It is Hispanic Heritage Month. I was curious to learn the difference between Hispanic and Latinos. In forms from the diversity teams in HR departments, the two terms have been chunked together. Latinos may be Hispanic or not. Hispanic refers to those hailing from Spanish speaking countries. Latinos are those hailing from countries in Latin America. For instance Brazilians may not identify as Hispanic because Brazil was a Portuguese colony, and therefore do not speak Spanish.
Cougars roar in Spanish
I now teach in a school where the Latino and Hispanic population is high. So I often get little peeks into the culture. The children like to tease me and ask for science videos in Spanish. “Ms Bala! We want to hear the cougar roar in Spanish!”
“Can we watch the leopard eat the gazelle in Spanish?”
I give in, enjoying their gentle humor as they giggle,
“Sounds so different in Spanish!”
“Totally different gazelle you guys!”
Last week, during a session of free play, I was invited to a game of Mexican Bingo. Amidst great cheers, the beans were passed out to each player as the cards were drawn.
Esperanza Rising & Sonia Sotomayor
When we read Esperanza Rising together, there were so many moments when the children showed me in different ways how much they valued their cultural heritage, and roots. After the book was done, I had the children do a quiet session of art on the book, and some of them did a fantastic job. Some of them needed heavy scaffolding, but they came up with a good theme in the end.
I read a non-fiction book on Sonia Sotomayor to the children to complement the fictional Esperanza Rising the other day, and told them to keep note of the ways in which the books were similar. Once again, they surprised me. A surprise sticker contest really can get their brain cells thinking like nothing else can.
What Happened?
Schools do a fantastic job of being inclusive, creating a sense of belonging, and teaching everyone to celebrate diversity. I see the Hispanic child consoling an Indian-origin child for unfairness on the playground just as seamlessly as a Chinese immigrant child looking out for her Polynesian friend.
Somehow, everyday, I wonder how this beautiful dynamic gets lost on the way. Could it be that age jades our outlooks, and makes cynics of us all?
One child came to school wearing a t-shirt that said, Eudaemonia. I asked her what it meant and she shrugged. Some fancy word. I thought of all the things we don’t stop to think about in our daily lives, and the times we do, what interesting things we are led towards. I was reminded of a recent conversation and experience.
Reel lives
We were standing in the latest add-on exhibit of the American Natural History Museum. The role of cell-phones, social media in our lives, and how our real lives coincide with our reel lives. This was never a problem for any generation before ours. There were a few people who had to live with fame – bask in it, grapple with it, embrace it, or accept its ephemeral nature at various points in their lives. But it was a small minority.
The majority of people lived their lives out without attention.
I was reminded of a recent conversation with the daughter. “Why are there so many people with image issues these days?” I’d asked her in an attempt to understand. She had been telling me about some friends of hers whose attention to what they ate made me feel sorry. For I do know one thing, metabolism only takes a dive as you age. So, if these young folks were finicky in their teens and early twenties, it was going to be no party in their 40’s. I said as much to her, and she laughed. “Yes – I know! I keep telling them too. I’ve seen my mother! I tell them. Do they listen? No!”
“Hey!” I protest, but she waves me off. “It’s okay to grow older. Happens to everyone!” There wasn’t much to be said after that, I supposed.
It is painful to see so many young folks have image issues.
“Well – before you knew therewere beautiful folks – film stars, models etc. But then, the regular people around you were not extraordinary looking in any remarkable ways. In fact the ones who were, were the anomaly and often felt out of place. But then, suddenly, with the rise of social media, beautiful images of influencers from across the globe are being flashed in to your faces every minute of every day. Suddenly, you think there are so many good people out there, I must the anomaly -with the normal looks that I do have.”
I mused on this. It is true. Social media seems to have exposed all the good-looking features and elements of people from all over the world. Suddenly that endearing cleft in your chin looks like a chasm, that pimple feels like a volcano, and those bushy eyebrows seem unseemly. But they are anything but. They are aspects of our personalities – some with fleeting effects, and others more enduring features.
