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The Technology of Love
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The first week of January. What a promising ring it has. A full year of possibilities laid out before it. For me, it was Week one of taking initiative. Of me being in the driver’s seat of my life. Mindfully.
Week one has been good. I have written everyday of the week. I have read everyday of the week. I have put more thought into what I cook, I have begun reviving my garden and I have complained only about my Maxmaxmaximax and how adorable he is. Complaining has been such a massive part of my life up until now that it feels unnatural not to do it anymore.
There are two things I really appreciate about my decision.
1) I appreciate my privilege to afford this time away from a day job.
2) I am grateful to be this peaceful and happy.
In my head, lives chaos. I have had zero strategic thinking in me. Even if I plan my day and list out the activities, I’ve never had the focus to work my way down the list. A classic scatterbrain. I have always felt the need to know why I am doing what I am doing but there has never been a convincing answer. Now it feels like I know exactly what I have to do. I’ve got a “I’ve got this” feeling. I have become so much more organised in thought and action. As always, I have a list of things to be done but the difference is, I follow it everyday.
For the first time in my life I feel like this is what I am meant to do and not I can do this. The plan for now is to have a collection of short stories ready by the end of March. And that means, the focus is on me to deliver those stories by then. I have no KPIs, no meetings, no politics, no people. It’s just me staring at my laptop. And this is exactly where I want to be right now.
Pedro has seen one fifth of the world. We meet him standing outside his cozy Voyager’s Cafe in Gwangju, South Korea in his signature beret. He is a tall, lanky man with retro spectacles and a dreamy smile. We had booked Pedro’s house for the night based on its Lonely Planet recommendation. Once we land in Gwangju, we stop for dinner at Ashley’s, a Korean-American buffet diner. Soon my phone rang. Pedro was checking up on us wondering if he could help us find our way to his place.
Every year I make grand goals for the next year. Reading-wise I mostly stick to the script. But as a general rule, I usually forget about them 5 minutes after writing them down. However, since I am a lover of compulsive behaviour, I never stopped making these lists. I love everything about lists except following them.
I am notorious for not leaving home for days on end so this is not going to be an easy-peasy one. I am almost always inclined to make an excuse and get out of social commitments.
When looking ahead into the unknown future I like to also look back into the lived past to draw inspiration from some of the accomplishments of 2016.
Hiking was one of my 2016 goals. And though I didn’t hike in India, I did 4 hikes in Korea in 20 days. And they all but killed me but it was one of the highlights of the year.
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It’s the middle of the day. Max is asleep splayed out on the living room floor. He reminds me of my grandfather. Come to think of it, just like Max, I knew my grandfather only as an old man. He retired before I was born. I’ve never known him as the strict father, the dedicated son or the naive lawyer that he was. To me he was the strict but loving grandfather who always bought me vanilla flavoured Joy ice cream and vada with chutney parcels.
Soon Max will wake up and begin whining, a performance he reserves exclusively for me, apparently because I pay him more attention. In the last two days I have learned to ignore the whining. Often it escalates to barking. Ten minutes into that performance is my wit’s end. I am wired to be an impulsive person and patience for me, is a rational response. And rationality is the first out the door when I am overwhelmed by noise. Usually I stop working and pace around the house with Max in tow. In no time, he is pacified back to sleep. I’m pacing lesser and he seems calmer with every passing day. After all, we’ve known each other only for one work week.
By the time I got out of college, my grandfather was in his late eighties and would sleep intermittently all day just like Max. Instead of getting a job, I stayed back home so I could always be there when he woke up. He would call out my name with the same three requests; to know the time, to go to the loo or to make tea. Sometimes, just like Max, he would wake up angry or not know where he was. And I would lie down next to him, hug him and talk to him like he was a baby. By then his memory was failing but our bond only grew stronger. Even when he had trouble remembering names he would call out to me; all day and all night. At night, I would leave both our doors open and be by his bedside if he called out even once. For years after he passed I was a light sleeper, my mind tuned to that call in the night.
Our relationship was not one of respect or love. What we had for each other was overwhelming affection that knows nothing but to comfort. He carried me in his arms before I could walk, taught me the words I know and how to use them, fed me when I fussed or even when I didn’t. Now that he couldn’t walk, talk, eat, think or remember I was offering him the same comfort. I was saying, “I don’t know what you are feeling but I want you to know that I am here. We are in this together”.
Truth be told, I was anxious about adopting an old dog. I had never had a pet and I didn’t fully understand what being a pet owner entailed. But as I rang the doorbell to meet Max, out came a nose that burrowed into my hand to be petted. He circled me and sought out my love till he was sated. He then left to plonk in the middle of the living room and be dead to the world. And that put my mind at ease. Max is a well-behaved gentleman who avoids entering the kitchen and bathrooms. He is friendly, mild-mannered and hassle-free. In under a week he has reminded me how much love I am capable of and trained me in playing a responsible adult.
