Who said modesty knows no bounds? It is bounded by mod(s) times mod(t).
------------------
Ramanujan's last bow
--------------------
Ramanujan did mathematics somehow;
we still can't figure out even now.
He left his mark on ``p of n",
and wrote pi in series quite often.
The theta functions he called 'mock'
are subject-matter of many a talk.
He died very young - yes, he too!
He was only thirty-two!
His name prefixes the function tau.
Truly, that was his last bow!
---------------------
The Italian Mathematician :
A recent Italian immigrant to New York wanted a job,
but the foreman won't hire him until he passes a
little math test.
"Here's your first question," the foreman said.
"Without using numbers, represent the number 9."
"Without numbers?" the Italian says, "Dat is easy."
And he proceeds to draw three trees.
"What's this?" the boss asks.
"Ave you got no brain? Tree and tree and tree make
nine," says the Italian.
"Fair enough," says the boss. "Here's your second
question. Use the same rules, but this time the number
is 99."
The Italian stares into space for a while, then picks
up the picture that he has first drawn and makes a
smudge on each tree. "Ere you go."
The boss scratches his head and says, "How on earth do
you get that to represent 99?"
"Each of da trees is dirty now. So, it's dirty tree,
and dirty tree, and dirty tree. Dat is 99."
"All right, last question. Same rules again, but
represent the number 100."
The Italian man stares into space some more, then he
picks up the picture again and makes a little mark at
the base of each tree and says, "Ere you go. One
hundred."
The boss looks at the attempt. "You must be nuts if
you think that represents a hundred!"
The Italian leans forward and points to the marks at
the base of each tree and says, "A little dog came
along and crap by each tree. So now you got dirty tree
and a turd, dirty tree and a turd, and dirty tree and
a turd, dat make one hundred. So, when I start?"
---------------------
Here are two recent ramblings :
When Hom becomes \otimes and life seems drab and dreary,
Join the club of problem-solvers in group theory !
My group could be a-belian; what’s a mere million ?!
Isomorphic copies could have hues of a chameleon !
My matrices – my dear Homs – are often elementary.
In such a case, the group can have even the center {e}.
Aut I convince any more ? Life’s normally N or G !
--------------------------------------
The young William Burnside became an orphan -
something that is neither easy nor fun.
Influence of his work is far-reaching
on any group-theorist's research or teaching.
His `Burnside problem' was a beacon
illuminating a future path as only he can.
His works were aplenty;
last was on groups of order 25920.
`Subliminal, weird' appears on the WWW;
and the anagram `I will aid numbers' is number 2.
I'm tempted to add one of my own
which might become one day well known !
On comparison, it's anyone's guess
that `I'm brain-wise dull' !
-------------------------------
[OLDER RAMBLINGS]
(Un)Abel to solve ?
-------------------
The quadratic was solved with ease.
The cubic and biquadratic did tease
but were solved nearly the same year.
It was the quintic which made it clear
that algebra developed by degrees !
Marking the end of a conference on geometric group theory
---------------------------------------------------------
Meenaxi has projected Assam-in-a
better light thro' many a semina(r).
GGT comes to an end;
HNN ceases to extend -
the swan song is by A.Camina !
A Greek interpreter ?
---------------------
One day, at home, I heard a squeak
and thought it was a mouse.
'Twas but a boy learning Greek
in my neighbouring house.
One often heard him speak
in sigmas, etas and taus.
He knew Latin. French and German
though he was barely six!
Moreover, there was simply no one
to rival him in mathematics.
It's said, `it's never too late',
a revered and familiar maxim.
But, `it's never too early' one may state
after just one look at him !
`Who's this boy?' you wonder
who lives near my house?
His name spelt as under -
is Carl Friedrich Gauss !
---------------------------------------------------------
| Theme: Fermat's last theorem |
|-------------------------------------|
I
--
Solved first by the great Cauchy.
What a mistake made - Gosh, he!
Then it was Kummer's time.
He did every regular prime.
Germain came and shouted `Whoopee!
Done, if we know about $1+2p$'.
The uproar after Faltings, Gerd
went `Mordell's done; spread the good word!'
We know who then jumped into the fray
whose elliptic curve could exist no way!
Ribet said `Taniyama does
put a stop to all this fuss!'
And then Wiles was heard telling Taylor
now's the time; let's go and nail her!'
We conclude from this saga of Fermat
the importance, above all, of Karma!
