The fractal of what ifs

 

On one cloudy Saturday morning in the fall of 2024, I woke up with a strong desire to escape the stresses of the hectic weeks behind me. "Let's go on a little day out", I told to myself as I slowly dragged myself out of my bed, sleepily dressed up in warm layers and stepped out of my apartment. I took the bus up to the top of Queen Anne, then went to a cafe that Google recommended, woke myself with delicious coffee, raspberry croissant and din of people chatting away. After that I strolled into Queen Anne Farmers Market, watched my colleague performing music with his group, shopped around, checked out the PaperSource shop nearby.

I felt satisfied about my little day out so far. It was a dark, windy fall morning. Sun was peaking through the grayness of the sky, casting a silvery ambience. Dried leaves made a little dance every time a bus or a car zoomed on the road. Many trees were done with their shedding and were already hibernating with their bare branches... Some still had gorgeous yellow leaves dancing beautifully with the wind. It was as ethereal as a fall morning can be.

Content with the cozy experience so far, and after splurging on a lot of cute stuff, I decided to head back. The bus was gonna be late, so I decided to just walk downhill. On my way back I passed by a familiar apartment complex. It was one of the apartment complexes I came to check out when I first moved to Seattle. Even though I walked along that route many times before, this time it triggered me. I started wondering what if I decided to stay in this apartment instead. Queen Anne is a lovely neighborhood; very convenient too. I remember liking the apartment as well. I decided to not take this one because there was only one bus running through that route and that would have been inconvenient for going to work. I signed up for another apartment because it was pretty and i had better bus access and walk-ability to my work. But only after moving there I discovered the inconveniences of that place.

My mind went into a rabbit hole of how my life would have been different if I had chosen to stay in this apartment instead. I tried hard to pull myself out of my rabbit hole and tried my best not to get overwhelmed by my own emotions. As I climbed down hill, the looming Space Needle, and the majestic view of Puget Sound reminded me about how lucky I am to be living in this beautiful city. As someone who loves to live in nostalgia, I often find myself in the center of a fractal of possibilities, and scenarios and getting drowned in "what ifs". In that moment of clarity I realized that if I chose to stay in that apartment, life would have been better in many ways, but difficult in many other ways. I took the best decision I could at that time and lived its consequences.... and I tried to console the me who gets trapped in the fractal of possibilities, that other decisions that I didn't take could have taken me into different life paths, with their own share of blessings and struggles, just like the blessings and struggles that came with the decisions I took. It would not have been better or worse; just different. That comforted me a bit. In fact, I am feeling slightly more comforted even as I am writing it now. And I reluctantly took a leap out of those fractals and tried to ground myself.

I remembered a time when I was panicking about the whole adulting process and  I would think, "I don't want to be an adult! It is too scary! Too many responsibilities, too many decisions to make and it is overwhelming!!!" I think i have a long way to go to heal the young me that still feels scared and overwhelmed... may be one day, but it will need a lot of hard work. 

Coming back to my walk downhill, I kept cruising while drifting through my tangled thoughts, the beautiful view ahead of me, pretty primroses, and jumbled memories. Soon I arrived at the foot of the hill. I decided to take a bus for the remaining part of my journey. The cold autumn morning, which began with a few people on the streets slowly trying to wake up, led me to the coziness of family and friends huddled together, chatting away. It was a day filled with warm interactions with strangers and friends, and lovely aroma of coffee and pastries, delicious food, and the sound of music. And now that I headed back, I found people around me - the ones standing in the bus-stop, traveling in the bus, and walking along the sidewalks- looked much more alive and prepared for the day; and so was I. 

I came back home feeling proud of myself for my little day out and took a lovely restful nap as a reward. And the journey of healing will continue for many more years... (Can I just roll my eyes and lol at it yet?)

 

Nostalgia of the mother land

After a busy work week and gloomy days of Seattle winter, Sun finally peeked out of the clouds on a Saturday afternoon. I was people-starved and experiencing cabin fever. This was my chance to get out of my slumber and get going. I got dressed up, picked my sketching bag and left my apartment. My Uber was quick to arrive and I hopped onto it, full of excitement to finally leave my apartment after a whole week. The driver was a friendly man  and in a minute we started chit-chatting and I soon learned that he was in his fifties, and of Kenyan descent. 

Soon we hit Mercer Street. The traffic was kinda big, somewhat unusual for a Saturday afternoon. I wondered if there was a game going on that night in Seattle. He casually replied, "No, just people moving around, because they have a car." And that's how the whole conversation started about his dissatisfaction with American lifestyle in general. He did not approve of how people are always busy, overwork during weekdays and are busy doing high intensity activities in the weekend, only to return to the busy life the next day. Because of overworking, they tend to age quicker and look older than their age, he observed. Cultural norms such as kids leaving to be on their own at teenage, old people being left at old age care, people paying for themselves when having family dinners at restaurants, bothered him. He went on to tell fond memories of him and his family, how he and his brothers regularly meetup for dinner and have a great time bonding and sharing, how everybody is eager to pay and treat others, how parents nurture kids till they are self-sustaining, and kids care for parents in their old age. He had smile on his face and excitement in his voice while talking about this.

After a week of starving in-person conversation, I just devoured in all he had to say. I did have some opinions that were against his, but after a few unconvincing attempts, I decided to stop and learn his perspective. Once my journey ended, I wished him a good time with his family and a nice weekend, and walked into the park that was a magnificent panorama of lush green hills, glowing downtown and glorious evening. Everything was so dramatic and colors were changing so quickly! After walking around the park for a bit, I found a dry corner, and got into painting the panoramic view in front of me. It was already night by the time I was done. I headed back and requested for another Uber. This time the driver had an interesting and unfamiliar name.

Turns out, I was not the only one. The driver was curious about my name too. After exchanging meanings of our names, I learned that the driver's doctor had given him this name after his birth. He was born in Albania and moved with his parents to USA later. He has close relatives in Albania, and he goes back and forth often. He wanted to know if I have good friends here and if I like it here. As the conversations got rolling, I asked him, "What do you miss about Albania?" And he promptly said, "Food. The meat here is not as rich in taste as there. So the dishes are not as delicious. Everything is prepackaged and preprocessed, that it loses its freshness." I agreed. I find the vegetables in USA to be much bigger in size and diluted in taste. He said his dad has his own garden and the produce from it tastes so good; much better than the supermarket food. I asked him if he likes to do gardening and then we got diverted into his life in Seattle and Seattle in general. When he dropped me off near my apartment, I showed my painting to him and he was happy to see it. After getting off the car on a happy note, I came back home with a sense of "I had a good day today!".

