Left, Right and Centre

“Just because you do not take an interest in politics doesn't mean politics won't take an interest in you. ”  ― Pericles

I do not know much about politics. My interest in it is recent. I don’t have any in depth knowledge on policies, issues and such. I don’t read newspapers. I don’t watch news on TV. I don’t listen to political discourses. The only news I get is on the radio a few minutes each day, on my way to and from work. I spend a few cursory minutes on political articles on a website. I tend to tune out when I hear political mumbo-jumbo, as with most things that need some active grey cells. But my curiosity about the topic has grown ever so slightly in the recent years.

When I was younger, I ignored politics and disliked politicians. I had one opinion of them (mostly through osmosis) - they were all crooks. Some educated, some not, some sophisticated, some not. But crooks all the same. To show interest in them is to stoop to their level. It was a lowly profession that people resorted to when they did not find any other vocation. They were all corrupt.

Growing up, we rarely discussed politics at home. My dad had strong political opinions and his amiability would instantly dissolve whenever he decried a politician he abhorred. He would barrel down my mom’s opposing views with arguments that sounded knowledgeable. I presumed that his opinions about the political landscape were a bit more vetted, for two strong reasons. First - he spent hours buried in the newspaper every day. Second - he was a political science major in college. My mom, on the other hand, though holding a couple of more college degrees (one of them a doctoral degree in history, no less) against her name than my dad, relied much more on the charisma of the political candidate and less on the criticism and analysis she came across in popular magazines. It infuriated my dad no end when his premises in logic for support of a particular party were lost on her.

During election time in India, it seemed that my parents had to pick between the lesser of two evils. The incumbent’s evilness was often a bit more pronounced by the sheer fact that they were in the spotlight in recent years. And so the challenger somehow seemed a better choice (even if by a hair breadth) despite proving to be no better when they had ruled the roost. One of the prevalent views I heard many times over from the voting population was this - ‘the ruling party did nothing in power except to line their own pockets. All things being equal, why not give the opposing party an opportunity? Who knows, they might do a little bit of good even if they do indulge in their greed to fill their coffers’. However dismal their choices seemed, my parents never failed to exercise their right to vote.

Politics is a touchy subject. A taboo topic even among friends. Political affiliations are based on an individual’s values, principles and priorities. So it is personal. When one relates to certain ideologies, it is hard not to get all stirred up when questioned or challenged. To argue and debate over them takes skill and open mindedness. Forget debating, I think it takes a considerable amount of tolerance even to listen to a debate.

The first time I came across this idea of political deliberation among friends was in Golda Meir's autobiography. It’s been well over a decade since I read it, but one of the things I remember most about it is how, when she was young, her friends would often gather around to passionately argue over politics, among other things, for hours on end. It was a revelation! So it is possible to have a healthy conversation about politics without resorting to throwing things at each other or calling each other names. And you don’t have to wait until you are all old and wizened but do so when you are young and opinionated. Of course, it is not for the faint of heart. I have been in a couple of impassioned political arguments myself and I so wished for it to end. To be judged for your political standings takes a little bit of steel and a thicker hide. But it is necessary for those of us who are willing to understand a little more about ourselves and the world around us.

I realize that politics is important. I am convinced that it is even more important to discuss and talk about it. After all, it is what drives our lives in this country. It defines the laws that make up the land. And it marks the privileges we enjoy in this democracy. Including the right to gripe about it. Then why are we more likely to talk about the weather than the government? Maybe because we worry that our relationships cannot weather the storm that political disagreement stirs up in us.

These days, leading up to the election, I find myself bombarded by political canvassing. Contrary to popular view, I don’t find it an annoyance. In fact, this whole process is very exciting. I do admit that I am somewhat skeptical about political campaigns and the opinion polls. The candidate who finds the most number of malleable truths (not to mention money), has a knack for distorting facts favorably and still seem worthy of the office, gets to win. I am very well aware that it is not one individual contesting against another individual (I was surprised that there are four other candidates in the presidential ballot..what can I say..I am still learning). Rather, it is one institution contesting against another. Though the rhetoric and fencing never ends, periodically, the political process reaches a crescendo with an election.

I know that I lack an ideological stance. I know that my emotional intelligence is hopelessly deficient when it comes to political debate (anyway that is all I am going to fess up for now). But I also know that there is no moral high ground in not voting. In not participating in the process. There are policies and platforms I might not like or even understand completely. I might not even vote for the party and instead vote for the man (and definitely a woman) and for what I believe he or she stands for. Four years ago, for the first time in my life, I cast my vote. I was thrilled to participate then and I am thrilled to do so again. Especially when I know that this right did not come about easily and was hard fought.

Where are you now?

“Meditation is the only intentional, systematic human activity which at bottom is about not trying to improve yourself or get anywhere else, but simply to realize where you already are.”

― Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are

I have always set goals for myself. And they have always been largely unrealized. Nevertheless, I have kept at it. I have made elaborate plans drawn to minutiae to attain these so called goals. Plans that are great in theory and set with the best of intentions invariably fall apart when life happens. But I never relent. Because goals to me, are a form of hope. That whatever it is that I have envisioned for myself, is indeed possible.

Goals are expectations we set for ourselves. To progress intellectually, physically, emotionally, spiritually from where we are to where we want to be. Many a time goals motivate us to act. But for many of us, it is a constant reminder of our inadequacies. They stem from an inherent belief that we are not happy with who we are. That we somehow fall short of who we want to be.

Some time ago, I came across this interesting concept of not setting goals. Initially, it seemed a bit  far fetched. I considered it as something only a perfectly confident (and smug) person could possibly embrace. Never one to dismiss an idea from someone I admire, I stored it away to revisit it some other time. But it kept resurfacing and the more I mulled over it, the more it made sense - to not have goals. To realize that 'This is it'. To be content with where we are right now.

It was radical to think of not setting goals. A wonderful refreshing thought that you can be functional and happy without goals. That is not to say that it is an excuse for inaction. I think my initial reluctance to this shift in thinking was because I was confusing goals with focus. I do understand that it takes patience and practice to focus in the moment without aspiring to a better state in the future, but it is a very inviting possibility. Now, where I have I heard this before - ‘act without expecting fruits of your labor’ (Gita anybody?).

How wonderful would it be to completely immerse myself in whatever I am doing, with utmost focus, without being mired in expectations of tomorrows. Say, to enjoy the act of running, not to shed a few pounds, but purely to enjoy the feeling of movement. To practice yoga, not to gain physical prowess, but to be fully aware of the physical movement with breath. To read, not to show off the newly gained knowledge but to gain a better understanding of life, of people, of places and experiences. To write, not to expect praise or fear criticism, but to express creativity and to find clarity. To work, not to reach the pinnacle of a career in the shortest possible time (rhetorically speaking... because due to some inscrutable mental block I have never ever aspired to this) but for it to be something that propels me with meaning and purpose.

It is challenging to live life in an unconditional way and to engage without expectations. It takes courage and honesty to take a given moment as it comes and realize one's potential. It takes mindfulness to not compromise the present for some milestone birthday in the future hoping to cross-off items on a ‘to-achieve’ list. So yes, I might be able to hold a headstand now, but to what purpose? Have I learned anything from the accomplishment? Or did I meet the goal merely to gloat? I have to ask these questions because, I find that though I might have worked hard (albeit intermittently), to stand upside down, it is a herculean struggle to continue on. Now that I have arrived at my goal, what next? Handstand perhaps? I can sense a resistance in forming yet another goal. To keep scaling the mountain now seems pointless and excruciating. Inertia sets in and worse still, instead of a forward momentum, I seem to be slipping and sliding all the way to base camp. From this obscure point, it is easier to give into disillusionment. Because now, the summit, aka ‘the current goal’, seems all the more impossible to reach.

For now though, I have found middle ground. To not entirely do away with goals but not to get obsessed with them either. I am learning to use goals as a guide when I realize I have veered off from the path I want to be in. To gain perspective when I realize that the choices I have been making are not congruent with who I truly am. It is when I lose focus that my alarm bells go off.

So, here is to your moment...

Winging it

Don’t fight the trail. Take what it gives you … Think easy, light, smooth and fast. You start with easy because if that’s all you get, that’s not so bad............
- Caballo Blanco in Christopher McDougall’s Born To Run



I have been fascinated by runners for quite some time now. I have always envied the self-discipline of the people who run to keep fit. How do they endure such strenuous physical effort inspite of all the injuries that seem to come with the territory? What makes them motivated to keep at it? I imagined that there must be something about the act of running itself that is immensely enjoyable that makes them come back for more. It piqued my interest even more when my husband took up running a few years ago. When he was training for a marathon, I noticed that he didn’t follow any strict schedules and neither did he like running on the treadmill. He trained outdoors in the wee hours of the morning, even through subzero temperatures. That was the only time he liked to run - early in the morning. I know he has loads of self-discipline but still, I was intrigued. So I asked him. What energizes him to get out of a warm cosy bed when it is still dark outside? What exactly are his thoughts when he wakes up that early to run? He said, “Nothing. I just get up and get out the door to run.” Hmm..yes, right, but I was on a quest for a more elaborate answer.

So I poked around online for some running advice and found out that the authors of most of the blogs I followed were avid runners. And then I came across a review of the book Born to Run. I read the book hoping that it would answer my questions and with a fainter hope that it would inspire me to take up running. It did both - answer and inspire. The philosophy struck a chord and the reasoning as to why we run seemed logical. It also introduced me to minimalist shoes - one of the keys to running strong and injury-free. It all seemed simple and doable. When the book described ultramarathon races and extreme runners, I couldn’t relate to them, but they were nevertheless inspiring. It supported my belief that physical strength and endurance comes from one’s mental makeup and attitude.

