The Mad Scientist In Me Asks…

“How about we play around with DNA and actually create a superhuman being”?

Yes, it’s been contemplated widely, but then it’s never been possible with ‘ethics’ cropping its officious little head and turning the idea to stone. So I’ve been trying to think up an ethical way to bring superheroes out of the pages of comic books and have them walk/fly/crawl among us.

The way I see it, gene manipulation is the only way to go. Unlike the half-baked theory we’ve read in comic books in which most superheroes were either blessed/ cursed with their extraordinary powers after being exposed to radiation by some means.

Take Marvel’s friendly neighbourhood Spiderman who got his arachnid powers when a radioactive spider gored its pincers into his hand or Daredevil who was sauced with nuclear waste. Back here in the real world, mutations of this sort aren’t likely in the least.

Chances of radioactivity altering your entire genetic make-up instantly giving you the ability to shoot sticky webbing through your wrist, scale walls with protrusible hairs made up of steel-like keratin or gaining ‘spider-senses’, are as likely as you seeing Punisher pirouetting in a pink tutu (apologises for any mild trauma that description might have caused). And in the case of Daredevil, if you were deluged in nuclear waste, the reaction with your cells will have you sooner floating to heaven than kicking Kingpin butt with the use of your echolocation powers.

That rules out radioactivity mutating cells to give people abilities that defy nature. Which leaves us with GENE MANIPULATION!

Now the legendary method of genetic engineering requires identifying and isolating the gene you want switched- using restriction enzymes, and then filling the vacant spot with the new gene. Sounds simple? Far from it. And then there’s rejection of the new gene to worry about… But it’s been proved to work in the making of a Frankenstein chicken! Alright, not exactly “Frankenstein” although I’d like the bolt of lightning scenario, it’s a lot more dramatic. But the chicken did have its moment, as scientists waited with bated breath, purple in the face and about to pass out– for a tweet. No, it wasn’t a geeky chicken that was ’social network’ savvy, it was a chicken with the vocal chords of a quail.

What’s brilliant about this method is that the switch is made at a very early embryonic stage. So all we need is a few eggs and sperm (of which there’s plenty), have them fertilized and allow the embryos to develop in a laboratory. Of course this is a bit of a trial and error method and we’re going to have quite a few anomalous and abominable looking animals before we create a chimp that can defy gravity and whiz through the air…

And this is the bit where I can’t seem to think of a way around that hulking nemesis ‘ethics’. Standing rigid with folded arms in our way it’s going to be tough but just think, “what if”? What if we had our very own clone army with super powers?

Of course there are more obstacles that stand in our way. The next problem hurled at us, is what will these superpowers be?

Sadly, choice is limited. Taking into consideration the forces in the laws of physics that keep our good planet Earth from floating  aimlessly through the vast expanse of the cosmos, we are restricted to certain superpowers.

Here’s why (for convenience of reference let’s name our superhero Bandu), Bandu won’t be able to have Flash’s power to travel faster than the speed of light because E=m0/-1√v/c2!

According to a concept proposed by none other than the wire haired physicist, Einstein:

If an object is already travelling near the speed of light, it can’t move much faster, no matter how much energy it absorbs. Its momentum and energy continue to increase, but its speed approaches a constant value—the speed of light. This means that in relativity the momentum of an object cannot be a constant times the velocity, nor is the kinetic energy given by 1⁄2mv2.

So Bandu will just keep getting heavier as he runs a nice groove around the planet, deeper and deeper, until he finally hits magma! And Bandu is toast.

But what we can do is add on specific genes from other animals. Gills are a bit complex… but we could try. Webbed feet? Organutan arms? Think of the possibilities…

So if you’ve got any suggestions as to how this can be achieved ethically do feel free to share your ideas. I’ll be sure to credit you in my acceptance speech when I’m awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

Disclaimer: No animals were harmed in the writing of this post. Mosquitoes, on the other hand, were shown no mercy.

