally signed all offers during that time, was not too happy about making a software engineer offer to somebody with an EE degree. Finally the recruiter (Michelle Fleck) pulled a fast one on him - told him that I had another offer (which of course I didn't) and that they would lose me if he didn't sign the offer. He relented and here I still am, almost 16 years later. Ilan Peer used to be the CBS SW lead then and pretty much the first thing he told me was, "We had to fight a lot to get you here."

There were any number of things that if they had turned out differently, would have resulted in me not coming to San Diego. Heck, if I had actually gotten an offer from Intel (which was very close) or Microsoft (not so close) I would almost certainly have taken those over Qualcomm.

So then, we have the question: Is everything just "meant to be" and we are mostly fooling ourselves if we think we are in control? Or is this thought too disheartening and we attempt to plan and establish order just to feel like we have a say? Maybe the Matrix was not too far off!

"Gran Torino"

The previews suggested a sort of Unforgiven Redux - aging gunslinger reluctantly resorts to his old tricks after he is given no other options - but, I was pleasantly surprised. Yes, there is some familiar material here - after all, Eastwood is aging and he almost can't help playing a tough guy, but the denouement, when it comes, is unexpected and courageous even.

Gran Torino is the story of a Korean war veteran Walt Kowalski(played by Eastwood) who is almost the last remaining white guy in a neighborhood of an unnamed mid-western town that is largely occupied by people from the far-east, in particular from the Hmong community. The film opens with the funeral of his wife and wastes no time in establishing Walt's distaste for his asian neighbors. Racial epithets are freely thrown around - gooks, slope-eyes, etc are par for the course. However, Walt is an equal opportunity offender - he is equally frank in expressing his dislike for the Catholic church and the idea of going to confessional with an young priest. He has an uneasy relationship with his two sons and they are mostly glad to avoid him.

Walt meets his match in the young Hmong girl, Sue, who lives next door. Sue is not impressed by Walt's tough guy talk and dishes it right back to him. Her brother, Thao, slight and studious, is much more timid and inevitably, his relationship with Walt takes center stage. It is the relationship he never had with his sons. The neighborhood is terrorized by gangs and when one of them threatens Thao and his family, Walt steps in, without ever meaning to. Being tough and menacing seems to come so naturally to Eastwood and we are soon cheering him along with the rest of the community. Even as things begin to look up, one has a sense of unease - we know and expect something to give. When the hammer falls, it is abrupt and shocking and the tension is built up in subtly before it is released in appropriate fashion. Too late you realize that it is a masterful game of poker and that you have been had. Eastwood who directed and co-wrote the movie puts his unmistakable stamp on the movie.

Serious as most of the movie is, there is some unexpected humor thrown in - in the repartee between Walt and his long time barber, in Walt's grudging acceptance of the food that he receives as gifts, in the 'education' of Thao.

The Gran Torino of the title is a Ford model from the early 70's that Walt (who worked on the Ford assembly line most of his life) maintains in mint condition. It has a recurring presence in the movie and what happens to it is a thinly veiled metaphor for the progress of Walt's character.

It is an enjoyable movie, but I am not entirely sure that it rises above all the cliches and stereotypes it incorporates. Perhaps all of that is a deliberate artifice - this is a commercial movie after all - and it does achieve a certain lyricism at times. Highly recommended.

A Minor Screw-up

Sometimes it seems like I go through life just stumbling from one screw-up to another. Now my tweets are giving offense, so I need to watch those. This line of thought brought to mind some true classics, one of which is the subject of this blog.

I had managed a 4.0 GPA (mostly by accident) through the first couple of semesters at Va Tech and was awarded a Teaching Assistantship (TA) for my third semester. I was assigned to an introductory undergrad course - EE for non-EE Majors. This is a required course for all non-EE engineering majors and so is a rather large class, which meant it got two TAs. The instructor was pretty easy going - after all the students are only taking this class because they have to - and we (me and the other TA) realized that this was a pretty cushy appointment. There was no regular homework to grade or classes to teach. Our entire responsibility consisted of grading two mid-terms. Oh, and one of us had to administer the final since the instructor was going to be away during finals week. Since the other TA was busy on the day of the finals, I agreed to administer the test.

Just before the finals week I met with the instructor to pick up the question papers and get last-minute instructions. He later emailed me with information about the room and time. The day of the finals dawned and I still lolling in bed at 7.45am (email said test is at 10.50am) and thinking how strange the start time was. Every exam I had taken had always started on the hour. I started parsing the email in my mind and started getting a funny feeling. I quickly sat up, logged in and re-read the email. Sure enough, what I thought was the start time was in fact the end time! The exam was due to begin at 8am.

For a moment I was paralyzed in horror - this is the finals we are talking about and the instructor had repeatedly made clear how this had to be done right - after all he wasn't asking for much the rest of the time. Then I swung into action - pulled on a change of clothes and dashed out of the house. I decided against driving since finding parking would cost me huge amounts of time. I had just missed the bus, but if I cut across between the apt buildings I could catch it at a later stop, so I ran hard across the intervening field and made it to that stop. The bus ride allowed me to catch my breath, but the horror of the situation was just churning my stomach. After a seeming eternity I got to the stop nearest to the building in which the exam room was and I started running towards the room. As I approached I saw a couple of students coming my way. Its almost 8.30am by now. I asked this student if he was in that class. He replied that indeed he was, but that "The TA never showed up with the exam." Trying hard to be nonchalant, I said that I was the TA and that he should follow me back to the room to take the exam. He hesitated a bit and then said, "Well, I can come, but most of the other students are gone." The game was up - there was no way to administer this test now.

