Humour – Page 9 – Nourish-n-Cherish

Exploring Happiness: Is It in Our Genes?

In what was an intriguing chat with the son last evening, we poked around the ethics of genetic modification. Apparently, that had been an area of discussion in their classroom, and the son was keen – the novelty of a discussion with multiple viewpoints at that age is amazing. I smiled and listened to him talk offering a question here, a hum there, an insight elsewhere.

“What do you want to do with human-beings if we are smarter?” I asked him.

“We could fly.”

“Cool! But then what?”

I took a deep breath and said as casually as I could. “Everyone wants to be smarter, for things to come more easily to them. So we wouldn’t have to spend so much time figuring things out. But – the thing is, if everything came easily, we would not know what to do with all the time we have on our hands. What do they say? An empty mind is a devil’s workshop? I don’t know – I think it could lead to more mental health issues – what do you think?”

He pondered this for a while, and said it was an intriguing thought.

Who Survives?

It reminded me of another chat the husband and I had a few months ago – on the larger theme of the future of humanity. With smarter, faster, stronger, what would happen to humans? The husband took a moment to gather his thoughts, and said, “Well – it will come back to good old basics then, wouldn’t it? Survival of the fittest. Those humans who can learn to be peaceful with themselves will ultimately win out – that is the strain that will survive.”

I was impressed – yes, no matter what we had, it ultimately came down to temperament, attitude, and the ability to be happy, didn’t it?

Generosity by Richard Powers: The Happiness Gene

Incidentally the book I am currently reading: Generosity by Richard Powers, talks about a variation of this: The Happiness Gene.

The story tries to figure out the reason for Thassa’s happiness. Thassadit Amswar is a refugee who has fled the Algiers region. Her brother is still under house arrest in a totalitarian regime, her parents are dead after years in which they were stuck in the midst of a civil war that raged around them, and any which way you look at it, she should be morose, sad – not chirpy, cheerful, and full of light.

The whole set up reminded me of one of Rumi’s sayings that have been making its way around the instagram world: something to the effect of:

When the world around you is dark, you could very well be the light.

Rumi

In any case, somehow Thassa’s ability to be happy attracts attention – first from local friends, then a policeman, a local news report diagnoses her as having ‘Hyperthymia’ – a condition of overwhelming happiness, and goes on to attract those who want to auction and buy her eggs, decode her DNA, figure out the happiness gene. She finds herself unmoored by how people feel bad because she is happy, and having to navigate the horrors of fame.

In Essence

Is there a genetic component to being happy?
If so, can that be picked and chosen for our offspring in the not-so-distant future?
What issues would that create for mankind? For just as sure as we are of creating solutions, so too can we be sure for creating problems for ourselves, isn’t it?

Stories Meant for the King

The husband was narrating life in his humble abode as a child to the children. “My ‘room’ ” he said, picking the quotes like the children do, “was under the steel cot. I was the Hero there. If my brother decided to join – then We Were Heroes There, or We Were Devils There. But it was all good fun.’

The children guffawed with laughter. This narrative was a familiar one, and I smiled. I remembered those steel cots. Appalling things they were – with steel rods painted dark green with apparently no aesthetic appeal. They were sturdy – I’d grant you that. They were the mainstay in almost every middle class home in India in the 80’s. As children, we had stress tested them by leaping on to them from cliffs on high cupboards, using them as rafts from oceans of swirling creatures below etc, and they did not break. Steel, you know?

How we carve out space for ourselves when there isn’t any can be a problem. But children seem to find solutions to this problem in the most creative manners possible.

The husband’s abode growing up was a small house – children did not have separate rooms. “Just the reality!” he shrugged when the children looked at him surprised.

“Under the bed is a spacious place for a small boy, you know?” he said.

The daughter and son exchanged glances.

The daughter said, “We love having our room!”

“Decorated just the way we want too!” said the son.

“Our room under the bed was too – we had cobwebs in the east-facing courtyards, and well, lizards on the south-facing side. Beat that!” said the husband to his awed audience.