Now that I sat down to write after a long gap, I thought to myself, both these conversations had a nostalgia about one's motherland. We leave our homeland to another place to seek for something that is missing at home. But a faint scent of longing remains. There is always something that brings up nostalgia, that instantly transports to our homeland in our head, a childlike wish that the things we loved about our homeland were with us.

 What is your nostalgia about your motherland?

Old trails

It was a beautiful Sunday morning for a nice day out..
the wandering hearts wandered about streets,
taking random turns.
sometimes left, sometimes right.
sometimes up and sometimes down.

there was banter, complaints, worries, sharing and caring.
and before long, the unknown paths led to a path familiar.

a path that was part of everyday,  once upon a time not so long ago.
Or..
has it been long, actually?

Memories keep playing tricks, don't they?
Some feel like yesterday,
and some get buried somewhere decades ago.
And there are some that come back as surprise gift, making one wonder as if it happened at all...
all while sprouting at the same time, in the same place...

As the feet trod the the leaf strewn sideways,
eyes could not help looking at the other shore of the road,
ears could not help tuning out the banter around,
and tuning in to the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds and the heavy rumble of traffic... searching for the familiar memories...

there was me walking along the path on the other shore,
sometimes to south and ...
sometimes to north.
in the warm sunny days,
in the cool cloudy days,
in the cold winter nights,
and the nights with pink skies.
among the wet leaves,
and on the snowy grass.

she climbed onto these very steps I am climbing on.
she was right here in this spot in another time.

memories kept playing hide and seek like the shadows in the woods,
familiar at one moment and, distant and surreal in the very next...

The place had gone through little change,
sounds did not change much...
the scent was the same.
How was her heart though?

a little heavy, a little sad, a little hopeful, and a little determined.
filled with a sense of discovery, and a lot of rumination.

She stared back at me.
... with a gaze piercing through me even from far!
with a stone-like face determined not to reveal the storm within...
perhaps asking me, "How is your heart now?"

well, the heart was not sad anymore, I wished to tell her...
the trails are the same old,
but my heart is lighter,
my eyes shine a little brighter,
and the smile is broader.
with roads getting a little smoother...

the wandering minds wanted to take a different turn ...
and the feet started treading on different path...
and eyes discovered on the different views

...my thoughts left the old trail,
and the old me, 
and the old memories,

so familiar yet so distant.

The bird man

 

If you are local to Seattle, you know Denny Way is one of the busiest roads in Seattle. For a long time, I would frequent one of the high traffic areas along Denny Way; the cross-road between Denny Way and Aurora Avenue. It was a weird arrangement of roads. As you head north from Denny Way, you would see a tunnel (I99) emerging from underground. The normal traffic entering from the south along 5th Avenue North would skirt around the tunnel entrance and eventually all the three roads would merge into Aurora Avenue North. The spot on Denny Way right above the tunnel opening had a little of pavement like space acting as a boundary from the road traffic. On a typical weekday morning, you would see a lot of buses and cars moving past the cross road, and a crowd consisting mostly of Amazon employees scuttling with their hoodies and backpacks. For a while, I was a regular part of that morning crowd too. There was another person in the crowd too. But, he was not in any hurry to go anywhere. In that environment of busyness, hurry, and rush that breathed an anxious air, a general intention of doing something, or reaching somewhere, he was relaxed and content. He had no intention of doing anything and no worry about reaching anywhere. In fact, that little pavement seemed to be his very home. Day in, day out, I never failed to see this person. He would be there with his typical cardboard asking for donation along with all his belongings stashed in a corner. But he would be very busy doing something else... that is feeding birds. There would always be a frenzy of pigeons and sea-gulls feeding on food scrapes he threw for them.

This man, was an anomaly to his surroundings, as if solely taking the responsibility of balancing out the energy of the place.

I would never fail to notice him; however I would just feel amused and move on as I got immersed in the ongoing crowd, trying to reach somewhere, worried about doing something. This write-up is collection of memories of him and the emotions they evoke rather than a recollections of my feelings at that time. Frankly, I don't recall how I felt at that time.

Any way, after sometime, my typical route to work changed and I did not pass by Denny and Aurora as regularly. I would nevertheless find him whenever I would pass by that junction.

Sometime later, in 2019, the tunnel got demolished along with the famous and ugly Seattle viaduct evoking much nostalgia among the people of Seattle. The weird tunnel opening at Denny was now demolished and construction work continued for most of the year.

Now a year later in 2020, you would find a changed landscape and ... for the better. The awkward arrangement of the two narrow roads and tunnel opening is completely gone. In its place now runs a nice and wide highway giving a sense of openness. I still visit that place only occasionally. And a few times, the thought of this man has crossed my mind. Not much though, just for a fleeting second. 'What happened that man? I hope he went somewhere nice and is doing OK. I won't be able to see the frenzy of birds again.' And my mind would move on to some other pressing thought.

Until...

....one day, when I took a bus going from downtown to up north. As the bus approached Denny Way, I saw a frenzy of sea gulls at a junction slightly to the south of Denny Way. I was surprised. 'Sea gulls? In the middle of downtown? What's going on?', and peeked from the window. And what do I see? A homeless man, holding a bag of food, grinning ear to ear while feeding the sea gulls.

 

I too, smiled ear to ear. 'Hope he is doing well.'

A tale of perfumes

I was excited about going to the Saturday meetup today. I had not been to the meetup in a long time and was looking forward to it. As a result, I got up early, freshened up, packed up my stuff, and was all ready to go out instead of sleeping in and having a dull start to  the weekend. I hurried down to the entrance of the apartment building as I had only 1 minute before my cab arrived.

Luckily, the car just pulled over right in front of the gate I just came out of the building. Talk about perfect timing! I opened the cab door while feeling happy about the timing. And Bam! My nose was flooded with a strong sweet scent of a kind. It was nice though. I complimented the driver, "Your cab smells nice, what scent is it?" expecting him to tell some flower's name. But he said, "Oh, it is the perfume of the passenger I dropped off right before picking you up!" We both laughed. That was unexpected!

