Quote of the Week - VI

Volcanoes be in Sicily

And South America,

I judge from my geography.

Volcanoes nearer here,

A lava step, at any time,        

Am I inclined to climb,

A crater I may contemplate,

Vesuvius at home.

- Emily Dickinson

Previous post in the series.

Notes on COVID-19, Part I

The world is in a mess. The COVID-19 -- or coronavirus; I will use both terms interchangeably -- pandemic has humbled humanity. It's a virus that rides on the traits that define the 21st century world, such as a globalized economy and the wanderlust of an unprecedented number of prosperous individuals.

The virus manages to lull every newly vulnerable country into the proverbial false sense of complacency. Most of us aren't naturally wired to fear an exponential function. Till then (and beyond), the virus spreads easily and incubates for roughly 5-7 days before announcing its presence (if at all). It leaves 80% of the infected relatively unscathed but devastates the rest. The body goes into overdrive fighting the virus and, in its worst form, the body's aggression can lead to lungs getting filled with fluid and debris, or can lead to complications seemingly unrelated to a lung disease.

What does a person do in these times? For sure, it is everyone's responsibility and basic common-sense to stay indoors but I don't see that from my window in upper Manhattan. A friend recently shared data that showed roughly 50% of New Yorkers being out of their homes every day.

If one does choose sense and sensibility, there is much to be done on a personal level. New opportunities beckon. For example, if a person doesn't read now with their alternative options drastically reduced and work disrupted, then it is hard to think of a time when they would.

I have lined up the following books -- The Decameron by Boccaccio, King Lear by Shakespeare, and Don Quixote by Cervantes. I have never read the first, I think it is an apt book right now since its backdrop is the Black Death. King Lear was written during the time of plague and I couldn't remember the details of the story; it has been so long since I consumed Shakespeare. Don Quixote is one of my favorite books and I couldn't resist the opportunity to read the whole novel -- one of the first ones ever written -- again.

People have shared Isaac Newton's achievements when Cambridge shut down during the plague. The tale is undoubtedly inspiring but working in a cramped Manhattan apartment doesn't seem to replicate the same setting despite having many more luxuries than 17th century England. Then again, the luxuries probably distract than help.

I also intend to share news and views related to economics and finance because why not? As a researcher it's a time to process how the world is changing. An economist cannot do much in these times obviously. But maybe they can change the way people think about non-normal events.

And who knows? Maybe this will be the new normal. The virus is frustratingly resilient and it brings no comfort knowing it belongs to the family that includes the common cold. If the common cold is any omen, it's going to be hard to find a vaccine for COVID-19. Or maybe we could always have had a vaccine for the cold but that wasn't considered to be a profitable undertaking.

Watch this space for more. 

Best Books I Read in 2018

Now that I am on a roll and churning out blog posts by the day-I-happen-to-have-insomnia, I feel that this is my only chance to write posts I should have written literally years ago.

Starting with a list of the best books I read in 2018!

I want to assure the kind reader (hi mom!) I already had my list ready. I even had fragments of the post, in a shape worse than mint-conditioned Draft Picks but enough to crank this out before I lose myself again.

So instead of writing long descriptions and full-er reviews in all their excruciating detail I list below the best books I read in 2018. Usual disclaimer: this is not a list of the best books published in 2018. I usually never read a book the year it's published -- my to-read list is a couple of years behind, despite 50+ books/year deep into PhD life.

Let's begin:

1. Death's End by Cixin Liu

Okay, this was a no-brainer. The Remembrance of Earth's Past trilogy is by far the best work of science fiction I've read in years. I also believe the trilogy would have attracted more attention if it had been written by an author from the traditional bastions of fiction literature.

In the two years since I've read the trilogy, it seems a lot more people are reading the books. That's brilliant and richly deserved. Don't miss it.

