Sunday, January 20, 2008

Cut-Paste: 2007, the year Delhi's trees were massacred

And Sheila Dikshit does it again and again and again. By the time the Hon'ble Chief Minister of Delhi goes out of power, she would have raped the city of its water, its trees and every single thing that makes Life. At times, she is so much like a locust, sucking life out and destroying everything. Delhi had always been known for its greenery... But if this lady and her so-called development loving government are not stopped, there won't be much recognisable in the city that was once Indraprastha. For those NOT aware of Sheila's other development plans -- Yarra to Yamuna anyone? -- please follow these links.

Commonwealth Games 2010: The real-estate and environment SCAM

1. Games village: Delhi's death trap
2. Games village: Flouting ALL environmental laws
3. Games village: Sitting duck for disaster
4. Games village: The REAL estate SCAM
5. INTERVIEW with Sheila Dikshit: 'Delhi should be second to none' (at what cost?)

From the blog: Parvinder's Space

As the National Capital prepares to usher in the New Year, the year that steps into the past will be remembered most for the massacre of thousands of trees of Delhi that have seen many New Years come and go.

An unofficial count of the trees felled in the past four to five years is estimated to be around 40,000, the official figures are not forthcoming and vary as per the individual departments. However, the felling in the year 2007 was the most brazen and painful, as the chainsaw drew closer and closer into the very heart of the city's green lungs, with the trees planted when the capital was envisioned, and some even older, were cleared for the High Capacity Bus Service (HCBS) corridors and road-widening.

The needs of a "transport plan" to see the light of the day made the Delhi Government sacrifice its green heritage, even at the cost of losing its most recognised character and rejecting concerns of eminent citizens, who rallied together through a petition against the felling

But the outcry against slaughter of old neighbourhood trees was answered by Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit, heading a government that up to now has projected a strong green image, by stating that the trees will have to go and the citizens of Delhi will have to sooth themselves with images of planned sapling plantations on the outskirts of the National Capital Territory.

Many present at the meeting kept fumbling for an answer to the question of what happens to our neighbourhood trees, right where we live?

The meeting with the Delhi Chief Minister was a high point for a citizen's forum, "Trees for Delhi", that sprung up almost spontaneously and grabbed media attention through very visible candlelight vigils at traffic intersections along the route of the proposed HCBS.

The trees of Delhi, gained a voice and the attention shifted to the neighbourhood trees. From housewives, to students and from the local vendors to academics, all began reacting through various platforms. A singular demand that was raised by this very diverse movement was "Plan around the trees and not without them".

While the chainsaw massacre continued in the capital, surveys were done by volunteers to show that the trees were being felled and chocked unbated as the planners, officials and contractors saw them as dispensable items in a city starved for space. The markings were wrong, trees were being cut mistakenly, machine were ramming into the exposed roots of those still left.

Remember the headline grabbing incident of 1,000 trees to be axed for a rugby match? For those who are willing to axe thousand trees without a blink for an exhibition match, trees have little meaning, global warming or not.

Different parts of the city started witnessing silent residents suddenly step out to claim the ownership of the city's green space. Retired civil servants and housewives started informing press and demanding answers. Some even physically stopped the felling, forcing the contractors to seek the cover of the dark to pace up the massacre.

The debate of transport versus trees was resurrected, by transport planners, who so far have failed in offering any hopes of a usable mass transport on the roads of Delhi. Trees of Delhi became, enemy of the grand plan for a seamless flow of cars and buses that will run on a platform one day.

A conversation between those talking for the trees and those cutting them never really took-off, as the planners never believed that the trees ever had a chance. Call it the death of reason or something deeper, while thousands of trees were cut this year, and many more will continue to be felled, we will wait a long while to see the strange and deadly diversions on Delhi roads to metamorphose the Capital into a world class city one day.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Cut-Paste from: Itching To Write

Lurking somewhere, another citizen, do read her. No she didnt ask to be promoted, just 'found' her.

Take you for a Ride

A unique initiative by residents of Valmiki Nagar Chennai... They have 10 Lift points within Valmiki Nagar where they have placed signs with their logo. Participating residents also sport the logo on their vehicle. Anyone needing a ride may stand at any of the lift points and request the participating vehicle to stop, at their discretion of course. Interesting idea that could be adopted by any colony. Wonderful chance for people to socialize. Great for the environment. No more hassles over auto fare. Wonder how they take care of the logistics. I mean anyone could get the logo made and use it to con people or abduct.. I am getting filmy here but possibilities are there....