I started slowly. I was never able to run for more than a minute even on treadmills, but as I progressed, I found out that I too hated running on treadmills. I felt constricted and that affected my tread and pace. And worst of all, it was boring and no amount of my favorite music or audiobooks would motivate me to continue. But my husband kept nudging me, so I started over. I constantly reminded myself of everything I read in Born to Run. I started running outdoors. I changed my shoes - my new shoes were not exactly huaraches, but they were not moon-shoes either. I stopped carrying my music with me during the run. My intention was for it to be a mindful practice. As I am with all things that require mindfulness, I just let my mind wander and so did not bother distracting myself with music. I also got over my self-consciousness about puffing and panting in the neighbourhood for everyone to see - yes, as you may have guessed, I wasn’t running during unearthly hours ( I was not that inspired). It also helped when I read somewhere that it might actually inspire someone to see me run. As I am the one always seeking inspiration and never the one to inspire, I thought it a novel idea.

To bolster my efforts further, at the beginning of this summer, I decided to sign up for a 5K race. I reasoned that it was for a good cause and that a commitment like that might actually keep me motivated. I started out by running in the mornings during my 3-week vacation. Once my vacation was over, I ran out of steam, came up with excuses and my running came to a screeching halt. Almost two months passed and I realized that the date for the run was only a few weeks away. I resumed my running. And then unfortunately I sprained my foot (it wasn’t from running). By the time my foot felt better, I was in a time crunch. Only two weeks to go before the race and I still wasn’t prepared.

A friend who had signed up to run along with me had to drop out due to family reasons. I was tempted to throw in the towel but my determination to set a good example for my kids egged me on. I ran about three times every week. I timed myself and found out that it took me about 45 minutes to run the 5K. Not good. One can walk that distance in 45 minutes, myself included. So I ran a bit harder with a goal of slicing off one single minute every time I ran. The best I could do was 37 minutes. That was two days before the race. No more running until race day.

I fervently hoped that during the race, some of the energy of the runners would rub off on me and I would run faster and make it under 40 minutes. But then the night before the race, which was last friday, I decided that I will just aim to finish without keeling over at the finish line. On Saturday morning, I stretched at home before the run, instead of after, like I usually do. I had my all-time favorite breakfast of toasted sprouted-grain bread with heaps of almond butter, strawberry jam and flax meal and downed some black coffee. The weather was chilly that morning but the sun came up shining nice and bright. My family was with me to cheer me up for my first run ever.

By the time we got there, the place was swarming with people - over 10,000 had signed up. It was inspiring to see so many runners. When I walked up to the start line, I was glad to see my family waving to me from the sidelines. Some of my new favorite songs were pounding through the speakers and a short jazzercise session commenced to the music to warm up before our run. I just shuffled my feet a bit, as I was worried that I would tire myself out even before the run starts. I saw TV cameras and TV station personalities do their bit. The anticipation was building and I couldn’t wait for it to start. Then the countdown began and off we went. The first few minutes were the hardest because I was moving with the crowd and couldn’t find my pace. I made a conscious effort to slow down and didn’t allow myself to be fazed by the people zooming past me.

The path looped through the downtown area and I was surprised to find myself looking around at all the landmarks. Since I had a watch that would beep every mile, I waited to hear the first beep. I was running at my usual pace. When it was about time to hear the beep and it didn’t happen, I wondered if a mile could really feel this long. But I did not dare look at my watch. I very much doubted that the sound of the beep would be drowned out by all the cheering and the music from school bands playing along the way. That’s when I looked up and saw the 2 mile marker and the timer on it showing 20:35! I couldn’t believe it!!! I ran two miles already, that too in my best time ever. I saw my family cheering me on and was encouraged to keep at this pace for the last mile and finish strong.

The sun was beating down by then and I was getting thirsty. I took a sip of water from volunteers handing out water cups (volunteers rock!). I was getting a bit tired but I kept my focus on my next step and the next and the next. Finally, after a turn in the road, there it was! About a 100 yards down the road was the finish line! It was the most welcoming sight ever. When I crossed the clock at the finish line and it read 33:12, I couldn’t stop smiling. I did it! That too without ever slowing down to a walk, not even once. I was thrilled to see my family there shouting their congratulations. I was elated and energetic, as I usually am, after a run. Despite winging it, I did better than I expected. With a sense of gratitude to friends, family, books and runners for the inspiration, I basked in a feeling of accomplishment I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

To buy or not to buy

I am a big fan of minsumerism. I try to follow minimalism in all aspects of my life. And try is the keyword here. But one area that I find particularly challenging is my kitchen pantry. My pantry is a small space, a doored alcove in the kitchen. The shelves are stocked from floor to ceiling with dry goods that can feed an entire village, or so it seems.

Once in a blue moon, I organize the pantry. I get tired of not knowing what I have and don’t have. It gets on my nerves whenever I see overflowing shelves. The last straw is usually when I can’t find that one little thing that I rummage the entire place for and which I know is hiding in one of the baskets piled high with stuff.

