“I may have just filled your phone with a bunch of useless pictures!” said the son.
I nodded. Par for the course. Not like in our childhood, when you had to think through getting a picture developed in a store and wondering whether a picture is worth the wait, is it? You just delete them, or worse archive them, never to be seen again. Somewhere. Sigh.
He was still thumbing through his pictures with a commentary on the side. Apparently, on several artistic ones of M&Ms on a plate 👀, when he stopped and said.
“Oh well – now I don’t feel so bad!”
I looked up. What was he on about?
Komerebi – The dappled sunlight shining through the trees
“There are a whole bunch of pictures of … yep…. Pretty much all of them of trees! Goodness!”
I laughed. Then, feeling a little embarrassed, I confessed. “You know? On my walk the other day, I had this urge, nope…scratch that … It felt very important that I must try to see the differences in the way sunlight filtered through the old oak trees, the weeping willows, and the pining pines.”
“Oh Amma! You are a kook! How long did you do this?”
“I don’t know. Not very long, but I kept clicking knowing fully well that I may not exactly go back and see them again.”
Many to Solitary
Oh! How technology has spoiled us? I don’t think there is a single photograph in our childhood albums of light filtering through the leaves. If there was a leaf you liked, you picked it up, and crowded as many people as you could around the leaf to get in that picture! The poor leaf squished and forgotten, and all of us looking mildly surprised at being included in a picture of a leaf that isn’t even visible. We did the same thing when we met up decades later at our school reunions. We crowded in front of the lawns, jacaranda trees, clock tower, and the bougainvillea plants, no clue why the background was so important, and the background completely forgotten with all the noises and laughter with folks in the foreground. It was marvelous.
I peered into the phone, and saw he had started looking at selfies taken a while ago by his sister. A teenage phase I’d like to call them – but these were all solitary hearts beating alone. Only context made it known that there was a crowd of loved ones around her that day as she took pictures of her nose from a 30 degree angle, and of her reading a book from the 130 degree angle. Obtuse. (I meant the angle.)
Precious to Abundant
Was that the trend of technology and advancements though? This move from crowded/community to alone/aloof lifestyles? Precious to Abundant.
Hmm…I peered out into the rays of the setting sun, and shelved philosophy for another day. “Maybe we should get a picture of the sun’s rays through the filter on the M&Ms,” I said, and we cackled. It was time for another picture – combining our objects of interest this time.
In the book, The Anthropocene by John Green, there is an essay in which he he mentions Mark Twain’s life being sandwiched between the two appearances of Halley’s Comet 76 years apart. He was born the year it was born, and he wrote famously the year before his death that he hoped to go out with it, and he did.
When I read that the first time, I felt sorry for him. He was born in 1835, and died the day after its perihelion in 1910. I hope he got to see the second occurrence. Imagine being alive for 2 appearances and not being able to see them both times. I suppose there is a poetic beauty to being born and dying between the spectacular cosmic events. But then, plenty of people did not see Halley’s comet even when it was visible in their lifetimes, so what’s the big deal?
Halley’s Comet
I remember being excited about Halley’s Comet in 1986. I was thrilled at being included in the viewing party – it was for my older sister’s classmates, and they had agreed to let her little sister tag along.
I remember peering through the telescope. I cannot say with any conviction that I remember the comet itself. Some blurry recollection is all that remains. But the feeling of the evening remains. The excitement at being included in an elite group of senior students, the protective aura of having my older sister and her friends look out for me, and the cold temperatures of the night. That cup of Bournvita before bed was enough.
Astrophilia
Nights and stars seem to have similar experiences ever since. The feeling more important than the viewing itself. For a star is a star. A celestial object – a celestial object – nothing more. Yet spectacular enough to be other-worldly. To tap into the possibilities of a vast universe.
One night, we were out looking for a star system, Delta Cep in the Cepheus constellation, and I could not help wondering what their Delta-rise and Delta-set looked like on the planets in that star system. Did they have moons beaming the reflected lights of the stars to them? Were there any microscopic creatures willing its way into rudimentary life? Life seems to be so hardy and resilient and willing to thrive, it seems a little surprising that we have yet to discover traces of life elsewhere.