I wondered, "Did he tell what perfume it was?" The driver said, "Yes, he said it was Chanel. And I was like, damn.... I just finished my bottle a few days ago, and why didn't mine smell so good! I only recently changed into Giorgio Armani." Then he showed me a tiny perfume bottle and asked me to smell it. I sprayed a little on my wrist. The smell was too strong, and I immediately pulled my face away from my wrist. As I handed the bottle back to him I said, "It is pretty strong!" Then he joked, "Don't go home with this, otherwise your husband will suspect you , why you are wearing a male perfume!" and laughed. I was amused thinking to myself, "Oh! interesting. I never thought like that. I can't believe I am having this weird conversation!". I told him, "Oh, so I need to wipe it off before I go home?" He was concerned, "When will you be back home?" I said, "Don't worry. I won't be back till late in the day." He seemed to relax a little bit. 

He perked up immediately though and told me, "Well, you should wear perfume every now and then, you know, to feel ..." and jiggled up to imply "to feel nice/cool/sexy". "...but not these ones, they are male perfumes, and pretty strong." I asked, "Do you recommend any to me?" He said something like "Chloe" (confirmed after further research). I thought, "Point noted, Sir."

Then I went on saying how I don't like perfumes because of the loud smell, and he went on how perfumes should smell, and how they should make you feel, and did the jiggling again. The dude surely was really really passionate about perfumes. He mentioned different price ranges, and kinds of perfumes. He also mentioned how some perfumes like Burberry give him headache and he does not like them.

Soon, my destination came. My driver told me, "See you again" as I left the perfumed car out into ordinary mundane world. I giggled and smiled at myself for having this weird and amusing experience. I can't believe I learned so much about perfumes in mere 15 minutes than I had learned in my entire life.

I am still smiling ear to ear and I will always remember this experience every time I talk about perfume, buy a perfume, or walk through an isle of perfume in any shop.

Well,

Dear Cab Driver,

thanks for perfuming up my morning. I am up for a happy long weekend for sure.

 

A poetic day

Some days fly by just like that without you even taking notice what's going on. And then there are some days, that are just like poems; everything looks fuzzy and glossy and bright, everything smells nice; there is nice soft music playing in the background; there is a rhythm in your body; you feel like floating. That day was one of those rare days... poetic.

6 March 2019

the dog that could not take its eyes off its reflection as it climbed up the stairs...

the toddler running towards its Mom fearing that it will be left behind, and the  Mom and the Aunt waiting for it with a knowing smile...

the sweet warmth received from two strangers that are more familiar than acquaintances... 

the happiness in two pairs of shining eyes on meeting after long time...

the simmering city lights in the lake water...

the ecstacy of a flock of geese flying over head before quickly landing in water...

the ride in a fun car with the mood of a disco...

the box of chocolates that my day gifted me with these beautiful memories as I huddled up in my blanket at night....

smiling to myself... and thinking, "I had a poetic day today... When will I have one again?"
 

When they show up just like that

I had only 1 hr 35 minutes layover in Dubai on my way back to Seattle. I was prepared for the race though. I made sure I got an isle seat closer to exit. I carried only one backpack to save exit time. As soon as we landed, I was ready to leave, and started pacing on the first chance.

I hurried past other passengers in the hall way to catch a glimpse on the gate from which my next flight was supposed to depart. It was B23. Then I started pacing towards the gate, trying my best to make optimum use of the travelators.  Who knows how far the gate is? And I am walking, and walking, and walking, and the gate does not show up! Although I was sure I had enough time at hand, I did not want to delay. It still showed on the sign board that B gates are straight ahead. I kept crossing crowd of people strolling around the shops, and dodging them on my way. My legs started hurting and I was trying to motivate myself, "next turn", "hold on a little more", "after that pillar", "don't panic".  I would stop by the flight sign boards, and it showed my flight was already "currently boarding". I was confused. From my mental calculation, I still had about 20 minutes for boarding to start. "What's going on? Did I lose track of time? Damn, there is no clock around here." I wanted to turn on WiFi, but thought it would be better just to walk fast. Did not have patience to do mental math of the time difference between Indian and UAE. Finally the B series of gates started. I crossed one gate after another with lot of pep talk until I arrived at my gate.

There were not many people. Weird! I reach at the counter, and the agent wants to see my boarding pass. I ask, "Can I get some water  and be back in 5 mintues?" He says, "Boarding is almost finished. You better get in." "Whaat!", I say to myself, but meekly show my documents to proceed towards the gate.  Once I go downstairs, I understand what the real deal is. There is another custom/security check, where they open up your bag and check your contents, scan your laptops, mobile phones (hmm... I remembered just then that they skipped that check when I moved out of my arrivals), and then there is a huge hall in which all the passengers were sitting. I finished my security check, and took a seat. I was not able to receive WiFi, and was worried about connecting with my family. I asked a fellow passenger, but she did not know. Damn! As I am looking down trying to connect to WiFi, somebody calls me, "Swagatika!". I shift my attention towards the caller, and the person is standing right in front of me. I look up. And it is a senior from IIIT! I was so excited! 

All my worry and sense of rush vanished in a moment. I gave her a big hug. She was my  senior in IIIT, and I always looked up to her and asked her for advice whenever I needed. When I left IIIT, she had gifted me a sketchbook in which I had sketched her. But I never took the sketchbook with me to USA until this return trip. As I was packing the sketchbook in  my bag, I thought, "I will contact her after I go back to Seattle." And here she was standing right in front of me! Boarding started soon enough, and we boarded the flight. I could use her phone to connect to WIFI and reach my family too. Thank God! Once we got down, we chatted on our way back through security and custom. She was visiting Seattle on a short visit for job interview. We met again for short time and I showed her around Seattle Spheres, and we had heartfelt conversation on many topics during that period. It was great connecting with on of my idols, and her encounter was nothing short of any beautiful surprise! 

As I bode farewell to her, I thought to myself, "I am gonna be happy for next two days :) "  You don't meet amazing people everyday. And reuniting with them by chance is even more rare. It was definitely one of my lucky encounters.