In the process of decluttering the pantry, I purge most of what I have. Items that I haven’t used in a long while, items that are still in their original packaging, items that are part of a science experiment (not intentionally), items that I never knew I had...all of them go to the bin or the compost. It grieves me to realize that I am being wasteful, but I am relentless. I am on a mission. I have to pare it down to the bare essentials, at whatever cost. So that I can start with a clean slate and be mindful again of what goes in it. I solemnly vow not buy anything until the shelves are empty again.

While cleaning up, for a brief moment, I am tempted to throw everything in one big cauldron (not that I have one)  and make a concoction and freeze it, so it will nourish us for weeks to come. I say nourish because, everything in the pantry is healthy stuff, so the concoction has to be healthy, right? Anyway, I change my mind as I decide not to get minimalism and laziness mixed up.  

I don’t know what it is about shopping for produce that makes me a hoarder. Everytime I go grocery shopping, which is once a week, I shop like there is going to be an apocalypse..... tomorrow. As if I won’t have access to food in the foreseeable future. (Many times I eat like that too :-)) I go to the same store every week. It is my favorite grocery store. Just walking into it makes me feel like I have made a healthy choice. The sights, smells and sounds at the store are all terribly appealing to me. The whole ambience of the shop is conducive to creative culinary inspiration. It is a relatively small store. Browsing through the aisles is an education in itself. And they have live music performed by local artists that make the whole shopping experience feel like an excursion instead of a chore. Also, I love the free coffee and samples, especially the free coffee.

The shopping list I had judiciously prepared earlier in the day is at hand. I have to mention here that while making the list, my minimalist tendencies were still very much intact. But it all goes flying out the door when I am wandering the aisles all starry-eyed. My imagination runs rampant. My mind is flooded with wonderful creative ideas of recipes that never stand a chance outside the store doors.

The sight of fresh produce, a large part of it locally sourced and good, clean minimally processed food is mesmerising enough to trigger the chef in me. It inspires visions of healthy delectable dishes that I could make with a flourish that would appeal to everyone at home - kids and adults alike. So it is indeed a terrible misfortune and an injustice to the grocery bill that most of these ideas never transpire to the dinner table. Anyway, back at the store... I get ambitious and the shopping cart fills up, fast and so does the pantry.

A couple of weeks fly by. I am still mindful. I make one or two dishes out of the ordinary. Everyone at home is happily surprised, including me. And then....fantasy rears it ugly head again. It starts when I come across this uber healthy and sumptuous recipe that calls for an ingredient I don’t have. I plan to make it for the weekend. So I stock up. But things don’t quite pan out the way I had planned that weekend. I decide to postpone trying out the new recipe to the next weekend or the weekend after that. And thus the plan remains a plan indeterminately and the recipe slowly slides off into the deep dark recesses of my mind. What remains is the package in the pantry dolefully waiting to be used up.

I am not a good baker and neither am I a good cook. I don’t improvise or come up with new recipes. I don’t follow elaborate recipes. If there are 8 steps to make a dish, I lose interest at step 5. And until a couple of years ago, I followed recipes to the tee - if the ‘preparation method’  asked me to walk around in circles while the oven was heating up, I did it. Ok I am exaggerating a bit, but you get my drift. And then I relaxed my attitude and found out that I didn’t poison anyone if I deviated from the recipe. It gave me a tad bit of confidence in the kitchen when the end result was actually palatable. Even so, nothing in my cooking habits justify being wasteful.

To put it in perspective... I spend more time walking the aisles of the grocery store in a week than I spend shopping for everything else in a year combined. If I had saved half the amount I had spent on groceries these past six years, I would have been able to cross off at least 8 different places in my places-to-visit-before-I-die list that require crossing an ocean. Shopping for groceries is not like shopping for clothes or furniture, where it is easier to ignore the in-your-face advertising and avoid shopping altogether. I and my family have to eat and eat well. And it is one of my priorities that it should also be an enjoyable experience.

It is obvious that there is a big disconnect between my intention and execution. As with all things, it takes conscious effort to not be impulsive. To make my attempt sustainable, I need to start small and pause when I reach for something I don’t need. So... the next time I am at the grocery store, I will stick to my list and maybe get one, just one thing that I don’t know how to pronounce. What do you say?

A rose by any other name...

Why do we label ourselves? All the time. By what we eat, what we do, what we buy, where we were born, where we live, the way we look, whom we vote for, what we read, what we believe, how we think.... the list is endless. I think it satisfies an innate need in us to identify and understand ourselves and our place in the world. Labels define our choices (sadly, for some of us, it isn’t the other way around) and dictate our actions and therefore reflect who we are. We use it to project an image of who we want to be, to form friendships, to earn a livelihood and to belong. To be part of a community with values and ideals that appeal to our sensibilities. We connect to each other based on commonalities and for this, labels help. We are drawn to labels. To labels that define character, occupation and lifestyle. It is not easy to just be. Probably there is a label for that too :-)

Labels to define a profession do have its uses. If I am sick, I would like to know that I am going to a doctor. I trust in the fact that a doctor spends years training for the service he/she provides and from all that time, money and effort invested, gains valuable expertise in a chosen field. That valid argument aside, who is to say that a doctor can only be a doctor, not an artist, say. Any profession, in my opinion, can be interpreted both as a science and an art. What if a doctor decides that it isn’t working any more? What if he ends up feeling chained down because of the labels he has already earned and becomes uninspired doing what he does just because he thinks that it is too late to be anything else?

