The fourth dimension

Last few weeks have been quite busy (wonder why all my blogs start with a similar or in-fact the same statement). Completed all my formalities after joining University of Houston. Visited Galveston beach once with Anoop, Wily and, of course, Payal.

I joined the research team of a very famous Professor here at the university. He thinks I am up for the challenge. I initially had doubts about myself. But I don't know, he said a few lines to me, and there I was, jumping head-on into the world of the unknown. Fluid Dynamics was a subject I hated as an undergraduate student back in India. Dr. S K Bhowmick was a very knowledgeable professor. But I could never come up with the curiosity that was required to sustain my interest in the subject. And now, here I am, trying to acquire the knowledge that should have been mastered 5 years back itself. But yes, I feel confident, that if I devote time punctually and regularly, I can still make the cut.

That is where the problem lies. It lies with the fourth dimension of the Euclidean space - time. You cannot defy time. You can go back in all the dimensions but you cannot go back in time. And that is why, one moment is never the same as the moment that just passed by. And time is always limited with everyone. I have to do lots of things before I do something. And you can never be sure how much time you have before something else arrives in the way, unprecedented.

That is the reason, at this point in time, while the 'rajma' still lies in the pressure cooker, and I write a post in the blog after such a long time, I just remember the poem I studied as a child. I did not understand the true meaning of it then. But now I do, somewhat! Well thats the story with everything you want to have. You never understand its true meaning till its gone. In my case, the thing I want the most right now is time.

And here goes the poem that influenced me in writing this blog. Its a beauty by a very simple man named Robert Frost. Its called: "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening".

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there's some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.