Social media has tapped a deeply-ingrained not-good-enough response in humans. This not-good-enough combined with the vanity of seeing ourselves has contributed in unequal proportions to something that humanity has not grappled with for centuries.
Every time somebody glanced at a mirror, they may have had the thought, “Do I look good enough for <whatever occasion or person>’ Now, it can be every time we pick up the phone which can be up to 300 times a day – even if that particular thought related to our looks only comes a fraction of the time, it is still multifold compared to before.
Talk about messing with psyches.
Art is evolving
Already art is evolving to address an issue like this: More quirky character based television shows are on the rise: shows with casts as varied as:
* Grocery store owners and their families
* School atmospheres with quirky characters
* Small offices, hospitals, a modern family in LA – you get the gist.
But the entertainment industry still goes for the good-looking.
Something has shifted in the storylines, character driven books etc. Human psychology andits effects on average humans has shifted towards a more cause-and-effect method, begging the question: Are we all simply a product of our times and influences?
If somebody does this, then this must’ve happened.
While acknowledgement of issues can lead to some positive outcomes, thediagnosing and labeling can lead to problems – is already leading to problems. For if all our problematic tendencies can be traced to psychological traumas, do we really have a problem? Surely, it was something that’s done to us, and therefore not in our control to fix or cure.
This means someone wanting agency in their lives is going to have to work against this narrative.
Sigh.
Therapy-Speak of our Daughters
I read this article in the New York Times about the therapy-speak of our daughters. It reminded me of this conversation I had with the daughter a few months ago.
While the article talks about more than image issues, it talks about this trend of diagnosing and labeling ourselves prematurely, unhelpfully.
“Several years ago, I started noticing something new when teenage girls or young women came to my office for their first psychiatric sessions. Patients used to dread being told that there was something, as they saw it, wrong with them. Now these young women were announcing their diagnoses — attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, depression — almost before telling me their names.
They had researched their symptoms on Instagram; they’d taken TikTok quizzes about them; they had cross-indexed their conditions with those of their friends.”
Is this a cry for attention as she says in the article?
“One girl told me she had assigned herself a diagnosis of depression, which she later acknowledged she thought would make me care about her. Another girl was stuck on an A.D.H.D. diagnosis, mostly because it made her feel less alone by connecting her to a vocal and vibrant online community.”
Or is it simply so everybody can feel like they belong somewhere. More than ever, what is you is being celebrated and ridiculed. Exaggeratedly so.
“Another girl said she used her various self-diagnoses as a container for whatever felt like “too much” about her, allowing her to fulfill what she thought was the teenage female’s highest calling: to be chill.
Eudaemonia
Maybe the only thing that can actually illuminate the human condition is our biology – when we understand our brains better, would we able to wrest a better understanding of our psyches and all that plagues us too?
Our human calling is eudaemonia. How do we find the path and keep to it? The Greek philosopher, Aristotle, popularized the concept in Aristotelian Ethics, viewing eudaemonia as the ultimate goal of human life (eudaemonia means engaging in personal growth and meaningful actions).
When I told the child what Eudaemonia meant, her face lit up. She hadn’t given it any thought – possibly something gifted to her by a g(r)eeky parent, but she was thrilled to be able to share the meaning with them
“Are you driving?” She said, astute as ever. I smiled to myself in the car. She had me there. She knew from the relaxed way in which I was carrying on the conversation that I must have time and not flibberty-gibbeting around like I usually do.
“Yes!” I confessed – the sheepish feeling in my heart oozing into my voice, and she laughed.
“In that case we can talk about books!”, she said, and my heart warmed toward her. Bless her.
I told her about a book that I read recently:
The Care & Management of Lies – By Jacqueline Winspear
The tone of the writing on Jacqueline Winspear is somewhat similar to Miss Read (one of my favorite authors) – full of warmth and everyday practicality. Winspear was introduced to me by one of my son’s teachers, and I enjoyed this book more than her more famous series based on Maisie Dobbs, the detective.
