Reading Shantaram

I finished listening to Shantaram on audiobook after several weekends of being absorbed in the story. This book had been on my to-read list for a long time and I am glad I chose the audio version of it. It is an extraordinary story teeming with colorful characters and rich detail. As an Indian who is a stranger to Mumbai and Maharashtra in that I have never spent years of my life there. I have to rely on what I know second hand. As a fan Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, where in my mind I imagined the action taking place in Mumbai, this book was a chance for me to know the city through another author even if an Australian. 

The author, Gregory David Roberts comes across as someone who is able to see the soul of India through all that ails it. And in connecting with that soul, he finds some answers to his life's hard questions. India does not save him but it keeps his soul alive and striving. Most of his experiences would be unrelatable to the average person who lives a far more pedestrian life but what he learns from his experiences are things his readers would understand as well. The void of a father's love in a man's life, the inability to commit to anyone or anything wholeheartedly, escaping from the past and consequences of actions and a pattern of missed opportunities are some of the themes that drive the events in the protagonist's life.

I was a bit surprised to read the criticism of the book by Indian writers and the perception that the author was recounting his white man's burden story. That was not my impression - he tells the story from his own perspective which is his right as the author. He is not expounding on India or pretending his has found nirvana - he is describing his own experience with the country and the people as he tries to fight his demons rather unsuccessfully. There are very few broad-brush comments made about the country or its people without some deep personal engagement and involvement to warrant it. This is one of the infinite stories that can be told about India, the material is endless - and as far as telling a story goes, this one was very well told. It is this work for towering literary genius maybe not but those are few and far between.

Special Eyes

Back when I first started blogging, I often read Dooce. There was much to learn and be inspired by from her writing. After she died, I have visited her blog sometimes, reading the older posts. Today, I read the one mostly about her daughter. These lines brought a smile to my face: 

Three years before she was born I was sitting across a table from her father at Canter’s Deli on Beverly Blvd. in Los Angeles and thought, “I want my children to inherit this man’s eyes.” Of the many ways she resembles her father, it is the color and the shape of her eyes that bear the hallmark gene of an Armstrong most.

J's father had the most beautiful eyes I have known any man to have. They were almost too beautiful to be a man's eyes. He wore glasses and that obscured the best feature of his face. In the early days of our marriage, I often asked him to remove his glasses so I could stare at his eyes. There was something dreamy and scary about looking at them directly. I knew I would never know this man - there would be things that would remain buried and lost to me forever. 

No matter how much I tried, I would only scratch at the surface of who he was. That made for an interesting challenge for me - what might it take to make such a man open up completely to the woman he had married. Was it love, acts of faith, devotion, trust - what did it take. Like Armstrong, when I found out that I was going to have a daughter, I particularly wished that she would have his eyes. My then my dream of becoming his best friend and confidante had long faded - it was already the beginning of the end. 

Seeking Respect

What is true about workers and the workplace is only an extension of what people value in life - the expectation of respect

 ..the study found that over half (54 percent) of employees claimed that they don't regularly get respect from their leaders, suggesting less engagement, more turnover, and less focus and productivity at work -- all costly factors stemming from disrespectful behaviors.

I have had plenty of inept managers who have no emotional intelligence to speak of. They should have never become people managers yet they were in those roles to the great detriment of those who they managed. The lack of respect is always the hallmark of this kind of leader. No surprise the team has no cohesion and the turnover is high and contagious. 

One manager I had constantly glanced at his smart watch during our 1:1s tuning out of whatever we were talking about and acting bored. He clearly did not want to go through this torturous thirty minute ritual every week. He showed up late and left early. It was not clear to me if he reserved this behavior only for me or it was his management style. Either way there was no excuse for it. I have learned not to expect any better particularly in organizations where disrespect in the cultural norm.

Learning Ropes

The job market is incredibly confusing these days and has been this way for a while. Several folks in my network found themselves without work starting late last year into the beginning of this year. They have been in the market for months and their struggles until they landed a job.

The stories are consistent - what used to work before does not any more. There is no sense applying to jobs because the AI will screen your resume out, the match-making algorithms are bizarre to say the least. They are almost designed to weed out people who have a range of skills and abilities, the ones that would be the most valuable for the employer. Mostly the set that makes it past the ATS know how to game the system and a very small subset of that actually knows how to do the job. It is no surprise that a woman with 20+ year sales career was being prompted to apply to call center rep jobs at minimum wage. All the things this story talks about.

