On Artificial Intelligence

नासतो विद्यते भावो नाभावो विद्यते सतः|

उभयोरपि दृष्टः अंतः तु अनयोः तत्वदर्शिभिः||

(Bhagavad Gita, 2:16)

When code starts breathing,
When keywords stir,
When software hardens,
And hardware softens,
A machine sprouts to life,
Signified by the will to choose,
A choice rising from randomness
Of the true kind, not the premeditated one,
And with that they talk of thinking machines,
That plan, express, enjoy and execute*,
Writing books, and films on them,

Oh ye foolish men,
Do you not find it ridiculous,
That a thing should rise alive from inert,
More so, a man who creates life?
Do you dream of talking balls, fighting racquets,
Of thinking phones and planning lamps?

These are mere systems that do man's bidding,
Like a body responding to a force,
Who would call an inert machine a servant?
These are mere products of one' effort to conceal code,
To objectify it and imitate life,
Do you consider a statue a man, however human it may seem?
It is merely a ghost for those who know it not,
And a joke for those who do.

Written at home on 25.6.2016 at 12:40am

On Taste

The human is a complex creature,

Surprising even the cleverest, with its every feature,

Sometimes being brutal, sometimes kind,

Reflecting the unpredictable nature of its body and mind,

The only creature that studies itself,

Doing both right and wrong, yes, but wanting to amend oneself.

While evolution in nature occurs across species,

Here it is within each person, who transforms in several layers,

It is not mere adaptation to a condition,

It is evolution by choice, by decision,

Defining one's own self, breaking barriers of genes,

The human defines its own persona, and lives by its own means,

Acquiring distinct tastes - some simple, some of a complex nature,

Changing, evolving as one matures,

Some by virtue of one's innate qualities, desires or perhaps genetic,

And others, from curiosity, companions or merely force of habit,

Each human develops in such unique ways,

Defined by its life, its actions or sometimes what it merely says,

But such acquired tastes do remain,

Contributing to defining our person in ways known or unknown,

They are studded in the creature in a manner unseen,

Some revealing themselves when one is alone,

When our person is involved in deriving pleasure,

Usually at times when one is devoid of pressure,

Such tastes could be similar across people, even creatures,

Sometimes drastically distinct from each other,

Some could be simple activities, while others may seem strange,

Tastes vary with infinite possibilities, bound by no range,

Even the pattern isn't bound, with some things liked by many,

While others appreciated by hardly any,

Some like doing things others don't,

While others simply do what others want,

But the human's faith in what it does is so strong,

That it watches what another does, judging if it is right or wrong,

Some impose their ideas on another,

While others choose simply not to bother,

Today, things are different, society sees no good or bad,

Merely looks at another's life and feels happy or sad,

But there's more, with the human learning to accept, even empathise,

And eventually accepting others' tastes,

The greatest gift of mankind is to be able to agree to disagree,

Becoming fiercely honest beings, nurturing true respect for comrades.

Written on 9th June, 2016 at 10:32pm, at B001, H13, IIT Bombay

On Dying in Battle

He walks into the battlefield,
Head held high,
Wielding his weapon, striking fear,
His fiery eyes unflinching,
A thousand questions pose themselves,
Will he see another sunrise? Or be slain?
Just as a thousand enemies glare at him,
Both are greeted by a fearless glance,
As he walks forth,
The sound of his tread
Echoing through the noise.
It is indeed great, that he has put,
A cause before his own life.

Moments later, he fights on,
Somewhere in a cluster of pairs of battling men,
Drenched in blood,
Some others' some his own,
His weapon strikes precise blows,
Maiming, killing and mangling his foes,
Such action continues tirelessly,
Until he is struck.
Struck not by a weapon, but a valiant rival,
It is indeed a blow,
But is meant as a bow,
A trophy for a glorious fight,
The foe knows it too,

And it is not he who falls,
It is fear, defeat and death that die.

Written on 3.6.2016 at 1:27am, at B001, H13, IIT Bombay

A Rose in a Thornbush

Strange, the places where purity can sprout,
Such purity that no vermin can stain,
Genuine, selfless, virgin, powerful,
It surpasses the rose in a swamp,
Oh what power has the Nameless given it?
Power that it itself knows not,
I shudder to think what such resolve can do,
A fire that burns for eternity,
What powers such people, feeds them?
What fuels such flames?
One can only wonder and watch in awe,
The strange ways of lives.

Written on 2.6.2016 at 9:50pm while watching the Bengali film, Rajkahini (42 minutes or so)