"Not my daughter, you bitch!" (Molly Weasley, defending Ginny against Bellatrix, HP7)
"Therefore I shall devote myself, my time, my energy, my talents, to the service of South Africa. I shall no longer ask myself if this or that is expedient, but only if it is right. I shall do this, not because I am noble or unselfish, but because life slips away, and because I need for the rest of my journey a star that will not play false to me, a compass that will not lie."
(Arthur Jarvis, in Cry the beloved country)
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From (not-so-)children's literature to books on apartheid, the question remains the same. Where do you draw the lines, between home and the world? When do you choose to cast your voice or raise your wand for what you believe in? Each of us has a breaking point, where we stand up and say "Enough!" - and it's usually when we perceive a threat to 'home'.
...
"For some, home is the world. For others, the world is their home"
(JKB, in Sindhu Bhairavi)
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Of words and silences
"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" she yelled. "You need to mean them Potter! You need to really want to cause pain.."
-Bellatrix Lestrange (or JKR :) )
"It can’t be any new note. When you look at the keyboard, all the notes are there already. But if you mean a note enough, it will sound different. You got to pick the notes you really mean!"
-Thelonius Monk, pianist
And that is the meaning, perhaps, of why some silences can be so unifying, while others linger like the undead between the people that share them. What you mean with the silence is what makes the difference.
-Bellatrix Lestrange (or JKR :) )
"It can’t be any new note. When you look at the keyboard, all the notes are there already. But if you mean a note enough, it will sound different. You got to pick the notes you really mean!"
-Thelonius Monk, pianist
And that is the meaning, perhaps, of why some silences can be so unifying, while others linger like the undead between the people that share them. What you mean with the silence is what makes the difference.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
How terribly strange to be..
Seventy? Nah, not yet- just 26, which seems almost as bad.
I'm approaching the wrong side of 25, and have begun thinking deep dark thoughts on the subjects of age, crows feet, retirement plans, and such-like. People already on the other side are amused by my sudden paranoia about growing "old" (26? You're a BABY !!), but the reassurance of that is quickly nullified by the looks I get from 23 year old friends. More often, its nullified by my horror at the 'stupid' things 23 year olds do, and the knowledge that I once did them and thought I was being really intelligent.
Interestingly, as I discuss this idea with friends at similar stages,I realise that it isn't mortality itself that scares us. None of us are actually concerned with the "End of Things as We Know Them" (aka "I will die"). It's the idea that we are turning into the "old" people- that one day we might be the ones discussing anti-ageing creams and crows feet and ways to keep our energy levels high, by means other than protein bars and caffeine.
When did we start growing old, anyway? It feels like yesterday we were hanging out at the football field in high school, yet I also feel the rigidity of age creeping up in certain ways-
-I'm not fond of sleepovers anymore. I want my own bed, and I want to wake up to my own coffee in my own kitchen, not to be shared with random people who crashed on my couch last night.
-I no longer see a reason to force myself to like things. I dont like eating meat, period. Same goes for horror movies, loud rap, parties with people I barely know, and gossip about people I dont care about- They're not worth the time it takes to like them.
-I dress to suit myself, and I will buy three pairs of jeans when I like them, even if they're not the latest style. Life is too short to force myself into clothes I'm not comfortable in.
While I could probably go on with the list, I'm reminded of something a musician once had to say about his capacity to create- He held out his cupped hands and said, "You have to be able to let go of yourself. If your hands are so full of yourself, how will you ever have the space to pick up something new?"
And that, perhaps, is the essence of growing old- The mental arthritis that makes me so rigid that there is nothing more to add to life, nothing that I want to experience, no arena left where I'd like to stretch my limits a little.
Twenty-six is old, certainly- old enough to know what I want, and have the capacity to get it. And twenty-six is young too- young enough to make lists of things I'd like to do, young enough to foolishly believe I can do it all. (And it's probably just right for some chocolate, too :) )
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P.S: On the list of things-to-do, the latest addition was to check out the Chocolate Buffet at the Ritz, Washington DC- 35 bucks, and the entire buffet is pure chocolate, in every possible form !!:)
http://www.ritzcarlton.com/en/Properties/WashingtonDC/Dining/TheLobbyLounge/Default.htm
I'm approaching the wrong side of 25, and have begun thinking deep dark thoughts on the subjects of age, crows feet, retirement plans, and such-like. People already on the other side are amused by my sudden paranoia about growing "old" (26? You're a BABY !!), but the reassurance of that is quickly nullified by the looks I get from 23 year old friends. More often, its nullified by my horror at the 'stupid' things 23 year olds do, and the knowledge that I once did them and thought I was being really intelligent.