Many are convinced that job-matching features powered by artificial intelligence on these sites don’t always work in their favor. In some instances, AI recommendation systems are using historical hiring information such as whom employers have typically messaged, liked and interviewed; their past searches; and the profiles they’ve clicked on to match or rank candidates — not just a candidate’s qualifications.

With a formula like that, it is just about impossible for non-traditional candidates to catch a break even in good times. In the current job market that becomes impossible. No surprise that these folks I know have struggled as much as they did - each one of them has a non-traditional career path.It is as much their loss as it is the employers who are missing out on them.

Improbable Story

Red, White & Royal Blue was a feel-good movie which struck the right balance despite the story being improbable at may levels. A lot of wishful what if makes up the cast of characters. A black woman as the British PM, a female US President with a Hispanic husband and bisexual son in love with a British prince who is gay. It works out well for all concerned - there is peace and joy in the world, everyone loves the lovers. The characters are comfortable being who they are - no one seems to be trying to hard to convey any particular message. 

The movie is a nicely done romantic story that does not try to be preachy or moralistic. The viewer is left to make what they want with - be entertained or think about the art of the possible or both. It is a fairy tale and a love story Cinderella style - a working class boy and a prince are involved. The big theme is about the right to pursue personal happiness while being publicly visible and being expected to live up to public expectations. In the story atleast, the two can converge when the love is real and people are not afraid to speak their truth despite the potential consequences. People love improbable stories and it why fairytales have so much power.

Reset Point

My friend L has a daughter going into high school this year. The middle school years were tough for this kid. From being happy and outgoing in elementary school she turned reclusive and mopey in middle school. 

Its almost as if she wished to become invisible the spotlight that shone on the attractive and athletic and made the imperfections of the rest that much more pronounced. I have know this kid most of her life and know her to be bright, funny and curious. She was always comfortable in conversations with adults and older kids. 

“Children who are not attractive and children who are not athletic become increasingly unpopular over time, suggesting that they must endure the indignities of powerlessness to remain attached to the peer group, a position that eventually takes a toll on individual well-being,” 

Thankfully for this child, the struggles of middle school did not result in her resorting to any kind of substance abuse. But it definitely diminished her potential to be who she might have otherwise been. Hopefully, there is way for her to reset that in high-school and return to the person she had once been,

Writing Well

Reading these lines from On Writing Well made me smile at the times when I have done exactly the things the author enjoins:

Don’t use adverbs unless they do necessary work. Spare us the news that the winning athlete grinned widely. And while we’re at it, let’s retire “decidedly” and all its slippery cousins. Every day I see in the paper that some situations are decidedly better and others are decidedly worse, but I never know how decided the improvement is, or who did the deciding, just as I never know how eminent a result is that’s eminently fair, or whether to believe a fact that’s arguably true. “He’s arguably the best pitcher on the Mets,” the preening sportswriter writes, aspiring to Parnassus, which Red Smith reached by never using words like “arguably.” Is the pitcher—it can be proved by argument—the best pitcher on the team? If so, please omit “arguably.” Or is he perhaps—the opinion is open to argument—the best pitcher? Admittedly I don’t know. It’s virtually a toss-up

Keeping the prose spare is craft that needs more practice than the hobbyist writer is able to devote to the task. With that comes the wanton adverbs to help make the point that is either not worth making or should be made very differently.

Lava Lamps

Found this story about the use of lava lamps by Cloudfare oddly uplifting. A return to simplicity to do things that are seen as technically complex and inscrutable to most people. The average user of Uber might not get the finer points of how internet traffic is encrypted but everyone can appreciate the beauty of a lava lamp and from there how they can be used in ways that might seem unusual.

Why use lava lamps for encryption instead of computer-generated code? Since computer codes are created by machines with relatively predictable patterns, it is entirely possible for hackers to guess their algorithms, posing a security risk. Lava lamps, on the other hand, add to the equation the sheer randomness of the physical world, making it nearly impossible for hackers to break through.

While you might think that such an important place would be kept in secret and locked off from the public, it’s actually possible for visitors to witness these lava lamps in person. Simply enter the lobby of Cloudflare’s San Francisco headquarters and ask to see the lava lamp display.

Love the sparse beauty of the solution. Something a poet turned developer could dream up.

India Walk

Watched this documentary made by a British guy who walks across India retracing the steps of the Mahatma and investigating how the events that followed India's independence impacts Indians today. I was not sure what to make of that premise as Smart laid out his itinerary for the road-trip given his stated goals. The man decided the way to do it was to go from Kashmir to Kanya Kumari along the west coast of the country. 