The egoistic person detector

One of the benefits of moving to USA, making a decision to move into a studio despite my apprehensions, is the amazing experience of meeting with people from all different walks of life. I get to meet people from different countries, ethnicities, professions, linguistic backgrounds, age-groups. Talking to other people, and learning about them has been as boon in many ways. I not only learn about them, but also about myself.

One of the many lessons I have learned on the way, is to understand someone's personality from a brief encounter. I have noticed that everybody likes being asked about themselves. I usually ask people about them out of curiosity and many stories build from there.

Then the conversation that follows from the initial small talk defines a pattern. Typically, there are two types of patterns that I observed.

First, the non-talkers. They do not encourage communication. You ask them, they respond. They don't ask anything in return, and the conversation stops there. This acts as a sign not to badger them anymore.

The second category, obviously, is the the talkers. They generally get enthusiastic and ask a question back and conversation flows from there through the exchange of questions and answers.

Although these two types define the course of interaction in the next few minutes or hours, it does not always define their personality types. Everyone can fall into any of these categories depending on the topic, their mood, and various other intangible factors.

However, recently, I am noticing a third pattern. And I am almost reaching to a conclusion that this relates to a person's personality type. Lets dissect the third type.

These people, are not interested in asking you a question. You ask them questions. They do give you a response, but form then onward, it is all about them. Whenever their answer ends, it ends with "Ask me another question", and the cycle goes on until either time is off or the questioner does not have any questions left to ask. These people, my friends, are "egoistic people", who are not going to ask you a question, unless they consider you superior to them, and the whole conversation is going to be either about them, or about how you should fix yourself.

The moment I realized this, it was my "Aha! moment". I felt I like I found my secret detector, that I can carry all the time. Now onward, if you want to detect an egoistic person in your first meeting, just ask them a question, and sit back and enjoy the drama being unfolded. You will get your answer within few minutes.

 

It's getting all philosophical

On a Friday evening, four of us went out for dinner. Then we walked to a hilltop to watch the sunset from the other corner of the city. The sunset was beautiful.... Sun hid beneath the clouds, emanating its rays in all beautiful colors, and was slowly receding behind the mountains.

We had a bird's eye view of the city too, a highway running right below the hilltop, and our eyes were drawn to the mesh of roads spanning north-south and east-west, a straight line leading upto KeyArena, the beautiful Space Needle, complimenting the evening sky, the hilly terrain, houses, skyscrapers, commercial buildings, all together. The cars zooming past the highway were leaving behind a low frequency noise...zoom...zoom....zoom...

And as we savoured the scene, the following conversation took place among us..

First person: When I see this highway, I wonder how this all looked before this!

Second person: All these cars running on the highway.... why are they always running?

Third person: Some are running away from something, some are running towards something.

First person: Why do they have to keep running? Why can't they be happy where they are?

Fourth person: This is all getting philosophical ...

Then we stared at the beautiful view again :)

Day out in a hilly neighborhood

Last evening, I went on a walk with my friends, in a hilly neighborhood of the town. 

I saw beautiful, decorated, quaint, brick buildings invoking nostalgia.

I saw tall, glossy, smug-looking buildings spanning the skyline, inspiring awe and submission.

I peeked into a balcony decorated with beautiful red Chinese lanterns, and beautiful potted plants precariously, yet aesthetically placed on the balcony railings.

I also saw a house whose balcony was filled with plants, the windowsill was decorated with beautiful indoor plants well-lit with an array of tube-lights.

I saw a telescope peeking to the sky from behind a glass wall from some star gazer's apartment.

I jumped under a cherry tree, shaking the branches and letting the petals shower on me.

I plucked a beautiful blue bell shaped flower with beautiful scent. They call it Bluebells, it seems.

I saw some dandelions, a few in full bloom, a few inviting to blow the seeding flower away.

There were some daffodils too, ever gorgeous, happy and diva-like.

I was curious about a cluster of bell shaped dark blue flowers, named Grape Hyacinths.

I saw the Sun hiding behind the clouds as he set into the night with all its colorful glory. I saw the cars racing through the highway with zooming speed.

I saw a homeless man scurrying along the footpath with all his possessions tightly packed in a shopping cart.

I saw night slowly embarking on the city sky. Yellow lights started to twinkle from the buildings, as well as zooming fast on the highway.

It was a nice day out in the hilly neighborhood.

my crude take on struggles of feminism: USA vs India

Yesterday, I had to rush to somewhere, so I took a cab for a short distance. The cab driver was Kenyan and seemed to be a gentleman. I have observed that my conversations with the cab drivers with middle-eastern or African origin tend to start with them saying, "Are you Indian?" (I can almost hear them saying it.) and the conversation flows from there. He did educate me about the history of Indian immigration in Kenya apart from discussing about Seattle weather, places in America, and immigrant life. As the discussion casually meandered through different topics, he said, and I am quoting here to the best of my memory, "You know, I have observed that in America, women are really in a fight against men, but that is not the case in other places." I did not have an answer to that. At the same time, I had arrived at my destination, so I had to get down. But the last piece of conversation lingered behind.

Now if we come to think of it, why is it so, really? I have not gathered enough information or evidence regarding this to come to a strong conclusion.

It is true that India is much more misogynist as a society, and more open and unapologetic about it. A woman has to fight it in so many complex layers. It is also true that there are outright vocal groups like Gulab gang taking strong aggressive actions against misogyny. On the other hand, I do feel safer in USA than India. Many Indian women have shared the opinion that safety is one of the most important reasons for them staying back in USA. It's true that when I am in bus, I do not think twice before taking a seat next to a man, whereas in India I would be in utter panic throughout the time if I had to. When I am interacting with men, I do not find them staring at my boobs and be unapologetic about it. I walk around after dark much more comfortably not worrying about my life. 

Yet something is fundamentally missing here. I do realise that there is a strong lack of female role models here. In India, we have a lot of role models to follow starting from strong female leaders, and strong females in family such as mothers and grandmothers playing the role of matriarchs. Women in these roles are admired by people from both genders. I think American society is missing that. While there is a lot of talk and awareness about feminism, women empowerment, certainly more than India, it somehow does not seem to be enough. There is a negative attitude like ridicule, and dismissal, to a point where a woman will almost end up questioning her own experiences.