It takes courage and tenacity to break the shackles and stop conforming to labels. To march to your own drum. To do what really fires you up. I was amazed when someone I know, who has a masters degree in music, switched to computer programming just because that seemed possible and another acquaintance, an engineer, who in his late thirties decided to study to be a doctor after a decade in IT. It is inspiring and promising to come across spirited individuals who actually go exploring beyond labels of their past occupation and credentials.

So, the flip side to labeling is that it can also be very limiting. With respect to us being open to trying something totally different. It curbs our inquisitive nature and limits our potential. It affects and confines our experiences. It restricts our ability to adapt to change or to be open to different ideas. It makes us rigid in our ways and closed up to new possibilities. It makes us judgemental. We end up seeing others through a labeling glass and miss out on knowing the person as their own individual self.

Labeling serves a purpose when discovering a new species of fungi or maybe when you are buying a box of crackers...but transmuting it to label someone who thinks differently is not really necessary. So if you want to label someone, use their name. Isn't that the purpose of it? I know it is a hard habit to beat, it certainly is for me. So, while we are working at it.....what do you call someone who can’t do anything consistently enough to save her life? Fickle? Yes, call me that. Or what do you call someone who is so full of herself? Right, yeah, call me that too :-)

Book Review

The elegance of the hedgehog : Muriel Barbery

You know how some books are a ‘read’ and some are a ‘study’. Well, this book for me was a study. Next to Thoreau's Walden, this was a book that while reading, I felt like taking ardent notes and highlighting almost every single line. There is so much depth of thought and philosophy but unfortunately for me, many of them went over my head. This books requires much more intelligence than I possess to understand its nuances. When the author expounds on art, music, books and movies, though some of the works, philosophers and artists are familiar and some vaguely so and some that I actually read, I can’t say I remember much about them to grasp her analysis.

The protagonist, Madam Michel, is a concierge, in her 50s and is brutally honest about herself and those around her. She values great minds and is confidently aware of her acute intelligence and is in many ways a victim of her impoverished circumstances and society’s prejudices. She tries her best to hide her brilliant mind and tries to conform to people’s opinion of how a lowly concierge should appear, think, talk and behave. The author doesn’t give away, almost till the end, the reason for Madam Michel’s fear and insecurity of moving upwards to society’s upper strata which her keen intelligence and wit would have easily allowed.

The other equally important narrative voice is of Paloma, an intelligent, rich, 12 year old brat who is misunderstood by every one around her, including her family. She has an inquisitive mind and is in a constant quest for something profound and meaningful in everyday life that would help her find answers to existential questions. The third character is the new Japanese tenant Kakuro Ozu, a kind, wise and wealthy man. How this trio form an unlikely friendship is the crux of the story.

Initially, I found both Madam Michel and Paloma to be arrogant and prejudiced with an unforgiving attitude towards the rich and their mores, kind of like inverse snobbery. But as the book progresses, you can understand their reasoning. Their enlightened mindset brings light to the fact that richness isn’t about material possessions but is rather about one’s ability to take the time to appreciate and savor the simple things in life and to realize the beauty in them. They reiterate the importance of creativity and originality of human thought. And the value of being true to oneself without conforming to expectations - self-imposed or otherwise.

The author, through Madam Michel’s and Paloma’s musings, touches everything that adds beauty to life - language, art, music, literature, movies, aesthetics, culture and philosophy. There were many statements that moved me so much that I had the urge to commit them to memory forever and recite them every day. Especially this one... “..if you dread tomorrow, it's because you don't know how to build the present, you tell yourself you can deal with it tomorrow, and it's a lost cause anyway because tomorrow always ends up becoming today, don't you see?”  .   

In spite of the book tackling some serious and intense topics, there are many instances of humour throughout the book, like Madam Michel’s horrified reaction to the improper use of a comma in a note left to her by a rich and supposedly educated lady ; Madam Michel’s consternation when using Kakuros’ elegant and luxurious bathroom; Madam Michel’s efforts to dress up for dinner; Paloma’s opinion of her sister’s manic cleanliness; Paloma’s narration of her mom’s shopping adventure... and many more..

Though I finished reading this book, it is not something that I can cross off from my list of ‘must-reads’ as I was only able to comprehend some of the author’s expostulations on living. It is definitely a re-read or should I say a ‘re-study’ so I understand it better the next time around and more importantly, for the beautiful reminders of the moments of beauty one encounters in life if one is present.