2. Ants Among Elephants by Sujatha Gidla

A disquieting personal history of a Dalit (untouchable) family, Gidla nonchalantly reveals the unimaginable horror and humiliation that a large chunk of India's population has had to face for an unthinkable span of time (and which continues in various ways today). The history walks through several generations of Gidla's ancestors and is intimately tied to the events around and after India's independence - a narrative that refuses to be slotted along traditional political lines and ideologies. Very honest, non-sugar coated, unsentimental account leaving you blown away by the details and powerful (but subtle) imagery. Guarantees to leave you uncomfortable.

The thing about any good memoir is that it brings intimacy to the story and (in this case) the theme at hand. You become part of their family, the quirks of the individuals in them, and the ambitions and miseries they all face. What that does (and Gidla does it here superbly) is that all the injustice, the humiliation and the inhuman deprivation becomes personal. It adds to the sense of outrage you feel. I've been reading on caste for decades. It's one thing to study it from afar and nod your head in empathy or shake it with academic disgust. It's quite another to feel part of the story and to feel the pain and distress.

The second thing about the narrative is that it moves quickly and smoothly through the half a dozen plots. There is no time for Gidla to wallow in self-pity or provide any philosophical take on any of it. No academic dissection or analysis. It's just an honest, authentic story. And I found that to be far more effective and galling than many deeply sympathetic but distant descriptions.

The book is interesting and entertaining in its own way. Fast paced. The fact is the basic idea of the memoir could've been an account of any person's personal family history. What changes it and makes it fascinating are the characters and the intimate details of the struggles and the decisions they make. None of them justified by the author, or indeed, sentimentally weighted.

Lastly, it's a jaunt through decades of post Independence events as we only see their reflection on small, mostly insignificant individuals.

3. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World by Jack Weatherford

Some revisionist history now. This is a well-written and entertaining book. Most people have heard a lot about the cruelties and barbarities of the mighty warlord and it is hard to argue against the havoc he created in the world as he conquered. It is also true that Weatherford is a little too enamored by his subject yet this book ends up being a good counter-weight to the dominant narrative and pushes the reader to give a second thought to aspects of Genghis Khan's reign that escape attention, namely, his administrative capabilities (once regions were absorbed) and his policies in matters of communication, trade, law and religious freedom. These aspects are arguably admirable.

For a reader, the book is delicious. It starts off with the story of young Temujin and his improbable ascendance to dominance from the deeply fractured tribal system in Mongolia. Given that Genghis Khan had one of the largest Empires in history it goes without question that the tales of his conquest are jaw-dropping.

Jack Weatherford does well to reinterpret the Mongol period of dominance without the prejudiced blinkers that see every "outside" conqueror to be barbaric. He also does well to contrast the comparatively progressive administration of the Mongol Empire with civilizations in the rest of the world. But a caveat. Yes, the Mongol Empire deserves much more respect from the modern world on many fronts - as one of the mightiest Empires of all time, a fearsome military power and a highly sophisticated administrative behemoth. But I wouldn't go as far as making everything that happened in the world to be a consequence of this era. This isn't damning criticism -- clearly a lot of things we take for granted in the modern world such as several country boundaries, regional cultural traits, as well as the diffusion of technological progress directly flow from the actions taken during the Mongol Empire. But it is important criticism -- Weatherford gets speculative on occasion.

4. How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid

Hamid is a fantastic writer. His writing style is accessible and piercing. In this bildungsroman masked as a self-help book, he pieces together a picture that is instantly recognizable to most people from Asia.

The beauty is that you never noticed it yourself. Hamid paints in vivid detail the backdrop to the lives of the privileged in South Asia. The overfull bus bouncing down a pot-holed road; people in constant danger of spilling out. The slow moving marauding cyclist on a busy road; an idle turn away from death. The salesman going door-to-door to face almost certain failure and disdain; preferring this life over back-breaking labor. You see because Hamid moves them to the foreground. He throws the light.

There's also something to "you" being the protagonist: adding another layer of intimacy that comes by the use of the second person. Ultimately, what starts out as a brash and seemingly unemotional guide to climbing out of the ditch of despair and destitution in an emerging country becomes an endearing story that touches you with its rawness and simplicity. This was my first book by the author. Quite impressive.