Like my grandfather, I have not known Max all his life. Max is over 11 years old now. He has lived a life full of experiences I will never know. I will never know why he doesn’t like other dogs, why the doorbell is the only noise that startles him or why he doesn’t like children touching his face. But since our lives collided last Sunday, I’ve learned that he is ticklish near his tail, does not like carrot sticks for treats and that he likes my attention over anything else. Soon we will learn to coexist. Beyond my awkwardness and his confusion, there is a life for both of us where we are connected by the bridge of overwhelming affection.
Amy Adams starrer Arrival gets ahead of Interstellar as my film of choice because it’s complex without being confusing. An adaptation of Ted Chiang’s sci-fi short story, Story of Your Life, the only element holding the movie back is Johann Johannsson’s rather disruptive soundtrack. Louise Banks, played by Amy, is a linguist called upon to communicate with the beings in one of the 12 spacecrafts that descends across the world. The big question is “What is your purpose on Earth?”. Will she be able to decode their language before one of the other world powers take offensive action? Time has the answer.
Amy Adams is the force that holds this movie together. The casting is spot on. But sadly, there is not another woman of import in the cast. And all I could think of was how the outcome of the situation would have been different if it were being handled by more women. Why is combat our first response? Why are we hostile with the other? Why can’t there be a narrative where the resolution is complex but without violence? Considering the times we live in, Arrival comes as a reminder of human ability for destruction — of self and others.
The aliens in the spacecraft are seven-limbed “heptapods” that communicate in a circular language across a glass-like surface. They look like their parents were a giant octopus and an elephant. Why should more intelligent life forms have appendages or vaguely identifiable human/animal forms? Why should they have a written language? Why should they use their “arms” to write? Especially with science fiction, we are limited by our imagination. We need to imagine what life forms are out there but also present them in a form that the audience understands. Especially in a medium like flim, communication is restricted by the audience’s shared perception of imagery. If indeed aliens communicated via echolocation or ultrasonic sound, it wouldn’t make for an entertaining movie.
It’s interesting that it blows our mind that time is not linear. One of the alternatives is that it’s spherical. Meaning that though time has dimension, all time is accounted for. Which is why one of the most common sci-fi narratives is around the inability to change the past or how changing the future would change the past. And because time is already accounted for, this is not considered possible. If time were a line, it would be interspersed with situations and options. For every situation we make a decision to choose an option. Dinner or movie; water, wine or whisky; white, red, blue or yellow. Based on what we choose Time changes course. Don’t we all often think about the What Ifs? What if I had chosen dinner over the movie? I wouldn’t be writing this blogpost. Now imagine, what if you could see into future consequences of all your decisions before making each choice? You could build your future, quite literally. Today we make decisions blindly and call it fate or luck depending on how it turns out. If we were evolved enough to see Time as a whole, we would see that time is not linear or spherical but infinite.
If there are more intelligent life forms outside our planet, they ought to believe in the power of community. They are only a part of the whole. And the whole is always better than the sum of its parts. Why else would they need to get in touch with humans? I think greed is the hubris that makes humans territorial. We want to own more, control more without realising that we are an inconsequential part of a whole. We become significant only when we act in tandem with the whole. The sooner we recognise our place in the universe, the faster we will grow as a species.
The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly is the story of a daring hen and her dreams. She does not let her egg-laying colleagues or the other farm animals in society define what she can and cannot do. What I loved about the story is that one of her dreams is to be a mother. I love how that's an acceptable dream to have. It's not everyday that you see a hen whose entire existence is about swimming upstream. Rarer still, is for such a hen to have an 'everyday dream' to be a mother. Wherever I have read about this book, it's been compared to Orwell's Animal Farm. I dare say that this book has more soul. It's more about her singular struggle in getting by everyday while still keeping her dream alive. I am sure this book will remind you of many such hens in your life, doing what they must to achieve their dreams–while also being a daughter, sister, mother, wife and colleague.#bookstagram #booknerd #koreanliterature #thehenwhodreamedshecouldfly
The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly by Sun-mi Hwang
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly is the story of a daring hen and her dreams. She does not let her egg-laying colleagues or the other farm animals in society define what she can and cannot do. What I loved about the story is that one of her dreams is to be a mother. I love how that’s an acceptable dream to have. It’s not everyday that you see a hen whose entire existence is about swimming upstream. Rarer still, is for such a hen to have an ‘everyday dream’ to be a mother. Wherever I have read about this book, it’s been compared to Orwell’s Animal Farm. I dare say that this book has more soul. It’s more about her singular struggle in getting by everyday while still keeping her dream alive. I am sure this book will remind you of many such hens in your life, doing what they must to achieve their dreams–being a daughter, sister, mother, wife and colleague.