The main character, Kezzie’s treatment of food preparation borders on irreverent and artsy enough to be charming, though the food recipes do get to be a bit much towards the end.
I identified with the young bride Kezzie married to a farmer, Tom, with these short lines:
“They were in the first flush of marriage, and this was another source of fascination for the young husband, that this wife of his had no attachment to her prowess as a cook. She didn’t seem to care that pastry might be underdone, meat overdone, that bread was too doughy in the crumb, too hard on the crust, or that the men looked at their eggs and bacon and then at each other every morning. She seemed like a sprite assigned to a factory job, flitting from stove to table, then out to the kitchen garden, cutting rosemary to garnish an egg on toast-and not one of the farmworkers had ever seen garnish, nor would the word be part of their vocabulary.”
How could I not? Kezzie’s flair for the artistic, and the unconventional had me smiling. After all, I share the same sentiment towards cooking even after all these years. When I say things like, “No need to make a big deal – I’ll figure something for dinner.” I can see the looks being exchanged as though this means starving the family. It doesn’t. The family is well-fed. Ask the weighing scale. It just means, I will not think about it when I am looking for the deer shaped cloud with the sun peeping out from its antlers.
In turn, she told me about a similarly warm-toned book, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I look forward to reading it. That got us talking about how the same things that life has to offer can be written in bleak ways, or in uplifting ways. After all, the book I had just read was set in The First World War, and the whole world was buffeted by its ill-effects. It isn’t fairy-tale material. It isn’t bedtime reading material. And yet, somehow the sentiment of the book felt welcoming.
So, what is it that makes the tone of a story appealing to you? Plenty of people like Steinbeck & Dostoevsky. I do too. Just not for comfort reading. The same sentiment seems to rule my entertainment options. Life is hard enough – I don’t need my entertainment to be the same. Maybe that is the reason sitcoms are so popular with society.
Could it relatable optimism and a familiar feeling of laughter and comfort at the end of the day?
I was attending a graduation ceremony in the USA and wondering how they managed to get so many of the names mispronounced. In fact, at that point, more than 3/4th of the names were mispronounced in one way or the other. Latin American names, Indian names, Chinese names, Jewish names, African American names, Greek names, Arabic names—everyone’s names were equally butchered. Equal-opportunity mispronunciations.
The world, whether we like it or acknowledge it, has become more global in its make-up than it has ever been. So, learning how to say each other’s name, is more important than ever. For that, learning the importance of one’s name is quite as important, isn’t it?
My Name is as Long as a River By: Suma Subramanian
Suma Subramaniam writes about South Indian life, and is a member of the WNDB (We Need Diverse Books) initiative.
This particular book is especially relevant as there are many children with long names in schools these days.
In the book, the child is named after the river Kaveri. In fact her full name is: Kaveri Thanjavur Jayalakshmi Ganesan.
Kaveri : the name of the river she is named after. A beautiful river in South India, it is the harbinger of prosperity in the South. The rice fields, temple towns, and estuaries are the centres of culture and history millennia old. The Kaveri river waters literally help feed millions of people.
Kaveri is embarrassed by her long name in the USA, and has shortened it to Kav because it is consistently mispronounced, but after visiting her grandmother along the banks of the river Kaveri, she learns the significance of her beautiful name.
“Ganesan is my father.
Jayalakshmi is my mother.
Thanjavur is where I was born.
Kaveri is who I am.
My name is: Kaveri Thanjavur Jayalakshmi Ganesan.”
Tara Anand’s illustrations combined with Suma Subramaniam’s writing makes it a truly wonderful book, and one I think many teachers will love to use in their diverse classrooms.
What’s in a name?
For a person whose name is as long as a river, I loved the book. I know that the daughter has shortened her name with a beautiful Tamil meaning to mean something ‘brave and bold’ in Irish. I have a Starbucks-name, a more lilting explanation for those who are in the mood to try a few Hawaiian excursions into the language if they really want to pronounce my name, and so on.