5. Inglorious Empire/An Era of Darkness by Shashi Tharoor

Not Tharoor's best book but there are good chapters in this one. The Myth of Enlightened Despotism is that one chapter I'd recommend anyone and everyone to read.

Content-wise the book packs a powerful punch. At a time when the legacy of colonialism sees many back-and-forth discussions the book carves out its space by offering perspective on something which statistics and the dehumanizing long term view of history often miss - that many ordinary people suffered grievously, and that millions died at the hands of the policies (and deliberate neglect) of colonial leaders. This at a scale and over a period never before seen in India.

It's a great book because it directly addresses many hearsay theories about the supposed good brought about by the Empire. Tharoor by no means aims to demonize the British; indeed his own passion for many things British is freely admitted and expressed. He only points out that the colonial project of extraction and exploitation spread over some centuries should not, at the very least, be whitewashed by presumptuous theories about there being good intentions behind the actions taken by the oppressors. It's hard to refute this claim.

Best Books I Read in 2019

Before half a year elapses again, and taking advantage of another night of insomnia, let me quickly recapitulate the best books I read in 2019. The usual caveat applies: this is a list of books I read in 2019 and liked/loved the most. I wish I could keep up with the newest releases every year but I never do.

1. A House for Mr Biswas

As a soon to be released book review will explain, VS Naipaul's passing away two years ago reminded me that I had not read his supposed magnum opus. The book, about one Mohun Biswas, is a tragicomedy and a deeply perceptive tale of pre- and post-colonial Indian societies in the Caribbean. Mohun has lived his childhood and youth in wretched poverty and humiliation. He seeks redemption and he seeks dignity. His life is spent in the fevered dream of building his own house. Will he do it? A House for Mr Biswas is a poignant story. It is dark comedy. It is an insightful glimpse into the dynamics of "joint-family" politics in that era and speaks to the politics of relationships even today. It is, in sum, very well-written.

2. Culture of Encounters: Sanskrit at the Mughal Court

This is a fantastic book that has sadly never been mass published. Audrey Truschke is most commonly known for her Aurangzeb book -- a lucidly written, fast paced, and informative account that is not without contestation, both (fair) nuanced academic and (obviously) rabid lunatic. I would recommend reading that book but not before Culture of Encounters, if you can get your hands on it.

The book covers the fascinating history of Sanskrit scholars during the times of several Mughal emperors, most notably Akbar and Jahangir. The first chapter is a stultifying chronology of all scholars who took patronage over the dynasty's time. The book then picks up and soars with its description of Akbar's efforts to integrate Sanskrit literature and its rich cultural history into his reign. The most brilliant chapter is his project to translate the Mahabharata into Persian calling it Razmnamah or the Book of War. There is much to learn and admire in this syncretic and beautiful time in India's history. Here's a review I wrote last year:

"The book itself has been on my TBR for a long, long time. Audrey Truschke first came on the Indology map with this book that is basically her PhD dissertation at Columbia. I waited quite a bit for the book to become cheaper but that didn't happen. In a fitting move - Columbia History PhD writing a book published by Columbia University Press - I borrowed the book from the Columbia University Library. 

Before I talk in detail about the book, a caveat. Whether you're on the Aurangzeb-was-terrible side, or the Aurangzeb-was-a-great-king end, or somewhere in the convex combination between these two points, this book is NOT about Aurangzeb. So hold your tongue.

The book. The book is gorgeous in its own way. It captures a rich history of the cultural and aesthetic interactions between the Indo-Persian and Sanskrit schools of thought at the Mughal court. For instance, one learns about the representatives from the Tapa Gaccha and Kharatara Gaccha at Akbar's court (and later Jehangir) and how Jain Sanskrit scholars sought to integrate the Mughal court into traditional Sanskrit accounts and histories. 

The book can be deceptively off-putting because Truschke starts this book - quite unlike her later Aurangzeb book - with typical academic caution and dryness. In fact, the introduction and the first chapter - a kind of an encapsulation of all major Sanskrit scholars at the Mughal court across several kings - is very boring. She does this, I assume, because she wants to set the context and the stage as one would do when writing an academic paper. 

