Humor Argiewe - Page 3 van 6 - Onwerklik blog
Humor, Lewe en dood, Filosofie, Fisika
I once attended a spiritual self-help kind of course. Toward the end of the course, there was this exercise where the teacher would ask the question, “What are you?” Whatever answer the participant came up with, the teacher would tear it apart. Byvoorbeeld, if I said, “I work for a bank as a quantitative finance professional,” she would say, “Ja, that’s what you do, but what are you?” If I said, “I am Manoj,” she would say, “Ja, that’s only your name, what are you?” You get the idea. To the extent that it is a hard question to answer, the teacher always gets the upper hand.
Not in my case though. Luckily for me, I was the last one to answer the question, and I had the benefit of seeing how this exercise evolved. Since I had time, I decided to cook up something substantial. So when my turn came, here was my response that pretty much floored the teacher. I said, “I am a little droplet of consciousness so tiny that I’m nothing, yet part of something so big that I’m everything.” As I surmised, she couldn’t very well say, “Ja, seker, but what are you?” In werklikheid, she could’ve said, “That’s just some serious bullshit, man, what the heck are you?” which is probably what I would’ve done. But my teacher, being the kind and gentle soul she is, decided to thank me gravely and move on.
But being part of something so vast — ah, that is the interesting bit. Fisies, there is not an atom in my body that wasn’t part of a star somewhere sometime ago. We are all made up of stardust, from the ashes of dead stars. (Interesting they say from dust to dust and from ashes to ashes, isn’t it?) So, those sappy scenes in sentimental flicks, where the dad points to the star and says, “Your mother is up there sweetheart, watching over you,” have a bit of scientific truth to them. All the particles in my body will end up in a star (a red giant, in our case); the only stretch is that it will take another four and half billion years. But it does mean that the dust will live forever and end up practically everywhere through some supernova explosion, if our current understanding of how it all works is correct (which it is not, in my opinie, but that is another story). This eternal existence of a the purely physical kind is what Schopenhauer tried to draw consolation from, Ek glo, but it really is no consolation, if you ask me. Nietemin, we are all part of something much bigger, spatially and temporally – in a purely physical sense.
At a deeper level, my being part of everything comes from the fact that we are both the inside and the outside of things. I know it sounds like I smoked something I wouldn’t like my children to smoke. Laat my verduidelik; this will take a few words. Jy sien, when we look at a star, we of course see a star. But what we mean by “see a star” is just that there are some neurons in our brain firing in a particular pattern. We assume that there is a star out there causing some photons to fall on our retina and create neuronal firing, which results in a cognitive model of what we call night sky and stars. We further assume that what we see (night sky and star) is a faithful representation of what is out there. But why should it be? Think of how we hear stuff. When we listen to music, we hear tonality, loudness etc, but these are only cognitive models for the frequency and amplitude of the pressure waves in the air, as we understand sound right now. Frequency and amplitude are very different beasts compared to tonality and loudness — the former are physical causes, the latter are perceptual experiences. Take away the brain, there is no experience, ergo there is no sound — which is the gist of the overused cocktail conundrum of the falling tree in a deserted forest. If you force yourself to think along these lines for a while, you will have to admit that whatever is “daar” as you perceive it is only in your brain as cognitive constructs. Hence my hazy statement about we are both the inside and the outside of things. So, from the perspective of cognitive neuroscience, we can argue that we are everything — the whole universe and our knowledge of it is all are patterns in our brain. Daar is niks anders.
Want to go even deeper? Wel, the brain itself is part of the reality (which is a cognitive construct) created by the brain. So are the air pressure waves, photons, retina, kognitiewe neurowetenskap ens. All convenient models in our brains. Dit, natuurlik, is an infinite regression, from which there is no escape. It is a logical abyss where we can find no rational foothold to anchor our thoughts and crawl out, which naturally leads to what we call the infinite, the unknowable, die absolute, the eternal — Brahman.
I was, natuurlik, thinking of Brahman ( and the notion that we are all part of that major oneness) when I cooked up that everything-and-nothing response. But it is all the same, isn’t it, whichever way you look at it? Wel, may be not; may be it is just that I see it that way. If the only tool you have is a hammer, all the problems in the world look like nails to you. May be I’m just hammering in the metaphysical nails whenever and wherever I get a chance. Vir my, all schools of thought seem to converge to similar notions. Reminds of that French girl I was trying impress long time ago. I said to her, rather optimistically, “Jy weet, you and I think alike, that’s what I like about you.” She replied, “Wel, there is only one way to think, if you think at all. So no big deal!” Needless to say I didn’t get anywhere with her.
Maart 25, 2012 Manoj
Indiërs die woord uitspreek “gedig” as poyem. Vandag, my dogter het een vir haar vriend se verjaarsdag en sy het my vertel oor haar “poyem”. So ek reggemaak haar en vra haar om dit as po-em om te sê, ten spyte van die feit dat ek ook sê dat dit die Indiese manier tydens my onbewaakte oomblikke. Dit het my laat dink — hoekom doen ons dit sê dat die manier? Ek dink dit is omdat sekere diftonge onnatuurlike in Indiese tale. “OE” is nie 'n natuurlike ding om te sê, sodat ons bedink 'n konsonant tussen.