I‘ve often asked children to help me understand the significance, meaning and cultural importance of their names. There are so many origins of names – some religious, some mythical, some nature-based, some philosophical references: the list is truly as varied as the names themselves.
It is curious how willingly they answer this question when younger, and then seem to almost drift away as teens for the same question. Like they would all just love to be called the same thing: wall, plant, brick. I understand it, wanting to blend in is an innate characteristic (Be a Roman in Rome & all that – the adage didn’t start yesterday did it?)
At some point in early adulthood though, the innate need to return to your unique name, hopefully, kicks in.
The magic of names
My thoughts drifted to Ursula K Le Guin, whose writings, if I remember correctly, also had a lot of interesting names. Naming was important to her. It set the place, the setting, even the story forward. How easily we can imagine an island kingdom, separate from a desert oasis town, or a hillside rural area by the names alone?
Now, pluck all these characters and have them live together in a university, and the resulting entertainment from the names is enough to tide guests through a whole afternoon.
“To weave the magic of a thing, you see, one must find its true name out… for there is great power, and great peril, in a name.”— A Wizard of Earthsea
In a non-fiction essay , Ursula Le Guin talks about the responsibility of choosing names.
“To make up a name of a person or a place is to open the way to the world of languages the name belongs to. It’s a gate to Elsewhere.” – Ursula K Le Guin
J K Rowling’s Harry Potter series has so many interesting names, and etymologies once you get past the story, and actually delve into the details. The first time I realized Sirius & Remus names with respect to their alter-ego/animagus forms, I felt a jolt of pleasure.
Mythologies the world over have fantastic names for their characters. What is in a name then? Is it’s meaning important? Is there a specific magic to what we have been named? Is it linked to something greater or is it just a name?
The first sounds to which we respond uniquely.
What does your name mean to you? I’d love to know.
There is an energy to India that is indescribable. The heat, the rains, the people, the colors, the population, and the conversations. Over time, the nature of these conversations has shifted gently towards aging. All of us are aging, but that means, our parents, uncles, aunts and grandparents are aging too.
Even as we realize aging is coming for us all, it is a humbling experience to see previously bustling energetic authority figures succumb to the frailties of age. The anxiety among the aging is very high. Whether this is a reflection of rapid technological changes, or simply a function of age, I do not know. I don’t have the data to determine whether our grandmothers’ anxieties increased with age as well. It wasn’t something that was acknowledged, much less named and labeled.
“What are you doing, amma?” I said walking into the kitchen one night.
“Soaking some rice for appam tomorrow – I know you like it.”, she said.
“Hmm..” I said noncommittally. “Don’t worry too much. I am not particular about ..”
“I know you!” She cut me off. “You Americans get by without breakfast, without evening tiffin! We’ll make appam and stew, and I know you will love it!”
Who was I to argue with that? I do love a good appam and stew.
Women who managed careers, homes and children with competence and skill suddenly find themselves paralyzed by whether there is enough milk in the fridge for morning coffee. The certainty of Gopala, the morning milkman, is no longer there. The rhythm of waiting till morning for the milkman is gone. Instead, they find themselves checking obsessively with their children whether the breadbasket order is in.
Swift technology, quick commerce, while making it easier for us, also seems to have contributed to an increase in instant gratification among the elderly.
The Procurement Parrot
Watching the evenings unfold in families where the breadwinners work in multinational companies in India is fascinating. I watch the mother figures peep into the room where the man of the house is taking an international call – possibly the US, given the time-zone difference.
“We need curry leaves.”
The son’s performance is a class in the performing arts. Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, and acting like there is no interruption, there is an intense hand-wave not visible on the screen- signaling, “Shh!”
If you thought that would have her beaten – I show you The Great Indian Mother.