Read full post: Itching to write a blog

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Lesson 30: Welcome to the rat race

Hello Readers,
Those who are there, those who are not. Sab chalta hai?
Will make this sweet: Welcome back. As with all good intentions, hope this carries on without too many breaks. First post after the first silence has been written by our old mate Sahasra Shatru, Hyderabad.Meanwhile, Delhi felt tremors a week back. Area of origin, near abouts the Commonwealth Games 2010 Village site. And the audacious silence continues…

- Sahasra Shatru
My ex-comrades-in-arms have an interesting approach to life now... Once they delved deeper into the business of making money and discovered the beauty of life deliver goods at the terms they wanted. These were the same guys who had brainstormed over a cup of iced tea or a glass of rum. They had expressed dismay at state of things and had relate stories of their conquests over even the 'little' injustices they witnessed whether at work, while commuting, near their townships, in government offic and with neighborhood morons. These were the guys who had sparks in their eyes that could have set a nation afire. They had lived for ideas and fought for them. These were the same people who once, would have jumped at the idea of any organization that tried for any change.

Then they branched out to their various professions. They started facing bigger troubles, perhaps tried to fight them. Some alone and some with allies, groups or organizations. Suddenly, they stayed quiet when 'such' topics were discussed. Life's 'sober phase' had dawned upon them.
“Life is not a morning walk, sir, it is a race” – they now quote enthusiastically from the movie Metro, that they could watch having commuted by their second car and spent Rs 150 per head in a multiplex, and not feel the pinch on the pocket. “You have to stop looking microscopically, which magnifies trifle things but ignores the big picture”. “Grow up”. They do not call me to attend parties any more for fear of my inadvertently creeping conversations on “issues”.

The more philosophical of the crop goes on saying that it is only that we have to grow so powerful that these things cannot touch us. Have so much money that neither police, nor infrastructure or the lack of it, nor politicians or economic policies can affect our scheme of things. Gain contacts, spend money, become powerful, and you don’t have to live in India even as you live in the “Geographical India”. Pay for the media or police or municipal officials just
like you pay for event managers of birthday parties, and watch the drama unfold, where you are the scriptwriter. Enjoy the fruits of your labor instead of trying to harvest a sterile crop. And then, when you have ensconced yourself comfortably in seats of power, money, fame, and influence, and if you find time, can unravel your grand schemes of “social work” and watch things materialize.You wont have to taste frustration then, as you do now with every battle.

As I heard “social work” in that context, I felt dizzy, my head spinning, felt sick, almost threw up. It is only much later that the amusement dawned on me of why such fine examples of humankind in our “Jamboodweepam”; inheritors of the great civilization that taught the world mathematics, logic, yoga, and philosophy have been reduced to shrewd businessmen, successful in personal endeavors yet mere mute spectators to injustices and gross corruption. The arguments were flawless, “If you have a private aircraft, your schedules are not contingent on airline delays”. The brilliance of the arguments and the soundness of the logic somewhere led me through the alleys of baffling awe to the realization of the pregnant evil. It is not wrong to be callously selfish, and neither is it necessary to be involved in every issue that affects “you” as a category. It is the resources that you can realize for yourself to create personal immunity that matters in a life – so short, and so painful otherwise. It is power to do things that matter to you that you should be after, and then, probably, can try to engage in activities such as are perceived to be social in nature.

I saw the big picture like Keanu Reeves was enlightened about the agents and the architecture of the world. There is the catch 22 situation that will make you so firmly interwoven in the filth of convenient existence by then that you wouldn’t care much and then, some times, in a charged emotional situation when you come out of cinema theaters, that buried bug of conscience springs up, bringing you to tears if you are a sensitive person or a sudden flow of adrenaline and you will go out clapping your hands and feeling so good for having watched that film that espouses such wonderful ideas woven in a beautiful narrative construct – that the collective psychodynamic construct suddenly feels exhilarating patriotism - and you can go home, sit relaxed in designer couches washing down the dinner with nice premium brandy in crystal ware, as you watch late night news while the remote plays god with the set, jumping portals from entertainment to sensational stings, titillating you for the sexual content in it, and you long for more. You stretch on the bed, and probably do not want to have sex – with all that stress of handling business, people, money, busy schedules, frequent flying, credit cards and the next most popular car, you
probably have developed erectile dysfunction, or loss of libido.

