Amir D. Aczel

A Creative Genius

Just like the kids I knew from Julian Stanley’s John Hopkins study of talented children, Ramanujan was identified at an early age for his gifts in mathematics. Like us, he was capable of flying through the usual mathematics curriculum. However, where we had a knack only for understanding formulas, he had a knack for creating them.

I Beg to Introduce Myself

Though he was without a college degree and had essentially no formal training in mathematics, Ramanujan had accumulated a massive collection of formulas, all recorded in his notebooks without proof. Eager to share his work with others, he began to publish some of his findings, beginning in 1911 by submitting problems to the Journal of the Indian Mathematical Society. At first, nobody paid attention, or at least no one was able to solve his problems. For example, one of the problems that he challenged readers to solve was to find the value of

Permission from the Goddess

\sqrt{1+2\sqrt{1+3\sqrt{1+\cdots }}}.

An Unexpected Letter

What number was represented by this infinite nested square root?

My Childhood (1970–1984)

The Nevasa made it to the mouth of the Thames almost exactly a month after leaving Madras. Ramanujan disembarked and was taken to London, where he stayed for several days at a center that welcomed Indian students on their arrival in England. Neville arrived home in England around this time, and Ramanujan spent his first few months in Cambridge living with Neville and his wife in their house near Trinity College.

Triumph over Racism

Ramanujan was elated finally to receive a positive response from England, and he promptly replied to Hardy: “I have found a friend in you, who views my labors sympathetically.” But instead of proofs of the sometimes audacious statements he was making about infinite series, continued fractions, and integrals, Ramanujan sent Hardy more theorems. Hardy received these with disbelief. How could one young man, in a country so distant from the world centers of mathematics, come up with so many ingenious mathematical results? It was a mystery. But he persisted in requesting proofs. And Ramanujan persisted in not supplying them—instead sending even more results

My Parents’ Generation

My parents dropped me off at Baltimore’s Penn Station, and I was now standing alone on the platform waiting for the Amtrak train to New York, where I would change for the “Adirondack” to Montreal. I had my backpack, my Peugeot bicycle, and my large suitcase. My parents were on their way home, and there was no turning back. Like Ramanujan, who ran away to Vizagapatnam after he flunked out of college, I was running away having dropped out of high school. Of course, we had different reasons for running. Ashamed of having lost his scholarship, Ramanujan had simply disappeared. I was fleeing my pressure-cooker of a life, but I had left with my parents’ knowledge and consent.

Hitting My Stride

My legs are on fire. I’m fighting to spin the pedals of my svelte French Peugeot racing bicycle in a desperate effort to keep pace with Belgian cycling champion Eddy Merckx. We’re battling mano a mano, racing up the switchbacks of Mont Ventoux, the “Giant of Provence,” a cruel peak that had claimed the life of British champion Tom Simpson during the 1967 Tour de France. We’re racing for the finish line, a strip of white paint in the steep road at the summit, a desolate place marked by a decaying weather station. Merckx, known as the “Cannibal” because of his insatiable appetite for victories, sets an infernal pace. Somehow, I’m able to keep up, while one by one, all the others have fallen behind. The finish is finally in sight, and the fans are in a frenzy. Despite the overwhelming pain and self-doubt building inside me, I summon all my remaining strength. I rise out of the saddle and swing my Peugeot side to side in a furious sprint. And wondrous to relate, I leave the Cannibal in my wake.