It's in the chapters that deal with Akbar's reign that the book soars, and how. The second chapter deals with the different kinds of Sanskrit encomiums addressed to Akbar written by different Sanskrit scholars. The praises throw light into the unique reign of Akbar, when the best artists and scholars of the era held residence at the Mughal Court, many of whom are part of contemporary Indian lore. Truschke shows off her hold over these many written works and describes many of them in rich detail. 

The third chapter contains a gripping and very interesting account of how Akbar commissioned some of the best Persian and Sanskrit scholars to sit together to translate the Mahabharata into Persian, called the Razmnamah (Book of War). This is a glorious chapter and talks about many details about this unprecedented mission undertaken at the behest of Akbar, and executed by his grand vizier Abu Fazl. There are many interesting tidbits here, including the focus and attention that the translators gave to different books of the grand epic, and the way the translators made sense of the content for an (ostensibly) Persian speaking audience. 

There are far too many details for me to put out here (watch out for my blog) but one does come away with one conclusion. The moniker of Akbar the Great (I hasten to add that Truschke NEVER uses or suggests this term) is well-deserved. 

The other chapters deals with aspects such as how Persian thought was introduced into Sanskrit texts and vice versa. Richly detailed. 

There is the overarching question that Truschke grapples with: why did the Mughals do this in the first place? Her main contention is that the Mughals sought to integrate themselves culturally and aesthetically with the Sanskrit history of India mainly because that is how they envisioned their place as being in a long line of kings of India. This was, in other words, their way of becoming a fabric of the land. This makes sense to me. However, the added motivation for doing this can be seen in a emotional sense or in a transactional sense. My own reading is that the prolific investment in Sanskrit based culture made by the Mughal court (including by Akbar, Jehangir and Shah Jahan) must have involved a mix of both factors. Truschke doesn't enter these waters of trying to disentangle the two sources. 

There are some minor errors but really trivial ones that escaped proof-reading efforts. They have absolutely no bearing on the substantive content of the text."

3. The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer

Siddhartha Mukherjee writes extremely well. If you haven't read this book, and if you can stomach some unease, you absolutely must read it. Mukherjee presents cancer as our greatest and -- persuasively argued -- hardest battle. The latter because the occurrence of cancer is linked with deeper questions about mortality. Cancer happens by hijacking the very processes that keep us alive and healthy. It does so with chilling and ruthless efficiency. But unlike the more modest normal cell the hyper efficient cancer cells fail to incorporate the externality of their growth on the body ultimately consuming it. (This last sentence was brought to you by my economics education.)

That said, the book isn't by any means exclusively focused on the biology/genetics behind cancer. It is so much more. My short review:

"One of the best works of non-fiction in the past decade, SM's Pulitzer Prize winning book deserves all the plaudits it gets. It is at once a medical history of the disease the Greeks named karkinos because of the resemblance of swellings to carapace; a story of generations of doctors coming to grips with its mystery over several centuries; a throwback to the many individuals who mounted a prolonged, attritional, and ultimately humbling war on the disease, their character sketches delightfully fleshed out; an account of human hubris and a very good demonstration of the frustrating role of paradigms in the sciences with many wrong turns and dead-ends. Lastly, it gives a cellular biologist's recapitulation of the slow but fruitful progress of genetic research in understanding cancer's genesis. This research program led to the most commonly known drugs treating cancers today. It also sets the stage for his next book.

Above all, the book is a compassionate and poignant glimpse of the courage and resilience of the countless unnamed patients who have had to fight the disease. SM speaks of their willingness to experience complete uncertainty while embracing new forms of treatment. He speaks of their boldness in demanding experimental methods which would leave them drastically changed physically and psychologically. And he speaks of their grace and determination in accepting the merciless, slow stream of information that often accompanies different phases of treatment. SM thus imbues the narrative with humanity and transforms the battle against this most ancient and sinister of enemies into a deeply personal tale.

It is a book on cancer and therefore one cannot help be a tad squeamish at times. Some chapters can be morbid. Despite that, it's a wonderful book. Extremely well written. 

A rewarding and highly recommended read."