Anyways, you can now afford 18-year-old ‘prostitutes’ (my apologies for using that word – because ‘you’ do not think they are ‘prostitutes’, but upper middle class college girls looking for the little extra bit of luxury and a good time). Your wife has sagging skin, like the contours on the political landscape of youth wings of parties of regional and national character, despite her frequent visits to the spa, parlor, and the surgery that you could so easily afford for the tucks. You get up in the morning and get charged with life. Your car is so beautifully equipped with perfumed conditioning and shocks that the drainage that overflows, mixed like colors on Vincent Van Gogh’s palate with the rainwater being splashed on walls, pedestrians, and children just
adds a pleasant sound of squish, intermittently enhancing the RJ’s garrulous endeavors on some channel named after some spice. And the cycle follows.

‘You’ will probably still socialize with ‘me’ (the category), and probably sympathize with me, what with the hangover of that film and all and say, we could do something. And there are tax exemptions for donating to charitable organizations, which have the likes of people at the steering wheel who say, “Dear Sir, the institution is charitable, not the people who run it”. You need power to do some things, and when you have gained it, you need to do other things to
preserve it. You will need to protect your image, ensure the perpetuation of influence and the continuation of resource channels. You are that Pig of the Animal Farm that started out to be some thing else. You are the PIG that has lost its conscience and concept for want of things that could be achieved even otherwise, without having to eat shit. You began somewhere, and somewhere on the path, you found the shortcut strewn with flowers more colorful and the terrain less demanding. You have reached a destination alright, but is it where you wanted to go?

PS: Initially, I considered editing the piece - as is custom - I did edit a bit. Let it be then, for there were couple of things I wanted to add... decided to state my views here. Sometimes, power and wealth breed a strange mistrust around them... the more you have it, the more people expect you to misuse it and thereby assume that you MUST be using it. It's perhaps idealistic (or stupid) to think that those in power or with wealth do not want to help out/do their bit/as you like it; or that they would "only if" they "found" the time. Perhaps, who knows? There are those with the power and money who do their bit and there are those who don't. Power by itself perhaps does have a certain bit of corruption in it's nature; more to do with what it puts you through than any other sinister connotation. Hmm. I would want power. Yes, would like to help WITH the power than without it. Each to his/her own? -- JB

Monday, December 3, 2007

You got cold feet?

Some have been waiting, some have not... I have been writing and thinking, without putting up my words or my thoughts out here. Shrug. Shitizen is on, or rather, this citizen is on... But is waiting for something... what exactly, I don't know yet. But I will find out and write back. Meanwhile, this email came in a few minutes back: am responding here. My responses in red.


Recently I was fumbling with my firefox browser options and accidentally tripped on this bookmark labeled "The Indian Shitizen". Kindly excuse the sarcasm but then whats happening with the blog?
1) Have you got cold feet?
No, uterus problems that make it tough to sit up and write.

2) Is it becoming a professional hazard?
No, technical one since laptop crashed and am scared to operate it at the risk of losing my data.

3) Your parents disapprove of it?
They are quite proud, but would appreciate more thought and more participation from others as well.

4) You find the subject uninteresting now?
Silly question.

5) etc. etc.
Answered above: ALSO, for those showing concern, i am deeply touched. Would be even more so, if along with well-worded emails, some well-worded posts and thoughts vis-a-vis the Shitizen are also sent in.

I can understand time constraints. If its so, at least write that as a NOTE.

Sorry to barge in your personal space like this but as a regular shitizen I suppose I have a right to know (or let you know)

Friday, October 26, 2007

Lesson 29: Charansparsh... We can stoop reallly low!

This post has been written by Citizen Kavitta

The reason for us to be there: To get an interview of the CM. We were doing this story on the Commonwealth Games Village. A story about how the banks of the poor Yamuna are falling prey to the greed of some influential well-connected people. A story about how the fragile, ecologically sensitive river bed is getting consumed, first in the name of God with the Akshardham and now in the name of development with the Commonwealth Games Village.

Anybody who is a Somebody was there. That was the day when the palatial lawns of the CM's house were open to the Khaas Admi. The vote bank or the people who could generate the vote bank. Some 500-odd people; young and old, politicians and political aspirants, men and women, industrialists and beauticians. Hindu fanatics and Musalman Fundamentalists. We were the only two people there who were the actual aam admi.