Raja Kadhais : Stories meant for the King

The husband was reminiscing about his ‘room’ under the steel cot, “In there we listened to all sorts of ‘Tea’ (teenage slang for hot-off-the-stove spicy news). Things we should not be listening to. Things that we should, we ignored of course. Your grandmother was particularly adept at noticing when one ear would dance for the juicy tales. I tell you, she could see the ears squirm, and she would send us out to play – “This isn’t for you – Raja Kadhai. (Meaning stories meant for the King )” she’d say. Well, she didn’t receive the memo about my kingdom under the bed I suppose! Anyway, those Raja Kadhais were the best!” said the husband grinning from ear to ear.

I always like the way the daughter finds her space wherever we travel. In the cramped space of a car, she’d make her ‘room’. In a shared hotel room, she’d put up a sheet like a tent and make her ‘castle’. Her ‘room’ is not always a room, but she manages to make it so. Her space.

When AirPods Snuffed out Stories Meant for the King

That day, though, I was annoyed at her for not listening in. Here we were discussing things that would’ve been amazing for her to know, and she had plugged her ears in with noise-canceling headphones, pulled a blanket in the back-seat and gone on to tune us all out. Raja Kadhais, Tea – nothing.

“Is this how life is going to be with these blasted devices? In one room, yet so far away?”I ranted to the husband later.

“Leave her be! She is a teenager, and teenagers require space.” he said, taking his daughter’s side (as usual).

I rolled my eyes at this. “Isn’t receiving this kind of input critical while growing up. How many stories we’d heard in this manner? Not explicitly told to us, but enough to give us an idea of the world around us.”

“They’ll find ways to get it – social media?”

“Instead of stories from adults in hushed tones?”

Imagine my surprise then when I saw these Japanese headphones that promised to pop the bubble of silence : Popping the bubble of noise canceling headphones. These headphones are supposed to let background noise in, so we can still receive sensory information.

I admit, I rolled my eyes like a teenager at this. Really – all this progress. I wonder when we reach a point of diminishing returns and have to return to the tried and tested good old fashioned ways. You know? Go back to fiddling the knob on the rusty old radio with one channel to tune into.

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/infinite-scroll/popping-the-bubble-of-noise-cancelling-headphones

Which of the current technology trends do you think will bear the test of time? I thought noise-canceling headphones were the thing – but apparently not.

Hum of Chitter-Chatter

I’d had a trying sort of morning – my attempts at speaking had come to nought. I was speaking English, folks around me were not. I asked for chips, they told me it was several hours for nightfall. I asked for honey, I was given a shrug and a look reserved for the village fool. I left the chips and honey – life is great without chips and honey, thank you.

So, I veered off civilization and went off to moon in the woods.

It isn’t often that we stop to revel in the orchestras of everyday life. That morning I did. When I did, I found myself transported. I had rarely seen this many hummingbirds together in one place and the noises they were making chittering together was music. What were they saying to one another? Were they discussing plans for the day?

I smiled and reluctantly moved on – human beings had meetings of their own didn’t they?

A few days later, I stopped listening to the chatter of the crickets starting up in the evening, even as the sun dipped into the horizon bathing the skies in robes of pink and orange. The deer grazing glowed, the blackbirds fluttered while singing, but the crickets were the loudest of them all. Enough to make you stop and wonder what they must all be saying to one another.

I exchanged glances with the son who’s come on a stroll with me, and we headed back musing.

Later we had a frenzy of celebrations planned – gatherings and people. I stopped to listen to the chatter around me. It was a feeling – not voices that I heard. It was a festive occasion, so all I heard was a pleasant hum – interest, friendship, camaraderie, laughter.

What is it about communication that enthralls us so much? I remember reading a short story by Louisa May Alcott a while ago in which a young girl acquired the ability to understand animals and birds for a short period of time. She is baffled to realize that they can actually communicate amongst themselves as well as amongst other species. A woodpecker could talk to a squirrel and understand each other perfectly. So, they could unite and we wouldn’t have a clue.

It was a beautiful touching story, for it helped me laugh once again at our own follies. It would serve us right if that was truly the case – too smart for our own good, but all the time being pitied by the wiser creatures of the Earth. Between all the languages we’ve managed to create as humans, it is truly humbling if that were the case. (No mishaps with honey and chips I assume.)