She tries again – this time with the woman of the house, who is in a different room taking a call of her own. She waves her away – with more grace. “Ssh…”
But here, the Indian system knows how to work women. The mother figure is prepared. She passes a note – a list of items that need to be ordered. A quick glance at the list results in:
(1) Either the woman of the house giving in. A pacifying nod to indicate acknowledgment
(2) Or she is sent back to the son’s laptop, with further instructions.
After a few minutes, she emerges victorious with her order of milk, curry leaves, and coriander leaves done.
I smiled at the familiar scene. Professionals in India often have to take calls with their US teams, and this means, that the post-dinner refrigerator audit resulting in last minute calls for curry leaves is often handled by the older / retired grandparents in the house.
“I sound like a parrot with these people – I want curry leaves. Order curry leaves. Did you order curry leaves?” She said, and I felt for her.
Or better yet, they managed it themselves treating the walk to the market as a little social saunter. They also, somehow, magically managed to make perfectly good dishes without curry leaves if required. Now, however, with the increase in quick commerce, nobody is willing to wait for anything anymore. Compromise seems to be on the decline.
Yes, some dishes taste better when prepared a certain way, but the beauty of home-cooked meals is in the art of adjusting, and creating anyway.
All day long, delivery folks zip by on bikes, delivering this and that to the urban household who is anticipating anything from a watermelon to a stitched blouse from a tailor down the road. Need some fermented batter delivered across the city? There is a fella on a bike willing to come home, collect it, and deliver it across the city for you. The heat doesn’t deter them, the rains barely, the snarling jams part-and-parcel of their days. Mega marts feeding quick commerce – enabling thousands to eke out a living, yes, but it also a reminder that we have forgotten to wait and be patient with our wants and desires.
“While you are having dinner itself, I’ll tell you today.”, she said the next day. ”I can’t have you hissing like cobras in the house when I come around with the list of things to order! We need 4 packets of milk – for payasam (kheer) tomorrow.”
I laughed at the cobra reference and rose to protest that payasam was quite unnecessary, but was silenced with a stare. So, I slurped the stew, and gulped the appam with relish.
“ Is the appam stew good?”, she asked me.
I smiled at the matriarch. “Yes! Fantastic as always, amma.” I said, removing the curry leaves from the stew, and setting it at the corner of my plate, while the breadbasket order for the next day was being filed under her watchful gaze.
“Who is your favorite king/emperor/ruler?” I asked my friend.
Without a second’s hesitation, he came up with the name I knew he would come up with. “Genghis Khan.” He calls it the greatest rags to riches story (personally, I reserve that category for J K Rowling).
A link to his posts on Genghis Khan if you’re interested.
When I posed the same question to the husband he said, “Chandragupta Maurya.”
The son gave me a wily smile as if smirking at the very question, and shouldn’t I know it? I smiled, “Of course! Napoleon! Fine – your turn – guess my favorite ruler then!”
“I think Ashoka.”
“Yes!’ And I beamed at him. “I always like a sappy story about a guy who sees the error of his ways, and makes amends.”
Napolean cures jetlag
I don’t know how, but I found myself being lured into a documentary about Napoleon after my trip back from India. Severely jet-lagged, and slightly bleary eyed, I agreed.
The son and the husband have this deplorable habit of checking to see if I am still awake while they make me watch things close to their heart. “Amma!”, he said straight into my ears, sounding like Napolean’s horse charging into battle, on multiple occasions. Finally, after Part 1 was over he allowed me to go bed. I suppose unlike his dear Napoleon, he spotted a losing battle when he saw one.
Now I don’t know how folks get over jet lag. But I suggest the Napoleon documentary followed by a swift 12 hour deep slumber for the desired results. I felt fresh and ready to take on the world the next day as I puttered around the kitchen making coffee.
“Thanks to Napoleon, I had a good night’s sleep yesterday!” I said to the son, who looked confused for a moment and then chuckled at the statement:I had to agree.
Napolean – the granter of peaceful slumber?
Napoleon could be credited with many things, but granting peaceful sleep was not something he achieved during his times. At least a million families knew of heartbreak and grief thanks to his relentless pursuit of power, his myriad schemes and questionable policies across Europe in the late 1700’s and early 1800s. How many families lost their sleep thanks to this man?