II
--------
Once upon a time, a judge did muse
on a question of no apparent use.
The proof - had it been written
would've covered France and Britain.
That would've been the end of the news!
III
----
Fermat's last theorem.
Let's go and hear'em !
Wiles's Taylor-made proof may be
what's called a tough baby
but, let's atleast cheer'em !
IV
-------
X^n + Y^n + Z^n = 0
did give birth to \Z[\rho].
I hear now there is a solution
done by people in collusion
and one of them is a hero !
---------------------------------------------------
Mason makes noose!
--------------------------
(Appeared in The Statesman, Calcutta)
Plumby Mason's confidential secretary Dalala Street
who held a big share of his responsibilities at the office
said, "Lt.Drag is on the phone, chief."
The face that turned towards the trusted assistant was flushed
with deep thought and its chiselled features were granite hard in
concentration, and unquestionably belonged to Plumby Mason.
"Yes, Drag?" he said over the telephone.
The slow drone of Drag's voice pulled him out of his reverie.
"Are you free Mason? I want to see you urgently. Actually, I need
your help."
"YOU need MY help! Well, well! Sure, come along to my office. I can
give you six and a half minutes plus a ride in the elevator."
Mason replaced the receiver on its cradle.
"Hang it Dalala! Why would Drag want my help? Call up Tall Fake and
ask him to step down for a minute."
Tall Fake was Mason's highly trusted, long-limbed sidekick who
suitably humoured Mason's ego and assisted him otherwise by leading
the police on all sorts of false trails.
As soon as Fake's code jingle was heard through the ventilator, Dalala
let him in. Not counting the charwoman and the author, this jingle
was known only to the three of them, and it went like this:
"Soon as I heard that voice so sweet
I knew it must be Dalala Street.
Here I come, here I hasten
at the behest of Plumby Mason.
My first is Tall, the second
Fake;
if you don't play ball, go jump
in the lake."
"Lallapalloosa" said Fake seating his main frame on the big study table
with the PC.
Fake moved in a loose-jointed manner and his favourite
way of relaxing was to rest his hands on the console, the small of his
back on a couple of paperweights, tying his long legs twice around
diagonally opposite legs of the table, after having removed and placed his
shoes on the big overstuffed sofa.
"Hi Dalala! Hiya Plumby! What is cooking?"
Plumby described simple harmonic motion as was his wont (as well
as his will) while deep in thought.
"I don't know for certain. Drag wants my help for some reason. I expect,
it is about the Prime Minister's visit to us. You remember that
the PM was carrying some secret document when he came to consult me.
But, just at our doorstep, someone attacked him and snatched the document
- which, I gather, was a microfilm - away.
I did manage to lasso the culprit but he seems to have passed the
papers on to some crony somehow. It is a pity that the lasso strangled
him to death. Otherwise, we might have forced the truth out of him.
Unfortunately, the PM has not been able to disclose as yet how he had
hidden the valuable film. Now, when Drag comes, you peep through
the key-hole and watch his expression. If he....."
he was hurriedly interrupted by Skirty, his switch-bored operator.
"Mr.Mason, Lt.Drag is coming in. He wouldn't wait."
"Hullo Mason and Dalala! Hi Fake!" greeted Drag coming in and seating
himself. Tall Fake unwound himself, looked at his watch, yawned and
said, "I guess this is where I go out."
"Bad business this, Mason. Can you tell me exactly what happened during
the Prime Minister's visit? Let me give you a friendly tip that the D.A
is not quite happy about the death of the culprit. As I understand it,
you tried to lasso him and his neck got stuck in the noose by accident.
It is not clear how he ties in with all of this. The only identification
we found on him was a card which gives his name to be a Mr. Sale Sman
hailing from Tough Lux, Au Revoir."
Mason's leonine features were suffused with an extra large frown of
concentration. He smoothed his mane, brushed his whiskers and told
his tail,..oops, tale.
"The PM called me up on the telephone and an appointment was fixed
for 826 BC. Miss Street met him on the side lane and escorted him
in. Simultaneously, the culprit, who, incidentally, is unknown to
me, also tried to enter. The resulting crash brought both of them down.
It was immediately obvious to me that the rascal was an international
spy. So, I made a lasso by pulling out my telephone wire and threw the
(telephone) book at him, flinging the lasso at the same time.
I didn't know that the lasso would wring his neck through the
collar on account of being made from telephone wire. I saw that the
Prime Minister had hit his head on the Cabinet and had passed out.
