It seems only yesterday that I last wrote and yet it has been two months! How much has happened. We took a six week long trip through southern India from Chennai, Bangalore, Kovalam and Calcutta. Saw close family we hadn't seen in over a year. Attended a traditional Bengali wedding, my first since my own wedding eleven years ago.
Through all this, I felt how much had changed and how things still remained the same. TV and internet has revolutionized media. Where there was filters and channel control, now there is a plethora of channels and quite a bit of media mayhem. Utterly delightful as it is for the viewer, the senses occasionally reel from the onslaught.
And yet, things still take inordinately long to get done. Be it my order at a restaurant, a simple withdrawal at a bank or catching a cab to the airport or railway station, conveniences may seem trivial, but on a trip the little details matter because that's where the devil's at.
I used to daydream about homecooked meals, the taste of my native land. This trip made it very clear to me how much my tastes have changed. After a month of Indian food three times a day, I was craving some good ole' northwest salmon, slowgrilled in foil with garlic and proscuitto on top....I guess the Indian inside me has left the building.
What remains fresh in my mind regardless of the joys and trials, are the sight and sounds of waves crashing on Kovalam beach. Rough and powerful surges of water crashing on the rocks, spilling all over the black sand beaches, gently swaying the coconut and palm trees. My parents trying a siesta in vain as their energetic grandkids jump all over them. My sons trying out new hindi words they hear on TV. Sounds of a midsummer vacation that will remain while the smell of traffic fumes slowly fade from memory.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
My Favorite Movies
In writing a personal profile, I'm often asked about my interests. What movies I like, my favorite music, books I would recommend etc. Usually, I offer up a list of current favorites. Except on those occasions when I feel that my preferences are being recorded for future use. Sound paranoid? Absolutely! Do you know why? On facebook or similar social networking sites, I can be "matched up" with people who have similar interests. Even when I have zero acquaintances in common. Yikes!
But today, I feel a compulsion to at least write down a few of my all time favorite movies. Movies that I can sit down to watch any time without hesitation. Today I found out that Dennis Hopper is dead. To me, he was not just an actor. He was the actor who brought me to Easy Rider. And Easy Rider was the movie that got me through weeks and months of loneliness when I was in Japan. Mombusho was an exciting opportunity, but I was ill-prepared for life in Japan. With no friends, not ready for the cold weather and frequently an outsider, I was lonely and sad as I'd never been before. Till I discovered the LD section of the university media library. And Easy Rider. I found I could laugh at futility and darkness, at my own misery and the hope that comes out of youth, even when that hope is misplaced.
I remember watching How Green Was My Valley as a teenager in my parents home. This movie is probably known only to movie buffs. But I distinctly remember a scene where the rich man's son comes to the poor man's house to ask for his daughter's hand. As the poor man takes a turn, pretending to think this offer over, we see he's holding his boots at his back. A poignant reminder of the futility of this man's attempt to establish his status as the girl's father in the face of the suitor's wealth and rank.
In graduate school, my roommate Anita and I watched Il Postino and Whats Eating Gilbert Grape. How we laughed and cried over them together. The scene where Johnny Depp's mother passes away, or where they buy a cake from the rival grocery store, where Mario Ruoppolo uses metaphors of butterflies to woo his Beatrice, his final gift for Neruda are all stuck in my brain even though I haven't seen the films in ten years.
I have watched many movies over the years. Terry Gillam's Brazil, Peter Greenaway's The Pillow Book, Scott Hicks' Snow Falling on Cedars, Mira Nair's Salaam Bombay,Joan Chen's Xiu Xiu have all left a mark. Among recent releases, Bottle Shock, Sideways, Bend It Like Beckham were funny. But for each of these movies I have a story of when, how and with whom. And as I look back to list them I see not only the movies but the faces that I have known, the laughter I have shared and the differences I have experienced.
That is why it is so difficult to simply jot down a few names. Because life comes with a lot of baggage.
But today, I feel a compulsion to at least write down a few of my all time favorite movies. Movies that I can sit down to watch any time without hesitation. Today I found out that Dennis Hopper is dead. To me, he was not just an actor. He was the actor who brought me to Easy Rider. And Easy Rider was the movie that got me through weeks and months of loneliness when I was in Japan. Mombusho was an exciting opportunity, but I was ill-prepared for life in Japan. With no friends, not ready for the cold weather and frequently an outsider, I was lonely and sad as I'd never been before. Till I discovered the LD section of the university media library. And Easy Rider. I found I could laugh at futility and darkness, at my own misery and the hope that comes out of youth, even when that hope is misplaced.
I remember watching How Green Was My Valley as a teenager in my parents home. This movie is probably known only to movie buffs. But I distinctly remember a scene where the rich man's son comes to the poor man's house to ask for his daughter's hand. As the poor man takes a turn, pretending to think this offer over, we see he's holding his boots at his back. A poignant reminder of the futility of this man's attempt to establish his status as the girl's father in the face of the suitor's wealth and rank.
In graduate school, my roommate Anita and I watched Il Postino and Whats Eating Gilbert Grape. How we laughed and cried over them together. The scene where Johnny Depp's mother passes away, or where they buy a cake from the rival grocery store, where Mario Ruoppolo uses metaphors of butterflies to woo his Beatrice, his final gift for Neruda are all stuck in my brain even though I haven't seen the films in ten years.
I have watched many movies over the years. Terry Gillam's Brazil, Peter Greenaway's The Pillow Book, Scott Hicks' Snow Falling on Cedars, Mira Nair's Salaam Bombay,Joan Chen's Xiu Xiu have all left a mark. Among recent releases, Bottle Shock, Sideways, Bend It Like Beckham were funny. But for each of these movies I have a story of when, how and with whom. And as I look back to list them I see not only the movies but the faces that I have known, the laughter I have shared and the differences I have experienced.
That is why it is so difficult to simply jot down a few names. Because life comes with a lot of baggage.
Robbie Bach and Steve Jobs
The Mahabharat, beloved epic for lovers of Indian literature has this beautiful saying " chakravat parivartante dukhani cha sukhani cha" which roughly translated stands for "joy and sorrow, in cycles, change". Good times follow bad and vice versa.
Why this sudden spouting of sanskrit, you ask? A few days ago, I read in the paper of two things: first, that Robbie Bach was fired from his job at Microsoft's Entertainment Division. Second, Apple Inc., is now the top technology company on NASDAQ valued at $220 billion.
