The Hole is a Sum of the Parts
Originally published October 2007·Last updated April 2026
Part 1
This would not be the first time that I have felt compelled to blog, because a friend was looking for some entertainment. Since I have never intended to make this a regular blog, I reckon it is not an unusual thing.
If this was indeed a regular blog, I would write about the fact that I am sitting at Dubai International Airport and am enjoying Wireless access. And that I am excited that I am on my way to Bombay. That I might be watching Sachin play at Wankhede. That I expect to play a decent game of cricket on Sunday. But I always imagined that whoever read any online journal I kept, would not need to go there to find out these things.
What I do intend to talk about is an interesting dream I had a couple of nights ago. I must warn people who have not been subject to this before, that my dreams are extremely hilarious, and full of comic irony. But that is only on the morning after.
This particular dream is hardly an exception:
I found myself ranting to Friend after I just got a girl’s phone number:
Me: Do you always check that a number is divisible by 11? I think numbers that are divisible by 11 are easy to remember. In any case it is a trivial test and doesn’t take time. Besides obvious regularities, which are difficult to quantify, it is the best start.
Friend: Do you remember anything about the girl you just spoke to?
Me: Er. No.
Friend: That can’t be good.
Me: Well, the world would be so much simpler if women were just numbers.
Friend: But names are so much better than numbers.
Me: No, not their names. I mean if they were numbers themselves. Physically. Well, metaphysically at least.
Friend: What!?
Me: Well, you could be walking down the road, look at this woman and quip “666, no way!”. You’d go past 6 and 9 holding hands, and chuckle. You’d see all those 8’s and 88’s at fish market on Sundays. You would not make the mistake of asking 13 out on a Friday night. You’d bump into 42 and wonder about the meaning of life. You get the picture?
Someone who overheard me from the other table: Well, I’m 23. What do you have to say about that?
Me: Well, what’s your phone number called?