Despite all the misogyny in all different levels in India, I was never dismissed as a person. I never found my voice drowning in noise. Here I do see that tendency to dismiss. One has to put extra effort to make people to realize that "I exist", "I have an opinion that matters". For a long time, I thought it may have to do with my own personality, but when I shared with other women, I realized it is a battle everyone is fighting in their own different way.

I agree, I need to dig deeper to understand this attitude of American society. Still, I can firmly say that the advantage of Indian society is that the misogyny women experience in India is blatant, bare, and right in front of us. So every women is strongly aware of it. She knows who is her enemy and what it looks like. Although the complexity and nuanced nature of the issue imposes a big challenge, it does help us women to make a conscious or subconscious choice between whether to deal with it, or fight it; be vocal about it, or let our actions speak. 

In USA, strict law and order system, and perhaps some social norms ( that I am not aware about yet) ensures women's safety and general respect. One can see women in almost all types of jobs working with pride. I think the problem of enormous amount of complexity that comes with an ancient and hierarchical society like India is also not present here. Yet the tendency to dismiss and the sense of insecurity regarding treating a woman as a person remains prevalent and much more subtly so. When you do not know what is your enemy, it is tough to make a sophisticated choice. I guess it may be one of the reasons why women had to (or have to) declare an open fight against men or patriarchy.

If we put it metaphorically, let us imagine two people who are causing harm to you. You know the first person won't listen to any sensible rational conversation. Either they will dismiss you or they will try to sabotage you. What would you do? Suffer silently, or wage an open war. But you find hope that you can find a solution to your problem with the second person possibly through dialog, or bending rules, or manipulation, or by just outgrowing them. Then you won't feel the urgency to put up an open fight, and at the same time you will have the courage to protect and nourish your cause.

I know my analysis  and conclusion are crude, but I hope this encourages people to consider the matter instead of jumping into conclusion about people, norms, and society as feminazy, MCP and other derogatory terms.

Well, signing off while thanking my cab driver for making me think over the topic.

 

 

The two countries - Persia and Iran

It was a Saturday afternoon. I went to the Indian store for grocery shopping. Since the Indian store is far from my home, I tend to go there once in a few months with a long list and load my cart with bags. So after my tiresome grocery experience, I called for cab. When I met the cab driver, it was mildly awkward. The driver looked white, his name (from my app) sounded like an African name, and his attitude was like an Indian man (read tashan). Unlike typical drivers, he did not greet me with great enthusiasm or any follow up conversations. I won't lie if I say I resented that he did not help me with my luggage, although he helped in holding the cart. It was not unpleasant, but something not usual either. I got into the cab, turned my GPS on, texted my friend to be online just in case. A few minutes passed in silence. It was bothering me. So I decided, "Enough. Start talking." And I asked him, "mmm...huh....am sorry, but I am not sure if I pronounced your name correctly. How do you pronounce your name?" Then he said his name. It is actually two names, that the app joined together as one. Now it made sense. The name was an Arabic name. It resembled a Pakistani singer, but I could not recall his face. So I got lost in thought. Then he quickly added, "It is like the name of a famous Pakistani singer." I agreed, "Yes, that's what I was thinking".

Now, my other confusion started. So he is a muslim. He looks like he is white. He is not excited at me being obviously Indian. So he might be anywhere from Pakistan to west Asia. He spoke of the singer admirably, but he did not have the same pride as a Pakistani would about the singer. Then where is he from?

Well, this time it did not take me long. I asked and he replied, "I am from Iran." I was relieved, for it gave a rest to my confusion. Now my mind shifted from being confused to being curious. I told him that I have met a lot of Iranian people in my grad school and made a few good friends. I asked him if he is doing ok with the situation that arose thanks to the recent elections. He said with great confidence, "Ya...ya. It's all good. I have my green card. So I do not have to worry. But if Trump decides to send me back, I will ask him to book a first class flight ticket for my country. He is like a family friend.", and laughed. Then the conversation started flowing. We exchanged our experiences and opinions on life in USA, life as expatriates, what we miss about our home country etc, etc. 

Then the interesting part came. I asked, "How do Americans react when they know you are from Iran?" He said with his typical tashan, "See, I don't tell them right away. I tell them I am from two countries. First, I was in Persia. ". We both paused. Then he continued, "Then I became citizen of Iran. So I am from both Persia and Iran."  I was like "What, they did not get it?!" And he said, "Nope." I laughed hard. That joke, just made my day :)

He continued, "When they hear Persia, they think it is some country in the eastern Europe. Even though they don't know, they are afraid to ask. So if I ask, 'Have you heard of it?', they say, a weak yes. But when they hear Iran, they get shocked. " I was admiring his wit! I asked, "Well, do you reveal them at all?" He said, "Sometimes yes. I tell them after some time, 'Do you know Persia and Iran are the same countries?' " and laughed. This time his laughter had a tone of seriousness and irritation that such memories brought him. 

Then he went on the ignorance about the world in American education, how people change their names when they move here, or try to ape American culture, and forget their own culture... and many other topics. I agreed with some, defended some,  was clueless about some, and tried to fill my G.K. tank with some other topics.

When I reached home, he not only helped me with my luggage, but stopped and waited in his car until I entered my apartment.

Watch what you say to your loved ones

A few months ago, I went to a day-long painting workshop. After a short early-morning adventure, I finally found my venue. The instructor was an old lady, probably in her 60s. The workshop was really nice, and I got to learn a lot of techniques, skills, and styles. She also showed her paintings, which were beautiful. During the lessons, she would tell small stories about her childhood days, how she would ride on horse in the countryside, how everybody knew each other, how her parents had a huge rock collection. I loved those stories for they gave me a chance to glance at how life in America was back in the old days. 

During noon, most of us headed out for lunch. I was new to the area, so I followed them. As we walked, I was curious about how long she has been painting. She said, her Mom was a painter, and she got inspired from her. She used to paint when she was young, but she stopped painting after she got married. She resumed painting only since last 12 years, and has been painting ever since. I exclaimed, "Why?" She said, her husband did not think  she painted well. He dismissed her painting and often ridiculed her. And her eyes started welling up in tears, and she could not speak further. I did not know what to say. They got divorced after 25 years of marriage. I tried to console and divert her with some lame words, while cringing inside. Then she said, that her ailing Mom came to stay with her one day. She asked her Mom, "What would you like to do?" Her Mom said, "What we always did." And they started painting together. They continued to paint until her Mom took her last breath. My instructor continues to paint to cherish the memory of her Mom and the beautiful time they spent together.