Hikka Fest Fracas

The Minister of Tourism Promotion Faizer Mustapa buckled last week apologising for the indecent behaviour and the semi nude tourists at the Hikka Fest.

There’s been a clamour about the pictures of the scantily dressed foreign women dancing provocatively at the beach fest. Some say the pictures have been in circulation months ahead of the beach party, and some say those pictures were taken in Dubai.

I say whether the pictures were from the Hikka Fest or not, is entirely beside the point. Doesn’t this feel oddly like the mobile phones and porn ban in the country?

What’s the government going to do now? Ban the Hikka Fest? Hand out ‘Dress Code’ guides at the air port? Or better yet, hand tourists sarongs to tie up at the bust before heading to the beach or any body of water, and fine them heftily if they’re spotted without them?

You can be sure a strict regime isn’t going to help tourism in Sri Lanka, which is a primary revenue generator of the island.

If we are to develop as a nation we have to accept that development and cultural influences cannot be sundered. Though communist parties have argued that Sri Lanka can be self-sufficient and develop without losing its culture, it’s impossible fortify the island from foreign influences unless its isolate completely from the rest of the world. We also have to consider that at where Sri Lanaka stands at the moment, self-sufficency is light years away. But say we do end up being self-sufficient, if we continue to export and import and allow people to travel in and out of the country foreign cultural influences WILL infiltrate Lankan culture. Take China for example, they’re still influenced by Western culture even though they can stand on their own feet.

Also, having watched the documentary ‘Tank Man’ , I discovered that the generation that grew up after the Tiananmen Square episode are oblivious to it… Isn’t it strange how the rest of the world is aware of what happened in 1989 at the Tiananmen Square protest, while the Chinese are completely oblivious to it? By blocking google search, destroying all documentations of the ghastly killing, China has successfully drawn the blinds on a major historical event to bolster its communist regime. And that’s nothing short of disgusting! The Chinese are living a lie.

And then we have Malaysia, alright… so it would seem it’s sunshine and smiles over there. But that’s just what everyone is made to believe. No one knows about what really goes down in the supposedly ‘truly asian country’ because all media organisations are under government control. NOTHING seeps out to the public. At least in Sri Lanka journalists report on the uncouth activity of the government albeit at the risk of being whizzed off in a white van or receiving a bullet to their brain. Which I’d rather have than have my mind manipulated by some communist!

Right… I think I’ve gone off on a tangent as usual. Going back to the point a few paragraphs above, let’s assume that the government is being genuine in stating that it really cares about preserving Sri Lankan culture (modesty in particular).

1. Sri Lankan culture is in fact Vaddas with mangled hair, skipping about in grass skirts. Anything else considered ‘Sri Lankan culture’ is from refined influences. So the culture we have today isn’t something that’s truly Lankan. Culture WILL be influenced. You can impede the process, but you cannot stop it.

2. Our culture never really had that element of modesty to begin with. The frescoes on the Sigiriya rock reveal women during Kassiappa’s time went around topless (assuming the King hadn’t decreed that…). But even if you take present Lankan culture, the lama saree isn’t exactly a modest either.

Another possibility (though highly unlikely) is that the government is trying to cultivate modesty and thereby protect the people. If there’s a naive lot who believe that trite, they should know that the government isn’t taking the right measures. They’re going about it all wrong which makes this argument the least convincing.

Sometime back a Minister, appalled by the university students wearing jeans and t-shirts which he considered lewd spoke about having the female students wear the ‘lama saree’. But that two piece garment hardly qualifies as chaste! Besides, I read somewhere that most rape victims wore skirts than trousers ’cause skirts made the rapist’s life a lot easier.

What’s most likely is that these are distractions created by the government to keep people from noticing what’s really going on. Throwing the watch dogs a few bones to keep them off its trail. You must have noticed that the banning of mobile phones and porn, and the Hikka fest outcry have taken place over a suspiciously short span of time?

Love or Lust?