Die Franse het ook doen. Ek het hierdie funny gesprek met 'n Franse kollega van my by die lughawe Genève lang tyd gelede tydens my CERN dae. Wag op die lughawe sitkamer, ons was besig om 'n klein praat. Die gesprek draai na kos, as Franse gesprekke dikwels doen (alhoewel ons praat in Engels op daardie tydstip). My kollega het 'n vreemde stelling, “Ek haat hoender.” Ek het my verras het vir haar gesê dat ek was nogal lief vir wit vleis. Sy het gesê, “Doen nie, doen nie, Ek haat die hoender vir middagete.” Ek het gevind dat dit selfs vreemdeling. Was dit goed vir aandete dan? Pluimvee verbeter sy appèl na sononder? Sy verduidelik verder, “Doen nie, doen nie, doen nie. Ek haat die hoender vir middagete vandag.”
Ek het vir myself, “Ontspan, jy kan hierdie raaisel op te los. Jy is 'n slim mede, CERN wetenskaplike en noem maar op,” en aan die werk. Seker genoeg, 'n paar minute van diepe denke het die waarheid agter die Franse raaisel. Sy het die hoender vir middagete daardie dag. Die “IA” soos in “Ek het geëet” is nie 'n natuurlike diftong vir die Franse, en hulle voeg 'n H in tussen, wat heeltemal vreemd, want die Franse nooit sê H (of die laaste veertien briewe van enige gegewe woord, vir die saak.) H is 'n besonder vermy klank — hulle weier om dit te sê, selfs wanneer hulle gevra word om. Die beste wat hulle kan doen, is om dit te aspiraat soos in die handboek voorbeeld van “bone”. Maar toe hulle hul nie moet sê dit, hulle doen dit met verrassende alacrity. Ek dink alacrity is iets wat ons almal geredelik vind wanneer dit kom by die dinge wat ons nie moet doen.
Lewe en dood, Malabaars, Fisika, Werk en lewe
A Parker Pen van Singapoer
Maart 17, 2011 Manoj
Gedurende die vroeë deel van die vorige eeu, Daar was beduidende migrasie van Chinese en Indiërs na Singapoer. Die meeste van die immigrante van Indiese oorsprong was etniese Tamils, wat is die rede waarom Tamil is 'n amptelike taal hier. Maar sommige het gekom van my Malabaars-praat geboorteland van Kerala. Onder hulle was Natarajan wat, vyftig jaar later, saam met my sal deel sy indrukke van Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose en die Indiese Nasionale Weermag van die veertigerjare. Natarajan sou, deur die destydse, word genoem die Singapoer Oupa (Singapoer Appuppa), en joga leer my, verduidelik die mistieke aspekte van dit 'n bietjie, sê dinge soos, “'N Praktisyn joga, selfs wanneer hy in 'n skare, is nie heeltemal 'n deel van dit.” Ek het hierdie stelling onthou toe 'n vriend van my by die werk het opgemerk dat ek geloop onaangeraak (soort van soos Tim Robbins in die Shawshank Redemption) deur die korporatiewe gewoel, wat, natuurlik, mag gewees het 'n beleefde manier van die roeping van my lui.
In elk geval, die Singapoer Oupa ('n neef van my vaderlike oupa) was nogal lief vir my pa, wat was onder die eerste Universiteit gegradueerdes van daardie deel van Kerala. Hy het vir hom 'n Parker pen van Singapoer as 'n gradeplegtigheid geskenk. Sommige vyftien jaar later, hierdie pen sal vir my 'n les wat nog nie ten volle geleer vier dekades op leer.
My father was very proud of his pen, die kwaliteit en stewigheid, en is spog met sy vriende een keer. “I wouldn&#8217;t be able to break it, even if I wanted to!” het hy gesê, sonder sy seun merk (Die uwe), al vier jaar dan met slegs 'n beperkte begrip van hipotetiese conditionals van hierdie soort. Volgende aand, toe hy terug gekom van die werk, Ek wag vir hom by die deur, stralend met trots, hou sy kosbare pen deeglik gekneus. “Pa, pa, Ek het dit gedoen! Ek het daarin geslaag om jou pen te breek vir jou!”
Hartseer as my vader gewees het, Hy het nie eens sy stem verhef. Hy het gevra, “Wat het jy gedoen dat, sy?” die gebruik van die té liefdevolle Malabaars woord vir “sy”. Ek was net te gretig om te verduidelik. “You said yesterday that you had been trying to break it, maar kon nie. Ek het dit vir julle!” Eerder kort op taalvaardigheid, Ek was al 'n bietjie te lank op fisika. I had placed the pen near the hinges of a door and used the lever action by closing it to accomplish my mission of crushing it. In werklikheid, Ek onthou die voorval toe ek probeer om my vrou te verduidelik (kort op fisika) waarom die deur prop geplaas naby aan die skarniere is die oortreding van die vloer teëls eerder as stop die deur.
My father tried to fix his Parker pen with scotch tape (wat genoem is sellofaan band op daardie tydstip) en rekkies. Later, hy het daarin geslaag om die liggaam van die pen te vervang, hoewel hy kon nooit heeltemal los die lek ink. Ek het nog steeds die pen, en hierdie blywende les in oneindige geduld.
Twee en 'n half jaar gelede, my pa oorlede. Gedurende die daaropvolgende selfondersoek, this close friend of mine asked me, “Wel, nou dat jy weet wat dit neem, hoe goed doen jy dink jy doen?” Ek dink nie ek doen wat goed, vir 'n paar lesse, selfs wanneer dit ten volle geleer, is net te moeilik om te sit in die praktyk.
Foto deur dailylifeofmojo
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