Normally, corporate ups and downs would not be a big deal. Happens every day. But Apple's case is particularly poignant. Ten years ago, Apple was a write-off among its peers, with the CEO and co-founder Steve Jobs asked to step down. Michael Dell, founder of Dell, proclaimed that Apple was no longer viable. Now, with Jobs being one of the most, if not the most sought after and successful CEOs around, and Dell virtually defunct, the joke's on Mike.
Microsoft on the other hand, has taken a beating from Google, but increasingly from Apple. The invincible giant of the 80s and 90s is now struggling to keep with the competition. Chakravat parivartante...chakravat parivartante....
Why is this relevant? Because what goes for Robbie goes for me and the rest of us. Joys will be followed by sorrow, and poverty will follow riches. To know this is to know that time and all that comes with it, is temporary. We are guests in our own homes, and it makes sense to not make too much of it. To carry our weight lightly, be it a few millions, or a multitude of bills. Here today, gone tomorrow so let's not get carried away with the importance of our being.
Why this sudden spouting of sanskrit, you ask? A few days ago, I read in the paper of two things: first, that Robbie Bach was fired from his job at Microsoft's Entertainment Division. Second, Apple Inc., is now the top technology company on NASDAQ valued at $220 billion.
Normally, corporate ups and downs would not be a big deal. Happens every day. But Apple's case is particularly poignant. Ten years ago, Apple was a write-off among its peers, with the CEO and co-founder Steve Jobs asked to step down. Michael Dell, founder of Dell, proclaimed that Apple was no longer viable. Now, with Jobs being one of the most, if not the most sought after and successful CEOs around, and Dell virtually defunct, the joke's on Mike.
Microsoft on the other hand, has taken a beating from Google, but increasingly from Apple. The invincible giant of the 80s and 90s is now struggling to keep with the competition. Chakravat parivartante...chakravat parivartante....
Why is this relevant? Because what goes for Robbie goes for me and the rest of us. Joys will be followed by sorrow, and poverty will follow riches. To know this is to know that time and all that comes with it, is temporary. We are guests in our own homes, and it makes sense to not make too much of it. To carry our weight lightly, be it a few millions, or a multitude of bills. Here today, gone tomorrow so let's not get carried away with the importance of our being.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
My Secret
An Apology
You followed me around in college
Like a kid who lost his favorite toy
And found it in the arms of another.
You asked to sit next to me, and sang George Benson.
Every note in tune. I said I hated it, it was cool to hate it that year
Even though secretly I loved the mush.
You wrote me letters adorned with details of your life
When we practically lived next door
My friends laughed as I read those out to them.
I laughed at you till you couldn't take it anymore
And I carried on without a second thought.
Carried on to the next thing, erasing memories
Till I reach this point where I can't find your name in my head.
Forgive me friend, for my harsh and callous work.
For my rudeness and cruelty that I hope you've forgotten.
In the virtual world where secrets are made to be hacked
Into this vacuum I shout "I'm sorry".
You followed me around in college
Like a kid who lost his favorite toy
And found it in the arms of another.
You asked to sit next to me, and sang George Benson.
Every note in tune. I said I hated it, it was cool to hate it that year
Even though secretly I loved the mush.
You wrote me letters adorned with details of your life
When we practically lived next door
My friends laughed as I read those out to them.
I laughed at you till you couldn't take it anymore
And I carried on without a second thought.
Carried on to the next thing, erasing memories
Till I reach this point where I can't find your name in my head.
Forgive me friend, for my harsh and callous work.
For my rudeness and cruelty that I hope you've forgotten.
In the virtual world where secrets are made to be hacked
Into this vacuum I shout "I'm sorry".
What I Like in a Man
Back when I was in grad school, I read Sei Shonagon's Makura no Soshi. The book was hilarious.
Yesterday, I met with a few girls who run a club at the school where I work. Since I was already busy with something else, I asked them to go ahead and start discussing the lineup of performers for next years International Night. After I came out of my meeting, I went up to them and asked " so who are we doing next year"? With the whoops of laughter, pat came the answer, "well that's a whole different list altogether!".
Which brought me to this post. Why can't I make a few lists? So here's the first one. The topic: What I Like in a Man.
1. A confident man. Seeing a man dither is like watching a fish trying to swallow an olive. Funny and futile. I like it when a guy is cool and confident enough to not just make eye contact but smile too. Think Cary Grant in Charade.
2. A witty guy. Not just banana peel hahas, but a clever wit that turns ordinary words into layer cake, each more exciting than the one above.
2. An intelligent man. At a younger age, this would invariable be number one. But intelligence can come in all shapes and colors. So in my rocking thirties, I like a smart guy who can be at ease in any company, high or low. Comfortable enough in his skin not to want to flaunt himself.
3. There is no greater turn off than a sloppily dressed grunge boy. Nor do I dig those buttcrack showing airbags passing for pants. I like to see a man take some time to dress. So the color of his shirt compliments his eyes. Or the cut hugs his biceps. Just a tad. Too much is ugly, uggh. No Shwarzenegger please. The pants should be straight and clearly define thighs and backside. A cute ass is a thing of beauty, so why not make it a joy for everyone? (Sorry John, you're probably turning in your grave in the Italian sun).
4. A happy guy. I like irony and black humor just as much as the next girl on the wrong side of thirty. But for a prolonged period? I need the sun of a happy throaty laugh. Or a cackle. Of a guy who wants to share the funny and the ridiculous with everyone around. Especially if that smile accompanies the crinkling around the corners of eyes. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, any eyes. Laughter in the eyes is always a sure thing.
5. One last thing. A light sprinkling of hair on the forearm. The promise of strength in a sinewy arm in relaxed repose.
I will stop now to watch the sudden afternoon downpour, quick and overwhelming, drenching my parched plants. I might even write an ode to it, or a tanka.
Yesterday, I met with a few girls who run a club at the school where I work. Since I was already busy with something else, I asked them to go ahead and start discussing the lineup of performers for next years International Night. After I came out of my meeting, I went up to them and asked " so who are we doing next year"? With the whoops of laughter, pat came the answer, "well that's a whole different list altogether!".
Which brought me to this post. Why can't I make a few lists? So here's the first one. The topic: What I Like in a Man.
1. A confident man. Seeing a man dither is like watching a fish trying to swallow an olive. Funny and futile. I like it when a guy is cool and confident enough to not just make eye contact but smile too. Think Cary Grant in Charade.
2. A witty guy. Not just banana peel hahas, but a clever wit that turns ordinary words into layer cake, each more exciting than the one above.
2. An intelligent man. At a younger age, this would invariable be number one. But intelligence can come in all shapes and colors. So in my rocking thirties, I like a smart guy who can be at ease in any company, high or low. Comfortable enough in his skin not to want to flaunt himself.
