This paper uses modified Ahalpara Matrices to generate Hartree-Fock (yes, HARTREE-FOCK) approximations to account for Eigenvalues of upper f-p-g shell nuclei. Ground state occupancies in such cases can be calculated…"
The rod jerked in my hands. The line went out screaming. I struck hard hoping that I had made him hooked firmly. Adjusted the drag, and by the pull he was exerting. I figured he must be a couple of Kilos. In about ten minutes, he was flopping about on the beach. Later, around the camp fire as I bit into my roti and pickle, I could almost predict the conversation; dull, stale conversation mocked by the sparkle and glow of the fire. I wandered off down the shore — I missed her. The contest was unequal — the sand kept diving under the water to seek refuge and the sea kept lifting it up and battering it on the shore. Another lot of sand dived in — do those bastards never learn?
Phosphorescent algae washed ashore, if you do not locate it fast enough to put it back into water, it stopped glowing. Flopped down on the sand, face down, if you dug yourself in a little deeper it was a lot warmer. Made a pillow of sand under my chin. Still missed her. Played out a demonstration of Green´s theorem. I´d punch the sand as if hitting a button and sure enough somewhere on the shore at the very exact moment my finger hit the sand, a phosphorescent glow would light up. A couple of times it didn´t happen and the grave danger in store for the universe if Green´s theorem refused experimental verification weighed on my mind. Going mad, stark raving mad. How long do I miss her? Wire her name on the shore, the waves flog her.
The trouble was that I had never met her. That´s why I call her Swapnika. Of my dreams, by my dreams and God forbid — for my dreams. Born of longing, desire and a desire for companionship — a composite creature, part Aphrodite, part Minerva, friend, lover, guise, mentor, personal philosopher, soothsayer—my Swapnika. Maybe I´d meet her in the next second, maybe never. Green´s theorem failed again. I´ll bait my largest sea hook with my harmonica and cast as far as I can. Maybe I can hook a mermaid — yes definitely going mad. I jumped up; the keen wind at Okha can really chill you. Tripping over a dozen mermaids, decrepit Green´s theorems and faded signboards that said "Swapnika —>" I stumbled back to camp. Radhan was just finishing an eyewitness account of Suleiman killing a dory owner for fouling his nets. "Navlakhi is a bad place," he warns. Clavell springs to my mind. "Dew ne loh moh" on nets, Suleiman and Navlakhi. In that order—in any fornicating order. Hamari galli bhi phoren hai dekho!