And that's that! Oddly enough, I could only shortlist 3 books. 2019 had a lot of disappointing reads and my resolution for 2020 is to avoid bad reads as much as possible. Wish me luck!

Dust and Rubble

I am a cursed being. I love books. I always have. I have completed the book a day challenge, all 365 of them à la Shashi Tharoor.

I am also old school. I cannot stand a book's e-counterpart. I refuse to buy a Kindle or use any kind of e-reader. I have always found the concept insulting to the idea of reading. Reading a paper book means curling up with a friend -- old or new -- and discovering joy, mystery, and intrigue. Every page has a memory even if most wash off. When I open my eyes in the middle of the night I glance at my book shelves taking in the warmth they have exuded ever since I've been a child.

My curse is not that I love books. It is far more embarrassing and chastening.

I am allergic to old books. The sort of book that makes ardent readers excited. That makes them sniff the pages and relish its dusty smell. That sends them down involuntary detours of fantasies about the book's previous owners; about the history elapsed from the time the book was published through the rollicking journey it may have had to ultimately reach the present owner. The annotations in the margins. The inscriptions.

It's not that I haven't resisted. Every once a while I pluck up the courage and get myself a battered yellowing old book to read. And though I have failed almost every time the allure of conforming to the habits of my brethren refuses to perish.

*************

Neuromancer is a famous book. As the first novel to win the Hugo, the Nebula and the Philip K. Dick awards it stands out as the mighty Sirius in the star studded map of Science Fiction literature.

"How far you’ve come, to do it now, and what grotesque props. . . . Playgrounds hung in space, castles hermetically sealed, the rarest rots of old Europa, dead men sealed in little boxes, magic out of China. . . ."

Neuromancer is widely considered to be one of the first major works of cyberpunk (the dystopic genre of Sci-Fi that is described by Wiki as high tech and low life). The story follows the exploits of a delinquent wasted individual, Case, who is a has-been cyberspace thief (a "hacker" for lack of a better word). Case lives on the edges of society as an outlaw doing petty crime and dragging out his existence in a hell-hole in Japan all the while scraping the bottom of the barrel to make ends meet.

Things take a dramatic turn when he meets the samurai shotgun Molly (a memorable and awesome character) who offers Case a way back to health and, more enticingly, the work he reveled and excelled in. There is a price, of course, setting in motion an exciting chase as the protagonist and his rag-tag associates seek answers to a deepening mystery.

Case's skill is to jack himself into the Matrix and find ways of breaking the ice -- Intrusive Countermeasures Electronics -- of organizations. The Matrix is a world removed from the normal world and allows Case to switch between personalities and locations at will. His targets eventually lead him to an AI which controls the mercenary guiding him. Matters deepen as the AI wants stuff that promises to wreck havoc with the usual order of the world.

I found the book in one of those cardboard boxes hastily labeled with a marker-ed "FREE BOOKS" that are reasonably common in any university. There it was, lying between a Dover classic by Le Corbusier and a ragged old book on the Economics of Crime. I had heard enough about Gibson's masterpiece to lay claim to the book. As well as its neighbors.

The copy was dangerously old. This was going to take effort. And some skill. Most definitely some pain too.

The reward to reading Neuromancer is perspective. Neuromancer makes The Matrix trilogy and Inception look like derivative works feeding off the incredible imagination of William Gibson. In fact, in the novel, one can enter a deeper state than the Matrix where time flows more slowly for the outside world even as weeks pass by in the innermost state. It's that familiar.

Iacta alea est.

*************

My own journey began with trepidation. The first two days of reading ended with angry rashes on my hands and chin. My body was rejecting the old book with astonishing ferocity. I had to regroup. Use my unreliable brain to figure a way out.

A tissue box. Aha.

Two pieces of tissue carefully enclosing the fingers on my left hand. Another two guarding the right. And thus began my painstaking quest to read the book. No archival scholar, no Egyptologist and certainly no surgeon ever paid more steadfast attention to the movement and exposure of their fingers as I trying not to touch the ruinous substance on the pages. (Apparently it's the acid used in curing that causes the reaction.)