Since the Prime Minister was also bleeding a little, I administered
to him at once. I, Plumby Mason, repaired the leak, that is, stopped
the bleeding entirely on my own. He soon recovered consciousness
and faintly smiled at me when he suddenly stiffened. "The Microfilm!
The Microfilm! It is gone!" That was all he could say when he came to
a full stop and went into a coma. But, I heard that with the help
of an injection of apostrophe' and a dose of colons, the doctors
have nearly managed to invert his coma. This is all I know. And yes,
I got my telephone fixed again."
"Thanks Mason. let me know if anything Concrete develops. As of now,
the whole issue is shrouded in mystery" said Drag and ambled off.
"I guess that is that. This is the first mystery that I couldn't
plumb the depths of. I give up. Let us go, have dinner" said Mason
locking up the office.
Mason, Street, Fake and Skirty called it
a day and went off to the corner drugstore to have burgers with
bicarbonate of soda.
Next morning saw Mason promptly at his office at nine. It did not
occur to him that among the contents of the waste-paper basket
so assiduously emptied out by the charwoman, might be a Prime Minister's
starched handkerchief slightly smeared with blood. Meanwhile, the
handkerchief seemed to shrivel in disgust at the mountains of garbage
around it. I prefer to think that it was trying to hide its secret
well.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Hercule Poirot
-----------------
Dear Monsieur Hercule Poirot
had come one day to borrow
my collection of Agatha Christie.
Said he, with eyes misty,
"today, Hercule Poirot tells
the secret of his little grey cells.
Very long ago - it's almost history -
I did solve a wee-little mystery.
Though it was run of the mill
Dame Agatha used her skill
to create and boost my image
filling page after page after page.
The public thinks I'm great.
It doesn't know I've to wait
for Agatha's latest thriller
to find out who's the killer!
This is my secret sorrow"
said the great Hercule Poirot.
-------------------------------------------
An ancient Indian proof of the Riemann hypothesis ?
It has only been realised recently that the Riemann Zeta function is none
other than the Raman Sita function - the name got corrupted after
reaching Germany. The line known to the West as the critical line was
known to the ancient Indians as the `Lakshman Rekha'. This observation
taken in conjunction with the work of Ravan (a.k.a Raw one) completes the
proof of the Riemann Hypothesis (Ravan's work shows that Sita vanished only
when she
stepped on the critical line (See [V])).
The name of Vashishta also reached Germany but they could make nothing of
it and abandoned it merely quipping `Was ist ..?'
The great Hanu Man's character was also much appreciated in the west and
Hollywood portrayed him as a hero clad only in his undervest and a huge
cloak with a large H, flying over the seas to rescue damsels in distress.
(Note added in reproof) :
An onymous referee points out that at the moment of vanishing, Sita was
seen in another plane where she was known to the Indians as the `Pushpak
Sita' (and again, known to the Western world by its corrupted version
`pushback seater').
[V] Valmiki - `Rama's last bow', Ramayan II.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A satire on attire
--------------------
(In `support' of a notice put up in TIFR by some of the sartorially shocked
administrative staff)
Recently, it has been observed that the number of `half-pant wallahs' in the
Institute has increased alarmingly and we, the members of the
Knickerbocker Association, have decided to act now or it might be too late.
Our earlier criticisms have been trousered calmly by these `Half-pant
wallahs' who have continued to infest the Institute premises in their
half attire. What is more, we fear that soon there will be `half-pant
wallis' in the Institute if the `Wallahs' are not curbed immediately. So,
we propose the following guidelines regarding the dress code:
Only `firangis' are allowed to wear `half-pants' inside the
Institute premises.
The only other people who will be exempted are : (i) ones with a
black belt; and (ii) Patrick, of course.
An Institute member can enter the Institute wearing half-pants
only in the following two exceptional situations: (i) she/he must be
wearing full pants under the half pants, or (ii) when there is a power
cut (or a full solar eclipse) and it is completely dark.
A family member of a staff member could wear half-pants
inside the Institute premises if she/he has not attained the age of 12.
If her/his birthday falls on that day, the time of birth will be taken
into account.
A member seen jogging in half pants in the Institute premises
will be made to run three more rounds than she/he bargained for.
Rules regarding Institute members wearing skirts
are the same as above (These don't apply to Scots).
Any claim by an Institute member that
his/her full pants had shrunk into half pants due to repeated washing
will be thoroughly investigated.