Her story both shocked and moved me. Here is a woman, with amazing painting skills, stopped it for TWENTY FIVE long years, because someone she loved rejected it. And it has been long since her ex-husband was out of her life, more than a decade. She had gathered courage to realize that she is actually good at what she does, and to actually resume the practice. Still she was hurting. Still her eyes were welling up with tears when she remembered about it. Still she could not find words to explain her situation.

This lady's story just told me what can a loved one do to you. Recently, I read a facebook post saying that you are a result of the people around you.  It reminded me of her story on how two important persons in her life shaped her life. On one hand, her Mom who pulled her up for a better life, and her ex-husband who dragged her down. I felt scared. It made me realize how much power do we have to make drastic changes in others' lives. 

I see so many people constantly criticizing their spouses, and even enjoying it, dismissing and humiliating their children, ridiculing people around them, and thriving from the act. We must understand that our words and actions have a strong impact on people around us, and especially our loved ones, because they need us, they seek our approval, the same way we do. To those who justify their act of dismissing, or being mean, or being negative to their loved ones for whatever reason, I have a sincere request. Please be kind, at least to those you love. Watch what you say to them. Watch what you say about them. Watch what you do to them. Yes, karma is a bitch, and it is going to chase you back. Even if you don't care about that,  please realize that  you have the potential to destroy someone's life and break someone's soul.

The wonder in those eyes...

After I got in the bus to work (the preceding story goes here), I got a seat next to a Mom with her  few months old baby. The baby was strapped against the Mom's chest with a strapped bag. The strapped bag was holding the baby pretty robustly, I must say. Every time I see these advanced baby holding tools, I feel impressed and appreciate technology. 

Any way, the baby was super cute, with big black eyes. I could not help staring at him, and he also stared back, with lots of curiosity, as if he was just grasping everything that he was seeing when he was looking at me. I did not want to annoy his Mom. So I broke the eye contact, but nevertheless continued watching him. He was watching everything, staring at people around him, at the constantly moving road. He would let out a scream of excitement whenever he found something interesting, and whenever the scene changed, say from forests, to the mesh of concrete highways. He would shake his hands and legs briefly as he screamed, and then quickly go back to grasping all his surrounding. He was a delight to watch. His Mom would laugh every time he screamed. I got to talk to her briefly before I got down at my stop, and she said, it was her baby's first day out in the city. That explained why he was so excited, filled with wonder about everything that was going on around him!

That morning, he made my day. I wish more grown up people could wonder like that...

Two life lessons in two seconds

It is the story of the other day, when I was very relaxed and chilled out. I was not in any rush, even though I was slightly late to work.  I had to walk a little from my house, go to the other side of the highway on a over-bridge, and catch the bus right after climbing down the over-bridge. I was walking slowly, as if I have all the time in the world. I had one flight of stairs to climb down, and a bus came to the stop. I hurried up. But the bus left right at the moment I stepped on to the platform with a dramatic effect. How insensitive! I felt bad, and rejected. I scolded myself, "Opportunities won't be sitting out there waiting for you! You have to rush and hurry up, if you want to catch them!"

And right when I started lecturing myself all the wisdom, another bus came, within a second after the first bus left. And I cheered up, "Yeah! If one opportunity gets lost, no worries, another will come."

 And my day started rolling with the bus :)

Nutcracker and the gorgeous Boston Opera House

This winter break,  I decided to go to Boston Opera House to watch Nutcracker ballet by Boston Ballet to wisely spend my holiday time in Boston ;) .  I was excited to watch ballet for the first time.  And little nervous, since this was my first time attending a western theater. From my impression due to English movies, the theaters are grand, and people who go there are elite, at least look and act that way. I was imagining people with hats and elaborate dresses walking slowly through the theater like what I saw in Titanic. 

And, as I entered the Opera House, I saw why I would think that. Located in the middle of downtown Boston, amidst tall greenish glass-walled modern buildings, the opera house had a narrow entrance. From outside, I could not imagine how big it might be. But as I entered,  I was trying hard to shut my mouth! The opera house was grand! Every corner was decorated intricately, with beautiful carpets, intricate wooden carvings on wall, gorgeous chandeliers, and staircases. It gave me a glimpse of European architecture of 18th and 19th century. (Now, I looked up at Internet and it says, the Opera House opened in 1928.) Since it was end of the year, it was heavily crowded.  There were people from all generations, from really old people to really small toddlers. All the little girls were dressed like ballerinas, and looked so cute!  As I walked across the Opera House towards the theatre, I felt like I was walking in the movie set of Titanic. I could not help imagining Titanic here! People were posing for photographs, talking, meeting friends, there was laughter, conversation and happiness echoing from the walls of the theater. As I climbed through the staircases, I felt like some princess. And then when I entered the theater, it was WOW! It was even more gorgeous than the hallway!  Every corner of the theater was touched with a craftsman or a painter's creative hand.  

Created with flickr slideshow.

After a while, the play started. I was prepared to shoot the entire show, but then there was an announcement that we were supposed to switch off phones and cameras. I was a little disappointed initially. But later, I realized that it is better that phones were off. The play demanded full attention. And it was amazing! The way the different backgrounds of the story were emerging and closing according to the plot, the lights, and the artists, everything was so gorgeous! I remember, the dance in the ice princess's kingdom, it did feel as if in that corner of the world, there was snow and cloud in real.

Me and my sister spent a lot of time watching ballet dance in Disney Barbie movies. I wondered how does it look in real? Trust me, it looked more dream like in real, much more amazing. Those dance steps done in Disney animation were not animated, they were imitation of real dance steps!

When the show ended, my eyes were wide open with amazement, I wanted more. I returned to the little shops in the Opera House selling souvenirs of the show. I overheard people talking about how did they like the show and all. I was impressed how they loved and cherished a simple children's fairy-tale story so much.  It seemed as if this play has a lot to do in shaping childhood memory of kids in West. It was amazing how longingly people relished their childhood memory of the play, how people went there with their kids, now with their grand-kids, how people attended the show at London, and how they love to watch it again, how little kids wanted the trinkets, and everybody was eager to buy them. 