We were reading The Martian by Andy Weir for our book club, and thoughts of life elsewhere held all the more appeal. One only had to peer at the way weeds take root and crack through pavements, to see how resilient life can be. (It is another matter altogether that the plants I do try to grow on purpose seem to fizzle out on me, and routinely droop and call it a day, but that is a post for another day. )
In any case, it got us all thinking about all the things that enabled a planet full of sentient life, and how we sometimes forget to marvel at the sheer beauty of it. Wrapped up in our worries, anxieties, and livelihoods.
The son is doing a science experiment in which they are experimenting to see how microbial colonies develop in slice of bread under different conditions. In a fit of whimsy, he spoke and sang to the bread (gave it lectures on George Washington – his latest obsession, sang a Hamilton song) – to get the microbes on the slice, and has placed them in airtight containers in different conditions throughout the kitchen – in the dark, in perpetual light, and in freezing cold conditions. It will be interesting to see where life can thrive.
That life had a starter kit is miracle enough, but the fact that it thrived enough to produce the kind of beings we find on this planet is astounding, and, yet, we forget it everyday.
The book of essays in The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green is an interesting read. For it each is an essay about a different topic – short but through provoking. Covid-19, geese, Halley’s comet. Combined with the kind of scientific and regimented problem solving that a book like Martian makes you think about, the possibilities to keep oneself occupied is manifold – like the possibility of life itself.
The world was swirling in activity, news, festivities, events. The world felt turbulent, swift, and equal parts joyous and worrisome.
The Navarathri festival meant that all versions of the festival were being celebrated – there were Durga pujos, Garba and Dandia dance events, golu, bommala koluvu. All in all, it was a week wrapped in the surreal – creation myths, war legends, female power. Most old cultures have versions of these – and if it takes festivities to remember the good old good-vs-evil arcs, and the figurines of goddesses to remind us of the righteous power women hold within themselves, so be it.
In some ways, it was a welcome distraction from the doom-and-gloom of news cycles. It was as if we could build a dichotomy of spirit within us.
Serene Solitude
Come Sunday evening I craved for some solitude, and nature too, to round out the craving for peace. So, off I went with my bicycle, into the cycling trail nearby. It was tough going – all that festive food sloshing inside of me. Made me feel heavier and more sluggish than usual. But the trail is magic – it seems to lead, with each pedal stroke, to a place of peace.
It was nearing dusk, and the birds had started their journeys home. I stopped every now and then to take pictures of beautiful sights that took my fancy. Deer and goats grazing, a hare (I couldn’t get a picture) running so quickly it startled me, pelicans lifting their incredible frames into the air with grace and ease (They did not eat puliodare over the week-end, but even so), kestrels soaring, squirrels daring themselves to see if they can make it across the bike path (I swear these little rascals wait till the last minute to scuttle across – a thrilling game for them for sure, but enough to scare rice-sodden slower-than-normal reflexes bike riders), the small birds (finches, blackbirds, wrens – all making a racket as they prepared for downtime). It had been a particularly hot week too, and I could see the relief of the cooling temperatures in my fellow beings.
The AT-CG Creation Dance
It was as I stopped to gulp some cool water – deep and slow, that I noticed the deer gazing at me. I have written about the gaze of a deer before. I shall write again. All the poets and writers when they write about unending universes in eyes, this is what they mean. It is possible to gaze deep into those big, round eyes. The goats eyes have a different quality to them – their pupils being rectangular appeals to the human mind differently altogether from a round, large pupil shape. Could that be social conditioning too?
It made me think about our genetic makeup, evolution, and all the creation myths. I could understand why every ancient culture and civilization had creation myths. I wonder whether whales have their version of creation myths in their repertoire. If they do, I’d love to hear it.
I stood there warmed by the deer’s gaze, the bird sound, and the gentle breeze around me. How was it possible that all these marvelous creatures I had seen today were variants of adenine, thymine, cytosine, and guanine?
We need a nice simple beautiful creation story with AT-CG that can round out the beautiful repertoire we have the world over. A goddess seated on a lotus from the AT-CG DNA, a multi-headed god whose genetic composition had mutated differently and went on to use that mutation to create a whole planet of marvelous creatures.
Full of beautiful images of nature, man-made images of golu decor, and a head refreshed, I pedaled back to the house. The pink skies were turning purple and grey, and it would soon turn dark. Another phenomenon that gave rise to so many legends till we understood Earth, and our miniscule place in the Universe.
I heaved a grateful sigh, breathing in the fresh air, and taking a gulp of fresh water before heading inside.