3. There is no greater turn off than a sloppily dressed grunge boy. Nor do I dig those buttcrack showing airbags passing for pants. I like to see a man take some time to dress. So the color of his shirt compliments his eyes. Or the cut hugs his biceps. Just a tad. Too much is ugly, uggh. No Shwarzenegger please. The pants should be straight and clearly define thighs and backside. A cute ass is a thing of beauty, so why not make it a joy for everyone? (Sorry John, you're probably turning in your grave in the Italian sun).
4. A happy guy. I like irony and black humor just as much as the next girl on the wrong side of thirty. But for a prolonged period? I need the sun of a happy throaty laugh. Or a cackle. Of a guy who wants to share the funny and the ridiculous with everyone around. Especially if that smile accompanies the crinkling around the corners of eyes. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, any eyes. Laughter in the eyes is always a sure thing.
5. One last thing. A light sprinkling of hair on the forearm. The promise of strength in a sinewy arm in relaxed repose.
I will stop now to watch the sudden afternoon downpour, quick and overwhelming, drenching my parched plants. I might even write an ode to it, or a tanka.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I am a Woman, Hear My Confusion
I have always been outspoken. Often at a cost. But I absolutely love the freedom that comes from saying what you truly believe and how I actually feel. As life has passes by, social structures and plain decency more often not, keeps me from utterances that would either wound someone or be detrimental to my own interests. So in order to keep the peace we put on a happy face and pretend not to notice the anxieties that threaten to destroy workplace harmony. The tiny shoots of discontent at home that seems too petty to bring up but persist at a very conscious level.
Which forces me to confront the question: am I happy? Is this the life I of my dreams? Because if the answer is no to either of these questions I still have a few decades to do something about it before I keel over and die. After all, that's why we are put on this earth, is it not? To live each day to its fullest, to live each experience to its fullest, and to never say no to the possibilities and adventures that come our way.
In order to face my discontent, I am going to list the things I can pinpoint, both good and bad as I see them.
Good: I have a fantastic family. Few women are luckier (none I know of) when it comes to a loving supportive husband, smart and sexy and uber cool. Kids who light up any room they enter.
Parents who continue to love and cherish, even when I give back so little and stay so far away.
A few good friends, even though the ones I truly love and clicked with have moved away and I don't see them as much as I would like. But that's mostly my fault as I can always initiate and maintain contact.
A stable job which pays the bills. Where I can find joy in interacting with young minds.
Bad: The feeling that I am not living up to potential, as a professional. That there's a better job out there if I can get my lazy butt to get moving and get it. The fear that there really isn't a better job and that is all I'll ever amount to.
The feeling that I am not living up to expectations as a mother. That I could be doing more, doing it better to make my kids more vibrant.
The feeling that I am a bad wife for not being more supportive and useful to my husband as he builds his company. After all, I knew the hours he'd have to put in, in this venture. Why then, do I feel so neglected and set aside as this new venture consumes his waking hours and dreams? Its not as if our dreams are different. We are investing in this as a single unit. Then why am I so upset at the high stress level?
The lack of vacation time. I understand how important it is to save our money, to tighten the proverbial belt and gear up for a tough ride. But that is exactly why I miss the joy of a holiday, a break from the constant rat race that grows more fierce by the day.
What is the answer to this discontent? I love my family and I love my life and I know that trying to solve all this in my own head is not a good idea. It'll create more distance between my thoughts and those of others around me. But when I try to put these in words they sound too trivial even to my own ears, to be worth a mention.
How am I to explain feelings that Iam not sure I can understand or justify myself?
Which forces me to confront the question: am I happy? Is this the life I of my dreams? Because if the answer is no to either of these questions I still have a few decades to do something about it before I keel over and die. After all, that's why we are put on this earth, is it not? To live each day to its fullest, to live each experience to its fullest, and to never say no to the possibilities and adventures that come our way.
In order to face my discontent, I am going to list the things I can pinpoint, both good and bad as I see them.
Good: I have a fantastic family. Few women are luckier (none I know of) when it comes to a loving supportive husband, smart and sexy and uber cool. Kids who light up any room they enter.
Parents who continue to love and cherish, even when I give back so little and stay so far away.
A few good friends, even though the ones I truly love and clicked with have moved away and I don't see them as much as I would like. But that's mostly my fault as I can always initiate and maintain contact.
A stable job which pays the bills. Where I can find joy in interacting with young minds.
Bad: The feeling that I am not living up to potential, as a professional. That there's a better job out there if I can get my lazy butt to get moving and get it. The fear that there really isn't a better job and that is all I'll ever amount to.
The feeling that I am not living up to expectations as a mother. That I could be doing more, doing it better to make my kids more vibrant.
The feeling that I am a bad wife for not being more supportive and useful to my husband as he builds his company. After all, I knew the hours he'd have to put in, in this venture. Why then, do I feel so neglected and set aside as this new venture consumes his waking hours and dreams? Its not as if our dreams are different. We are investing in this as a single unit. Then why am I so upset at the high stress level?
The lack of vacation time. I understand how important it is to save our money, to tighten the proverbial belt and gear up for a tough ride. But that is exactly why I miss the joy of a holiday, a break from the constant rat race that grows more fierce by the day.
What is the answer to this discontent? I love my family and I love my life and I know that trying to solve all this in my own head is not a good idea. It'll create more distance between my thoughts and those of others around me. But when I try to put these in words they sound too trivial even to my own ears, to be worth a mention.
How am I to explain feelings that Iam not sure I can understand or justify myself?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Speakeasy...can you?
Transplanted in the grand Etats-Unis less than twenty years, I have only read and seen movies about the age of Prohibition, about jazz and speakeasy and the mellifluous voice of Louis Armstrong or Billie Holiday. Always wondered as I listened to those records what it must have been like, to sing and celebrate, to drink and have secret liaisions. Like Auntie Etta's drawing room with all its knick knacks and fine china ornaments, but the closet in the corner leading to a secret basement. Veil of propriety shrouding a cloak and dagger world of booze and basic instincts.
Well, imagine my surprise when I found out that there's a speakeasy in my backyard. Well, almost. In Capitol Hill there's apparently a pub which is also a speakeasy. So we called the babysitter and my husband and I set out to experience for ourselves a slice of the 30s.
First impression---a young man by the door checking IDs--a little shout of joy that I hear every time I get carded:-) We go inside what looks like an ordinary bar. Wait, I see PA moving toward a telephone by one of the tables. He picks up the receiver and gives his phone number and voila! the door (which I assumed led to the restrooms) swing open and there's a staircase. We go up the dark and narrow staircase, decorated with black and white 30s photographs.