I said as much to the son.
“Well at least centuries after his death, he gave peaceful sleep to one jet lagged sad person who was forced to watch a documentary!” I said sticking my tongue out at the son’s horrified expression.
How could I say that about a documentary on his dear Napoleon?!
But if anything he is a good sport, and has Part 2 waiting.
Google’s Doodle on Earth Day was images of earth scapes, and I remember drifting from there to thinking of the different things Earth represents. Not philosophically, not in a dead-without-planet way, but in a mind’s eye sort of way.
All blanketed in our beautiful atmosphere We can either breathe it all in or not think of it at all
It isn’t a very good poem. But it made me think of something my friend once told me when I lamented the state of our beautiful Earth. “The Earth will be fine. The only question is whether we will be fine on Earth.”
Wise words from a wise soul.
Earth will be fine!
I thought of that the other day as the son & I meandered around the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. It really is a marvelous museum. We found ourselves going twice to the Oceans section – The Sant Ocean Hall. There was one particular exhibit showing the range and number of species prior to The Great Dying, and after it all.
I cannot imagine the work that went into designing an exhibit like that. The number of geologists, naturalists, biologists, scientists: and then, the scientific accuracy, the research papers, the peer review. But I stood there taking it in, and really did want to go back to the time before the Great Dying. To see the different kinds of life in the oceans, the sheer enormity of it all compared to what we have now.
To think we live in a time of less than 1/4 the diversity and abundance of life, and it is still so beautiful. I realize human-beings could not have been there – we needed to find our place in the evolutionary queue, and all that. But if there was a way to get a peek, I would take it. Even if just a simulation. How do you simulate more jellyfish varieties, more squid varieties.
Even The Most Imaginative
I remember one interview I watched of J K Rowling a while ago, in which she attempted to create a new mythical creature, and found after all her thinking, that the creature resembled our planet’s manta rays. Our human imagination, even from arguably one of the most imaginative person on the planet, is still limited. That is the vast expansive nature of the diversity on this Earth.
To think that Earth bounced back from an event like The Great Dying, and is thriving now, is remarkable. To think one species (us) is capable of wreaking havoc on a planet as resilient and marvelous as Earth is also something to think about.
It is also amazing to realize that we are but a blip on the planet’s life. All our problems, our wars, our angsts – every thing that means so much to us, is but a blip. We rarely stop to think if what is bothering us now would be a problem for us next week, next year, next decade. Does Earth stop to think whether we will be a problem a few centuries from now, a few millennia, a few eras, a few eons?
It is our beautiful Earth Day, and I am grateful for the rainy day, the sun’s watery rays afterward, and the slowly forming into a sharp and exquisite rainbow.
In the midst of all the war-mongering and depressing news, the images of our beautiful Earth sent from the Artemis missions has been such a joy. Yes – we have all seen photographs of Earth before -a fact that we seem to so easily take for granted. A hundred years ago, round Earth was a concept for people, not something with photographic evidence. The fact that the Earth is round may be something that whales and migratory birds know innately, but they have never seen the picture of their home beamed to them showing all the beautiful colors it is made up of.
In contrast, I saw a documentary with pictures of the storms on Saturns. The video zoomed into the rings that look so beautiful, and explained the violence that created them in the first place. Jupiter’s storms are bigger than our planet, forever raging, forever swirling.
Then, we see Earth – its storms metaphorically Saturnian and Jupiterian thanks to political systems the world over, but peaceful looking otherwise. A reminder for what we need to persevere for, and preserve.
The Demons Within
I remember the son & I chatting about space travel in the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum. We had been there after the Holocaust Museum, and I was feeling philosophical: “How could the very species capable of such cruelty also be capable of discovering exoplanets, and work towards energy conservation initiatives such as solar and hydrogen powered solar systems?”