It also made me stop and wonder what animals hear when they us jabbering. Many times on my walks, I come across people talking shop – serious talks on finance, technology trends (I live in the Bay Area – it is a way of life – you can’t throw a stone in any which direction without someone yelping ‘AI’ – whether as an expletive or not), movies, music, other people, offices, sports, etc.

What must they make of it? I wonder.

Navigating Life With the Power of Stories

Ooh! That’s a good one!

Read it!

Hmm..must check that one out.

Whadiddesey?

Predictable!

I was enjoying the narrative voice in my brain as I jotted down the titles almost as much as the commentary given by the folks themselves. It had been so long since we sat in a room where everyone introduced themselves with their names and their childhood favorite book.

As I went over the list I was writing, I wondered what those authors would feel when they heard about the kind of influence they had on children, now adults, decades later. Many of the authors we mentioned in our room were no more. Yet. Their words lived on, the worlds they created lived on, and the memories associated with these words and worlds lived on. One person said of their book that it saved them. The escape into the book saved them as a child.

Isn’t that marvelous?

Our Fascination with Stories

I understood again our fascination with words, stories, images – in a confusing world, they provide guidance. In a fast evolving world with its revolving door of trends and gadgets, books provide continuum.

To make sense of the world around us using stories is in itself an evolutionary gift. One that whales possess and possibly elephants too. Many creatures pass down knowledge needed to survive – are they in the form of stories? We do not know. We might soon enough. I read this article in which AI was able to decode sperm whale language.

NPR: AI to decode Sperm Whale Language

Quote from Cosmos by Carl Sagan:

Some whale sounds are called songs, but we are still ignorant of their true nature and meaning. They range over a broad band of frequencies, down to well below the lowest sound the human ear can detect. A typical whale song lasts for perhaps 15 minutes; the longest about an hour. Often it is repeated, identically beat for beat, measure for measure, note for note.

Very often, the members of the group will sing the same song together. By some mutual consensus, some collaborative song-writing, the piece changes month by month, slowly and predictably. These vocalizations are complex. If the songs of the humpback whale are enunciated as a tonal language, the total information content, the number of bits of information in such songs, is some 10 to the power of 6 bits, about the same as the information content of the Iliad or the Odyssey.

I would love to hear and understand the generational wisdom that these large benevolent creatures have for living in the oceans. The ever changing oceans must be a rich source of material.

Through our words, and the stories of our lives, we help make sense of the world around us. We figure out what our heart desires, what our morals are, the choices we must make, the work we must do, the characters we want to become.

Becoming is a Messy Business

So what are the stories we tell ourselves, and those close to us? How do those reminiscences help? I remember laughing at a statement I heard once – “avan oru padiccha muttaal -அவன் ஒரு படிச்ச முட்டாள் ” which loosely translates to: “He is an educated fool.”, and it stuck with me. How often the growth that has to happen at critical moments in our life does not happen, and we are left dealing with the repercussions of this missed growth? The right book, the right story at the right time.

Becoming is a messy business, and yet as long as we have a sense of working towards who we are becoming, we can continue growing.

In all these millennia, there does not seem to be a better teacher than stories. Small everyday stories of normal people navigating life in this balancing act of the universe.

Your Favorite Stories

“What about you? What was your favorite book as a child?”

I was somewhat surprised my turn had come this quickly, but I rallied, “The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton. We had this 90 foot eucalyptus tree near our home. It was so tall, more than half of it was obscured in the clouds, and it was very easy to imagine that high up in the clouds were revolving worlds – a new one every few days.” I said to a titter of polite murmurs.

The remaining folks went on with their favorite books. In describing the old tree near our childhood home and all those rainy days spent reading my favorite books, I found myself smiling a small smile.

This would be a nice thing to share with the children and ask after their favorite books.

What was your favorite book as a child?

Nyctinasty Flowers’ Lessons

I could barely stay indoors. You see? The day had started off with a mild drizzle. After what felt like months of sunshine, a little bit of moisture felt amazing. I stood outside peering up at the clouds – in itself a rarity now given how parched things get during Californian summers in the Bay Area. Even with summer flowers blooming and vegetable gardens flourishing, I yearn for the simple pleasures of marvelous sunsets, clouds, a pattering of rain, some breeze.