As someone born into a family of refugees from Bangladesh to Kolkata, I had big a problem with this. How can anyone tell a comprehensive story of partition in India without considering what happened in Bengal? So we would need to start by recasting this is a road-trip spanning the Northern and Southern tips of India. That is a valid way to discover some part of India but to pretend it is about exploring the aftermath of Partition is both disingenuous and disrespectful. 

Smart failed to deliver on multiple counts unfortunately - this was not a good road-trip story because he over-emphasized the physical hardships he had to endure at the cost of showing the viewer what India looks and feels like. Traveling that far by foot is expected to be physically demanding so there is no sense in whining about it once a person has made the choice to do things the hard way.  

Perhaps to expatiate colonial guilt Smart is desperate to demonstrate that Gandhi is supremely relevant and revered in India. He is a the happy byproduct of the Empire and that somehow legitimized the British Raj and the likes of Gandhi - and the way the independence was gained. Smart was able to garner some lukewarm liking for the Mahatma but most of the folks he talked to had nothing positive to say about him. With that Smart failed to make the case of the relevance of the Dandi march to present day India and Indians. On all other counts I could not find much to like about this documentary effort. 

Weightless Happiness

These lines from Naomi Shihab Nye's So Much Happiness seems to answer the question why we don't recognize the times that we are truly and completely happy. The moments seem to slip away from weightlessness. Comes a point when you wonder if what you are experiencing was happiness in the raw or were there any snags and gaps that made it less than immaculate

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against, 
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

With sadness there is no mistaking the state. There is proof you can hold on to like "ticket stubs". Reading Ten Poems to Set you Free is a nice collection and the editor's thoughts on each one made for a more interactive experience. The reader comes to their own conclusions and then gets a chance to read what someone else thinks of it. This is not typical for poetry collections and I liked it. 

Company Town

Reading this news made me think that we might be inching towards a company town model so employers get their employees report to work every day and stop fussing about it. The pandemic gave way too many people the magic window of opportunity to immerse in their real lives, together with those who mean the most in their lives. It turns out an overwhelming majority really loved what they found there - getting in touch with their own humanity, experiencing the power of love and connection, the joys of being able to an active part of their children's life - these things do not begin to compare with showing up to the office to work. So its no surprise that employees are resistant to returning to the before times.

They are questioning why this is needed when there is a more humane way to earn a living. The powers that be are trying a carrot and stick technique. This "discounted" hotel on campus is an oddity - is this a carrot or a stick or something in between. Maybe it is a carrot-stick that does a bit of both at once and quite disgusting. Would be better if they could open up rows of bunk beds for employees to sleep - it could be spun as a return to camp experience of youth. Afterall there is a strong culture of infantilizing employees to build camaraderie at work. Why not kick that up a notch and run summer camp all year long to collocate and bond with your co-workers. Surely we are all dying to return to our childhoods and live there forever. 

Crazy Stupid

Excellent essay on the radicalization of tech tycoons. This idea that a person is proven exceptional and smart if they make a lot of money is very real. It plays out in the words and actions of this collective that is broadcast loudly for all lesser mortals to hear. These "dudes" as the author characterizes them, make mind-bogglingly poor choices and "judgement calls" that end up having cataclysmic effects on those whose lives and livelihoods they control. 

The rising power of movements meant to counter their influence has catalyzed a vicious, and frankly very weird, backlash where they want to put everyone else in their place. And, due to the insularity of their lifestyles, they very seldom have any corrective voices pointing out when they've clearly lost the plot. If it weren't for the deep harm they were doing to so many with these radical ideas, I'd have a lot of pity and empathy for the fact that they're clearly acting out due to social isolation and the existential emptiness that must come from pursuing wealth and power to such an extreme degree that there's no room left in life for someone to call them on their bullshit.

Even if some were to call them on their bullshit (there is plenty of blistering critique of the collective stupidity of this cohort), it would not make an iota of difference. The group is self-selective and does not consider the ideas and opinions of the out-group worth any time or consideration. Those in the group are exactly like them - collectively they act like a herd of apes that only copy each other into a death spiral of dark, bad, selfish, short-sighted and not bright. 