The son looked thoughtful. “You know – sometimes these things are not just in a species – it is in one person. There was this person called Werner von Braun. He was on the team that built the Saturn 5 spacecraft. He was a Nazi and he was not given punishment for his war crimes if he could do this – help NASA build the spacecraft. Did he feel bad? I don’t know.”
I was intrigued. So, I came home and looked him up.
Of course, he tried to distance himself from the Nazis claiming to simply be a scientist who would have worked for anyone willing to let him work on machines and space probes. But it wasn’t so. He was an active member of the SS, and when he made references to the concentration camps, it was in vague terms – so he could feign if not ignorance, at least only faint knowledge. But this too was wrong.
His reputation did not exactly come out till after his death when another SS officer decided to pull him down too.
The Moralities of our Lives
The moralities of our lives are shaped early but constantly being questioned. Most of us lead lives of modest impact, and our ability to act, or the failure thereof, usually has impact on few people. However, in dystopian times, both the desire to act and the restraint from acting can both have disastrous consequences, and are somehow more impactful.
We are living in strange times- I hope it is not as dire as the ones that led to the World Wars, but the technology and warfare we have at our disposal now makes the impact multifold.
What will the judgement be when history looks back at this period in American and World History? I can almost hear the professorial tones in the books: “This was the beautiful planet they had. They let it slide and be destroyed …”
This Beautiful Earth
All I can think of is, there is a reason the images of our beautiful Earth are being beamed back to us and are surfacing in our public consciousness at this point in time. It is a reminder that we have a duty to perform. Protect a planet from us.
We were in Washington D C – traveling on spring break.
Like the son said one morning as we legged it from the Senator Hart Building to the Capitol Building for a tour, “Anyone on this street could be an important person huh? A senator, judge, lawyer!”
I paused at this – this was true. That guy shoveling a bagel into his mouth could be representing a state in the senate. That man, with an important looking suit and tie, and a crooked nose, could be working on the next piece of legislation. That woman with the heels could be presenting something today.
Some of these folks were famous even. We just didn’t seem to know them. Huh? That is an interesting perspective of fame isn’t it? You can be thoroughly famous and yet be in the company of somebody who has never heard of you. Maybe we should ask a famous person what they think of this particular paradox. Does it seem freeing, or does it hurt their ego? Even if the answer completely depends on the person and their development/maturity in life, it would be lovely to explore this angle.
“Ma! Come! We’re going to miss the signal!” The son said, and we bustled off too.
The Capitol Building
Later in the day, after the Capitol building tour, we were in line waiting to watch the House of Representatives and Senate in action. This, arguably, was the most exciting part of the day for the son, who likes the sort of thing that I tend to glaze over. Like what percentage of votes guaranteed a motion, or whatever it is that excites all those suit-wearing folks we had seen bustling to and fro in the morning.
Wynken, Blynken & Nod
“Let’s go! “ The doors had opened, and we were being ushered into the House of Representatives to watch the session in action. I do not know what I had been expecting. But it was not what I was seeing. That much was clear.
We watched folks socialize and make small talk for quite some time. Were they showing each other pictures of their grandkids? Then, the session started, and at first, the son & I thought we were in on a joke. The updates from one state included the baseball high school league that had a good season? Fascinating? Yes. Informational? Depends on the kind of information that excites you. Stimulating? NO.
A few more updates like this, and I was nodding off. I may have dreamt of penguins, but it could have been the pictures I saw on instagram before heading into the House of Representatives. After some time, the penguin grew a bony hand and nudged me deep. I jolted awake. There was a person who was somewhat passionately talking about the ICE, and the son thought it might be more interesting than the baseball updates.
We had a somewhat more fruitful senate session. In both the House of Representatives and the Senate, the only person who showed any sign of animation was the stenographer, who was typing everything with remarkable speed, and not relying on AI recordings at all as far as we could tell. She was on a typewriter after all.
Flashback Time
The son & I exchanged glances. This was nothing like the West Wing episodes we’d watched. Where were the scurrying and worried looking staff lobbying folks in the hallway just as they walked into the voting rooms?