Power Up

I watched a movie called Brassed Off last weekend. It was the first ever overtly political movie I have ever watched. It’s set in the 80s in a mining town in England. It’s about a brass band and its members, most of whom work in the coal mine. It shows the plight of the townspeople when the colliery is shut down in the name of progress.

The music was wonderful and the performances were remarkable. But apart from it being a great movie it was also (pardon the cliche) a thought provoking one. It made me wonder about all that we take for granted in terms of comforts that we unapologetically demand and expect. Electricity, for instance. Uninterrupted power supply is perceived as a right here. My perception though, always gets a jolt every time I make a trip to India, but I digress...

Other than the name of the company (even that took me a moment) that provides electricity to my home, I barely know anything else about it. From bits of news and reports I hear on the radio about problems with license renewals due to safety violations in a nuclear power plant around here or about yet another rate hike by the energy company, I gathered that most of the electricity produced by the power company is from coal and nuclear plants. Other than that, I have hardly given any thought to where exactly that coal is mined or who mines it. As long as the bills are paid (albeit with a grumble), there is not much interest in it. Now.. why should it be any different from knowing where your food comes from?

So I decided to do some googling:-) and found out that 82% of the electricity produced by the state is from coal. Though I couldn’t quite drill down to the exact location of the mine that provides electricity for my fan ( I guess it doesn’t quite work that way), I learned that there are multiple coal-powered plants spread all through the region that supply to the grid. Though the majority of the energy is produced from non-renewable resources, there are a few wind farms and solar energy facilities that are already in production and efforts are in place to establish many more. Initiatives and goals are set to produce at least 25% of the energy using renewable sources, in another decade or so. Which in turn leads to the unavoidable - the company is closing (or will be in the near future) ineffective and uneconomical coal-powered plants.

Non-renewable resources are exactly that - non-renewable. They are not going to last forever and they take eons to form. So for some time now, there has been interest in harnessing renewable energy like wind and sun to produce energy. All the research and scientific studies that support this is all very commendable. The benefits are for all to see - less pollution and (relatively) less invasive on the landscape. But that is only part of the equation. The rest of the equation is made up of people, policies and politics. How exactly does this transition happen?

Granted it will be a over a period of time. Every generation learns from the mistakes of their predecessors. Development in science and technology gives us the facts and information about how fragile and precarious our environment is. Loaded with the knowledge, we are aware of the damage we do to our environment in the name of progress and realize how imperative it is that we do something to rectify it. Some of us are shortsighted and view it as a compromise for financial growth and security while others look at the long term repercussions of constantly altering the physical structure of our planet. And then there are others, who unfortunately, merely use it for politicking.

The argument here is that every time there is a human being in the equation, everything gets a bit tricky. We cannot be clinical and insensitive to how it affects the people who depend on these energy plants for their livelihood. Most of the people who argue against using non-renewable resources for producing energy don’t rely on it for their sustenance. When a person, a community or a whole town’s economy is dependent on it, then the scales are tipped. How do you choose between providing food and shelter for the people versus preventing anymore damage to the planet (and in turn to its inhabitants)? When generations are trained to earn a living off of it, how can you displace them? How do you provide an ultimatum when it leads to children starving and going homeless?

In the movie, one of the options that the colliery provides the people in the town is a severance package. Understandably, it is such a daunting one for people who have their roots in that small town. Especially when they lack the skills to find another mode of earning when the money runs out. There are mouths to feed and hospital bills to play. And to make it worse, for many that’s the only world they know of. It might be possible for the younger generation to explore new means of living elsewhere, but those that are too old or too set in their ways, what about them? Would educating them sooner about good environmental practices have helped lessen the blow? It might not be feasible for the business to hold every hand until they cross dire straits, but some investment in helping them transition to a different job or skill set might have been more useful and human. After all, you can not just shut down a house like you would a colliery and that’s essentially what they did.

This is a field riddled with skepticism and imbalance and no clear solution in sight. And no, I don’t have any brilliant suggestions either, but the next time I turn a light switch on, the least I can do is learn to acknowledge the unknown faces who actually made it possible. How about you?

Rain

My favorite natural phenomenon of all time - rain. It is always welcome. It could be because I have mostly lived in a tropical climate. Dark overcast sky, rolling thunder and the scent of rain touching the soil somewhere far (I was thrilled to find that there was actually a word for it : Petrichor) are all wonderful signs of what is to come. Usually nature’s action is not very discernible unless you see it in a time lapse video. But with rain, you can sense its force and energy as it is happening.

Gazing at a downpour is a favorite pastime of mine. Wonder what it is that makes the indoor space shrink and appear cosy when watching a rainfall. Everything in nature that rain touches looks that much more vivid. The foliage and blooms are greener and brighter, the air cooler and cleaner. It evokes a sense of something very nourishing and cleansing.

I find the sound of rain to be very therapeutic and I can wax poetic about it if I had the skills. When my kids were younger, there was a period when their bedtime music was a CD of just the sound of rain. Maybe it is a feeling of gratitude for having a roof over my head but nothing is more calming than going to bed listening to the rain pounding on the roof.