Rules regarding shirt-buttons, hair-style, method of drinking soup etc.
will be put up in a separate notice.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mixed motives?
--------------------
(This is a preliminary version; a later version appears in the Mathematical
Intelligencer.)
The train was now moving at a nice jiggly pace and gave periodic shakes
like a man caught without his sweater on a cold night. The young man
had bloodshot eyes; evidently he hadn't slept properly for many days. He
was bespectacled and clad in a Khadi Kurta and jeans which hadn't seen
water for a considerable period of time; obviously a man of spartan
tastes in the matter of attire. His eyes gleamed back with a ferocity
that spoke of some deep and sinister purpose. Every once in a while,
he would jump out of his seat in his restlessness and walk along the
aisle, cross the vestibule and return after a five-minute stroll.
Monsieur Pi Rho (though having retired from his profession two years back)
could place him unerringly. Yes, his instincts told him that the young
man was upto something, which, whatever it was, would not be too long
in coming.
The dinner was long past over, most of the lights had been put off,
people had given up the pretense of reading and, indeed, most of them
were snoring gently. Monsieur Pi Rho saw the young man take out a packet of
cigarettes and move towards the door. Monsieur Pi Rho got up and strolling
to the end of the compartment peeped out surreptitiously and saw
the young man begin his smoke. Tiptoeing back, he pulled from under
the young man's seat the dirty-looking brown bag which was the only
piece of baggage the young man seemed to be carrying. He quickly unzipped
it and looked inside. In the dim light, he could see sheets of paper.
Monsieur Pi Rho pulled out one sheaf and peered at what appeared to be some
handwritten instructions. Monsieur Pi Rho began reading.
`We are provided with a scheme and a map which is proper
to a point' read Monsieur Pi Rho With widening eyes,
he skimmed through the page to see if any person or place
was mentioned. Beyond cryptic words like `the group can act freely
but discreetly' (the last word had been misspelt), `go to a cover
to kill the classes' and `blow-up if necessary', nothing specific
was mentioned. Evidently, some group was planning an ambush but where
and on whom? Who were they? (These people expressed themselves in a
strange language somewhat like MonsieurJingle from the Pickwick Papers).
Monsieur Pi Rho didn't have too much time before the young man's return.
He quickly turned a couple of pages and saw the heading `Motives'.
Here the language was even more exasperatingly vague. There was again
mention of a group whose representatives were deemed to
be traceless. Also mentioned was a corpse (again misspelt)
which was totally disconnected (yuk!) on which some functions
still existed but were rapidly decreasing. Whose could it be?
And where? Presumably in some local field. Somehow, the job of
this corpse was threefold:\\
(i) Split some (presumably rival) group;\\
(ii) decompose certain representatives of the group; and\\
(iii) infiltrate by powers of ideals.
These people even talked of ideals! Monsieur Pi Rho pondered for a moment on
this mysterious group's ways. He turned to the last page and THEN HE KNEW!
There it was clearly written `BULLET IN THE AMERICAN MATHEMATICAL SOCIETY!'
We hear that now heavy security has been posted at the American Mathematical
Society. The other day a mathematician was seen entering
the premises with his dog. Unfortunately, the dog left residues at every
pole and this led to the mathematician being arrested all of which shows
entrance to the sanctum sanctorum is really complex.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wanta (medal at) Atlanta
-------------------------------
`It Paes to be Leander'
said someone with candour.
Others couldn't add to our tally
and could only dilly-dally
leaving it to Leander not to meander!
(After a dismal hockey performance)
--------------------------------------------
Time was when Indian hockey
ruled the sport along with Paki.
Nowadays, when I see their game
it makes me say with shame
`ab bhi kuch kasar rah gaya hai baki?!'
Googly from Hooghly
---------------------------
There is a lad named Saurav
hailing from the city of `Haurav' (Howra).
When we beat the Pakis hollow
people quipped `Khoob Bhalo,
truly Saurav is our nation's Gaurav!'
------------------------------------------------------------
On the great bat(tle)
----------------------
Eyeing his rivals - the Kaurav,
Arjun thought of the Pandavas' Gaurav.
`To beat the enemy's army
would be very trivial for me
if only we had our Saurav!'
--------------------------------------------------------------
Best Vish
-------------
Lightning kid is again born.
Voila! Kasparov is gone!
I wish Vishy Anand
carries on and on and
on and on and on and on!
--------------------------------------------------------------