Thankfully, I do this at home. My parents are used to my eccentricities. My sister rolls her eyes. Visitors think I am delving into the depths of eternal knowledge. Our domestic help, Valli, doesn't understand what I am up to but she gives me the benefit of doubt.

It worked. Barely. I could see I was reading large chunks of the book in one go stopping only because the smell of the book ultimately irritated my nose and made my scalp itch.

Four days like this and the deed was completed. I sent the book on its way, hopefully, to an owner who doesn't share my vulnerabilities.

For all the praise I've bestowed on the book, it is written in a faintly clunky manner. The writing quality has its moments but one struggles to find reading flow.

But maybe it was just the clunky way I read it. Mission accomplished.

A 2-page proof

I was reading about Hao Huang's pursuit of the "sensitivity" conjecture in theoretical computer science and how he was able to prove it after many years of thinking not by treating it as an all-consuming mission but as a guilty secret to indulge in when possible. Deep questions take time to answer. But those are the ones worth going after.

The final proof was two pages long.

Draft Pick III: A Life Update

[Written on 24th September, 2016]

I treat the Econ PhD program as a kind of baptism by fire that brings me back to what I always wanted to be. When I was a teenager among the many visions of the future I had was imagining what my teenage self would say to what I became in the future. For me at that time, becoming a scientist was the only path that made sense. It was pure, it was beautiful, and it was enduring. Running a company was never even a possibility - despite my father having been in the corporate world - and I wasn't even sure what was meant by engineering.

The knowledge about the IITs came some time in the 11th grade and I was resistant. It seemed a dumb thing to try for boring derivative stuff like engineering (I mean you were applying principles; yuck). For an entire year, I didn't study anything related to any exam. I was part of the NASA build-a-space-city challenge, a Delhi Government Vision 2020 contest, I was socializing (and miserably failing), and I was reading cool stuff about physics (not least of which was a paper by Seth Lloyd on Black Hole Computers). 

Till that time my life had been based on some principles, long discarded. Number one, exams didn't matter. Don't get me wrong, I was always in the top five of any class but rarely, if ever, at number one. I loved giving exams because they were intensely exhilarating but I didn't believe in preparing for them. Number two, it didn't matter where you studied or what grades you had. I thought such superficiality had no place in modern society. I knew many friends who were studying very well but they were never impressive enough. And then there was this world of creative tinkerers who had reasonable grades but were doing awesomely.

**********

Today, I am finding it difficult to study. After starving myself for over 30 hours (no real reason) I went over to Chipotle to have a burrito. In the past few weeks the burritos have been a God send. I have always hated Mexican food but with home so far away the combination of "rajma" (Pinto beans) and "chawal" seems familiar and tasty. The burrito was heavy and unhealthy. I loved it.

I came back to my room to start revising Microecon except I looked at my bed and a voice told me it'd be better to study on the bed. You know where this goes. The blanket never seemed more comfortable and I barely remember dozing off to better process my burrito. The nap was comfortable but ended with an old school friend visiting me in a garden. I woke up at this point (again not sure of the reason) and realized my entire body felt like a mottled old cardboard carton. Every joint was paining. I turned left and right in bed trying to sort my body out. I got up eventually. The last thought I had before sleeping was the strangeness of life and how incredibly far fetched (but probably true) was the fact we were living in a glorious vacuum of indifference. It's like the discrete metric. If it's not about you it's equally far away but no point is really better than any other. 

Having promised a friend I was going to study with him was just about enough to take me to the Social Sciences library. I walked the now familiar way there, with the St. John's Cathedral looming over my head as I turned left to look at all the fashionable people on the street (they look the same to me); I ascended towards my department. The library was closing early. So much for that.

I am now sitting in the Science and Engineering library. As I entered twenty minutes back I felt this feeling of familiarity and a recognition that I was acknowledged by the world where I truly belonged. Economics is a great discipline but it doesn't match the purity of the pure sciences (with due apologies to the engineers). It's a pretty decent compromise, doing a PhD in Economics.

I think my teenage self would give a terse nod to the decision I made.

[The previous post in this series.]