I am lucky that I have never been adversely affected by it. It might have been an inconvenience oh, maybe a few times. And that includes the time when I had to wade through knee-high water (flooded roads during rains were (and are still) common in India) to catch a bus to work. It was still a pleasant experience because I ended up going back home. A day off from work always makes for a pleasant experience in my books :-)  On days when I walked in a torrential downpour without an umbrella or a coat, when everyone else around me was rushing to find shelter, I might have seemed crazy, but it felt very liberating - a surge of joy to realize that there is no barrier between me and the beautiful raindrop from the sky.

I have been living in the northern hemisphere for some time now. It took me some time to understand why people here complained every time it rained. But I am still bemused by poems and phrases were the rain gets a negative connotation. To me, it never lost its magic. I still look forward to seeing those images of little slanted lines from a cloud indicating rain in the forecast. I will have to attribute my attitude towards rain purely to where I come from. Some of the most wonderful memories of my childhood were from monsoon evenings.

We had the wettest season in a long time here last year. Needless to say, it rained incessantly but I never tired of it. So yeah, I think I will be fine living in Cherrapunji :-)  (actually, it is on my list of places to visit before I die). This year though, there has been news of severe drought all across the US (http://droughtmonitor.unl.edu/). I hear about failed crops and farmers suffering huge losses, low water table levels, wildfires and effects of drought on livestock and wildlife. So, for the past few weeks, when the rain is playing catch-up with us, I feel like I am living in a blessed place.

Excerpt from Henry David Thoreau’s ‘The Summer Rain’
.........
Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour,
For now I've business with this drop of dew,
And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower--
I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue.

This bed of herd's grass and wild oats was spread
Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use.
A clover tuft is pillow for my head,
And violets quite overtop my shoes.

And now the cordial clouds have shut all in,
And gently swells the wind to say all's well;
The scattered drops are falling fast and thin,
Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell.

I am well drenched upon my bed of oats;
But see that globe come rolling down its stem,
Now like a lonely planet there it floats,
And now it sinks into my garment's hem.

Drip drip the trees for all the country round,
And richness rare distills from every bough;
The wind alone it is makes every sound,
Shaking down crystals on the leaves below.

For shame the sun will never show himself,
Who could not with his beams e'er melt me so;
My dripping locks--they would become an elf,
Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.

Scotophobia....or something like that

Like most people, I have a vivid imagination when it comes to things I am scared of. Fear of darkness is one of them. I wonder what causes this primal fear. Is it the fear of the unknown? Is it a feeling of vulnerability of not being able to see what is in front of you? Or is it an overactive imagination? Does it ever fade away with age? I don’t think so, at least not in my case. It has been the most tenacious of all my fears. If you are wondering what happened to rational thinking, well, I will have to tell you, apart from the fact that I am not very good at it, fear trumps reasoning every single time.

Growing up, we were in the habit of turning on the lights when we walked into a room (when it was dark) and turning them off on our way out. Saving energy was so ingrained in us that it was almost a reflex action. I didn’t mind that at all. The problem was when I had to walk into a dark room, alone. I was terrified.

In the house where I grew up in, there was this huge room at the back that had the outer wall covered almost entirely with windows. And they were left open all the time, night and day. You faced the windows when you walked into the room. The light switch was to the right of the door and you had to twist a bit and look away from the windows to find the switch high up on the wall. I always walked in with my heart racing, staring outside the windows trying to peer through the darkness to see what I can only feel - eyes that stare back at me.  I make a few frantic jumps to reach the switch and finally the room is filled with light. But now that I am very visible to whoever or whatever it is that is lurking outside, I steadfastly avoid looking out the window. Finishing up whatever it is I came to the room for, I leave the room as fast as I possibly can. On my way out, it only takes a second or so to turn the light off, but with my back turned to the windows, those are some of the longest seconds I will ever remember.

In that second or two, my mind conjures up images from stories. Eerie, spooky stories that I eagerly listened to during the day that become invariably baneful at night. These phantom beings that came to life (well, sort of) were out to get me. If nothing else, they were there to scare me silly. They materialized from stories I heard during summer vacations at grandma’s. From after school stories from an aunt who was an avid reader. These were mostly stories of little old ladies and lost forlorn souls, young and old, roaming the village, long after they were dead looking to torment anyone who passes by. And heroic tales of men and women walking home from farms in long lonely roads in the thick of night hounded by an indescribable towering shadow at their heels. The kind of creatures (if you could call it that) in these stories were as varied as the stories themselves. There were ghosts, goblins, zombies, spirits and if it defies description, was simply referred to as ‘that’. Not all of them were mean. Some were decidedly benign. But just the fact that they were not exactly alive (though mostly in human form with extraordinary powers that defy logic) make them less so.