That is perhaps one of the things I miss most about the Nilgiris – the western ghats in South India where the rain drops and eucalytpus provided the backdrop for magic and mysticism. The rains, the clouds, the winds – how in one day you can experience so many different climes and you have to be prepared for it all, and still go about your day.

Nature is Transformative

That evening I said, “Well – come on then! “ hustling everyone out to see the glorious sunset. The clouds had scattered during the course of the day, but there were enough of them still there – enough to provide crepuscular glory with the rays of the setting sun. Some clouds looked like an artists reluctant brush stroke jostling right alongside the weightier ones. How every evening a different painting is rolled out to us continues to be a source of wonder.

Art is transformative – so is nature.

It transforms ordinary days into extraordinary ones.

It assures you that normal is numinous.

Nyctinasty flowers

That evening, I took in the deer grazing near the river banks, the rising full-moon swollen, resplendent and beautiful against the setting sun orangish-red and bright. I don’t have to be a naturalist to know that the birds felt it, the deer felt it, the frisky fox felt it, the fish in the river felt it, the flowers felt it. I stopped to admire everything – especially those that are classified as nyctinasty flowers :nyctinasty flowers like the evening primroses or gardenias close up for the night. They show you the importance of closing and resting in order to bloom and spready one’s beauty for the next day.

If ever there is an appointment to keep, it is with nature in those moments in the golden hour when all the world is settling in for a quieter pace.

Sunrises and Sunsets: An Opacarophile’s Notes of Magic

Every time we go on vacation, I proclaim proudly the first night, “I am going to go for a sunrise walk in the morning. Do not look for me!”

It is old hat by now. The children and the husband exchange amused looks and say, “Sure! Of course!” Followed by a chortle of such mirth that it should offend me. But vacations and all that – I let it slide. You see? I am rather a slow starter in the mornings. The caffeine tries, the shower tries, the folks around me try. But it takes a good hour or so before the spirit can rise and shine and birds chirping can become song to my ears and all that.

This time though, I surprised everyone including myself.

I set off on my sunrise, sunset and starry strolls every day I was there. It was marvelous – one morning, I sat trying to discern all the hues and colors in the sunrise, the shapes of the clouds, the fast disappearing mists that were clinging not a moment ago, making way for the humid day ahead of us.

I could hear my heart rise in song without emitting a single chirp – trying to keep in tune with the little palm warblers, and the mynahs reminding me of a silly rhyme we would chant as school children, giggling ourselves silly every time.

One for success

Two for a toy

Three for a boy (giggle, giggle)

Four for a girl (giggle, giggle)

Five for a letter (we were in a boarding school)

Six for something (can’t remember)

Seven for a secret (Secret Seven By Enid Blyton must’ve inspired that one!)

And on and on, it would go.

I smiled thinking of that rhyme – something I hadn’t chanted in three decades, and yet, it came to me that morning looking at the little birds hopping about the island. The brain really is marvelous. Scents, images, words, phrases can all evoke associative memory – it truly is powerful.

Taking in the slow way in which the island is drenched in its beauty, I walked back to our cozy lodgings, feeling very smug, and proclaiming that all those who missed the sunrise .. well, missed the sunrise.

“The sun will rise again tomorrow, Mother.” the children chorused looking gobsmacked that I had taken a sunrise stroll.

I somehow managed a sunrise stroll every day that we were there. On the last day, the husband joined me, and the island, to show us how special that was, even greeted us with a rainbow by the Buddha statue overlooking the ocean.

We were quiet for sometime wondering how a simple play of light and moisture can produce something as beautiful as that. Even the birds seemed to have fallen silent. Then the birds chirped, and the husband chattered again.

An opacarophile is a lover of sunrises and sunsets

A solist is one who loves events of the sun (sunrise, sunset, eclipse) etc

A heliophile is who loves the sun

A photophile is a lover of light

I feel the importance of this quote – for both sunset and sunrises

“Never waste any amount of time doing anything important when there is a sunset outside that you should be sitting under.” – C Joybell.C

Each Day An Adventure

I can’t help but think of one of my favorite authors, Gerald Durrell and how he describes the greek island, Corfu and its environs. The colors of the island, the vibrance of everything around them.