Upstairs, we reach a mezzanine floor, with tables set cosily, a bar, and some leather armchairs. There's a picture of a sexy lingerie girl by our table. The speakers are playing old jazz, voices slightly roughened by alcohol and cigarette. There's no menue. Our waiter comes to tell us we can order any drink we like and the barman will make it. There is a food menu, mostly finger foods. All seems standard with just that touch of secretiveness which of course makes my spine tingle.
We enjoy a marvelous evening of margaritas, kamikazes, vodka and I forget what else. Finally, we realize we must go back home or we'll fall asleep where we sat. As I elegantly stumble down the stairs, I take another look at those photographs. All of them are of naked women, looking back at me with an aloof indifference, not the least bit worried that the arm thrown across the chest does more to attract attention than provide cover. In the age of playboy and internet, I am thrilled to find naked B&W photographs! Admiring the confidence and the blatant invitation in the arch of an eyebrow ora slightly upturned smile.
I'm pretty sure we'll go back to the speakeasy again, its the least I can do for those lovely ladies;-)
Well, imagine my surprise when I found out that there's a speakeasy in my backyard. Well, almost. In Capitol Hill there's apparently a pub which is also a speakeasy. So we called the babysitter and my husband and I set out to experience for ourselves a slice of the 30s.
First impression---a young man by the door checking IDs--a little shout of joy that I hear every time I get carded:-) We go inside what looks like an ordinary bar. Wait, I see PA moving toward a telephone by one of the tables. He picks up the receiver and gives his phone number and voila! the door (which I assumed led to the restrooms) swing open and there's a staircase. We go up the dark and narrow staircase, decorated with black and white 30s photographs.
Upstairs, we reach a mezzanine floor, with tables set cosily, a bar, and some leather armchairs. There's a picture of a sexy lingerie girl by our table. The speakers are playing old jazz, voices slightly roughened by alcohol and cigarette. There's no menue. Our waiter comes to tell us we can order any drink we like and the barman will make it. There is a food menu, mostly finger foods. All seems standard with just that touch of secretiveness which of course makes my spine tingle.
We enjoy a marvelous evening of margaritas, kamikazes, vodka and I forget what else. Finally, we realize we must go back home or we'll fall asleep where we sat. As I elegantly stumble down the stairs, I take another look at those photographs. All of them are of naked women, looking back at me with an aloof indifference, not the least bit worried that the arm thrown across the chest does more to attract attention than provide cover. In the age of playboy and internet, I am thrilled to find naked B&W photographs! Admiring the confidence and the blatant invitation in the arch of an eyebrow ora slightly upturned smile.
I'm pretty sure we'll go back to the speakeasy again, its the least I can do for those lovely ladies;-)
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Liquid Nitrogen!
Kid's birthday parties suck. They are organized to keep the little munchkins have a most unique experience of activity and fun but the surreptitious focus is on the organizer's skill. How innovative can that person be in coming up with a new theme, fun activities that are also education? Create the most perfect thank-you gift? And of course, yummy food without breaking the bank?
I have done my share of putting up these shindigs and because I get easily carried away, I have had a lot of fun at my children and other kids' birthday parties. Don't get me wrong, the food is still crappy. I mean, how many carrot sticks can one eat? Pizza is fine by me but its baaad for the kids. So bring on the celery sticks and fruit plate and banish the coke and pizza! Plus there are all these parents standing in the room who scarcely know each other, trying to make awkward conversation as the honored guests romp around the room.
Well, this is not the point. The point is, after years of throwing and attending parties that are a variation on the same theme, I finally found a theme that just got my goat. Also the goats of several other attending adults. For my son's seventh birthday, we had an astronomy themed party where the kids got to make icecream using liquid nitrogen.
Yup. Liquid nitrogen!! I'm not kidding. The first time the lady at the science museum mentioned I did a double-take. Are you fucking serious?!! It sounds preposterous. Is it safe? Are there safety goggles? Will there be a helper or we just going to go nuts with wart-removing medicine??!!
Turns out that yes, there's helper who does everythung, yes there are safety goggles and yes, the milk instantly hardened (or is it coalesced?) into icecream. Thanks to my son's genius idea, the icecream was blue. I have never been this excited at a party where there were no margaritas or boys dancing on a table!
I know I will eventually talk of other things and the memories of that day will fade. But to the parent whose party is next line I say "beat that, suckers!".
I have done my share of putting up these shindigs and because I get easily carried away, I have had a lot of fun at my children and other kids' birthday parties. Don't get me wrong, the food is still crappy. I mean, how many carrot sticks can one eat? Pizza is fine by me but its baaad for the kids. So bring on the celery sticks and fruit plate and banish the coke and pizza! Plus there are all these parents standing in the room who scarcely know each other, trying to make awkward conversation as the honored guests romp around the room.
Well, this is not the point. The point is, after years of throwing and attending parties that are a variation on the same theme, I finally found a theme that just got my goat. Also the goats of several other attending adults. For my son's seventh birthday, we had an astronomy themed party where the kids got to make icecream using liquid nitrogen.
Yup. Liquid nitrogen!! I'm not kidding. The first time the lady at the science museum mentioned I did a double-take. Are you fucking serious?!! It sounds preposterous. Is it safe? Are there safety goggles? Will there be a helper or we just going to go nuts with wart-removing medicine??!!
Turns out that yes, there's helper who does everythung, yes there are safety goggles and yes, the milk instantly hardened (or is it coalesced?) into icecream. Thanks to my son's genius idea, the icecream was blue. I have never been this excited at a party where there were no margaritas or boys dancing on a table!
I know I will eventually talk of other things and the memories of that day will fade. But to the parent whose party is next line I say "beat that, suckers!".
Catching up
It has been nearly three weeks. I have missed this room of my own. Last night at dinner with some friends, I discovered that most mothers and fathers are on child education duty till at least nine every night. Well, it started with my complaint. I like to have a glass of wine at night before bed. This helps me calm down a little after the whole day's marathon. My hubby thinks I'm on my way to becoming an alcoholic. Now, I have no desire whatsoever of becoming an alcoholic. On the other hand, I also do not want to give up on that glass of fermented grape juice that promises so much...happiness, a generally amiable look upon my fellow beings and most of all, sleep.
Well, as I complained that I'm sure this is ok, I found out that both our friends did the exact same thing!! I was not a crazy drunk lady!! Further in the conversation it became clear just how much time parents invest in school and extracurriculars--my sons go to soccer pratice and games twice a week each, Mondays through Thursdays. The older one has French on Tuesdays and piano on Thursdays. My husband and I like to work out with our trainer twice a week, usually on Mondays and Thursdays. Throw in homework, projects, show and tell days and we're working pretty much full time till 9 p.m.!