Of course there are the more tangible stories. Alarming stories of burglars looking for easy access. It never occurred to me that if my parents were worried about burglary, they would never have left the windows (you know, at that back room) open at night. But of course, that part of my brain was never turned on and unfortunately, it still kind of remains so.  It is funny how during the light of day, those windows are the most innocuous things around. It is almost magical how they transform into a source of mystery and terror at night.

For whatever reason, normal or abnormal, my imagination runs overtime in every dark space. An aunt once told me that one is scared of the dark when one doesn’t have a clear conscience. I think she may have a point. She is no more. Now I am all the more worried because she is one of the apparitions I ‘almost’ see behind the dark shadow of a door at night ( you see, she used to play a game of ‘light and shadow’ with us a lot :-) and also, I am ashamed to say, I am guilty of throwing tantrums around her).

You know how we are all encouraged to face our fears. So, say I try that for a change. Then what would my plan of action be? What would I do if by some incomprehensible experience, I do indeed see these phantom characters (like something in the lines of ‘I see dead people’)? How do I meet their silent and menacing look of disapproval (I think they know exactly what goes on in my mind, hence that look). Now if only they said something, it would give me a chance to explain. No, wait!......that might lead to bigger trouble. Never mind.

IMHO

“The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.”
― William Blake


There are very few beliefs that I hold onto that are beyond contention (for me that is). I don’t mind voicing them out, but seldom do. And true to the definition, they have been some of my ‘firmly held opinions’ for quite a number of years.

The rest is pretty much up in the air. It used to be that I didn’t have an opinion on most things. I could afford to turn my nose up at politics, be oblivious to social injustice and tune out everything that didn’t interest me. My involvement in the world around me was so narrow that I might as well have lived in a bubble.  

And then things changed. I found myself in situations where I had to ask, reply, chime in or put forth my opinions. Though expected, it rarely happened. I was mostly quiet. A smile, a nod and a word or two to acknowledge and show total agreement on whatever was being said. Mimicking someone else’s beliefs out of admiration or for want of imagination is not very original, I know. But I didn’t care enough to form my own.

But now, in this era of information, I find it increasingly hard not to have an opinion on almost everything. You can only ignore things for so long. In an ever shrinking world where we are aware of happenings near and far, there is a sense that they will somehow translate its way into our lives. So it is hard to resist the pull - the pull to be informed and in turn to form an opinion.

Except to a select few, I am hesitant to share my opinions and I am especially wary of shouting it over the rooftops (which is what social media feels like to me and ironically, which is what I think I am doing right now).  I am hesitant because I am still working on being open minded enough to listen to opinions that negate mine without getting all worked up about it. Also, there is the fear of alienating people whom I like, who just happen to have opposing views. Then there is the fact that there is no guarantee that I won’t change my mind in the future. I would rather not attract attention to how often I jump ship, lest I seem fickle.

There are times when my opinion varies depending on what time of day it is. It is maddening to not be able to make up my mind, to take a stance, to argue a point. Even if I do, I am not the one to argue when I realize that my opinion does not jive with the majority. On occasion, when I am brave enough to voice it, I worry that my words might seem biased, proselytic, prejudiced, fanatic, dogmatic or plain insubstantial. The minute I am convinced of a view, a faint doubt starts to sprout that maybe there is some truth and merit to the counter point. And midway through my statement, I hear my own words and feel the strength of my conviction withering. I hear contrary arguments forming in my head and then.... I go blank.  

As much as I like harmony, I do enjoy being a spectator of impassioned arguments. I love the energy of the people who can state their opinions with such force that you can’t help but see it their way. When disagreements are challenged, I learn a lot from them. However, I do not have the nerves to be part of it. The art of debating takes many skills (that I don’t possess), like being articulate, thinking on your feet and being able to take criticisms. If any of these skills are missing but you do have an opinion, you will just find yourself angry. If you have all of these skills but no particular opinion, then you will at least have fun arguing for the sake of it.

I think being rigid in one’s opinions stunts the emotional and intellectual growth. We are constantly evolving in our thoughts and actions. So how are we to improve if we are tied down by our perceptions? My approach has changed lately - it feels good to linger, to take the the time to stay on the fence for a while, to allow myself to be swayed by popular opinion, to learn, to think through, to be objective, to do an about-face if need be and eventually to believe what feels right... at that moment. So yes, it takes some time for my opinions to solidify as beliefs. That is not to say that my beliefs are immune to change. They are not. It’s just that it might take a bit longer for the wind to change its course.

Paradoxically, when opinions are strong enough to become beliefs, they have the power to galvanize people to action. They inspire people to take up causes, fight the status quo and bring about change. But when they are opinions, they are mere rhetoric. They are fillers to avoid awkward silences during conversations. Given a chance, they have the potential of becoming much more. But it is a long journey and has to be a mindful one.

Meanwhile, I am learning to ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach when I hear opinions that contrast my own. If I can’t ignore it and if it is something I feel strongly about, I venture hesitatingly with what I hope is a non-confrontational and a pacifying affix........IMHO.....