Power Through

Good read about how fatigue is hard to fight physically and socially. In speaking of people who are not done recovering from covid while others have moved on:

..Long-haulers must resist the enormous cultural pressure to prove their worth by pushing as hard as they can. They must tolerate being chastised for trying to avert a crash, and being disbelieved if they fail. “One of the most insulting things people can say is ‘Fight your illness,’” Misko said. That would be much easier for her. “It takes so much self-control and strength to do less, to be less, to shrink your life down to one or two small things from which you try to extract joy in order to survive.” For her and many others, rest has become both a medical necessity and a radical act of defiance—one that, in itself, is exhausting. 

In the workplace if is quite common to hear people talk about "powering through" being unwell, wearing it is a badge of honor that they can do that. It is show of both physical and mental strength - a signal perhaps for demonstrating they are good employees, worth paying for more so than those who lack such strength. When the norm is to power through, those of us who can't or won't are naturally at disadvantage - we are viewed as a less able, irresolute and not having the fight. That translates into perception that goes beyond how we act when under the weather.

Counting Range

Read these beautiful lines in a poem in Jane Hirshfield's Ledger

As things grow rarer, they enter the ranges of counting.

Remain this many Siberian tigers,

that many African elephants. Three hundred red-legged egrets.

We scrape from the world its tilt and meander of wonder

as if eating the last burned onions and carrots from a cast-iron pan.

Closing eyes to taste better the char of ordinary sweetness.

The idea of entering the "ranges of counting" was something I turned around in my mind many times after I read this. The years left to live for one - for those who happen to know when the end will come. From there it becomes possible to count months and days. I often experience this when talking to the elderly in my life - how much do they think about what is left that is in the range of counting. What makes it worthwhile to count and what to count. 

Pure Joy

It makes sense that sea water is therapeutic. People are drawn to beach and can't wait to return each year when the season is warm. There are memories from the time on the water we carry for the time between trips. The salt, water, sand, breeze and sun are like ingredients of which the dish of happiness is made.

And there is no better treat that to watch children squealing with joy as they run back and forth into the waves. Some are content to collect shells or build sand-castles - they are no less happy than those in the water, just differently so. It is probably impossible for an adult to plunge into the experience of the beach in the way a child can. Tagore's poem On the Seashore is a wonderful celebration of this.

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.

Trying Munro

I had ChatGPT render an Alice Munro version of my recent blog post. Not sure it was able to strike the Munro notes but it made something out of my writing that it was not. Reading this feels experiencing writing as color by the numbers. I can't decide how I feel about it but it lacks personality and soul to my taste even if the writing has some stylistic flourishes mine does not. Its like the fanciful calligraphy on sign-boards in India. It grabs attention, has some artistic quality but it is not memorable.

In the realm of culinary recollections, the notion of a food memoir strikes a chord within me, resonating with an intrinsic understanding. For it is true, the foods that hold the deepest significance in our hearts are intimately intertwined with the memories they evoke. These stories unfold in various settings - perhaps within the familiar walls of a cherished home kitchen, beside the bustling stall of a street-food vendor, or upon the hallowed grounds of a restaurant table. Yet, it is not the location that takes precedence, but the narrative that unfurls and the profound connection one forges with the food.

In this essay, a captivating proposition emerges: the idea of performing a recipe, rather than merely adhering to its rigid dictates. A notion that imbues the act with a sense of spontaneity, allowing for the exercise of creative liberty. To perform a recipe is to embrace improvisation, to dare venture beyond the prescribed boundaries. Why confine oneself to canned tomatoes when fresh, vibrant ones may offer a superior essence? Why limit to solely fresh basil when a dash of invigorating cilantro lies readily at hand? And what harm could a few diced jalapeno peppers bring, even if the recipe itself does not demand their presence? The performer shall leave their stylistic signature upon the culinary canvas, akin to the diverse interpretations of Othello portrayed by varying thespians upon the stage of the theater.

Observing the manifold interpretations of a character and script by different actors, one delights in the nuances and individualities they bring to the role - a similar phenomenon graces the art of culinary performance. Reading this treatise, a wave of relief washes over me, for it provides solace in my own inadequacy to adhere strictly to any recipe. In the realm of culinary endeavors, faithfully following a recipe proves to be an arduous task, for my mind instinctively begins crafting alternative pathways even as I read the words on the page. I mentally shuffle the elements, discerning what I wholeheartedly embrace, what I decidedly reject, and what leaves me indifferent.