But wasn't this the same CM that we had elected five years back? Why was she available to only a selected people and that too only on a special day? Why did it take us a week to get an interview that we wanted to air for the public? Why meeting the same CM – who we, the aam admi elected – an almost impossible task? We were not there out of choice. There was no commonality – except perhaps one – in all those were present. They all had the same desire: Madam ke pair choone hain. Madam ke saath photo khinchwana hai. Sole motive: Madam ko khush karna hai. (Have to touch madam’s feet. Have to get clicked with madam. Have to make madam happy.)

The party went on. Silver-haired men and women, children in all sizes, their mothers, everyone had this sudden pang, to touch the CM’s feet every time she came out of her Special Enclosure (The enclosure: A brilliantly white shamiana, with twinkling fairy lights meant for the special invitees, the 'more' influential and the 'more' powerful). The aroma of good biryani and tender kebabs filled the air. It took special security services to protect this space from the visiting throngs and visiting bats.

I was in awe. Wondering what was everybody up to. And why? I always knew that ‘this’ happened. I always knew that the pair choona policy was the only way the politics of this country functioned. To see any, especially this performance LIVE was a warped celestial experience. Big stars and small, the politicians, were performing: Continuous, uninterrupted performances with utmost brilliance. One star falling down to another's feet and rising; shining brighter with the I-am-suddenly-more-powerful look. This repeated, bending-double action lasted for over four hours.

Caught between the shooting stars and falling ones were us.

I tried to justify: We are a country with temples for film stars and the Chief Minister should them belong to more hallowed circles. She was our leader, our big GOD. She had the power to turn, immortalise other non-Gods into smaller gods when they touched her feet. I wondered: Could I be the next youth leader if I touched her feet enough enough number of times at such iftars? The concept of Parmeshwar suddenly became clearer.

Maybe this is a country progressing. From the days of black and white movies with their pallu-covered, milk-glass bearing woman, a sati-savitri, now we have a woman as our CM, our God. She is neither sati nor savitri. She is a woman in power and the men touch her feet instead. My head was in a mess: Wanting to accept, to ignore or just wanting to forget about the interview and run. But we couldn’t: This was the Chief Minister of Delhi. We had pitched really hard for this interview. We stay.

We stand in a corner quietly while the others are busy putting up this act. She notices, walks up to us almost five in the middle of the chaos and insists we eat. There are biryani and kebabs goddammit. She invites us inside the Special Enclosure. We insist each time we need the interview first.

After her second invitation to join in the enclosure, even the others started approaching us. Primarily to find out who we were and WHY their God was so interested in us. Others came, some just to drop in their visiting cards others with their visiting stories. One needed to talk about other politicians, another one wanted to show off his community initiative and the third wanted to report a scam being perpetrated by a man in a green kurta. Apparently, someone really big’s son.

People now start to bend double for us, this time with their hands folded in a namaste. Probably I was mistaken about being the Aam Admi. Probably after the politicians the media is God. Probably they could not tolerate my harem pants anymore.(hahahaha) Probably they are showing us the way out. No. They were inviting us to eat! I did understand it was another trick to please the CM. Impress people she talks to.

We got the interview. The CM nearly convinces us that Delhi, now a developed city is the best place in the world to say. Water problems were a thing of the past. The year 2010 will see a new face of Delhi, courtesy the Commonwealth Games. We eat in the white enclosure, food perhaps bought with the taxpayer’s money. My money. I enjoy and appreciate the biryani and her charm and hospitality work on me. The charisma of the woman who had for years been a mother, a home-maker and a true politician hits me in the face. I feel a sense of her power too.

I don’t want to think of the Yamuna, it’s still flowing, can’t we eat first? The aroma of power and food was intoxicating me. I felt part of some episode of Star Wars. Colleagues from rival channels were curious to know our special status to be sitting inside the special enclosure. Overfriendly people, sweet people, nice people, they were going out of their way to socialise with us. As we leave, the CM gives us a little bow and thanks us for coming. And oh my god, I am not the part of the crowd... I am the new God. I too was bitten by the power bug. Thank you madam ji aap ki kripa hai; ab hum bhi bhagwan hain. Charansparsh.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Liar, liar, pants on fire OR…

The river bleeds black

Circa September 2007: River bank, semi-naked men, soaking gods

It’s noon when we reach the banks of the river. And yet the harsh sun cannot pierce its black waters. It’s disgusting to think I wash my face with this water every morning. The government says it ‘treats’ this water. The government says many things.