Hawaii is similar. It isn’t lost on me how very lucky we are to be able to visit the islands

I was trying to write about our recent vacation at Big Island, Hawaii. But I found myself strangely tied up for words. I could babble, I could close my eyes and let the images of the island rise up and shine out of every cell in the body. But I was having difficulty writing posts for them.

Hawaii is a sensation. A feeling that seeps into every pore, a light that illuminates every cell. It was the only possible explanation. How else could one feel surrounded by tropical flora, the full Milky Way galaxy overnight every night, the ocean and its abundance weighing down on you from every side?

Hawaii-COLLAGE

The colors, scents, warmth, waters, stars – many island destinations provide this feeling I am sure. But there was something special about the Hawaiian islands this time. It was an impromptu trip planned on the spur of the moment, each day unfolding as it came with not much thought or action plotted. Yet, every day seemed like a perfectly planned eternity that heavens boast of. We swam in the beaches, occasionally catching glimpses of colorful fish, or be gazing out at the changing landscapes on a drive and wonder how in one moment you felt like you were in the moors of Scotland with its brambles and heathen covered vegetation and the next in the misty mountains of Nilgiris with rain spattering your windshields; and the moment after gazing upon an ocean so blue and in so many blues that it surely could not be real, could it?

Every morning, I set off on my sunrise walk – quietly taking in the changing skies, soak in the light illuminating the island, and wonder about the stark difference to our work-a-day life and mornings.

Every night, I would set off on my good night walk gazing up at the skies illuminated beyond anything I remember – maybe it was the fact that we were on an island far away in the Pacific Ocean with nothing for miles around, or something else, but the skies felt fuller – darker. Nothing but the piercing light of the stars to behold.

“Gradually the magic of the island settled over us as gently and clingingly as pollen. Each day had a tranquillity, a timelessness, about it, so that you wished it would never end. But then the dark skin of night would peel off and there would be a fresh day waiting for us, glossy and colourful as a child’s transfer and with the same tinge of unreality.”

― Gerald Durrell, The Corfu Trilogy

A Cloudy Haze & Musings of Maya

Maya : All is Maya

“An abstract morning, isn’t it?” I said yawning.

“What do you mean?”, said the husband giving me a sharp look. It was a bit early for a chat especially when he had Reel-ing to do. (Watching instagram reels, you-tube shorts etc, not merely reeling from the effects of them)

“Cloudy mornings are like that. The reality is a bit muted. As though allowing us the luxury of examining reality through the haze of clouds and mists.”

He sighed and put down his phone. He clearly wasn’t getting his reality of watching inane reels and cackling at the virtual reality shock-fest it offered.

“Well – you know it feels like you can stop and look at the world, examine and ponder the reality of the world. The excitement it can have without actually doing it on a morning like this.”

Nervous or Excited?

“Did you know? Apparently, when they interview Olympic athletes and ask them if they are nervous before a match or race, they say they are excited.”

“Happy to latch on to something concrete, are you?” I said moving away from the world of Maya.

He grinned.

“Well – maybe they activate the same neural pathways in the brain. Must check it out. They do have similar responses. Adrenaline pumping – making the body ready for the action. “ I said.

“Yes – but maybe Olympic athletes’s brains acknowledging them as excitement rather than nervousness means they perform differently.” He said.

Optimism can be very draining!

The husband is a big sucker for positive thinking and all that lark. The things we have to resort to in order to get him to say he is in pain after playing tennis for days on end, is to be seen to be believed.

“Maybe just sore. ”, he’ll say, wincing.

“Are you in pain? Would you like me to get the Icy Hot balm?”

“Not pain – just a little interesting soreness.”

“You can’t move, can you?”

Laugh.

“Acknowledge you’re in pain, and I’ll get you the Icy Hot.”

“Nope. Never.”

“Fine. Then. Interesting aches do not need medication right?”

“Okay fine – I am pretty sore – can you get me the Icy Hot?”

So it goes.

Optimism! It can be very draining.

Optimism Tales: Goats, Creepers, and Spiders

Optimism as an abstract thought though, that can be entertained. The optimism of goats who make that leap to the tree branch high above, or that creeper that leaps skywards ready to take hold without knowing how, that spider whose web is an architectural marvel – they all must’ve felt optimism to start and stick with their ventures. “Were they excited, nervous? Must interview them and put them on reels so you can find out!” I said sticking my tongue out at him.