In this musing, I find myself reflecting on the profound influence these considerations wield, affecting the metamorphosis that unfolds as I journey through the culinary process. There lies, however, a realm I dare not traverse with my experimental spirit - those cherished dishes that I learned by observing my grandmother's deft hands in the kitchen. They were not bound by written recipes; instead, I played the role of her assistant, basking in the enchantment of her culinary wizardry. To meddle or tamper with these sacred creations seems sacrilegious, as if it would compromise the very essence of the person she was and the image I hold dear in my heart, one I yearn to preserve for eternity.

Architecture Uprising

Sometimes its entirely worth going back to the drawing board. And even more valuable to return to the roots of things - as far back as anyone can know or remember. That seems to the general point of architecture uprising in Scandinavia. Reading the story reminded me of a huge office-plex I had a chance to visit recently. The place was under development for years and then there was a grand opening. The promotional pictures looked great. Nothing prepared me for the reality it was - cold, depressing, soul-less and point-less. All the right elements had been incorporated and yet the whole thing did not work at all. I have seen far less opulent places that radiate warmth, happiness and energy. 

This place was the very antithesis of it. It made me wonder what was so wrong about it - what pieces were missing that gave it such an unhappy vibe. I am no expert but maybe the Vaastu or Feng Shui or both are bad. Or maybe it veers too modern and what there should have been an uprising to return to traditions. The place looked like it was a cardboard theater prop and not even very well executed for that given how empty and two dimensional it felt. It amused me to think about all the build up leading to the grand opening of this large blob of sadness. They could have saved the time and money on just about everything and come out ahead.

Right Balance

I spent over a decade working with sales and business development folks until more recently I decided go do something different. That old life had its set of problems and aggravations but one thing was never in short supply - finding someone who wanted to shoot the breeze with me. This is the kind of job that attracts extroverted people who are resilient to rejection. 

After spending months and even years on a deal, things could go sideways. But these folks all know how to shrug it off and start the new day with new energy. Recently, I don't work with sales people anymore and the world has somehow lost color it once had. I could be on an office floor full of people who refuse to make eye contact with anyone, have their ears plugged with headphone, their faces glued to one screen or another. 

These crowd will only converse with those they know well based on some defining event that brought about such knowledge. They are not going to walk up to a random person and introduce themselves. They won't even give that person a chance to introduce themselves. While a lot about my present work is fulfilling and I have far fewer of the stressors I had back in the day, it all comes at a cost. Sometimes it reminds me of being on a gruel diet after a bout of illness - it is healthy and aids recovery but it tastes of nothing. For contrast what I had before was like street food - of dubious provenance and questionable benefits but it always hit a spot. 

Long Con

Watched Con Man recently and there were a couple of scenes that felt key to the evolution of the character. Both had to do with his parents. Minkow's father is shown as unsuccessful and struggling in his career unable to provide for the family. This was a man that had not been man enough to those who counted on him. This perception of the father seems like a big driver for Minkow's desire to show his family and the world that he can be the man his father has failed to be and many times over. There is the tacit approval and blind adulation from his parents of his early "accomplishments" which further push him down the destructive road he has started on. Between nature and nurture it seems to have set off an unstoppable flywheel effect. 

Being able to con people is depicted to work much like an addiction - it is so easy, the high is so great that the best intentions can seem to stop Minkow. Plus there is the the theory that  fraudsters do not believe that what they are doing is wrong, if they play the game well enough and without being caught - everyone who trusted them is made whole. So they need to keep upping the ante until that point is reached. Sounds a lot like the logic of a gambling addict who has put everything on the line to win big - because once they do, all will be well. If this man had parents who were hyper-vigilant given his proclivities or tried to steer that "gift" to a more positive end, would he still have ended a con man? I always find it instructive to understand the role parents and authority figures play in the lives of such larger than life characters. 

Beach Trip

We reclaim the bruised years of the past where on a beach trip an ugly argument could have upended the vacation. The children did not know what they were meant to do. Every other family was out on the beach but in their hotel room the parents were feuding over things they did not understand. They wanted to be there by the water too - wasn't that why they were here. They were ready in their swim wear, had put on their sunscreen and had their beach toys in the tote. Today supposed to be a fun day - the sun was pleasant but not hot. They could hear the loud squeals of the children running back and forth from the waves that crashed down at the shore. They longed to be there too - make new friends, build sand castles, chase after crabs, collect sea-shells. 