This is a very average routine. I'm sure there are plenty of parents out there who do much much more. But why does it have to be this stressful? I mean, I understand the importance of developing skills, forming bonds through team sports yada yada. But does it have to be this rigorous? Whatever happened to Saturday morning soccer in the park? Hanging out with the neighborhood kids in the evenings and weekends? True, there wasn't much structure to these things so the net gain from these activities is not quantifiable. But I still remember the games of tag, the days when I played by myself because my neighbors were out of town, or the days when we played with their cousins visiting from elsewhere, even though the cousins were somewhat weird:-)
I sound like a old fart. Next I'll start my sentence with "in my day...". But given the amount of attention this consumer driven economy pays to stress relief and providing all kinds of advice on how to live better, this kind of pace just seems forced.
Whatever. I know I'll rant out here and then go back and add one more activity to the list. Because I want them to be better, faster, stronger, higher. Because I'm ambitious not only for myself but for an entire family and I'll probably stay this way till I keel over.
And that's how the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper. Thank you T.S.E.
Well, as I complained that I'm sure this is ok, I found out that both our friends did the exact same thing!! I was not a crazy drunk lady!! Further in the conversation it became clear just how much time parents invest in school and extracurriculars--my sons go to soccer pratice and games twice a week each, Mondays through Thursdays. The older one has French on Tuesdays and piano on Thursdays. My husband and I like to work out with our trainer twice a week, usually on Mondays and Thursdays. Throw in homework, projects, show and tell days and we're working pretty much full time till 9 p.m.!
This is a very average routine. I'm sure there are plenty of parents out there who do much much more. But why does it have to be this stressful? I mean, I understand the importance of developing skills, forming bonds through team sports yada yada. But does it have to be this rigorous? Whatever happened to Saturday morning soccer in the park? Hanging out with the neighborhood kids in the evenings and weekends? True, there wasn't much structure to these things so the net gain from these activities is not quantifiable. But I still remember the games of tag, the days when I played by myself because my neighbors were out of town, or the days when we played with their cousins visiting from elsewhere, even though the cousins were somewhat weird:-)
I sound like a old fart. Next I'll start my sentence with "in my day...". But given the amount of attention this consumer driven economy pays to stress relief and providing all kinds of advice on how to live better, this kind of pace just seems forced.
Whatever. I know I'll rant out here and then go back and add one more activity to the list. Because I want them to be better, faster, stronger, higher. Because I'm ambitious not only for myself but for an entire family and I'll probably stay this way till I keel over.
And that's how the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper. Thank you T.S.E.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Restaurants I like
I like to eat. I also like to complain when I get fat from all the eating but that doesn't deter me from eating more. In this process of eating, I've developed quite a list of places I love to visit over and over again. Places where they don't quite know my name but they can smell the grease in my hair from the previous visit. Okay that last sentence is probably an exaggeration. But still, we've settled into a happy steady relationship, these food places and I. So here are a few of my favorite places:
Breakfast: For American style eating, nothing beats the Original Pancake House on 15th Ave NE. I've heard of A Bird's Nest on Phinney but I've never been there. There's also the W, but that's a little upscale as is Lola. Etta's in Pike Place market is great. Essential Bakery on Madison is also good. On Sundays there's great dim sum at Top Gun in Bellevue. Grilled sausage sandwiches at Uli's in the market is drool-worthy but the hours are unpredictable.
Lunch and Dinner: For Chinese we like Seven Stars Pepper on 12th and Jackson. For Vietnamese Green Leaf Restaurant on 8th and Jackson and for Malaysian, Malay Satay Hut, also on 12th and Jackson. For Indian, Kabab House on 78th and Greenwood. For Italian there's Via Tribunali on Pike, there's Cafe Lago on E. 24th. For Mexican, Rancho Bravo on 12th and Pike (could be Madison)and Tacos Guyamas in Fremont. For Moroccan, Marrakesh in Belltown. For Japanese and fusion Asian, Umisake and Shiro's in Belltown, Wild Ginger on 3rd and Union. For Ethiopian we go to Queen of Sheba on 15th and John. Dahlia Lounge is great for a relaxed evening for two. Steaks are orgasmic at the Metropolitan Grill. For dinner with a view, Canlis is the best. For fancy dining to impress your partner, Campagne in the market or Rover's on Madison fit the bill. Both are French cuisine. Tapas is super tasty at Harvest Vine on Madison and Andaluca in downtown. For pizza at home I love Pagliacci, and for sitdown, Tutta Bella makes a mean pie. Serious Pie on 4th is yum!
For a little kick to your dinner, dinner and trapeze at The Pink Door is fun. Among winebars, Poco Wine Room is good. Artisal Brasserie at the Bravern in Bellevue provides amazing taste at a very steep price. Martinis are good at The Taphouse Grill in downtown, as well as at Von's. Taphouse also has a good happy hour menu. Dragonfish on Pine also has a very good happy hour dishes. Montlake Pub is open to kids so perfect for parents with little ones.
Icecream at Molly Moon's on Pike is yummy. Cakes and mousse is delicious at Dillettante Cafe on Broadway.
I think that about completes my list. I'll update this as I discover more in my quest for the better and the tastier!
Breakfast: For American style eating, nothing beats the Original Pancake House on 15th Ave NE. I've heard of A Bird's Nest on Phinney but I've never been there. There's also the W, but that's a little upscale as is Lola. Etta's in Pike Place market is great. Essential Bakery on Madison is also good. On Sundays there's great dim sum at Top Gun in Bellevue. Grilled sausage sandwiches at Uli's in the market is drool-worthy but the hours are unpredictable.
Lunch and Dinner: For Chinese we like Seven Stars Pepper on 12th and Jackson. For Vietnamese Green Leaf Restaurant on 8th and Jackson and for Malaysian, Malay Satay Hut, also on 12th and Jackson. For Indian, Kabab House on 78th and Greenwood. For Italian there's Via Tribunali on Pike, there's Cafe Lago on E. 24th. For Mexican, Rancho Bravo on 12th and Pike (could be Madison)and Tacos Guyamas in Fremont. For Moroccan, Marrakesh in Belltown. For Japanese and fusion Asian, Umisake and Shiro's in Belltown, Wild Ginger on 3rd and Union. For Ethiopian we go to Queen of Sheba on 15th and John. Dahlia Lounge is great for a relaxed evening for two. Steaks are orgasmic at the Metropolitan Grill. For dinner with a view, Canlis is the best. For fancy dining to impress your partner, Campagne in the market or Rover's on Madison fit the bill. Both are French cuisine. Tapas is super tasty at Harvest Vine on Madison and Andaluca in downtown. For pizza at home I love Pagliacci, and for sitdown, Tutta Bella makes a mean pie. Serious Pie on 4th is yum!
