A Disappearing Number

After our arduous trip to the Global Peace Auditorium, and by good fortune, we secured our tickets and prepared for entry to the auditorium. The auditorium is part of the facilities of the Shanti Sarovar Brahma Kumaris, a Hindi order with nuns and gurus whose purpose is, John Lennon may you rest in peace, global peace and harmony. They sponsor retreats that relieve the individual of stress and anxiety (as well as substantial amounts of wealth I assume). OK, I’ll try not to turn a jaundice eye to this. I’m sure that John found as much inner peace with his guru as he did with his heroin addiction. Casey Jones, we’re movin’ down the wrong track! Jerry, pull me back!
Whoa, that was close. The vortex of life power generated from the inner peace that surrounds the auditorium began to pull me back to 1967 but I managed to escape its surge. It’s much like the time Deb, the kids, and I were in Sedona, AZ. We stayed at this motor lodge on the mesa just about town. There was a beautiful red rock formation on the vista from the office. As I was probably foraging for breakfast stuff in their lobby area, I overheard the conversation between two people I assumed were fellow lodgers and the front desk clerk. The guests were asking where the life power center was nearby the motel. The desk clerk explained how the guests simply needed to go out the door and the path was just off the parking lot. The guests were to walk a short distance and they would begin to sense the center’s presence. That was one of those moments I just wanted to have a spiritual bookstore on the main drag in town.
Boss, de play, de play!
A Disappearing Number got to India and specifically to Hyderabad after three years of negotiations and efforts from the University of Hyderabad Mathematics Department. How appropriate that this play, with part of its storyline highlighting the collaboration of British Mathematician G H Hardy and Srinivasa Ramanujan, the brilliant Indian math theoretician, could be here during the International Congress of Mathematicians. The auditorium had all the comforts with theatre seating, but no cup holders. The stage was reminiscent of the lecture halls with the multiple writing boards. One of the actors came on stage easily 20 minutes before the last person was seated. He sat looking through a book. He wore a parka with the hood up. The auditorium was kind-of air conditioned and I was a little uncomfortable (and still wet from the soaking rain nearly an hour before). There were more Anglos in one place since we left the Frankfurt airport seven weeks ago. These were math geeks. They were all wearing their congress badges and carrying congress shoulder satchels. There was a distinct difference between the imported geeks and the locals that were there to see the play. Layer on top of that the neo-rococo décor inside and you have the theatre crowds on Broadway in New York, but the majority is Indian. That’s going to be important during the play.
As the play starts, one of the first people we meet becomes a partner to the current-time storyline. She is a mathematician and shows a fascination with the concepts of Ramanujan and philosophic perspectives on mathematics of Hardy. This continues throughout the play. The second character we meet eventually reveals himself to be a physicist of Indian origin. This character addresses the audience with the premise of the play: that only the math is real and constant. The original actor who came on stage beforehand is finally introduced as what will become the other part of the current-time story, a non-resident Indian who has infinity phobia, but has the hots for the math chick. There was a dry British wit that was woven throughout the play. Guess what – totally lost on the Indians. Actually I didn’t hear many guffaws from any of the math geeks either. One of the math guys we noted before the play started looked as though the 60’s were good to him.
Anyhow, the play did include multimedia effects, two story lines and nearly half the cast is run over by a lorry or oxcart by the end of the play. I’m not going to be a spoiler. You’ll have to see or read it to actually know what goes on. Let’s face it, the only play that really has a storyline you describe in the same length of time it takes to perform it is Samuel Beckett’s “Breathe”: twenty-six seconds.
As we were exiting from the play, I phoned the cab driver who started yelling on the phone, “I coming, I find you.” We moved slowly out of the hall and out onto the marble entryway. The smallish courtyard in front of the auditorium was pandemonium with buses, cabs, and people all moving around. The police were there making a feeble attempt to move the buses and cabs. I saw a cab, but the driver wasn’t wearing his cap. Deb was looking and saying, that’s not our cab, but the driver was waving frantically and yelling “I find you, I find you”. We jumped in and off we went for the second part of our adventurous city cab ride. Traffic was much lighter going back and many of the rivers of water from the earlier deluge had become trickles. So our driver had a much easier time, though he still was heavy-thumbed on the horn. However, we could tell he was relaxed when he put in a CD of Bollywood favorites (well, we think they were Bollywood favorites) and he began singing along. Sometimes even in a falsetto. It was almost charming – almost.
He made his way back with Deb’s directions of “rights”, and “lefts” and “straights”. He pulled into our parking garage, got out to open our door, and was saying “anytime, you call, I come for you”. I paid the contract fee and gave him a tip just for finding us and getting us home with entertainment.
I’m exhausted just remembering these events. Next posting is about our new produce shopping experiences in the local markets. They’re more experiences on the list. Stay tuned.