Maybe their father would teach them to use the surf-board on this trip. He was always trying to teach them something new - they loved that. After an hour, he took them out to the water. Their mother said she would not go with them - it was unclear what her plans were they was eager for the beach, too eager to spend more time fretting about the conflict between their parents that never ended. Those memories can resurface by the water, at the intersection near the hotel where they lived that time, the place where they ate lunch in sullen silence. And those memories need to be washed away with new ones of two people at peace with each other. Happy to be in the water and get washed over by big waves over and over until everything left clean and new. 

Day Off

Back at the beach again for a day and a night, trying to strike balance between availing good weather while it lasts and avoiding the end of summer crowds. It turned out to be just that - somewhere in the middle of two goals each somewhat fulfilled. The tide was high and the waves thick white froth. We watched seagulls fly in formation and sand pipers chase after baby crabs. The rhythm of life around the ocean continued notwithstanding the ebb and flow of crowds. As the weekend drew to a close, the beach started to empty out. A few straggling tents and umbrellas dotted the vast expanse of emptiness. We remained that that night. There is been clamor for more mental health days for people - at work and at schools. 

Taking a Monday off was my equivalent of that. There was no house on fire, nothing too terrible happening at work that I needed escape from it. It is more a death by thousand cuts - it bleeds slow but steady. Purgatory in a person's professional life I think is created when there a balance of good enough money and job satisfaction combined with an very slow descent into a rut. The forces are in such fine balance that it is hard to shake things up and move on. But there is a great sense of emptiness that cannot be defined and refuses to be shaken. So we have people taking a day off to stay home and take naps, go to the beach, visit a friend a town over and so on. A small but essential respite - the kind of thing those birds and crabs likely never require to get on with their lives

Long Call

My childhood friend C has somewhere between three to five years left to live according to the statistical survival rates for her condition. A few days ago we spend a couple of hours talking about random things, gossip, work life balance (or the lack of it), memories from long ago days and so on. She talked about her condition and treatment - the fact that she is doing reasonably well at the moment. We made plans to visit each other. I did not tell her I felt a great sense of urgency - if I could take off a week next month, I would do that, take the train from Healthrow that would bring me right to her house. 

But it felt wrong to act so desperate. She said this year would be hard for her to travel she promised next year to come over. Talking to C was wonderful - at the core of her is the person I always knew her to be. She refuses to feel old or sick - always the fighter and never one to shy away from an unsurmountable challenge. That is how she has achieved the things she has in life. I have never met her husband but by her description he sounds like a man who deserves a woman as exceptional as C.

She inspired and energized me despite the tragic realities of her own life. Then we got off the phone and I found myself sobbing like a child. Those two hours had taken a lot of effort - to shove away what I was feeling, acting completely normal to adequately respect the heroic fight C was fighting. The next couple of days went in a blur as I went through the motions of my daily life. There was a deep gratitude that the center of my life was still holding, that I was not being given unsolvable problems to deal with. 

And with that was a settling sense of finality about the time C and I have left as friends. How should I make it count. What can I do to make this a happy time for her without making her feel like I see a death sentence hanging over her head. For one thing I want to call her more often have more mindless conversations about nothing, for the hour or two pretend that we both have control over destiny. 

Fruit Flies

This story about fruit flies got me thinking about the contagious effect of bad news of all kinds. Lately, I have had more than my usual share of bad news about friends and family - folks of my age, people I have been close to. Apart from ongoing concern about them and wanting things to improve so we can all move on after the "false alarm" there is also a sense of foreboding - who might be next. On the bright side, it makes me want to try harder to hold on to what is good, acknowledge more regularly that those things exist. In the end what is true for fruit flies may be true for us humans too. 

Understanding more about how flies’ brains transform their physiology to accelerate the ageing process might pave the way for new treatments to slow ageing in humans, the scientists suggest. But one possibility is that all that death simply gets the flies down, and eventually becomes too much. “Given our findings,” the authors write, “it seems plausible that the sight of dead conspecifics elucidates a “depressive-like” state that results in decreased longevity.”

T and K have been best buddies for thirty years. We know them both and love how they keep each other motivated to stay fit. T has retired recently and K has a few years left to go. Recently K got ill and we hardly see T around. He seems to have lost motivation to do what is right for him without his best buddy to poke and prod him. So now instead of being concerned about the person who is ill we are worried about the effect on that illness on someone who is not. 