For a little kick to your dinner, dinner and trapeze at The Pink Door is fun. Among winebars, Poco Wine Room is good. Artisal Brasserie at the Bravern in Bellevue provides amazing taste at a very steep price. Martinis are good at The Taphouse Grill in downtown, as well as at Von's. Taphouse also has a good happy hour menu. Dragonfish on Pine also has a very good happy hour dishes. Montlake Pub is open to kids so perfect for parents with little ones.
Icecream at Molly Moon's on Pike is yummy. Cakes and mousse is delicious at Dillettante Cafe on Broadway.
I think that about completes my list. I'll update this as I discover more in my quest for the better and the tastier!
Picking up Parents
Husband and I often have this discussion where we start out by saying how few friends we have...how our social lives are increasingly going down the drain as our kids get older. I can organize a playdate in a heartbeat, know exactly what to say to seven year olds but I have to really rack my brain to come up with names of people who might be available for a drink at the drop of a hat, who don't have kids and live in the same city as we do.
Dear friends have moved to distant places, so now we see them once a year if that. Close friends we love to spend time with have children with different school and sport schedules. While its easy to think that I'll just pick up the phone and call so-and-so, it always turns out that so-and-so has either already left for a hike or climb, is taking their kids to a game or has run away to Whistler. I would take to the hills too.
It did cross my mind that maybe I'm projecting my psycho self and scaring away others. But the few parties that we had or attended last year rivaled any college bash in its duration (3 p.m. to 3 a.m.), rowdiness (the neighbours were away..yaay!) and general merriment.
Taking a proactive approach (lovely euphemism for being bossy), we decided that what we needed was to pick up parents. I mean, we've all either perpetrated or been a victim of random conversations with strangers in semi-fishy or flashy pubs and cafes. Trying to pick up, getting picked up, wading through a myriad of pickings and droppings.
Use those ninja skills to pick up not just a person but an entire family, so we are all happy. Why hadn't we thought of this before? This is genius! Putting plan into action we targeted our neighborhood bar that allows the kids to play as the parents get smashed. I love my neighbors:-)
We are big on talk but secretly I wasn't so sure. As it turned out, we sat next to this adorable toddler girl who smiled and rolled her eyes right into our hearts and before we knew it, the parents were bonding over school selection, lack of sleep, cost of a private education and other boring parent stuff. Right there, in front of the whole bar, we had picked up a family to be friends with. Even made a date to meet at the pub as often as we can.
So the old skills still work. But the question is, did we pick them up or did they pick us?
Dear friends have moved to distant places, so now we see them once a year if that. Close friends we love to spend time with have children with different school and sport schedules. While its easy to think that I'll just pick up the phone and call so-and-so, it always turns out that so-and-so has either already left for a hike or climb, is taking their kids to a game or has run away to Whistler. I would take to the hills too.
It did cross my mind that maybe I'm projecting my psycho self and scaring away others. But the few parties that we had or attended last year rivaled any college bash in its duration (3 p.m. to 3 a.m.), rowdiness (the neighbours were away..yaay!) and general merriment.
Taking a proactive approach (lovely euphemism for being bossy), we decided that what we needed was to pick up parents. I mean, we've all either perpetrated or been a victim of random conversations with strangers in semi-fishy or flashy pubs and cafes. Trying to pick up, getting picked up, wading through a myriad of pickings and droppings.
Use those ninja skills to pick up not just a person but an entire family, so we are all happy. Why hadn't we thought of this before? This is genius! Putting plan into action we targeted our neighborhood bar that allows the kids to play as the parents get smashed. I love my neighbors:-)
We are big on talk but secretly I wasn't so sure. As it turned out, we sat next to this adorable toddler girl who smiled and rolled her eyes right into our hearts and before we knew it, the parents were bonding over school selection, lack of sleep, cost of a private education and other boring parent stuff. Right there, in front of the whole bar, we had picked up a family to be friends with. Even made a date to meet at the pub as often as we can.
So the old skills still work. But the question is, did we pick them up or did they pick us?
Monday, March 15, 2010
What matters most
The only thing that matters in this world is money. If you have it, you have everything. If you don't, nothing else matters.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Speak to me
Voice activation is cool. All the new toys have it--phones, cars and very soon, toothbrushes (I'm sure, just wait and see). Husband started making grocery list on his phone using dictation as I sat and surfed. Here's what I heard:
Hu: Hey babe, so what do we need from Safeway?
Me: Bread.
Hu: (to phone) Bread
Phone: Greg
Hu: No, W-h-i-t-e bread
Phone: W-h-i-t-e greg
Hu: Baguette frikkin bread
Phone: My bed forgetting that
Hu: Fine, I'll just type it. Types out bread.
Hu: Okay, what else do we need?
Me: Orange juice.
Hu (to phone): Orange juice
Phone: Fine jews
Hu: Or-an-ge juice
Phone: You are fine jews
We are all laughing uncontrollably by now. After all, what can beat "get white greg"? So there you have our grocery list for this week--white greg and fine jews. I wonder what "contact lens solution" means in dictationese?
Hu: Hey babe, so what do we need from Safeway?
Me: Bread.
Hu: (to phone) Bread
Phone: Greg
Hu: No, W-h-i-t-e bread
Phone: W-h-i-t-e greg
Hu: Baguette frikkin bread
Phone: My bed forgetting that
Hu: Fine, I'll just type it. Types out bread.
Hu: Okay, what else do we need?
Me: Orange juice.
Hu (to phone): Orange juice
Phone: Fine jews
Hu: Or-an-ge juice
Phone: You are fine jews
We are all laughing uncontrollably by now. After all, what can beat "get white greg"? So there you have our grocery list for this week--white greg and fine jews. I wonder what "contact lens solution" means in dictationese?
Monday, March 1, 2010
Sleepless in Seattle
This has been a very weird week. It's Monday. And I already know this. So I expected some jet lag last week, after my India trip and getting back to work straightaway. But nope, there was none. Elated, I told myself that I was becoming one of those veteran travelers who always brag that they never get jet lag. I don't know about you but I always hope that they'll fall asleep in their soup as they're telling me this.
