In the world beset with mundane proclivities, we are mesmerized by lives that challenge our imagination. Stephen Hawking lived such a life.
Prof. Hawking was a living proof that the infinite can exist in our finite bodies. His frailty underlined the finite in all of us — our physical littleness, and the small treacheries of misfortune in our meager lives — all the while as his capacious thoughts strode all of space and time.
“A Brief History of Time” is often said to be the best selling book that no one had read. A statement that is “all clever and no wise”.
In the 90s as a teenager in Madras, Hawking’s book and his life were distinctly inspirational to me, and I was not alone in being inspired. (Late Update: See this interview with Penn Theoretical Physicist Vijay Balasubramanian on March 19).
If ALS was not going to stop a man, then it must be true that the backwaters of destitution shall not pose any impediment to a young kid. Physics was a calling then. Any dream could be lived, and any future could be earned. (Even a black hole couldn’t restrain Hawking radiations).
In the years that ensued, caught in struggles balancing practical realism and aspiration, I eventually stumbled with some luck and fortune, into a life of research. As I grew older, I continued to be a fascinated admirer of Hawking’s indefatigable optimism, and increasingly appreciated his boundless, wicked sense of humor.
Despite living a life in the love of research, on rainy days, I think back with a tinge of regret, of not pursuing physics, much like the traveler in Frost’s Road Not Taken.
I thank Prof Hawking, for a life well-lived, and for the many lives inspired.
His mind held the stars, and his life helmed our dreams.