42

Click this.

This makes it my 42nd post on this blag; and to commemorate the occasion, I've decided to share information about someone I respect a lot. He was a genius in his own right. He could turn entire radio plays into books. He envisioned a future where the quirkiness of human nature would eventually overcome the vestiges of sanity borne today. He wrote on topics far and wide and also penned five books in a trilogy of four. He also happens to be my favorite author.

Douglas Noël Adams, an English writer lived between March 1952 and May 2001. I heard of his most famous creation for the first time during an IIT-foundation class. It took me 4 years to get a copy of a book and subsequently worship him. Those of you that have read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy would notice his influences on my work (with the other major influence being Jonathan Stroud). His ability to bring humour (At least within the reaches of this article, I'll stick to British spelling :D ) to the most disconnected of circumstances is unparalleled. Sample this:

"You may not instantly see why I bring the subject up, but that is because my mind works so phenomenally fast, and I am at a rough estimate thirty billion times more intelligent than you. Let me give you an example. Think of a number, any number."

"Er, five," said the mattress.

"Wrong," said Marvin. "You see?"

The mattress was much impressed by this and realized that it was in the presence of a not unremarkable mind.

While it does not have much by way of plot, the Hitchhiker's series is one of the best pieces of science fiction that non-geeks would read. The heady mix of satire, wit and cynicism is rare (if not absent) in sci-fi, which is composed of more serious stories, with humour being the garnishing.

Adams' passing was sudden and was mourned by fans around the world. Hackers at MIT left messages on their great dome. Posts called for (and eventually established) Towel Day - a day to pay tribute to the author and his works. Fellow writers still speak fondly of the man he was.

There are some books you read. There are some you read and share. There are also the tiny few that you cherish and try to emulate.

As the MIT hackers put it; So long, and thanks for all the wit.

Quiz pro quo

People have heard of quizzes. Some have been to one. And then, there are some that have set one. This post is dedicated to those that attempted the third and ended a few shades short of flying colors. Or failed miserably. Even if you aren't a quizzer, you just might find this interesting.

What is it that people look for in a quiz? A good question? Some great info? A new question that wasn't ripped from wiki? Or, as quizzers like me put it, crowd rating?
To be truthful, none of these matter (Well, maybe the last one, a bit...). You could give the most convoluted funda this side of QFI but will only meet with disapproval if it makes little sense. You could also try cheap tricks like including for every two questions, one on savita bhabhi. This, although effective on the short run, will fizzle out. What is really important is that the audience is interested - and remains that way. What I'm putting down here is a list of Dos, Don'ts and Don't even think abouts for quizzes.

Do put in interesting questions. Sea urchins, no matter how many legs they have, are just not that interesting.
Do give clues. Make the questions workable. Drop hints. Be subtle. Hide your clues in a flurry of text if you have to. Just don't give half a line of obscure data and expect people to crack it (or give a damn).
Do include questions that the entire crowd is bound to crack. Maintain some class, though. Questions on Swami Nityananda are ok. Doctor Prakash is best left in the recycle bin.

Don't have too many questions on a topic. Even if its your specialty, it becomes a grind. Not everyone shares one's obsession with LOLcats.
Don't leave trails. Consecutive questions on Da Vinci, Santi and Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni aren't such a good idea.

Don't be a wikish*g. Go beyond removing the [citation needed] tags and research a bit. Don't just copy from wiki. You're only helping the chronic Googlers if you leave pieces of text untouched.

Don't even think of copying from another quiz. Even if you're from someplace remote, chances are, someone has seen the QFI quiz you're ripping.
Don't, for the love of god, set a question just because wiki has a list about it. The list of all the different breeds of sub-Saharan camels, although an interesting list, does not appeal to most audiences.

Most of these are based on my own experiences as a quiz-master and a participant. Some of these are corrections for mistakes I've made. Although this list gives the general frame, what's important is that the quiz set is interesting and fun.

Whatever you do, just make sure you don't end up with a lame quiz. If I'm there, I will boo you down.

The reality of an illusion

Here's the poem I submitted for Shaastra/Kurukshetra/Pragyan for short story. The original was at Shaastra and the other two are a modified version (which, by my own admission, is not as good as the first). I tried to keep it as close as the original but some of the changes caused excessive divergence. Leave your opinion in the comments section.

The reality of an illusion

The door swung ajar as the clock struck nine;

For, not a day passed without him on time.

He rolled in leaving a slight trail of slime

That basked in the twin suns’ early morn shine.

As he moved in, the side door slid, showing

Her trembling form behind the seat it hid.

One tentacle motioned for her to come

As another closed on a draught of rum.

She stood at her seat, pale as a young wraith

And walked in, clutching to her bosom, faith.

A slug in a bad mood was all but rare

And add to one, drink, it leaves but despair.

She stood before him with eyes gone red,

Her courage amassing within.

All the night’s crying in her lonely bed

Had worn her rather thin.

He drew out notes from the top of the pile

And looked at the ones marked ‘bad’;

Asked with a darkly lit smile

If it was all she ever had.

She stared back holding in tears,

And asked for another chance.

Watching them for millions of years

Left her wanting more than a last glance.

His face screwed up as the rum hit him

In unison with her renewed plea.

His eyes became cloudy near the rim

And dark as a storm at sea.

“Of course not!”, he yelled at her face,

“You’ve had enough. They do

Nothing but fight in a dizzy craze

And you know that too.”

Her face softened, her tears began to slide,

All she could do was pray.

Even if reason was on his side,

That little world could not go gray.

“They are my children”, she began.

“I’ve seen them grow for so long.

I’ve witnessed every plan,

Every right and every wrong.”

“And that is why”, he replied,

“exactly why you must see.

For our profits to stay high,

That one cannot be.

Nobody wants to buy a world

That is covered in carnage.”

“But they are harmless”, she protested,

“and will learn with age.”

“Mostly”, he corrected her.

“And I’ve given you your order.

If you want to work here, get rid of

That chunk of disorder.”

She could do no more for this little world

But she would be there for the rest.

After all, they needed her

Like younglings, their nest.

She hardened her heart and went to the back

Where the heart of the system lay.

All the worlds were on neatly stacked racks

As she had left them the previous day.

She told herself this had been coming,

It was no surprise.

With sentience came a choice of two -

Peaceful existence or eventual demise.

With quivering fingers

She turned on the terminal

And searched among the worlds

Dying and germinal.

She found the one he wanted erased

And bid it a teary goodbye.

And she commanded the system,

Barely hiding her sigh,

“Commence editing”. The terminal

Replied, “Data required: Complete”

With a tear rolling, she replied,

“World: Earth. Delete.”