Interestingly, as I discuss this idea with friends at similar stages,I realise that it isn't mortality itself that scares us. None of us are actually concerned with the "End of Things as We Know Them" (aka "I will die"). It's the idea that we are turning into the "old" people- that one day we might be the ones discussing anti-ageing creams and crows feet and ways to keep our energy levels high, by means other than protein bars and caffeine.
When did we start growing old, anyway? It feels like yesterday we were hanging out at the football field in high school, yet I also feel the rigidity of age creeping up in certain ways-
-I'm not fond of sleepovers anymore. I want my own bed, and I want to wake up to my own coffee in my own kitchen, not to be shared with random people who crashed on my couch last night.
-I no longer see a reason to force myself to like things. I dont like eating meat, period. Same goes for horror movies, loud rap, parties with people I barely know, and gossip about people I dont care about- They're not worth the time it takes to like them.
-I dress to suit myself, and I will buy three pairs of jeans when I like them, even if they're not the latest style. Life is too short to force myself into clothes I'm not comfortable in.
While I could probably go on with the list, I'm reminded of something a musician once had to say about his capacity to create- He held out his cupped hands and said, "You have to be able to let go of yourself. If your hands are so full of yourself, how will you ever have the space to pick up something new?"
And that, perhaps, is the essence of growing old- The mental arthritis that makes me so rigid that there is nothing more to add to life, nothing that I want to experience, no arena left where I'd like to stretch my limits a little.
Twenty-six is old, certainly- old enough to know what I want, and have the capacity to get it. And twenty-six is young too- young enough to make lists of things I'd like to do, young enough to foolishly believe I can do it all. (And it's probably just right for some chocolate, too :) )
=====================================================================================
P.S: On the list of things-to-do, the latest addition was to check out the Chocolate Buffet at the Ritz, Washington DC- 35 bucks, and the entire buffet is pure chocolate, in every possible form !!:)
http://www.ritzcarlton.com/en/Properties/WashingtonDC/Dining/TheLobbyLounge/Default.htm
Friday, July 20, 2007
Culture
"Anything that can distinguish your group from the others could work to keep hatreds high and resist merger. Other groups, conveniently, are similarly disposed.These non-hereditary differences between one group and another- even arbitrary differences, only distantly connected with any adaptive advantage, but serving to preserve group independence and coherence- are called, collectively, culture."
(From Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan)
(From Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan)
Friday, July 06, 2007
A good marriage
Four of us in the department have defended our qualifiers this summer- Listening to a non-native English speaker defend a proposal has been an eye opener. I've always been a little biased about this- coming from a state in India where English comprehension can be quite sorry, I have always maintained that I would not trust a doctor who did not speak good English- after all, if they didnt understand the language their textbooks were in, how could I trust their diagnosis?
Yet listening to E. and Y. defend their proposals, I have to do more than just change that stand. Remarkably intelligent, both of them speak heavily accented, sometimes incomprehensible English. Yet, shrouded in an unfamiliar language, their science and the clarity of thought behind it was crystal-sharp. Their understanding wrapped itself around words and gave them new meaning, in subtle ways that no native English speaker could have managed.
So, the "gene of interest" became "interesting gene" - intimate, as opposed to something laid out to be examined on a dissecting table. A personal preference, as opposed to a vague 'of interest to the scientific community'.
And a little later, Y. had a problem explaining how he would create his lines of transgenic mice. After drawing all his genes and promoters on the board, he could not explain what he would do with them. Instead of faltering for words, he simply held up his fingers, intertwined them, and said "marriage", with the cutest of grins.
He couldn't have put it better- The cross of an old culture and a new idea, his country's manners and the ideas of this one, an understanding that is more innate than learnt from a textbook- what more is required for the perfect 'marriage', to make the best scientist?
Yet listening to E. and Y. defend their proposals, I have to do more than just change that stand. Remarkably intelligent, both of them speak heavily accented, sometimes incomprehensible English. Yet, shrouded in an unfamiliar language, their science and the clarity of thought behind it was crystal-sharp. Their understanding wrapped itself around words and gave them new meaning, in subtle ways that no native English speaker could have managed.
So, the "gene of interest" became "interesting gene" - intimate, as opposed to something laid out to be examined on a dissecting table. A personal preference, as opposed to a vague 'of interest to the scientific community'.
And a little later, Y. had a problem explaining how he would create his lines of transgenic mice. After drawing all his genes and promoters on the board, he could not explain what he would do with them. Instead of faltering for words, he simply held up his fingers, intertwined them, and said "marriage", with the cutest of grins.
He couldn't have put it better- The cross of an old culture and a new idea, his country's manners and the ideas of this one, an understanding that is more innate than learnt from a textbook- what more is required for the perfect 'marriage', to make the best scientist?
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