When I first read the pamphlet, the story seemed  very simple to me. I was more excited about the ballet. But after watching people's reaction, I realized it is not just a play to these people. Its a part of celebrating holidays. I wonder how much power does a simple story have! How many kids will have vivid memories of the play even when they are old!

A little search in Wikipedia tells me,   "The Nutcracker is a two-act ballet, originally choreographed by Marius Petipa and Lev Ivanov with a score by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (op. 71). The libretto is adapted from E.T.A. Hoffmann's story The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, written in 1816. It was given its première at the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg on Sunday, December 18, 1892, on a double-bill with Tchaikovsky's opera Iolanta." 

 

A synopsis of the Nutcracker play is given here. We were also given pamphlets to go through the plot-line. That helped me understand the details of the play. If you are curious, you can have a look at it :)

The play was a filler to my heart with good memories and feelings. I came out of the theater, wide-eyed, excited, dreamy and positive!

 

My suggestion, if you are in or around Boston, definitely give this place a chance. Just to see how gorgeous it is, even if you are not into ballets and stuff. There are coupons and offers to buy tickets at cheaper price. Do watch out for them, you won't regret it!

The cab driver from Somalia

I had to take a cab one afternoon. It was a high traffic period. So in order to kill time me and my cab driver started talking. He was a nice gentleman in his 50s probably. Thanks to him I had a smooth ride and I reached on time. The conversation that followed the next 30 minutes or so was interesting. It made me peep into a different thought process, gave me an idea about different world. I am going to put down excerpts of the conversation. It may hurt peoples' religious, national sentiments and historical knowledge in general. So caution to orthodox or chauvinist people: do not read it ;). Since the conversation was a revelation to me about many aspects, I do not have any opinions about the conversation. I think it will take me long time to form an opinion about the subjects and for time being, I want to just grasp the facts with an awe. So I have decided to put them as I heard, as accurate as my memory allows me. 

• The person has been in Boston for more than 20 years. He traveled here from Somalia long back and has been driving taxis since then. 
• He had to appear a driving test for license renewal purpose one hour after dropping. He was sure that he would qualify. He likes to sit in class because  he likes to learn. But nothing to worry, since everyone knows him in the class due to his experience.
• He was looking forward to get his license renewed, so that he can drive his own taxi.
• He has family and kids back in Somalia. They moved there from Boston, so that the kids can afford cheap high school education.
• He guessed that I am Indian (damn, we are so conspicuous!) and was curious if I was Muslim. When I said No, he was a little disappointed, nevertheless happy that he met an Indian.
• They are 15 siblings, and the youngest of them studied at Northeastern University and is doing a decent job.
• They are from the northern part of Somalia. It is a nice place, with mountains and people live a peaceful life there.
• But there is a war going on in south of Somalia, and that upsets him. According to him, it all can stop if people will communicate and just ask "What do you want?" (I remember clearly, how he moved his hand in a gesture of enquiry.)
• It is very easy for them to find job in north of Somalia. If they do not get job, it is a matter of 8 hours to travel to Saudi Arabia, Yemen or Oman, where jobs are plenty..
• Somalia was a Italian colony during 1940s, at the time of the Mussolini regime.
• It was better in Somalia during Mussolini's regime than it is now. Mussolini was a good guy. People may say many things, but he was a good guy.
• In fact, Mussolini and Hitler, all these people were good.
• (I did object that Hitler killed many people, how can he be good?). He admired  Hitler for being  a tough guy.  He killed only Jewish people. So that's okay.
• If Prophet Mohammad is father, then Ibrahim is like their grandfather. He was a muslim.
• Ibrahim, Prophet Mohammad, Jesus, Jewish people, Christian people all were actually Muslim people. Now Jewish are against Muslims, they claim that Ibrahim is theirs. 
• He thinks Indian education is good, and people get really good education in India. (He was curious why did I have to move to USA).
• He admires Indian people, since they are smart and hardworking and nice, especially smart women who are independent. It makes him feel good about his own kids. It is a treat for him to give ride to Indians. (he seemed to have some nice prior experience with Indians).

sunlight on my face :)

Its not afternoon exactly... Its 6.43PM now. I left lab at 6PM. But in Boston summer, this is still afternoon. Sun is bright and shiny. I took a break and started walking. As I walked I came in the west village complex. The west village quad is a nice lawn with zig-zag paths surrounded by fort-like West Village complex. The West Village buildings are separated by narrow passages that connect the complex to the main road.  So as I was strolling around, saw this bright passage and decided to walk through that. The moment I entered the passage, it felt amazing.  I wish I could describe the awesome feeling.. The sun was directly in front of me and the bright rays fell directly on my whole body, warming up from my face to toes.. I decided to walk in the same direction... crossed the street, walked on another sidewalk that led to the main road. The direct rays were obstructed by the buildings as the sidewalk ended. So I just walked back and forth along the sidewalk... Felt funny.. 

When I was walking facing the Sun, the face was getting flooded by the warmth. I wish I could somehow visualize the light particles spreading on my body.. as I walked with my back to the Sun, my back, waist, thighs and knees were getting heated up. It felt so warm and comforting that I kept walking back n forth for half-an-hour or so :) It was bliss. I just wanted to feel it again and again...

As I walked, talking to myself, I could remember all such afternoons... when I would go out to play in colony at 4 o'clock when I was 5 or 6 years old, when I would ride bicycle in the sinuous roads in Burla, when I would take walks in the campus in IIIT... There was some magic in the bright orange light and the heat of the 4 o'clock Sun... Felt nostalgic and awesome ! 

And when I returned and rested on my workspace, I felt as if the muscles of my legs had turned into hundreds of pistons moving wildly here and there.. It was not painful, but funny :) 

Just happy about the afternoon and the Sun, here is my flying kiss to the Sun for making my day :)

The quarreling couple

I have been in constant dilemma over writing about this incident. I feel guilty for writing about some people's personal lives. But, I fail to take it easy. It forces me to think, worry and analyze. Now, I have finally decided to write it down. 