“Reminds me of the time I was all excited to go visit a courtroom with my cousin when I was ten or eleven.” The son looked at me to see if I was sleep-talking and sleep-walking. “I had only seen court room scenes in movies, and they all looked impressive as they made impassioned arguments, perfectly quoted and researched in a speech style that bowled the audience over. Then, I go there, and I see a bunch of them mumbling here, and then moving over and mumbling something there. Then the judge came and he mumbled something. There was a stenographer who kept typing – god knows what. Then the court adjourned. I was so stunned!” He laughed.
“Yes, it was a bit like that today huh? But I supposed we came on an unimportant day.”, he said, ever the voice of reason and looking at the possibilities and leaning into the considerate side of things. I smiled at him.
“All this politicking has made me hungry.” I said, and we both agreed. The next stop was the famous food trucks. “They might actually have more insta followers than the senators!” I said cackling, and the son looked around to make sure there were no affronted senators around. “Relax! They are busy enjoying their lunch!” I said pointing to some folks in suits and formal wear.
Law-making, governance and structure are all ventures with gravitas: what would we do if we didn’t have levity to brighten our days?
The Grind Before the Grand
I suppose the most important take-away from the day was how the day-to-day affairs of even the most glamorous sounding places is nothing but one moment after another. Showing up. Doing the work. Being present. The grand sometimes comes, but the grind has got to be put in.
It was a beautiful day in San Francisco. Human-beings have this craving to capture and showcase moments, life and things. A primal aspect that social media latched onto so effectively.
The husband & I after talking of this-and-that (mostly food!) got to discussing a vantage point of life on Earth.
Now, if we wanted to invite interplanetary visitors and then shoo them away from a glimpse, what places would you select?
A little tech-bragging
A little natural-resources showcasing
A little cool-culture cat walking
Which place would you choose?
Well, The husband & I thought the San Francisco Ferry Building strip would make a decent candidate.
There, you can find a sampling on innovations, technologies, art, craft, transportation options all jostling with one another in a glorious canvas of chaos and movement.
Visual Arts:
There are statues by the pier – Mahatma Gandhi tucked away from the main hustle and bustle. A small diminutive statue compared to the large ‘Woman’ statue in front of the Ferry Building. But even small, his importance draws one near. Tourists are there taking photographs almost everyday. The mermaid, jelly fish, sea lion, dolphin statues along the pier are whimsical and reflective of the fantastic lifeforms on Earth.
Transportation – Past, Present & Future:
The transportation options in that one strip of land is astounding: cruise ships, daily commuter ferries, sailboats, underground trains, bridges – Bay Bridge & on a good day a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, cars, self-driving cars – Venmo’s, tramcars over a 100 years old. Some days, you can see the odd horse drawn carriage – a pure tourist attraction, but alien snippets need not know that.
Architecture:
The buildings are something else – towering in so many shapes and forms. Leaf-shaped one, conical towers, coat tower, Ferry building with its clock-tower, brick buildings, parks, baseball stadium, exploratorium, bookshops. There is plenty of scope for improvement as far as biomimicry designs go, but then were an earthquake to hit, these buildings can show you the difference a 100 years can make in our designs. That’s a towering accomplishment (Get it? Get it?)
Music, Sports:
The music from the subway or the freelance musicians is also sometimes wafting its way to you. The spring in the step of the tourists always a joy to behold.
Science:
The Science Exploratorium aside, you are assured of seeing a few flights landing or taking off from the San Francisco airport, a few Venmo cars gliding through the human-driven car traffic. Not to mention that if an aline knew how to operate a cell-phone, the reception and wi-fi is excellent there.
Food:
The food choices are a little too good to be true – Thai, Mediterranean, Indian, Mexican, Italian, Chinese, Danish, Swiss, American – all there. On the days they have the Farmer’s Market there, the fresh produce, flowers and fruits add to the flavors.
On a good day, the Ferry building area is pure beauty.