“I am going to indulge myself in something that I haven’t had the chance to do in some time!” I said – throwing it over my shoulder casually in a manner intended to intrigue and mystify.
“Going to the library? Good job ma!” said the son, and I moaned. Mystique and I. My foot.
I guarded the time I had between a drop-off and pick-up session like it was precious (because it was) and headed towards the library. I fended off requests for the grocery store, deftly ducked under an amazon return order request, and dodged an enticing offer to search for missing documents in the house.
When finally I walked into the cool library that hot summer evening, I felt something like an adventurer. An explorer who found their way to treasured lands. It was beautiful.
The display stacks groaned with new children’s titles, the popular books section assured me that the authors displayed there had been continuing to do their good work of broadening children’s minds.
I cannot adequately state how marvelous it all is.
The son was bemused at how enthusiastically we wanted to help in this particular homework assignment. He, of course, in the innocence of youth cannot understand our childish enthusiasm for learning new things, finding out about new things. “Did you know that if we scale our universe, if the solar system is a football field in California, the nearest star, Alpha Centauri, is in the East Coast of America?”
“Really?”
See? Amused at the awe shining like Alpha Centauri on our faces.
Anyway, he said it was difficult to find Delta Cep in the summer skies because of the light pollution in city areas. It isn’t the brightest star system. The husband asked his talented photographer friends for the best places to go, and off we went. For half an hour, we forgot about all the travails that seemed to be whipping our daily worlds. Maybe Delta-Cep had a better time of it. A place where peace and harmony prevailed. A star-system in which the greatest turmoils were mild-summer-breezes that rippled through their atmospheres.
That is the power of story-telling isn’t it? The ability to transport us to realms other, feelings exalted, and wholesome?
What whimsical names would you give our fellow creatures? Karen’s names were fascinating: Fox (Swift Legs) , Fish (Shiny Scales), Deer (Tiny Hooves), Woodpecker (Strong Beak)
Come Home – Swift Legs
Furry Schemer
Red-tailed Dreamer
Karen Jameson, Picture by Marc Boutavant
The lyrical poems she gives for each creature was enough to bring a smile.
And so it went, a little reverie of my own every time I picked up a book. It was the rare book that disappointed. Most children’s books had a sweet emotion it evoked – warmth, beauty, companionship, safety, love, growth.
“So, how was it?” said the son as I picked him up.
“It was amazing! I wish you could’ve come!” He beamed. “Yes, next time. Tell me which ones did you like the best?”
I told him about all the ones I had read, and we chatted about them all the way home. He listened, an indulgent look on his face, and I felt a pang – he was growing and children’s books seemed childish to him just now as a newly minted teenager with a reputation to grow into. I hope he’ll come back to them one day like C S Lewis said to his niece for whom he had written The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe
“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” C S Lewis
“We have all been a little low on sleep lately!”, I whine to the brother who is asking me why I sound like a cactus.
His brows raised in question. Well. May have. But I know his facial expressions well enough. When his foliage moves, it means he is conveying something.
“Well – your little nephew has gone and joined the Athletics Team, which means he opts for the 5:00 a.m. practices on some days. So, there I am moonwalking at that godly hour!” A loud laugh startles out of him at that, and it takes me a minute to realize the unwitting pun there.
“Literally da! I slept only by 1:30 after my nightly reading etc, and was up again at 5 and walking under the divine light of the stars!” I said.
Remember the prank?
“Huh! Life does come a full circle. Do you remember us doing the same thing to you once? Oh! Remember the prank?!”
I didn’t. Sleep deprived. Cactus-like symptoms. Also old.
The son, on the other hand is agog. “What is it Maama?”
“Well – your mother was always getting up early to go and train for athletics. Wouldn’t let any of us snooze in. 6 a.m out in the fields. Very annoying. So one time, we decided to prank her. Remember this was the time before smart phones. We relied on clocks – wall-clocks, alarm clocks and grandfather clocks for the time. So, we changed all the clocks. And woke her up at 2:00 a.m. “ He stops to chuckle at the memory. I am beginning to remember it now. The knuckle head.
“She got ready, wore her shorts and tee etc – not once glancing out of the window. It is only when she steps outside with her shoes that she realized that it isn’t dawn yet. No pinkening of the skies. No birds chirping. Nothing.”
