Prof. Nagarajan's World of Science and Verse
Imagine someone who can shift from discussing complex chemical processes to spinning humorous tales about mosquito-hunting without missing a beat, that's exactly how one can describe Prof. Nagarajan’s illustrious journey at IITM. His life is a fascinating blend of sharp intellect and whimsical creativity. He is the kind of person who turns the mundane into the extraordinary, whether it's in the laboratory or through his playful poetry.
His poems reveal a personality brimming with wit and keen observation. Take his mosquito-hunting verses, for instance. They're not just about pesky insects but about the indomitable spirit of a man who refuses to be bested by tiny bloodsuckers. One can almost see him, moving silently through his house, eyes sharp, senses alert, ready to outsmart these little nuisances. There's humor in his words, but also a hint of the relentless dedication he brings to everything he does.
Prof. Nagarajan's interest in writing isn't just a hobby; it's an extension of his love for reading, a passion he inherited from his family. He's a voracious reader who grew up devouring the works of P.G. Wodehouse, Agatha Christie, and Issac Asimov. This literary foundation has shaped his writing style, one that's infused with humor, a touch of crime, and a dash of science fiction.
But don't mistake his light-hearted verses for a lack of seriousness. There's a method to his creativity, a disciplined approach that mirrors his scientific endeavors. His advice to writers? Keep it short, keep it engaging, and always write what you'd love to read yourself. This pragmatic yet passionate approach is a testament to his belief in the power of clear, concise, and enjoyable storytelling.
In a nutshell, Prof. Nagarajan is a unique mix of a scientific mind and a creative soul. He's a person who finds joy in the simple pleasures of life, whether it's crafting a clever poem or mentoring students at IIT Madras. His multifaceted personality makes him not just a respected professor, but also a cherished member of any community he belongs to.
Here are two poems beautifully penned by Prof. Nagarajan, "Ode to a Fallen Stalwart" and "Ode to a Mosquito Exterminator Extraordinaire"
Ode to a Fallen Stalwart:
Softly, silently, stealthily, does he move.
The man’s got a point to prove.
His wife thinks he’s a poltroon,
His kids call him an ultra-maroon,
But in mosquito-hunting, he’s just hitting his groove.
His keen eyes peering into the dark,
His every sense alert, like a shark,
He spares a glance at his family,
All scratching away sleepily,
With a heave and a sigh, he turns again to seek his mark.
He knows them all by name now.
Ask him, and he will tell you how.
That fat one may be Harry,
Chances are, he won’t live to marry,
Our man will kill ‘em if he has to use an arrow and bow.
Those bloodsuckers track with their sense of smell,
The female of the species wants him in malaria hell,
But he won’t give in.
He knows that he can win,
If only he can break their insidious spell.
They buzz around hither and thither,
The female carrying deadly poison with her,
She has the smelling genes, you see,
And the long, quivering antennae,
Her deadly sting can make a grown man wither.
She always gets her man,
No matter how far or fast he ran,
She is single-minded,
Never one to be blind-sided,
She sneers at repellents and the electric fan.
Our hero can tell the mosquitoes by their sex,
He’ll never confuse Roxanna with a Rex,
He homes in on the girls,
Not to shower them with pearls,
But to swat them, and break their hex.
Lo, our man is in luck tonight.
Lured by the bedside light,
Mosquitoes swarm the bed-post,
Unaware of their lurking host,
They’re looking to take their nightly bite.
Craftily, our hero bides his time.
He doesn’t think killing ‘quitoes is a crime.
They suck his blood, don’t they?
Their lives are worthless anyway?
So, he’ll exterminate them, like he would any slime.
As he watches, two females prepare to alight.
He gets ready, itching for the fight.
His wife is sure to adore him,
His kids will kiss him on whim,
He thinks, as he brings down the hammer with all his might.
But wait! Have his best-laid plans gone astray?
What hath he wrought in his haste, pray?
The blood that is spilled,
Is not from the mosquito killed,
But from his wife, a non-combatant in the fray.
She glares at him, homicide in her eyes,
The children squeak, like frightened mice.
He traces his steps backward,
Feeling, rightly so, awkward,
For our hero is due to be vanquished in a trice.
Ode to a Mosquito Exterminator Extraordinaire:
Hail to the conquering hero,
His brain cells may total zero,
When fires burn, he may fiddle like Nero,
But, boy, just show him a fat mosquito,
Whap! Zap! There is no deadlier foe.
He may look like your ordinary Joe,
He may not put up much of a show,
But, take a bow, bro!
When the night light begins to glow,
That pesky mosquito’s got no place to go.
It can buzz around like a hippie on bong,
It can even keep beat with a song,
It can infect a goodly-sized throng,
It can bite its way through a sarong,
But it cannot escape our hero for long.
His eyes may be dimming with age,
His reason may be clouded with rage,
He and his wife may not be on the same page,
He may be cursed at birth by a sage,
But when he slaps at a mosquito, you bet it bleeds in beige.
He may be one to run and hide from a bully,
His wife may be able to knock him silly,
He may be sneered at by goats billy,
He may be thrown for a loss by a filly,
But he can squish them mosquitoes willy-nilly.
You may have tried many a ‘quito repellent,
Perhaps even ignited a rocket propellant,
But contrary to public opinion prevalent,
And this will please even the most somnolent,
Our hero is a bloodied, but unbowed, opponent.
The mosquito is an obstinate critter,
It leaves one brooding and bitter,
It can only be combated by a heavy-hitter,
One who is (compared to you and I) fitter,
One who measures mosquito blood daily by the liter.
Mosquitoes are God’s creatures too, we allow;
They have a purpose in life, it would follow.
But if that is to bite, and in our blood wallow,
Sorry, that doesn’t sit well with our fellow.
He charges after them with a guttural bellow.
We might wish that he were a little more mellow;
That he would, like us, exhibit a streak yellow,
That he would quiver like a pudding Jell-O,
When them ’quitoes park on our ear and hum “Hello!”,
But not for him the tragic diffidence of Othello.
So, all hail our fearless fighter,
As around mosquitoes, he draws the noose tighter.
With regard to his wife, he may permit them to bite her,
Not out of cowardice, but just to spite her,
Ever since she purloined his cigarette lighter.
But his heart is in the right place.
He just wants to cut down to the chase.
He doesn’t care about their race,
Or if they come from outer space,
He just wants to kill mosquitoes all his living days.