There is a flash of blue in the water. It’s a polythene bag from the fancy store, Westside. A flash of gold. A recently immersed idol of Ganesha; next to a lump of…. One had recently eaten and did not want to verify that lump. Splash! A boy dives in… right amidst the plastic, Ganesha and lump. Only the top of his head and eyes can be seen. Then he goes under the surface of the water. Under the lump.

He comes out two minutes later and spits out something. What? He swims back and holds out his hand. A cube of some sort of metal rests on his palm. Apparently, devotees throw these cubes into the river and the boy (and more such boys) dives in to pull these out. The cubes sell at Rs 70 a kilogram and are inscribed with words, alphabets and symbols. One of the inscribed words is Ram. But the government says there is no Ram. The government says many things.

“Eww,” she says, holding her packet to throw in the river. “I didn’t know the river was this dirty,” she says to friend, as she pays another boy to immerse her Ganesha amid the floating lumps. “So don’t add to it then,” one had opened one’s big mouth again and instantly felt like a lump. “I know,” she said, with a weird look on her face, clutching her polythene packet tighter, “… I work for an NGO; but, years of habit, religion… Where else do we immerse our gods then?” Where indeed: The Arabian Sea, Hoogli, Ganga, are all taken. Teesta perhaps? We have many rivers, much water, says the government. The government says many things.

Flashback April 2007: Home, toilet flush, boiling babies

The nameplate reads, “So-and-so, DRYCLEANER.” This person’s neighbours are a butcher, three auto-drivers, Mishraji and yours truly, having recently moved to the colony. Most others have lived together for the last two decades or more. They ‘share’ everything: Parking space, water and cable connections and even helpfully borrow from each other’s electricity supply. But things changed.

Mishraji – in one of his let’s-read-the-paper-loudly-for-no-one moods – announced that our locality was one amongst many more to have ‘some’ water trouble. This was before Mishraji still read newspapers and had not declared violently that they were only good for thwacking people. So we had water trouble. Mishraji broke his back lugging water buckets. Mrs Mishraji cracked her voice rationing the water. Mishraji got into a fight with Colonol Sahab – lives on the floor above the Mishras – because the Colonel’s pots were overflowing while Mishraji’s Sintex-tank was dry. The drycleaner’s year-old baby erupted in ugly, pink boils because there was not much water to wash the baby properly. All private water tankers refused to enter the colony because they were beaten at the gates and the water was stolen.

One needed water as well and lugged two buckets of water every morning and evening. Water conservation is an art. One would stand inside one bucket and bathe, to reuse that water to flush the toilet. One considered using the open fields for further water conservation but was daunted by the sheer numbers already heading towards the fields. A good idea always has many takers. And the government says Delhi has no water shortage. The government says many things.

Circa October 2007: Sheila Dikshit’s iftar party

We stood there patiently, in dirty jeans and harem pants while the other media and bedecked politicians clamoured for Delhi Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit’s attention and her feet. The media bent high and low for the right angle, the visitors bent low for her benedictions. Everybody smiled, everybody ate and the Chief Minister posed with everyone, for everyone. With you, for you, always.

All people fit on her lawn and there was room for more. It was a huge lawn. It was moist. One saw sprinklers. They could perhaps fill 18 buckets of water. “Not now,” the Chief Minister told my colleague as our paths happened to cross. Happened to, because while we had not changed our standing-spot since entering her manicured lawns, the Chief Minister’s frequency of appearing exactly where we stood and generally looking in our direction had increased. Perhaps it was because we were the most inappropriately dressed for a party at the Chief Minister’s house. We didn’t know the Chief Minister would invite us for a party; she had so far refused any interview. We wanted a byte, she offered bites instead.

Five hours later, she spoke to us. She said development was needed for Delhi. Development for her means the Commonwealth Games village. It’s on the riverbed of a dead, black river. But the Chief Minister and her government say the river will be cleaned. The government says many things. The games village is also being built on a fault-line that will lead to earthquakes. But the Chief Minister says, “development has to take place.” The Chief Minister says a lot of things.

The Commonwealth Games village will also concretize the last ground-water recharge zone in the capital, the floodplains of the black river. But the Chief Minister says Delhi has no water trouble. Of course there are none in her house. The Chief Minister says adequate trees will be planted, so far no plans have been heard. We have proof the government doesn’t have the approvals. The Chief Minister says she has all. The Chief Minister says a lot of things.

