For long psychologists denied human nature. Human behaviour, they believed, is the result of nurture, i.e., conditioned response to environmental stimuli. Pecking pigeons of Skinner and salivating dogs of Pavlov held the clue to the riddle of human behaviour, they opined. Growth of evolutionary psychology brought a tectonic shift in this understanding. Behaviour of an individual is a manifestation of their biology. Biology is shaped by evolution and endows a species with nature. Behaviour, the expression of this nature, emerges from interaction of nature with nurture, i.e., environment of the individual. We Homo Sapiens, the modern humans, evolved about two hundred thousand years ago. We have been hunter-gatherers for most of our history. Agriculture was invented only about ten thousand years back. With it came settled lifestyle. For 95% of our time on earth we were wanderers. I often wonder. Is our wanderlust rooted in our genes? Akin to the fear of our species for heights and lov...

Time burnishes memory of cherished moments.    I met Devi in the summer of 2011. I saw an young officer being wheeled in the operation theatre daily, for the dressing of his foot. He would wish me, smiling diffidently. Perhaps he is embarrassed to be moved around hospital in a wheelchair, I thought. The procedure did not demand anaesthesia and my presence was not needed. I did not try to learn the cause of his malady. 2011 is etched in my memory as the year I went on Kailash-Mansarovar trek. Though the trek was only four-week’s long, I spent months in preparation. I had been smitten by the idea of this Himalayan journey for a few years. I had no experience of mountain trekking then. I was looking for seasoned trekkers who could advise me on preparation for the trek. I contacted our Adventure cell. ‘One of the best climbers of the Air Force is in your hospital. Take his advice.’ Thus, I learnt that Devi was an accomplished mountaineer. He had sustained frost-bite in his...

Cakes and Ale - W. Somerset Maugham Worldly Pleasures and the World of Letters I buy books faster than I read them. There is a large pile of unread books on my shelves, mutely awaiting their turn to be picked up. This hoard is increasing by the day. A nerve-wracking anxiety seizes me as I finish a book and am faced with the decision to begin another. I dare not waste my time – even a day – on a book that I'll later regret having chosen. Time is at a premium. Life has only that many moments to offer. Books I intend to read before I die seem infinite.  This dilemma tortured me incessantly in the past. Of late, I've reached a truce with my unquenchable lust. I now appreciate that I cannot win this race against time. It is important that I enjoy each moment spent with a book. It would matter little, how many books I have read, once I cease to be. I love seeing beautiful books neatly stacked on my racks and I continue to buy the ones that catch my fancy, without worrying when I...