Impossible

It was too good to last. The last few weeks I experienced a phase that could be appropriately described as a vacation. That is, if I hadn't been using that time to convalesce after fresh battle scars from the months gone past.

It had seemed I may have had a quiet summer after all.

Not anymore.

I am back to the hard grind. And I mean hard grind. I need to finish an important piece of work tonight. Can I complete it? I am not sure. Is my mind in the right place? Not at all. That generally means a night long journey battling the demons of genuine obstacles in the work, and the protesting brain that wants to eschew all the burden and declare freedom.

Intractable work coupled with an intransigent mind. A beautiful blend.

Back to work.

Quote of the Week - IV

I see a land devoid of the face of my beloved.
I see a meadow empty of the stature of that upright cypress.
That place where that beloved used to wander in the garden with friends
Is now the dwelling of the wolf and fox, the domain of wild asses and vultures.

- Muizzi

Previous post in the series

Roland Garros 2019

I have been dreaming about seeing Roger Federer slide on a clay court for two years now. I’ve recognized the possible implication of seeing this beautiful event – it may be Roger’s way of saying good-bye forever. And so, the last few weeks have been nothing less than a celebration. Roger isn’t done yet. Roger wants to play on clay. Not only that, he’s playing a semi-final on the surface. Extraordinary. I cannot imagine any other player making a return after a hiatus as long as this without showing existential struggle in competing with the best.

Roger is really one of the greatest players on clay. My favorite match of him is the French Open semi-final against Novak Djokovic in 2011. Djokovic was on a hot streak and was threatening to complete a Grand Slam. Roger beat Novak with authority. Every Federer fan remembers him winning the last point there and walking towards the net with a swagger, waving his index finger in the air, “I am still Number One.” This match ended up having immense historical significance; Djokovic won all the other three Majors that year.

When Roger plays on clay he somehow manages to subsume the physical aspect of the surface under a pristine flawless exterior of smooth movement and fluid-like shot making. Watching him slide to a shot or seeing him execute a few more drop shots or seeing him use the extra bounce on the forehand to devastating precision…we are not worthy.

For reasons that are difficult to explicate I cannot watch the Federer-Nadal French Open match today. I cannot even follow it online – I have no internet. I can only reflect on this moment. Despite having no access to the match, I feel privileged to know that we can see another match between these greats at Roland Garros. I have written previously how I have always hoped to see Federer triumph on the red clay at Paris only to be left resigned to the absolute dominance of the Spaniard. It’s just a bad match-up.

Of course, I don’t expect Federer to win. I actually expect him to lose in straight sets. Anything more would be a bonus. Just don’t get bagel-ed, Roger.

We are truly lucky to be alive in this era.

Postscript: Phew.

Quote of the Week - III

All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragonflies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst, into nimble
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.


Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

- Death of a Naturalist by Seamus Heaney 

Previous post in the series.

Book Update

Impulsively drank some strong English Breakfast after dinner to end up feverishly awake even as the clock nears 5 am. Not that I wasted the free time. I finished reading Six Not-So Easy Pieces by Richard Feynman. The unchallenged beauty of Einstein's theories is given a rigorous, accessible and elegant treatment by Feynman.

A longer review may be more appropriate but I think I'll try sleeping again.

And, oh, the election results are out. Is anyone surprised? 

Change

Third year of PhD draws to a close. There's massive amounts of work to be completed and yet, I feel as if I have crossed a bridge and reached the other side. In my time at Columbia, I have taken 27 or more courses. The driving force behind this madness was simply an insatiable desire to feel comfortable in the field in which I will seemingly be called an "expert." I paid the price. Walking a deadline tightrope meant 3-4 hours of sleep, innumerable anxious moments, and extreme concentration.

The mischief is almost managed. The courses are no longer needed. Research, in all its effervescent glory and macabre anxiety, awaits. I am six months behind where I needed to be.

I said earlier I have reached the other side. That entails eschewing the morbidly familiar and plunging into missteps and dead-ends.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

I have changed.

(Last post: https://haarisian.blogspot.com/2016/10/change.html)

Draft Pick II: Building history

[Some time after the French Open, 2015]

Federer fans have a lot to thank Novak Djokovic for.

Think about it. Roger has 17 slams. In 2011, the only man preventing Nadal from usurping his throne (distressingly fast as well) was Novak, when he convincingly beat Rafa in multiple slam finals.

This year's French was no different. You may argue that Nadal was doomed to lose in 2015 but say that convincingly with his nine French cups in front of you. It took a man of assured faith in his own abilities to flay the Spanish beast, and that was what Novak did.

But Federer fans also need to make a gracious hat tip to Stan Wawrinka too.

It was Wawrinka who stopped Nadal from winning the 2014 Australian Open (when no one believed it was possible) thereby stopping him from getting to his 14th slam before the French Open.

And it was Wawrinka again who bludgeoned Djokovic's resolve. He denied the Serb's quest for a career Grand Slam and dented his credentials in becoming another pretender to the crown of the GOAT. Novak may win the next two slams (I don't think that's happening) but that's not the same kind of history that he was building a day before today.

All in all I think what we need to appreciate is that this is not the outcome of luck. It is a fact often underestimated when we weigh Rod Laver's achievements and, I would argue, Roger Federer's place in the history of tennis. Winning slams consistently is no mean feat. It means going through seven five set matches battling the other top stars but also driven athletes who are good to beat you on their day. Even Roger Federer feels that more now, when he finds himself ousted on off-days.

No. This is not about luck. It's about greatness. Look back at the records of Federer, at his consistency and you may no longer find them prosaic. It's worth a gasp. And a shudder.

Novak will fight for some more years but once again Stan has changed the future of tennis' history.

Thanks, Stan.

[The previous post in this series]