With a sinking heart I made my way to the dean's office. What would my punishment be? Would they ask me to refund the TA money? Would my grades suffer? I imagined all manner of extreme scenarios as I stood outside waiting for the secretary to let me in. When I finally got an audience, the dean was rather nice about it. My offer to administer the test tomorrow (by personally calling each student) was brushed aside - many students had already left town since this was their last exam. Eventually it was decided that the students would get a grade that was an average of their two mid-terms and their project score. If anybody was unhappy with that, they were welcome to take the final.

It took me a while to digest what had just happened. I had screwed-up big time and come out fairly unscathed (I didn't get another TA position, but luckily I had an RA by then). Although I do wonder if there was some blow-back on the instructor. You see, the reason he was so particular about the finals was that, by rule, he is supposed to administer it - that is the one task they are not supposed to ask a TA to do.

Bondy & Murty

Some text in a document I was reviewing reminded me of this quick exchange that took place a little over 17 years ago - Fall '91, Va Tech.
Vinay and I were both taking a Graph Theory class and the course text book was authored by two guys whose last names were "Bondy" and "Murty." Given Vinay's last name, we promptly bestowed the "Murty" moniker on him and indeed, if you listen carefully many of us from that batch still use this name for Vinay. Anyway, we are in class one day and the Prof is going through this convoluted proof from the book and even after repeated passes most of the class is at sea. Vinay was seated right behind me and at one point I leaned back and whispered to him (in Hindi),"Abe, yeh kya proof likha hai re?" Without missing a beat Vinay whispered back, "Yeh mera chapter nahin hai. Yeh Bondi ka hai."

"The Reader"

Apart from "Slumdog Millionaire" (review), I also saw "The Reader" last week. (What else do you do when the family is away and the office is closed?) While it does not rise to the heights of that movie (no doubt because I did not personally identify with this movie like I did with Slumdog), it is still a very good movie. It is based on a 1995 German book of the same name and tells the story of an older woman who has a summer fling with a young boy. The affair ends somewhat mysteriously and it is a decade later, when as a law student the boy encounters the woman who is now the defendant in a war crimes trial. The mystery itself is fairly obvious, although the young man takes his time coming to a conscious realization of it. (There are enough hints that he has grasped the idea at a subconscious level.)

Kate Winslet plays the woman (Hanna Schmitz) and Ralph Fiennes and David Kross play the old and young versions of the boy (Michael Berg), respectively. Fiennes gets top billing, but David Kross gets most of the screen time and important scenes with Kate Winslet. The relationship between the two of them is depicted fairly explicitly, most likely to underscore the impact that this affair has on Michael Berg throughout his life. Kate Winslet is far removed from her star turn in 'Titanic', but is convincing in the role. Interestingly, while the movie is in entirely in English, the characters spoke with German accents throughout - an artifice that is usually dispensed with after a few scenes in most movies.

As in all stories, one waits for redemption - after the affair ends, after the trial ends and while it does arrive, it is not quite exactly what you would expect. Even so, it is oddly satisfying because it seems to be appropriate. The movie is a small slice in time - the story of two people that is indeed relevant to only them, but it does make for an enjoyable movie.

There are some parallels to Slumdog. The character of Hanna has the same compelling honesty, although her underlying motivation is quite different. And just like Slumdog was evocative to me, some scenes in The Reader did the same for the La Jolla audience that I saw the movie with. At one point in the movie somebody asks, "Is there a Jewish organization for that?" A knowing laugh echoed through the theater when the reply came back: "There must be. There is a Jewish organization for everything."

"Slumdog Millionaire"

The fade to black at the end of a movie has the same effect as the double bell that signals 'seat belts off' after a plane lands - people rise almost simultaneously from their seats. Nothing captures the experience of watching 'Slumdog Millionaire' as the fact that almost nobody in the theater stirred when the movie ended and the credits started to roll. Even after the credits were all done and the house lights came up, the audience seemed reluctant to move - everybody wanted to hold on to the magic of the moment.

The movie, based on a book ('Q&A') by Vikas Swarup, tells the story of a boy from the slums of Mumbai who went on to have great success in the Indian version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." Along the way he is accused of cheating and flashbacks to his life provide the basis for his defense. The movie features some very good acting, especially by the little kids that play the young versions of the three main protagonists. Music by A.R. Rahman elevates almost any movie and does not disappoint here either.

However, it is not the story or the acting or the music that sets this movie apart - it is how the movie is made. I am guessing this is mostly the director's (Danny Boyle) skill, but the cinematographer also has to be commended. The movie traverses through some of the worst that India has to offer, but presents them clear eyed and without cloying emotion or passing judgments. Sitting amongst an audience that was overwhelmingly non-Indian, I cringed during some scenes, but never did I feel that it was an unfair portrayal. In fact, this kind of honest depiction is what is often missing from many of our social discourse, caught up as we all tend be in being PC. Boyle manages to capture the tumult, exuberance, and human tragedy that life in India is with just a few telling details. It was like being on a roller coaster - plunging you into the experience and emotion without a break. While it does not compare in terms of scope or literary achievement, it is somewhat reminiscent of Rushdie's "Midnight's Children."

It is ultimately a love story, but just as much about fraternal bonds as about the childhood sweethearts. In the beginning there is something disingenuous about the character of Jamal (the slumdog millionaire) - one wonders if this is just another take on a 'Forest Gump' role - but soon the movie rises above that and Jamal is revealed as a purposeful young man who has a strong grasp on what really matters.

Towards the end of the movie, there is a scene in which people are gathering outside an electronics show room to watch the final stages of the fictional TV show that is at the center of the movie. This scene was so evocative that it brought a smile to my face - I identified with it almost immediately and I was home. That and several other scenes like it alone are worth going to see the movie, but I am also willing to wager that the story and the telling of it will equally affect you.