A few days  back, I was walking back to work after lunch. I saw this Indian couple walking on the street talking loudly in Hindi. Their Hindi conversation attracted my attention bringing a smile to hear an Indian language here in the foreign land. As I am about to divert into my way, I notice that the guy starts running suddenly. He starts running onto the road. At first I think, they are having fun. But soon I realise they are having argument about something. The girl is shouting loudly to stop. The guy does not listen, he jumps onto road. I get scared, not for the guy who just jumped on to the road, but for the girl. You will know why in a while. The road was empty. There was a  signal few meters away. It was red and the vehicles were still waiting for it to turn green. If the guy had real intentions of acting crazy and crossing the road in a bout of anger, he could have easily done it. It was safe. But he did not. He ran for two more steps and then looked back. I smiled, "Coward!". Then I looked at the girl, she sighed in relief. Then I looked back at the guy. He looked back, first with fear and then with a strange arrogance. He walked back with chest wide and full of attitude. I remember him warning, "Don't do this to me again!". I thought, "Common! Don't act smart now!". Then he walked back to the girl, they walked in opposite direction while  continuing their quarrel. I just wished I could hug the girl and say, "Girl, you do not have to deal with this. He needs to grow.  You deserve better."

This all happened in less than a minute. As I walked back cursing them for spoiling my afternoon, many things popped into my mind, and stayed for long time.

We as Indians are cautious about public display of affection. We hesitate to  hold hands. Kissing in public space is taboo. We are awkward to talk about sex. Why? Because this is our Indian culture. This is how we are. These acts are supposed to be done in private. I do not want to debate if these are right or wrong.  I want to say what I felt at that moment. I remembered all the couples whom I had seen hugging, kissing, smooching on the streets of Boston. When I had encountered them during my initial days in USA, I was awkward, not knowing how to react. But at this moment, those acts seemed divine to me. I mean it, they seemed divine. It was sad to realise that while we are taught that showing affection is supposed to be intimate and done privately (I am not opposing it), we are not told to show our negative emotions privately. If PDA is western culture, is fighting and making scene in public Indian culture? Why don't we feel ashamed of it? Why are not we cautious about it? Someone may counter-argue saying I am generalizing it. No, I am not generalizing it. Look around yourself. Look how people in our families and personal sphere act. Look how are we on streets. Look at our elders and their interaction among themselves. While they shy away from showing affection, there is no hesitation on showing resentment. If expressing affection is supposed to be done in private, then showing anger and resentment should also be done in private. How many are doing it? How many are even aware of it? 

By pointing at the guy's behaviour, am I blaming the guy? Am I blaming all men? No. While I was witnessing this on that day, similar incident might be happening somewhere else where the girl might be behaving madly. However, I want all of us to introspect, both young generation and our parent generation. I don't know if anyone sees it or not, to me the guy was manipulating the girl. I don't know if he was doing so deliberately or not. I felt pity for the guy. He was insecure. Had he not been, he would not act like a maniac. He was scared since he did not have courage to accomplish what he set for initially. He was doing it just to grab attention of the girl. He was also egoistic and afraid to lose control to the girl. That's why as he returned, he made sure that he made it look like he returned only because the girl was begging to return, and by doing so he was doing a favour to her. I don't know if the girl was able to understand that or not. If not, I sincerely wish she understands it. Such manipulative and abusive behaviour is uncalled for. It is disgusting to think that we educated, financially stable (atleast not poor) people are being like this. I can go on and on about such behaviour I have seen and heard of among young people in close circle as well through stories of others' personal lives. I see the confusion, frustration, insecurity everywhere and it saddens me. As if, everyone is deeply insecure and is dumping on the immediate outlet they can get. What is going wrong? I am not talking about poor, uneducated people who are struggling with their life. It would have been understandable in that case. But we are middle class or upper class people with enough financial stability to lead a secure life. We are educated enough to decide right to wrong. We are from a so-called stable society. Then where does it go wrong? 

While our generation is struggling with this, I want us to to take it seriously, to take ourselves seriously, learn to be responsible for our actions, and how we treat others, especially the ones close to us. Our action can be the cause of insecurity for another person. While our social structure is going through lot of parallel transitions, it is essential and urgent for us to put a check on such behaviour. While being a part of the changing society, it is our job to watch out for such abusive behaviour in ourselves and people close to us. I can not emphasize enough the urgency of this situation.

Despite all this philosophy, I would like to think most of our young generation as a victim of such abusive behaviour. I want to blame our parent generation for this. While our elders easily point to us for getting westernized and losing our culture and ethics, I blame them for passing on to us the skewed view of Indian culture. Kids are watching you constantly. You are model for them. They know when you love each other, they know when you respect each other,  they know when you abuse, they know when you get abused and keep mum, they know when you haul swear words, they know your struggles, they know when you bow to social pressure and make your family a second priority, they know when you discriminate between your daughters and sons, they know when you treat your sons as future bread-earners and nothing else, they know when you treat your parents as burdens, they know when what others say matters more to you than the priorities of your loved ones, they know when you criticize them in front of others, they know when you hit and abuse them in the name of discipline. They experience it every moment. They learn from you, your good, your bad. They imbibe all of this subconsciously, even if they do not know or are unable to express in words. They take whatever their mind is capable of. They build their conscience with these experiences. The fact that they have such skewed and confused opinion about good and bad is because of you. Because you did not pass on this message clearly to them. Because you did not know them in first place. It makes me laugh and sad at the same time when people justify their wrong behaviour saying my parents did so, so will I. 

I feel stressed as I write it, but no more guilty about writing what I witnessed. As I conclude, I want to say, it is urgent. Treat it is as an epidemic and deal with it immediately. Otherwise, we would soon choke ourselves in the name of culture and implode. Act now before it is too late and the term "Indian culture and values" is left as a mere myth.

Come, sit on me! ... I dare you! x-)

Last week's snowstorm was my first experience with snowstorm ... I managed to go out of my apartment in the evening. As I returned, I decided to take a walk around my block just to experience how does it feel to be in the middle of a snowstorm. I crossed the workers shoveling the snow off the road and railway track, tractors spitting snow onto heaps, people rushing through the slippery snow, a group of students playing in the snow at the Krentzman Quadrangle... I was excited to see, touch and feel the shiny, white, puffy and light snow, gathered into heaps on the grounds and beside the roads.... They were pervasive, they got deposited anywhere they wanted to ... Look at the chairs on the streets! Until autumn, they were meant for sitting... Now they are full of white snow-cushions... cunningly inviting you to sit on them... They looked so funny... What if I just went and sat there ! :P They, indeed, were putting a dare on the passers-by and must be having a good time :)