Crazy Birds

Reading about these contrarian bird-nests, reminded me of some crazy and persistent birds I have known over the years. Back when I was child, we lived in a house where the dining area opened into the courtyard. There were two doors, one wooden and the other cast-iron grill. In the warmer months the wooden door was never shut during the day. One summer a couple of birds decided to come visiting through the grill and flapping around in front of the mirror that hung over a wash-basin across from the dining table. At first, we found their antics amusing but their behavior went from silly to crazy to scary in degrees. They would peck at the mirror non-stop and we worried they would hurt themselves. We started to shoo them away and shut the wooden door one they were done. 

But the heat was oppressive and we would need to open it at some point and they would be back soon thereafter and resume their ferocious attack of the mirror. This went on all until the weather turned cooler and there was no reason to leave the wooden door open. In the weeks that followed, the bird hung around in the courtyard waiting for the door to open. After a while, they must have realized that the door was unlikely to open for them. They left for the balance of the year but were back the next summer. We grew used to them after a point and then one year we did not see them. Maybe they had died before their summertime tryst with the mirror. There have been other birds in my life that acted in ways that did not make sense. But nothing as crazy at the birds in the story. Birds observing us humans might some of us bizarre too - would be interesting to know what a bird considered outlier behavior in a human.

Making Whole

The idea of Loose Ends is so beautiful. There are so many reasons a labor of love may remain unfinished. To create a community around the problem and solve it is genius in simplicity. The job description would make person who has the skills jump for joy :

As a crafter, you understand that a handmade gift is priceless. The materials and hours that go into making something for a loved one are a gesture of love. Thank you for your interest in signing up to finish a project. Your efforts will reconnect a bereaved individual with a garment or accessory that was begun for them by a loved one.

I wish I was a crafter of any sort at all - this would be such a rewarding thing to do. Finish things, give life to what would have died unloved and untended otherwise. Become entwined with that object that will go on to bring joy to someone and be part of that happy story. No surprise that people are very enthusiastic

..The explosion of interest has stunned the group's founders. They've applied to become a tax-exempt organization, so they can raise money and hire some administrative help. They've also formed a board..

Odd Year

Over the hill and in look back
at used to be land. It was there
where the joys were sparse like
fireflies on a dank summer night.
The heat had a bite that crushed
the soul. There are welts of 
pain both given and received.
The salt of tears yours and mine
Burning craters where love
could not have been. This side
of the hill lies years and just
knowing that it ends somewhere.
Birthdays are different now

Bot Teachers

The quest for profit at all costs often goes with descent into pure stupidity as this story highlights

The extent of learning loss was closely correlated to the amount of time that students had spent doing remote learning, on a screen, rather than receiving direct instruction, and here companies were offering more screen-based instruction as the remedy. Few of the companies on hand were proposing to replace the classroom experience entirely with virtual instruction, but to the degree that their offerings recalled the year-plus of Zoom school, it could be a bit awkward. “A lot of people don’t like us, because we can do remote-school stuff,” said Michael Linacre, a salesperson for StarBoard Solution, before demonstrating one of the cool things a StarBoard whiteboard could do: He jotted 1+2= with his finger and up popped 3. “There’s a mixed feeling about that now.”

The great remote-school experiment was recently concluded and for most it did not work so great. But there is not much opportunity to turn a profit doing in-person, classroom instruction stuff. I had always found it confusing that schools were doubling down on electronic formats at the cost of distraction instead of requiring kids to submit hand-written submissions. It is no surprise that more technology offerings are popping up. The teachers were treated poorly to begin with and the pandemic made their lot much worse. No surprise they want out now so the bot teacher may be the only kind of teacher public schools can afford in the future

.. A large share of the vendors on hand were themselves former educators who had left the classroom for jobs with tech companies, where they could still feel like they were involved in education, but without the stresses of the classroom and often with higher pay. One former first grade teacher who had made this transition herself two years ago said she had seen the trend accelerate among her colleagues during the pandemic, when the challenges of juggling hybrid online and in-person instruction and managing students who were struggling with learning loss and delayed socialization had made jobs in ed tech seem especially alluring.

Feeling Sharp

Lot of emphasis on external factors to look sharp at work but not enough on spending time and effort on overall health. For as long as I have been or or worked with folks in customer facing rules, more often than not the women I am around carry common denominator designer bags, wear relatively expensive clothes and accessories. I will focus on the attire of women because that is most relatable for me. In a crowd like that, its very hard if not impossible to get that thin-slice attention span credit for looking the sharpest of them all. There is a level of affluence that the group simply cannot exceed to become a few standard deviations removed from the average of the pretty well-dressed crowd. So despite having put good time and money into the look, it will only get them a solid average standing. 