Disclaimer: The reference of ‘love’ in this post is in the context of an inamorato/ inamorata. Not love for your parents, kids, siblings, friends, etc.

At the risk of having an angry mob hunt me down and them subjecting me to a tiresome harangue about how wrong I am, I’d say it’s all lust. Since the time matrimonial rituals were of cavemen bludgeoning the object of their affection over the head and dragging her back to their cave/home, love has been confused with lust.

Then again, I believe the emotion we have termed “love” (refer disclaimer) has been conjured up by some sadistic individual. I don’t think it’s natural or innate. After quite a bit of deliberation I’ve concluded that it’s a synthetic emotion that with the brainwashing of the media, we are beguiled into believing it’s genuine.

Often I find myself consoling love burned friends. And more often than not these hopeless, broken friends happen to be guys! I’ve thus come to the conclusion that men are more faint of heart when it comes to the myth of love. It’s amazing really! I’ve heard it all, from “she’s the one!” to  “I’ll never love anyone more than I love her, for all of eternity!”…

At which point I want to just grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them!

My cynical opinion could have been developed while consoling these cupid damned souls. Being the person consoling them, I’ve found myself looking at this sort of love objectively.

Also, it’s only fair that it be known I’m more emotionally detached than the average person. There have been a countless number of times when people, including my friends and even my mom, have told me that I’m not the sort of person who’s ruled by my heart.

When faced with a problem, I tend to step back, analyze it and come up with the best possible solution. How I feel about it or how others may feel about it is irrelevant, ’cause everyone/ everything will be as right as rain when the solution is put into effect (and it always is).

Here’s a bit of what my heart-broken guy friends are going through-

* Friend One tends to fall hard. When he falls in love with someone, his “love” becomes engraved in stone. He’ll love all his crushes and ex’s till his dying day. He’s also the guy who believes that there is only one girl for him. And even though she’s just cruel to him AND it’s been years since they were together, he is still madly in love with her. (Where’s the logic in that?)

* Friend Two falls in (and not necessarily out of) love with a new girl every two minutes. His feelings are always intense, the “I can’t survive without her” sort. Would you believe there’s ALWAYS some complication in hooking up with the girl.

* Friend Three is your regular badass- sex, drugs and rock and roll. He loves his weed and booze, and he smokes like a chimney. He says he was a saint before, it was love that had driven him towards the afore mentioned. According to him “one innocent” girl who broke his heart is to be blamed for his addictions.

Those are the three main types, other friends (including the girls) are mixes of the three.

I love my friends to bits so you can imagine how infuriating it is to see them hurt and depressed. Especially when it’s pain inflicted on themselves for something ridiculous as being in love. It isn’t surprising why I’m cynical about love, is it?

If you think things through and not give into your heart so easily, you wouldn’t find yourself in these situations. It’s all pretty simple really.

And come on, there are more important things in life than having a main squeeze! Love is nothing more than a mythical construct designed by a sadistic caveman, and has been exploited by the media since menhirs were used for advertising. Wake up and smell the deceit!

I Lost The Fork

Well not really ‘lost’, I think the appropriate word would be ‘abandoned’. Though I never meant to…

I was willing to sacrifice my life in retrieving the ‘pronged-one’ from the cigarette stub and crow poop covered roof top. But I was forcefully hauled away by Tulie, leaving the fork at the mercy of the elements, to choke on the dying breath of cigarette stubs and to fight off violent crows and dodge their toxic poop! Damning my mom’s exquisite piece of cutlery for all of eternity.

The particular fork belonged to a set that was treasured by my mom. Treasured ‘cause she bought it over thirty years ago (looong before I was born) on one of her jaunts to the UK and it cost quite a pretty penny.

I, knowing full well that those were her fancy forks, picked the utensil as my aid to eating lunch at the office. For no particular reason apart from it being within easy reach when I was in a hurry one morning.