PS1: And we believe her. Why?
PS2: READ the official stories -- we did two parts -- Delhi's death trap and Games village, sitting duck,
see the VIDEO 1 & VIDEO 2 and
the PROOF that we got for YOU (please go to end of story to read the documents). Decide for yourself.
Does the Chief Minister say the right things?

Monday, October 8, 2007

Lesson 28: And Dijkstra says...

"The average customer of the computing industry has been served so poorly that he expects his system to crash all the time, and we witness a massive worldwide distribution of bug-ridden software for which we should be deeply ashamed." -- Prof. E.W. Dijkstra, from The End of Computing Science

Hello Readers,
Again, profusely apologise for irregular (read non-daily) updates, as stuff at work demands more attention and of course, laptops being laptops, mine has decided to behave more like a temperamental boyfriend (who needs to be dumped). And yes, talking laptops… this post is contributed by our new contributor Useless Banter. She, in her own words, is a computer scientist and NOT a software engineer. (Smiles)
So here we go, something different, something technical and something that she reworked twice. The mention of algorithms gives me heebeegeebees. Also, thanks to Useless Banter for shifting the links-to-follow at the end of the article instead of punctuating the text with links. Do read those, quite interesting… even to someone who has been way scared of vectors and algorithms since class 11! Happy reading. Also, for those contributing articles, please remember: Short sentences make for far better and easier reading than rambling sentences that run into four lines. Also, Useless Banter’s copy was the most spelling-error free. Do run a spell-check on your files before sending me; I will still check for spelling errors, but a little help from you greatly reduces boring editing. I do it for a living, you know, so would LOVE to not do it here.
Here is what Useless Banter has to say:

A recent article on The Indian Shitizen about the Great Indian Software Engineer who is really the "Bechara Software Engineer" got me into some serious soul searching. That, combined with influences of some of the recent lectures of the professor teaching my Advanced Distributed Computing class, made me think: Why not put my "higher" MS degree-education to some use, and look at this problem – like a good scientist would – from a research perspective.

So although I agree to most of the things said about the people encompassed under the umbrella of "software engineers" in the article, myself included, I would like to conduct myself in the spirit of a true Computer Scientist. Basically, it means I would like to tie this discussion to a more interesting and perhaps more productive analysis by turning attention to the question of: "What real value can software engineers bring towards ensuring mature thought processes in problem solving?" (Think "algorithms"!!!....)

Basically, what role can Software Engineers (ugh!! I hate that term, so shall stick to the personally-preferred ‘Computer Scientist’) play, in inventing novel approaches that can solve fundamental problems in any scenario? Say, even one such as making an underdeveloped nation wrought with problems, become an efficient developed nation?

As its most preliminary steps this process actually involves a lot of reading between the lines, quality research and a special genre of laziness. Yes, a laziness that can effectively cause sharp research minds to come up with elegant solutions and novel ideas such as the shortest path algorithm [2][3]. For this, even if we have to change our education system, which is currently engaged in the task of producing ‘clones’, then so be it. We shall have to be lazy enough to reject the ‘standard’ paradigms given to us, and create an education system that teaches people to be truly lazy, i.e. by "inventing".

Will sign off with this quote, as food for thought, from a paper by Dijkstra [4] (in which he presents his views on the flaws in Computer Science education. Nevertheless, it has a lesson about education in general, so it is a must-read):

"The usual way in which we plan today, for tomorrow, is in yesterday's vocabulary". -- Prof. E.W. Dijkstra

We need just a few hundred people in the nation from our vast pool of software engineers that think like Dijkstra[1]. Are the computer scientists listening?
Useless Banter

PS1: My contribution as a bechara software engineer towards this end: Pledging that I will not be bechara any more. I will (at least try to) get a PhD degree that advances a computing concept, and start a personal venture that provides a tangible solution while providing employment to others, or even a revolution if you will, and not just be happy to take up an offshoring job with a multinational. What's yours?
PS2: Next lesson - Distributed Computing (read "Effective Management of Distributed Resources")

1. Edsger W. Dijkstra
2. Shortest path problem
3. Dijkstra's algorithm
4. Dijkstra's views on Computer Science education and his rant on the irony presented by "radical novelty" (hand-written) / (transcribed)
Appendix 1 - What computing science is about
Appendix 2 - Dijkstra's "EWD" series