That’s alright, Comcast — I trashed your August 14^th email after barely a glance. No apology necessary.

You wouldn’t believe how many chess games I’ve begun but not played to comple­tion. Part of the problem stems from the fact that I only play (or rather, start playing) human-versus-computer games. Humans playing chess (not world champions, of course) add some kind of ‘flavor’ or person­ality to their game, and not all moves are completely logical. Computer chess players, on the other hand, tend to…win, with cold preci­sion. Now I could tweak the diffi­culty level of the game, effec­tively asking the computer to make occasional mistakes, but how could someone play an honor­able game, knowing that the opponent was not giving a hundred percent?

Now that my 25^th-week resolu­tion is to play chess more seriously, I guess I should hunt for humans to joust with me. Any takers?

I’ve always liked the idea of using a desktop client to post to my blog. (Somehow, Google never managed to sell me on the browser-as-an-OS idea.)

Now that I have a laptop with Windows 7 on it, I’ve decided to give Windows Live Writer a test-drive. Here goes nothing.

Pick up ten random blogs on the Internet and at least one of them is sure to have an apolo­getic note from the author explaining why there have been fewer than usual updates recently.

Gather some statis­tics and add a punch­line, and I’m sure this will be a great xkcd strip.…

Argh! The last post on my blog was ages ago.

I guess the hardest part is writing something — there’s a certain inertia associ­ated with it, like starting a conver­sa­tion. It gets easier after that, but if you stay silent for too long, breaking the ice becomes that much more awkward.

But don’t worry, I’m still here.

They say there’s a pot of gold at the end of each rainbow. But sometimes, when you’re staring at a pot of gold, you should leave it aside to go look for the rainbow instead. Sometimes, the rainbow is worth a great deal more.

Happi­ness comes in small doses, like the whiff of perfume that wafts on the breeze for a second, hovers under the tip of your nose, and then dances away merrily in a tanta­lizing swirl.

Sometimes it appears in the form of books, not the ones that you read, but the ones that you could, as you stand in the library, walk around tall shelves, pick up a book or two and watch its pages flutter through your fingers. A mixture of infor­ma­tion, thoughts and ideas that is so potent as to make one dizzy with sheer delight. Crisp pages filled with hours, days and months of somebody’s work, crystal­ized into little bits of paper.

I walked into the library last weekend, after many many months. It was good to be back.

I remember reading Zen and the Art of Motor­cycle Mainte­nance by Robert Pirsig a while ago and reflecting on the nature of Quality as described by the author. Although the ideas described by Pirsig in his medita­tive narra­tive weren’t exactly novel, he did paint a layer of clarity over the things we see in day-to-day life, like a lens that magni­fies some parts of a specimen and brings to the fore an aspect that simply wasn’t noticed before, even as it stared us in the face.

But today, I was travel­ling around the streets of Mumbai, and it got me thinking about what sets nations apart from each other, especially the tenuous distinc­tion between the devel­oping and the devel­oped nations. The distinc­tion most certainly isn’t techno­log­ical — from consumer products to manufac­turing techniques, India has every­thing it needs to be on par with any other nation. In the cases where it doesn’t, there is a penalty of economic cost — we simply have to pay a little extra to get the same benefits. Alter­na­tively, the distinc­tion could be economic, but that expla­na­tion doesn’t fit either. While there are plenty of people in India below the poverty-line, there are plenty of rich people as well. But being rich doesn’t make life any easier in India, unless you are so rich that you can liter­ally pay someone to live your life for you.

To take a simple example, imagine that you need to get a new passport, and it takes several hours and several visits to the passport office to overcome bureau­cratic hurdles and get the job done. There are no missing pieces that prevent this system from functioning equally well in devel­oping as well as devel­oped nations. Except that you would expect this system to work better in a devel­oped nation, gener­ally speaking.

Or to consider another example, if it takes forty-five minutes to commute one mile in suburban Mumbai simply because the traffic is terrible (because traffic rules are not spelt out properly and seldom followed), whom do you blame? If that commute is impor­tant to you, it doesn’t matter how rich you are, such comforts cannot be easily bought. Again, the traffic is not terrible because of poverty, or lack of educa­tion, or limited access to technology.

What is missing is something that can be very accurately, if vaguely, described by the term Quality. Look around and you will see people not willing to make an effort to put in their best work, doing a shoddy job simply because everyone else does. They are surrounded by others who accept this situa­tion and get on with their lives as if it didn’t matter. The accep­tance breeds indif­fer­ence, completing the circle.

In many ways, this idea is scarier than the naïve assump­tion that gener­ating more indus­trial and agricul­tural output will magically trans­form the country into the ideal we cherish in our dreams. It is the people themselves who need to change in some hitherto undefined fashion; simply demanding more resources, more technology or more money does not help in this regard.

Somewhere along the way, we started writing down numbers in spread­sheets and ledgers, and lost track of what is really impor­tant to us.

I’m still in the last decade, depending on where you are. The current day in Seattle, WA, USA is the 31^st of December 2009. In most other places of the world, year 2010 has arrived already.

A lot of people are celebrating the arrival of the New Year. But with all that has gone by and all that is to come, I don’t really see the point in making a fuss about a single point in time, or even an hour or a day for that matter. It means nothing, nothing at all.

Another day goes by — another brick in the wall of eternity.