So a few days back, after lunch I found myself on the 3^rd floor balcony at the office with Tulie, making fun of the ant-sized people below. I happened to be holding the fork at the time, and somehow it slipped out of my grip, plummeted a floor down and with an echoing clank landed precariously on the slanting roof.

The chilling echo was a cry for help! I had to retrieve forky (as I have affectionately named him for convenience of writing this post)!

Mission: F.I.L.I.B.U.S.T.E.R

Scrambling to the 2^nd floor, I found a window leading right to that filthy roof! I could see forky through the blue tinted glass, so near but yet so far. Tulie and I frantically tried to unlatch the large window, all the while ignoring the curious looks being shot our way and the jesting murmurs of “suicide kara ganna hadanawada danne”.

But our attempts were to no avail. We got a big strong peon to help. The window refused to budge. It was unanimously decided that the window was permanently jammed shut.

Mission: F.R.O.G –

Scouting around I found another window about 5 feet from the ground, leading to a sliver of a balcony that was fitted with air conditioners. If I climbed out the window, hopped from one air conditioner to the next, reaching the end of the balcony, all I had to do was make a little leap from the edge of the balcony onto the slanting roof and rescue forky! Simple!

Tulie however, seemed to think forky wasn’t worth risking my life over (between the sliver-balcony and the slanting roof, was a sheer drop to the gravelly earth). Before I could fetch a chair to give me some leverage to scramble out the window, Tulie (and I’m not exaggerating) yanked me away from the window and hauled me back into the office, deaf to my protests.

A week later, my mom noticed the missing fork. I had to come clean, but surprisingly she wasn’t as upset by it as I thought she would be! Having broken her crystal bowl, shattered her glassware, ruined the ornaments she’d collected from her travels across the world while using them as toys- over the years my mom has grown callous to the typhoon destruction caused by her babies.

Note: A week later, the fork was missing and the roof cleaned of the cigarette stubs and crow poop! Damn! There was a way down there.

Hyperchondriac

We’ve all heard of hypochondriacs but there doesn’t seem to be a term for those of us who don’t care much about our health or who are in denial about being sick.

So I’ve coined the term ‘hypERchondriac’, a logical antonym. And that’s what I am. Well not that I should care much about my health given that I have an incredible immune system. Although as I type up this post I’m suffering from the symptoms of the blasted viral flu that’s being doing its rounds- Fever, weak muscles that have rendered me immobile, trembling, breathing in large loud gasp like Darth Vader and a sore throat.

Why has my incredible immune system failed me? Read on… (except for those of you with a weak constitution. You have been warned)

Went to bed late on Friday, so after just three hours of sleep I found myself rushing around a hospital all morning ’cause my mom had to undergo surgery. Getting drenched in the rain in search of a pharmacy that sold her particular brand of pressure pills and the over all fatigue must have made me susceptible to the flu virus floating around the damned hospital.

Sunday the symptoms kicked in but as always I paid no attention to them, and flatly refused to see a doctor. Come Monday I felt I was on my death bed, I just wanted to die. So I caved in… To the docs it was!

Doctors are sadist I tell you! He prescribed some HUGE yucky pills. So with my revulsion of pills that has lead to several, hour long show-downs with them before breaking them into teeny tiny pieces and swallowing them, you can bet I couldn’t keep these meds down. And since my only nutrition intake has been tea, I puke it all out. I’m stomach’s been empty for about 2 days now.

I just HATE pills. First I tried taking one and then stuffing my mouth with chocolate. Unfortunately, my taste buds aren’t working right making the dark Toblerone taste absolutely revolting!

I might have painted a rather ugly picture of my sis to some of the bloggers at a recent meet up… I feel a bit guilty about that now. She only goes loco when she’s stressed out. She’s been checking on me at odd hours of the night and solved my I-hate-meds-so-much-that-I-puke-them-out problem by crushing the tablets and mixing it with honey for me. And that worked brilliantly!

Anyhow, having an immune system like mine, I should be up and about soon enough. Although I was looking forward to watching my blood being drawn out…