Musings of a White Haired Teenager

August 9, 2021: Its like living in Jurassic Park. There was a famous line in the second movie about the fictional theme park with dinosaurs. The first movie did not bode well for the park, but the people did not learn from the experience, and they went ahead and built a second park where there was a false sense of security and much anticipation. There was a famous line in one of the movies, “Ooh, ah,’ that’s how it always starts. But then later there’s running and screaming.” Because nature, when threatened always finds a way. That was early April in Calcutta. The “ooh” and “aahs” things were good, all OK, then came the middle of April, and early May, and there was the screaming and the deaths. Nature found a way, and our euphoria led to the running and screaming. And today, in the middle of August, we are seeing a lot of the “oohs” as we fearlessly, in Florida, send our children to school without protection. The oohs and aahs. Hopefully the running and screaming will not follow. Would

August 8, 2021: Dog-day afternoon, in a nice way. It was sometimes saddening to see the Golden Retriever being walked in the hot and humid evenings in front of the verandah. As I would sit and try to take in the slight breeze that portended rain, I would hear the walker bring the dog close to our gate and I would step outside and pet the dog. Had built a connection with the animal. Perhaps I still have some lingering odors of Snowy, and other dogs might sense it. My son pointed out that I had really connected with Snowy, unlike what everyone might have expected, and there are moments when we had truly connected, and those habits linger. So, the Golden, who was rather unimaginatively named “Goldie” and I had connected as well. And on this Sunday it was another dog day. First, it was Toby. The camera can make a relatively small animal look large in size and as we bantered on about Covid and other things on the Sunday afternoon, Toby kept coming into the room. I suppose this was meant to

August 7, 2021: Blinded by the blue. The brightness of the clear sky always amazes me. The sky seems to be always blue here. As I sat on my familiar spot surrounded by the magnolia and the pines I looked up and was again struck by how the very special signature blue. There is a clarity in the air that seems almost artificial. Far from the maddening crowd, perhaps, because the silence of the morning is shattered by the mechanized mowers that seem to incessantly cut the grass creating an artificial pristine surrounding. Everything needs to be controlled. Systematized. Made boring. The excitement of discovery, the inherent tension of avoiding the Zomato driver as the scooters speed by on both sides of the car is replaced by a discipline that still cannot rein in the numbers that seem to be skyrocketing in some parts. Like a year ago, we are back to the unhappy and unbelievable place where the politics of masking seem to be back in full force. The simple reality of protection of the commun

August 6, 2021: Some days do not matter. The early mist provided a good backdrop to be driving. The roads were empty at the witching hour when only a selected few would venture out. And I did. Everything seemed far away, irrelevant as one follows the broken white light partially blinded physiologically, and the rest accomplished by the mist. Distant trucks look like a living being emerging from the mist, and then whizzing past leaving a blinding darkness in its wake. Predictably, the eastern sky behind me did wash out with the rising sun. Coffee in hand, messaging bondhus while I watched the sun come up sitting at some unnamed Starbucks somewhere like the many Starbucks that I have visited. A sense of permanence. The golden arches or the green face. Sometimes with my blindness the “Haldiram” placard from the distance seems like “Hardees.” In the instant of recognition, I realized I have again space shifted. It matters to no one but me. I remain available. The 10:30 am chat with one bon

August 5, 2021: The burger. There is something magical about the slightly hard-crusted bun, with soft bread inside, a juicy medium-rare patty, the sliced onions, the soggy lettuce, and the two slides of tomato, with a slice of cheese and adequately smothered with sauces. I lift it, carefully remove the pickled cucumber, and the first bite into it is the closest thing to complete happiness. Followed by the fried potato doused in ketchup. This made my day. Food is connected to places. The parshe maach (parshe fish) with par-boiled rice preceded by Alu posto (potato cooked in poppy seeds) and followed by Misti doi (sweet yogurt) are markers of another place. The pandemic took these pleasures away. The fried potatoes doused in olive-oil from the street vendors of Naples. The fish and chips wrapped in the Times at Camden Town. The pastries in Vienna, and the Pad Thai in Soi 13 in Bangkok. The pandemic has robbed us of these pleasures. Thus, the bite into the burger, at a standard fast-food

August 4, 2021: Don’t drown the drink. I am still baffled by people who would take a perfectly good single malt Scotch, add ice to it, and then fill the glass with water. I saw the bottle weeping and the bar tender looking despondent. But the lounges are now open. The tediousness of the pandemic is wearing off as the airport lounges are opening up and one can actually use the food buffet and not have to be served food in pre-packaged plastic bags. Airports are filling up, there is a sense of living with the pandemic now, and everyone seems to have adjusted to the fact that certain precautions need to continue. The desolate look of airports is disappearing and T3 had a fuller look, more people, going places, more airplanes, more airlines. The lines are lengthening and maintaining distance is a challenge and is not a priority. Masks are easier to do, as is the PPE for the middle seat passengers on certain airlines in certain countries. Those who know me also would know that, like many ot

August 3, 2021: Decisions we feel bad about. There are always the moments of doubt. Did I do the right thing? People ponder. What if my decision led to harm for someone I care about? These things gnaw at us as we go through life. The loss of a sense of control. The pandemic has brought this forth again and again. What is the correct treatment? What is the correct policy? What is the risk that the decision brings forth? Nearly impossible to answer and dwelling on such issues causes a restlessness that can become a barrier to rational thinking. A bondhu recently said to me, “I believe calm mind can win all situations.” So true. Where does this calmness come from? It is not the “Kata” from our college days. There is no translation for Kata. It is the expression of bravado and rejection of risk assessment. Kata could mean “just let it go “or perhaps a “whatever.” But there is a difference between the calm mind and kata. That is the assessment of risk. When someone is gnawed by a decision i