The son looks far too pleased at this reminiscence. “That’s awesome Maama! That’s so cool! “
“Yep!” The smug Maama in question preens at this. A satisfied baritone to his voice as he says. “It was truly priceless. She was too tired to be angry, too sleepy to be anything, and she just fell asleep – just like that with all her athletic gear on. “
Careful!
I smiled at the memory. It was coming back to me. That was funny!
“Serious respect for all the work Maama- changing the clocks! Staying awake.” The awe in the son’s voice. Goodness!
“Careful! I might do the same to you one day!” I said in my most threatening voice, and they both laugh.
How easy it is to flit between decades? There is something comforting in the rhythm of life and circle-of-life and all of that isn’t there? The son skipped to school, satisfied with his morning story from maama, still chuckling at his yawning mama.
“You know that old man with a dog? He spoke to me the other day, I was pleasantly surprised by what an interesting conversation it turned out to be.” said the husband, sounding impressed.
I nodded, adding, “I read an article that hit this problem on the head: It is the fact that we truly become invisible as we age.”
I hastened to explain as we leaped past the nightly sprinklers that had started up. The horologist’s gleaming success – timed sprinklers. Anyway. “Our achievements, our agility, or even our experiences fade to the background. You become that old man with a dog. He could have been a scientist in a space program, or a high-ranking official in some administrative service, a doctor, or a professor/teacher. But none of that matters – a true lesson in time and humility and all of that.”
The husband looked thoughful, and I waited.
“Yes – I always only had the time for a hello, and a how-are-you. Never really stopped to talk to him.”
On the way from somewhere to something
I nodded. We all do the same. On the way from somewhere to something.
From there, our conversation went on to how we may, in our times, in our awesome ways, not fall into the same traps.
Except that we will.
We already do.
“Old age is always fifteen years older than I am.”
– Oliver Wendell Holmes
We may even be hastening and accelerating towards it just like we accelerated and hastened towards everything in life. It is why we feel the sting when we don’t understand the emoji-lingo anymore. It is why we feel bewildered, and scramble to understand when a new career path we’ve never heard of before, comes up for discussions by the younger ones in our lives.
Gerascophobia is real.
Aging brings with it frailty.
Failing health means a fall from the bed after an afternoon nap, or the unexpected reaction to a medication. Somehow, life manages to strip everything away from us. Degrees, achievements, resumes – everything whittles down to blood pressure and blood sugar readings.
“It’s paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn’t appeal to anyone.”
– Andy Rooney
So, how may we stay relevant?
A few people in my parent’s generation still retain the spark. They work towards spreading cheer, being loved and loving, and retaining their intellectual curiosity in ways that means they have defied age in a way. They are the ones who still bring a smile to our faces when we think of them. It seems like a simple thing to do, but it isn’t.
Maybe that is the change in life’s purpose. Learning to cultivate joy in the small moments, so we may remember to be happy when invisibility hits, when loneliness hits, or when health fails.
“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.” – Sophia Loren
Humans of New York kind of initiatives show us the stories behind everyone.
P.S: The article ( I truly wish I had saved the link, but I didn’t. So, if someone knows the article I am referring to, please let me know, and I shall link it here. ) was a well-written one that had me nodding in several places.
I feel the need to clarify before posting this one – this poem is not AI generated, not helped on by AI. This is just Average Intelligence at work here.
The Language of Birds & Trees
The willow’s yearning for the river looks so easy to the oak The oak’s purpose is different The fir’s yearning for the sky looks so easy to the oak The oak’s purpose is different The banyan’s yearning for the earth looks so easy to the oak The oak’s purpose is different.
The eagle’s yearning for the sky looks so easy to the crow The crow’s purpose is different The stork’s yearning for still waters looks so easy to the crow The crow’s purpose is different The avocet’s yearning for diving looks so easy to the crow The crow’s purpose is different.
This oak embraces the crow as it prepares its nest in its boughs. This crow embraces the oak’s sturdy presence as it raises its young.
“ I love the range of emojis we have at our disposal!” I said beaming at the children, as I texted one of my friends for an evening walk, sipped a cup of tea and impressively ignored what they were watching on the television.
🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃
The daughter peered into the phone, and had a closed off expression that reminded me of geese trying not to laugh.
“Mother! How long have you been using that emoji while inviting people for walks?” she asked. This time, it was unmistakable. The dam of laughter waiting to burst.
“I use it all the time. Such a pretty one it is for windy evening walks, no?” I said admiring the little emoji in question. Leaves being whipped up by the winds. 🍃
“Ummm…yeah! Luckily, you text other … ummm … Aunties with this I guess!” she said.
