St. Valentine

Son Ganesh at Pench sighting tigers. Kartik Iyer at Kyanis into mawa cakes. At home, me into celestial chirps. The Guardian put up a video on gravitational waves with the chirp; went over it, a chirp, born a billion years old as New Yorker wrote, as two black holes moving round each other, became one to justify the science of two old Ajobas, Galileo and Einstein; time and again one listened to the violins in the skies, a faint bowing.... by whom? They, the reporters, know their science when they wrote Newton and his apples are not enough. It needs LIGO. David Reitze, executive director, LIGO, told a conference, ' We have detected gravitational waves. We did it.' For a brief, sighted God? Reader, if there is any, me did not understand an equation of the science in Guardian and New Yorker, yet read them for styles and flows; and sometimes, me reads things without knowing anything like Ulysees of James Joyce or Until the Lions, Echoes from the Mahabharata by Karthika Nair. In the physics class at school, the science teacher filled the blackboard white with Newton and Galileo; one law stays in me, every action has an equal and opposite reaction; applied to the teacher and me; me failed in physics and am sure will never pass in my next janma. Science is an artistocracy; will not age or go away like Latin and Sanskrit; they live in infinities; ramble in equations; Gates and Job a meritocracy; making living easier, earning cash. The Guardian hopped from gravitational waves to DNA to why, when, what God; in the west, science and their honed minds will talk around campfires, toss up many alternatives to Toy God;  and there will be seditions without arrests; if a Neils Bohr equivalent is around, he may quote a Rig Vedic rishi, much after or around the time the chirp left the black holes:

'That out of which creation arose,
whether it formed by itself or it did not,
He who oversees it from the highest Heaven,
only He knows or maybe He does not.'

Over the last two days, sampled the New Aristocracy and the good luck of the Guardian and New Yorker to chronicle the future; the New Aristocracy admits dissent; the New Aristocracy has Compassion; the New Aristocracy has no bias, or rather cannot afford to have; the New Aristocracy is socialist. But my country is different. If the Rig Vedic rishi was around in 2016, he would have been picked up for interrogation. The West has touches of the New Aristocracy; my country has not. It has police and politicians to conduct debates, students to be slapped in jail or be suicides. Kanhaiya Kumar has been picked up; is he an Indian they ask?  On Sunday, St. Valentine will land up; the West will kiss. Will young crowds at Marine Drive and Connaught Place share flowers and kisses? Will they Valentine to unaged chimes?