Existential Angst & The Creation of Meaning

The son and I were listening to a podcast called Philosophize This on the Creation of Meaning series. Stephen West’s voice filled the kitchen while the week-end cooking was being done by Yours Truly, and a history project was being colored in by the son.

Many of us are familiar with the Existential Quest of mankind. In the absence of knowing exactly what animals think, we assume that as a species, we are uniquely gifted with existential angst. Does a whale worry about it? Do octopuses? Sheep?

Existential Angst

We all feel it at some point in time – some more keenly than others. Some for more prolonged periods in time.

https://www.philosophizethis.org/search?q=creation%20of%20meaning

“Hmm…” we said almost together, and laughed. We were both thinking of that beautiful night a week ago. We were driving towards the middle of nowhere, in search of a parking lot, wide enough to allow us to glimpse the marvels above us, and far away enough from urban settlements to truly allow the darkness of the night to creep in and enclose us. It was during the preceding waxing moon phase, which meant that the skies were moonlit past midnight. So, we started driving past midnight and reached a suitably dark spot at about 3 a.m.

As we gazed up at the stars that summer night leading up to the August full moon, we were filled with this sense of awe. A sense of gratitude for being a part of this incredible universe, and for being able to play a small part in it.

One of my favorite quotes from Ursula K Le Guin from the Lathe of Heaven is:

“Things don’t have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function. What’s the function of a galaxy? I don’t know if our life has a purpose and I don’t see that it matters. What does matter is that we’re a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are. What we do is like wind blowing on the grass.”

― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven

The Perseid meteor showers were supposed to peak around dawn and we yawned our way through a steaming cup of tea to keep us company during the wait. In time, one or the other of us would yell, “There!”, and the others would moan. Till then, we gazed upwards, our eyes acclimatizing to the dark.

Whether we saw the meteors brightly enough or not, we did land up seeing the Milky Way -cloud-like stretch out and yawn in the canopy above. Lazily strewn – intensely bright in spots, and each star shining to its own capacity.

The Creation of Meaning

Huddled up watching the stars like that lulls the brain into the universe. With a slow sense of serenity and awe pervading your being, I found myself wondering about meaning.

Without meaning to, we attach an awful lot of meaning to many things.

Back in the kitchen, the son & I snapped back, and agreed that as far as meaningful experiences go, stargazing was at the top of the list.

“At what point do we decide that being us is all that is expected of us? Be a planet, be a star, be a galaxy, be an elephant or a human-being. There is nothing else. Why do we keep wanting to do meaningful things?” I asked.

The husband gave me an amused look, and said, “Huh Hmm! Pesu!” (You can Talk!)

I had the grace to laugh.

“But really – why not move to an obscure part of the planet, watch the stars at night and just live a happy life?”

“Why not indeed?“ He said, barely hiding the laughter in his voice.

“If more of us could do that, then existential angst would not be a thing, and without that, are we human-beings? That is how we come full circle or spiral into non-being! Get it? Get it?” I said chuckling. “Even the galaxy’s shape looked like we needed an artist’s rendition to show us the rest of the picture of the spiral. “

The daughter, who’d come yawning downstairs, said, “Thank goodness I wasn’t here for that meaningless lark. You’d have woken me up, and Euuuhh”, she shuddered and peered into the simmering contents of the stove. “Ahh – all my favorite things today! Thanks Ma!”

“The Creation of Meaning! Ladies & Gentlemen! “ I said with a flourish, and she laughed.

Question for you:

Life’s meaning to each of us is different and it is different at different stages in life. What are some of the things that you think give meaning to life?

Rediscovering the Art of Play: Exploring the Wonders of the Solar System

I vividly remember one Science class in which my teacher explained the solar system, our place in it, and how fast we were traveling through Space. It is an incredible concept, and when explained well, can spark interest and curiosity in a young child. I remember being flushed after that Science class, maybe because I was chosen to be the Earth. I had to rotate and spin around one of my best friends who was the Sun. What greater joy could there be?