Anyways, flash forward six days. I feel sick. Add to that a crummy work day full of underachieving students and bosses who talk of cutting positions at work and other nebulous risks. Getting towards a sicker feeling in the stomach as evening approaches. Now we complete this picture with two unhappy children who are probably coming down with something themselves. I don't know whether I have some vague virus, PMS or the stomach 'flu, but there's certainly something wrong in Central America. (Isn't that a cute name for an ever-expanding mid-section? It's like it has a mind of its own!).
Back to my weird week. I went to sleep at 8, and now here I am at the cinderella hour beating out tired phrases from the keyboard. What is wrong with me? Why do I worry so much? Why can't I just let things fall into place in a natural rhythm? I don't know. I haven't a clue. When I think I know what I'm doing, I just successfully make it worse.
They say that it can only get better once you hit rock bottom. Question is, have I hit rock bottom yet? I guess there's only one way to find out. By then I hope my prose will not feel so shopworn and cheesy.
Anyways, flash forward six days. I feel sick. Add to that a crummy work day full of underachieving students and bosses who talk of cutting positions at work and other nebulous risks. Getting towards a sicker feeling in the stomach as evening approaches. Now we complete this picture with two unhappy children who are probably coming down with something themselves. I don't know whether I have some vague virus, PMS or the stomach 'flu, but there's certainly something wrong in Central America. (Isn't that a cute name for an ever-expanding mid-section? It's like it has a mind of its own!).
Back to my weird week. I went to sleep at 8, and now here I am at the cinderella hour beating out tired phrases from the keyboard. What is wrong with me? Why do I worry so much? Why can't I just let things fall into place in a natural rhythm? I don't know. I haven't a clue. When I think I know what I'm doing, I just successfully make it worse.
They say that it can only get better once you hit rock bottom. Question is, have I hit rock bottom yet? I guess there's only one way to find out. By then I hope my prose will not feel so shopworn and cheesy.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Eric Levi Ward
Eric Ward was one of my students. Two years ago, he was in my class for one semester. A quiet kid. I would put him in the middle of a boisterous group, hoping his quietness would help restore order.
Helpful and a real buddy, Eric was ready to carry books, move furniture or run errands especially if it involved running to the other end of school in the rain.
I was his efolio interviewer. Efolio-that special occasion of dubious value when kids about to graduate demonstrate what they've learned and grown to love in their four years at high school. Eric's presentation consisted solely of pictures of him working out at the gym. Lifting weights, doing push-ups and various other exercises.
Being an earnest academic and bookworm, I was not much impressed at this emphasis on physical development. I remember quizzing him on the lack of intellectual evidence. "But Dr. Sen, I want to be a Marine". He was sad that he didn't get a full score of 40 with me, I think he got a 36. He graduated and did become a marine.
Eric died in action at Afghanistan. The kid who walked around the hallways, TA badge proudly hung around his neck, is never going to show up in school reunions. There are many things he will never do. But today I want to think about the thing that he did do. He achieved his dream of becoming a marine. The long list of awards in the newspaper attests to him being a darned good one too.
I salute him for having the courage and conviction to pursue and attain his dream. For his generosity and friendship, his sureness of purpose. As the nation honors his ultimate sacrifice I think of the quiet boy and his young heroic life. Rest in peace Eric Ward.
Helpful and a real buddy, Eric was ready to carry books, move furniture or run errands especially if it involved running to the other end of school in the rain.
I was his efolio interviewer. Efolio-that special occasion of dubious value when kids about to graduate demonstrate what they've learned and grown to love in their four years at high school. Eric's presentation consisted solely of pictures of him working out at the gym. Lifting weights, doing push-ups and various other exercises.
Being an earnest academic and bookworm, I was not much impressed at this emphasis on physical development. I remember quizzing him on the lack of intellectual evidence. "But Dr. Sen, I want to be a Marine". He was sad that he didn't get a full score of 40 with me, I think he got a 36. He graduated and did become a marine.
Eric died in action at Afghanistan. The kid who walked around the hallways, TA badge proudly hung around his neck, is never going to show up in school reunions. There are many things he will never do. But today I want to think about the thing that he did do. He achieved his dream of becoming a marine. The long list of awards in the newspaper attests to him being a darned good one too.
I salute him for having the courage and conviction to pursue and attain his dream. For his generosity and friendship, his sureness of purpose. As the nation honors his ultimate sacrifice I think of the quiet boy and his young heroic life. Rest in peace Eric Ward.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Home and Away
It has been nine days since I left Seattle with my students. I left full of enthusiasm and excitement at the thought of introducing my little chickens to the culture and country I grew up in. Seeing their faces light up at things I would not usually notice, a pink goat on the road (somebody must have played early holi), or a man riding his motorbike on a truck (I have pictures).
Not everything went as planned. What a surprise. I guess it is best to concentrate on the lessons learned and happy memories. Memories of the twins singing Journey at barista, or Megan/Delaney/Stephanie and Helen siging in the car as we drove back from the Gardens. Climbing 800 steps to the top of Gomateshwara, watching the kids try on outfits at Fabindia. If life is a patchwork of experiences, then mine is one colorful canopy.
We've seen the temples, the palaces, the churches and the gardens. Played throwball with the kids at Grace school. Spent a night with host families. Now it is time to go shake paws with the tigers and then head home. Home sweet home.
I have lived in India for twenty years yet the only place I can think of as home is my lttle corner in the pacific northwest. I miss Parvez Arno and Aki.
Monday, February 8, 2010
A Lost Language
This evening, I was on the phone on a transatlantic call to Bangalore. I was talking to a bank teller about some mundane account matters. In the course of our conversation, my friendly teller needed to go check some details, and asked if he could call me back. I told him I was calling from the United States, and that it would be an international call for him. In a touchingly warm yet formal voice he told me "I'm sorry ma'am, but I do not have that privilege". In an instant, I knew what he meant, without any direct, blunt refusal.
Waves of a nostalgia swept over me, for a language, a turn of expression that seems to be receding from our daily lives. How often do I use idiomatic English, to say "You have an advantage over me" if someone I do not know recognizes me. Language is now a tool, a means to a very tangible end, not a journey to be enjoyed for its own merit. I seldom use words just because they are fun. Rather, the object is to have meaning apparent to the largest number of listeners. In this mass commodification of daily language, there is no place for beautiful, musical idioms that require context and subtext. Fare thee well, my lost language, at least till the next telephone call.