“Well! Why not? I put different emojis for different things!” I said, though I could feel the prickling sensation that meant I was going to have the carpet not gently removed but swiveled out from under my feet.
“Nothing! Just the emoji you just used – *pause for dramatic effect* – means – well, you know, come while we whirl and twirl, you know, up there?” she said, raising her eyebrows, holding in a laugh, and shaking with it, all at the same time. She was giving me what authors call ‘meaningful looks’. It was honestly impressive. They should have an emoji for that. I looked like a pile of leaves twirling in the wind myself – confused.
She waited for me to catch on, and when I didn’t, said, “Mother! That emoji means you want to get *high* – not with alcohol but marijuana!”
I gasped.
“NO! How could that be?! How come no one ever told me before then?! I love that emoji and use it all the time!”
“Like I said – your friends are all … goodies!” (delivery with laughter)
I felt like Ms Malamoji.
( Ms Malaprop – you have my sympathies. Malapropism is the use of a slightly similar sounding word with an entirely different meaning, usually having a comedic effect. It is attributed to Ms Malaprop – a character in a 18th century play who used this and made the audience laugh. (Ex: Miss Pringle often does this in Miss Read’s Fairacre series) )
Skibbidi Toilet
“Ugh! This is like that skibbidi toilet thing all over again!” I said to the son later as I recounted it.
“Ugh! Amma – Keep with the times. Skibidi toilet is so 2023! It’s honestly cringe if you say that now!”
Author commentary: Where are we writers to go if phrases become ‘cringe’ in a matter of months? Sigh.
Also, for my friends who don’t know what Skibbidi Toilet means: here it is. It is a web-series where humanoids have a war with singing human-headed toilets.
🙄 I know. (That is the rolling eyes emoji – I think)
It was all the rage among the simple minded laugh-sters in our midst – two years ago.
The week-end evening was pleasant after a hot week, I sat relishing the quiet: the especially large magnolia blossom on a tree, the clouds in their pinks, lilacs and greys before they embraced the inky blues of the night, and the gentle breeze through the leaves and waters nearby. It truly was idyllic.
The long summer days always make me yearn for the different colors of dusk and night. Our home is bright and filled with natural light which is a blessing, but it also means that late risers like Yours Truly do not get to the see the colors of dawn. The days start with light and then go on burning bright with every passing hour.
Last night, I had time on my hands. I watched the dusk turn to night. A slow stroll through the moonlit streets of our neighborhood made for a different rhythm. There was a mellow joy to it – not boisterous, but buoyant. Moonlight can be tender, but it also can throw everyday objects into harsh contrast.
Not just our homes but our heavens too
Maybe it was the lackadaisical nature of the stroll – one I rarely permitted myself to do. Brisk walks, phone calls while walking, chatting – they were all absent. I watched a cloud flit over a sinister looking tree, and looked on passively as an owl flew past and perched itself on the very tip of the tree-top. We stood there each surveying the other, and finally, of course, I lost. Can we ever win out against the stillness of predators?
I heard the sounds of animals scurrying outside – every sense accentuated by the lack of electric light. Even the olfactory senses seemed to be enjoying this – Some flowers that wafted their fragrance only into the night, and I stopped to sniff and smile every so often.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the owl swoop.
“Our village of Fairacre is no lovelier than many others. We have rats as well as roses in our back gardens…. But at times it is not only home to us but heaven too; and this was just such an occasion.”
Reluctantly, I headed back into the home, and insisted on switching off all the lights for the rest of the evening. Even when I watched a movie with the windows open, I kept sneaking glances at the moonlight pouring in through the slats in the window.
The evening reading fare was equally marvelous. A magical book with fantastic beasts, beautiful illustrations, and oh so much imagination! What a book, Stephen Krensky!
On the different kinds of fairies, Stephen Krensky has this to say on the Asrai:
Asrai are rare creatures that live in the water and only come to the surface once every hundred years. Asrai grow only by the light of the moon, and if exposed to sunlight, dissolve into the water and are never seen again.
-Stephen Krensky on the Asrai Fairies
When I read about the magical Asrais, I felt it was time now to go to bed and continue the beauty of simply watching the moonlight through the windows. Maybe it had been an evening when an Asrai had come out to the bless the lands. Who knew?
Nourish-n-Cherish 