As interesting as the lesson was, what sealed the memory in my mind is the fact that the chosen sun that day was exuberant, the chosen earth was joyous, and the rest of the class giggly and slightly jealous that they weren’t the ones to be given the chance to get up from their seats. The latter point gave way to some accusations about being picked by the teacher “How come you both were picked? Sitting right next to each other too?”

I saw their point. Usually, teachers are careful about picking volunteers or nominees from opposite ends of the classroom. These little dramas are part of what makes our time together memorable.

The little upset may have dampened our spirits somewhat, but we were quick to regain lost ground. To children who generally liked the joy of spinning, the morning lesson was a gift indeed. To those of you who have not experienced the heady giddy sensation of going round-and-round recently, please try it again. It is marvelous. If you can find a giggly companion, young at heart, please do so, and it enhances the experience in no small manner.

Hypothesis, Conclusions, Fact-Checking & Collaborations

I remember it was during our little spin-ney-spin-ney sessions that one of us had a question as to why we feel giddy when we spin. Science is full of people who came up with their hypotheses and then set out to prove it. Our little band of scientists was no less committed. I came up with a perfectly wrong explanation for the phenomenon and it shows the sturdy nature of my friends that no one laughed at me that day. Instead, they indulged me in an experiment.

“Maybe the Earth is already spinning and when we spin in the opposite direction, it makes us feel dizzy.”

There were some thoughtful nods at this – “Then we should be able to spin even faster if we were to go the same direction right? “ said one. There was only one way to check – spin in both directions and find out for ourselves if this was the right theory.

“Which direction does the Earth spin – do you know?” A collective wave of shoulders shrugged at the same time, but little things like this do not deter the determined. Someone said we will just time each other for 10 spins in each direction, adjust for right-handed, left-handed, ambidextrous, null-i-dexterous (the opposite word for being equally clumsy with both hands is called ambisinister, but I think null-i-dexterous sounds kinder) and we would be set.

That’s what we did. The exercise resulted in loud laughter, and the sound waves brought the earlier complainants to the fold wanting to join in the game too. All recent rancors forgotten, the experiments were done with rigor, encouragement and accuracy.

While we are always in awe of the creative thinkers who take us a leap forward with their works, I have always wondered how each moment came to be: how Thinking Man figured so much out. This is one of the best ways in which I have seen the sentiment expressed.

Excerpt from The Book That Nobody Read – Chasing the Revolutions of Nicholas Copernicus by Owen Gingrich

“The greatest of scientists have been unifiers, men who found connections that had never before been perceived. Isaac Newton destroyed the dichotomy between celestial and terrestrial motions, forging a common set of laws that applied to the Earth and sky alike. James Clerk Maxwell connected electricity and magnetism, and showed that light was electromagnetic radiation. Charles Darwin envisioned how all-living organisms were related through common descent. Albert Einstein tore asunder the separation between matter and energy, linking them through his famous E=mc^2 equation.”

Scientists do not always know what to expect and can sometimes be surprised at the results. That is what happened to us. The results were inconclusive and resulted in:

* One of us falling to the ground laughing heartily

* Another banging their head against a conveniently placed pole nearby

* Another giving off an inaccurate imitation of a drunkard, which was impressive given that this was happening prior to the Internet or Cable Television, and the child’s parents were teetotallers

* Two subjects crashing into each other mid-orbital, resulting in tummy aches and headaches together

Our motley band of scientists had by this time dissolved into a fit of giggles. Good naturedly, we shrugged off the theory, accepting with grace that it may be an erroneous hypotheses and moved on to the next thing to play together. Consensus, criticism, fact checking, and collaborations had been achieved with the greatest of unity and hilarity.

The Art of Play

In every problem, creativity and imagination are our solid allies. The simple act of playing together and collaborating to solve problems, keeping each other true is now more valued than ever. Today to see that school recess times have come down; children do not play out on the streets in free play mode anymore, but are rather being ferried up and down to supervised, classes with rigid rules of social conduct usually in the presence of adults; and the playgrounds in our neighborhood have become safe havens for spiders to spin their webs.

Could we add in structured unstructured time – so we can all benefit from free spirited Play once again?

Those who were never exposed to Play may not miss it, but those who know the beauty of it, will always feel the richer for it. Much like Art, Play is Art, and I pray we do not lose the Art of Play.

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