Waves of a nostalgia swept over me, for a language, a turn of expression that seems to be receding from our daily lives. How often do I use idiomatic English, to say "You have an advantage over me" if someone I do not know recognizes me. Language is now a tool, a means to a very tangible end, not a journey to be enjoyed for its own merit. I seldom use words just because they are fun. Rather, the object is to have meaning apparent to the largest number of listeners. In this mass commodification of daily language, there is no place for beautiful, musical idioms that require context and subtext. Fare thee well, my lost language, at least till the next telephone call.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Shopping with Kids
This morning I took my kids and husband to the mall. The goal was to buy a few gifts for family I'll see in a few days. Basking in the early morning sun, we set out, thinking it should not take us more than a couple of hours to buy something for three people whose tastes we know fairly well.
Well, here's what happened. The first place we had to go, absolutely had to go, before we even stepped into a store, was the food court. "Might be a good idea to get lunch out of the way", I thought. After all, fed kids are less likely to be cranky, right? What I forgot is the extra energy that comes with the calories. So there we were, two adults desperately hoping that no one notices our kids happily pretend napping in the hollow shoe display case as we looked at a purse.
That ended when one of them discovered that the mannequin's hands could be moved. So naturally, the correct thing to do was to shake hands and introduce themselves. To each and every mannequin in a three-storey store. Attempting a diversion maneuver, I asked them to follow me to the fitting rooms, where I can keep them enclosed. Of course, fitting room stalls have half doors and what can be more fun than sliding under doors, reporting on all the activity going on in other stalls? Red faced, I ran away from that room, shrieks of surprise ringing in my ears.
Well, the shopping ended soon after this. But not before we took a trip to Baskin-Robbins. As the kids explained, "we're tired from all this work and need a pick-me-up". Indeed.
Well, here's what happened. The first place we had to go, absolutely had to go, before we even stepped into a store, was the food court. "Might be a good idea to get lunch out of the way", I thought. After all, fed kids are less likely to be cranky, right? What I forgot is the extra energy that comes with the calories. So there we were, two adults desperately hoping that no one notices our kids happily pretend napping in the hollow shoe display case as we looked at a purse.
That ended when one of them discovered that the mannequin's hands could be moved. So naturally, the correct thing to do was to shake hands and introduce themselves. To each and every mannequin in a three-storey store. Attempting a diversion maneuver, I asked them to follow me to the fitting rooms, where I can keep them enclosed. Of course, fitting room stalls have half doors and what can be more fun than sliding under doors, reporting on all the activity going on in other stalls? Red faced, I ran away from that room, shrieks of surprise ringing in my ears.
Well, the shopping ended soon after this. But not before we took a trip to Baskin-Robbins. As the kids explained, "we're tired from all this work and need a pick-me-up". Indeed.
The Importance of Being Polite
As I grow older I am probably turning into my mother, my aunts and many other elderly female relatives who badgered me in childhood about the importance of being polite. The very fact that I'm blogging about it points to my being from a different generation and planet. Why be nice and gentle when a sharp retort can be so much funnier?
I teach at a high school. Everyday at work, I hear countless students being very rude and nasty to each other. Or so it seems to me. Once, a girl took pity on my shocked face and explained "I'm only nasty to people I like". Call me crazy, but being called 'stone cold ho' does seem somewhat harsh. Even between friends.
We all face days when we feel less than charitable towards our fellow beings. I've been guilty of many sharp comments that I've later regretted uttering with all my heart. But this is not about those days. This is about the celebration that seems to be going on of rudeness passing for wit, of condescension and belittling passing for a show of affection. When did this happen? Whatever happened to saying nothing if one had nothing nice to say?
It is not only at school that I find bad behavior. I find it in appalling TV shows, the entire reality tv genre, partisan reporting in all forms of media. Regardless of how volatile the topic is, a certain dignity of approach and refined vocabulary, in my view, adds to the flavor of the argument or exchange. I mean, come on, why settle for 'your mom' replies when there is an entire family tree to choose from? I for one plan to say 'your great-uncle's cousin, three times removed', the next time someone asks me who picked out my outfit. Or maybe I'll just smile and let it pass.
I teach at a high school. Everyday at work, I hear countless students being very rude and nasty to each other. Or so it seems to me. Once, a girl took pity on my shocked face and explained "I'm only nasty to people I like". Call me crazy, but being called 'stone cold ho' does seem somewhat harsh. Even between friends.
We all face days when we feel less than charitable towards our fellow beings. I've been guilty of many sharp comments that I've later regretted uttering with all my heart. But this is not about those days. This is about the celebration that seems to be going on of rudeness passing for wit, of condescension and belittling passing for a show of affection. When did this happen? Whatever happened to saying nothing if one had nothing nice to say?
It is not only at school that I find bad behavior. I find it in appalling TV shows, the entire reality tv genre, partisan reporting in all forms of media. Regardless of how volatile the topic is, a certain dignity of approach and refined vocabulary, in my view, adds to the flavor of the argument or exchange. I mean, come on, why settle for 'your mom' replies when there is an entire family tree to choose from? I for one plan to say 'your great-uncle's cousin, three times removed', the next time someone asks me who picked out my outfit. Or maybe I'll just smile and let it pass.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Off we go
Next week, I will be taking some of my students to India for a ten-day cultural immersion. The idea is fun and full of promise. But as departure day draws closer, my thoughts are more of those who'll stay behind, and that which remains to be done.
My husband and kids, amazing people who live with my incessant chatter. My friends, my students and coworkers, all of whom matter in the daily workings of a reasonably sane existence.
Then there are the dreams...of changing the world, changing hearts and minds...leaving a tiny yet indelible footprint on some corner of this world just so someday I have the satisfaction of knowing that---where there used to be nothing, there is this. Sounds naive and insubstantial but I believed it possible. Still do. Hence the juggling act of a practical need to make living with a need to create a life beyond the daily grind.
Well then, back to India. Going to be a great trip, to Mysore, Bangalore, Belur, Halebidu. Days of unruly traffic, roadside dosa stalls and sandalwood in the air!
My husband and kids, amazing people who live with my incessant chatter. My friends, my students and coworkers, all of whom matter in the daily workings of a reasonably sane existence.
Then there are the dreams...of changing the world, changing hearts and minds...leaving a tiny yet indelible footprint on some corner of this world just so someday I have the satisfaction of knowing that---where there used to be nothing, there is this. Sounds naive and insubstantial but I believed it possible. Still do. Hence the juggling act of a practical need to make living with a need to create a life beyond the daily grind.
Well then, back to India. Going to be a great trip, to Mysore, Bangalore, Belur, Halebidu. Days of unruly traffic, roadside dosa stalls and sandalwood in the air!
My First Blog Post
For the last few years I have thought on and off about starting a blog. Encouraged by my husband, I finally decided to put thought into action, finger to keyboard. Here it is! It is weird how the idea of interaction has morphed into interfacing...the Austenian world of lives lived in letters has returned, with a tech twist.
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