Early on, I decided to go a different route and get closer to my Indian roots with choice of colors, fabrics and accessories. There are no designer labels involved - I pick things because I like them and not because it was deemed fashionable or stylish by an important tastemaker. Many of the items were bought in India from local stores not big retail chains. Based on the cost of the look, I would fall well below the average of the crowd and even a thin-slice size-up would attest to my desire to lower the bar because it is the easier way to stand out (in that crowd) than paying my whole paycheck to achieve true wardrobe elevation. 

My personal thin-slice size-up is always in favor of those who put effort into their physical and mental well-being. These are the people who show grace under pressure, eat and drink in moderation, usually leave social events a bit early, try to shoe-horn their exercise regimen into the business trip the best they can and most importantly stay connected with loved ones. You can see many of these indicators pretty quickly. Such folks tend to be sharp at work more likely than not and have my vote atleast. 

Using Memory

When we were growing up, A's dad was by consensus opinion the fun dad - the kind that provoked envy from the rest of us who had regular dads who did non-fun dad things. This man could participate in our conversations, see the humor of our juvenile jokes and tell us stories that made us laugh. So when A told me his father is developing dementia, I had to ask him if his personality is still the way it once used to be. According to A, his dad forgets things that were said in the last hour but has absolutely vivid memories of the past going back to his early childhood. It seems like the farther back in time he goes, the more he is able to retrieve. So the memories of the time when A and I were kids is still intact so chances are I would see the flashes of the person he used to be then even now. 

On this most recent visit home, A's dad recited from memory the entire Ghalib poem he had used to woo his mother with some sixty years ago. They were sitting together as a family with A's older siblings present along with their mother as his father recited Ghalib. A said, it was remarkable how much the sound of the words seemed to transport his dad back in time whereas his mom while happy to hear the verses was very much in the present moment. They were two people anchored to the same memory responding to recollection very differently, A's dad likes to live in the past a lot because that is where the details of his life continue to exist. He realizes he will lose more of it over time and hence the desire to grasp what he can while he can - he often converts his recollections to voice recordings. Hearing about  A's father made me think about this piece about writing and memory. 

Improv Food

The concept of a food memoir makes sense to me intuitively. The food we care most about is always on account of the memories associated with them. The story around that dish could have been in a home - a kitchen in that home, by a street-food vendor's stall or a restaurant table. The venue is less important than the story that unfolds there and the connection the person makes with the food. Interesting idea in this essay about performing the recipe instead of following it. The idea that something can be performed automatically lends itself to improvisation and and exercise of creative freedom. If the recipe calls for canned tomatoes surely fresh is just as good if not better. Why only fresh basil if there is also fresh cilantro on hand. What could some diced jalapeno peppers hurt even none were required by the recipe. The person performing it should have their stylistic signature on the performance. 

Not every actor that performs Othello performs it the same way and that is part of the joy - you watch the differences in the thespian's interpretation of the same character and the script. They are all performing the recipe - not following it. Reading this made me feel a whole lot better about my absolute inability to stick to any recipe - it is a significant effort to even follow it for the first time. As I read it and the concept of the dish forms in my head, I start to make mental substitutions already - the things I agree with, those that I don't and what I am indifferent to. 

They all play a role in how much I change as I go and what comes out the in the end. The things I do not experiment with is the dishes I learned from observing my grandmother. Those did not come with any recipes - I just helped her with prep in the kitchen and watched her make her magic. This is not something to meddle or trifle with because I am afraid it will compromise the integrity of the person she was as I knew her to be and want to always remember. 

Fruit Grab

Bizarre business with Apple trying to secure IP protections over the depictions of the fruit. 

Apple has precedent in Switzerland. In 2010 the trillion-dollar company got a small Swiss grocers’ cooperative to enter into an out-of-court agreement declaring it would never add a bite mark to its logo—a bright red apple inside a shopping caddy—something which, according to the cooperative’s president at the time, was “never planned.”

Extending the logic, say a parent posted an image of their baby taking their very first bite of an apple on social media, they can expect to hear from Apple about it. God forbid, that image goes viral for whatever random reason that governs such events and some entrepreneurial type decides to start a line of merchandize themed on the bitten apple. 

For the Swiss apple growers, “millions” are at stake if they have to rebrand following a decision. “We’re not looking to compete with Apple; we have no intention of going into the same field as them,” Mariéthoz says, adding that one of the biggest gripes the 8,000-odd apple farmers he represents had with the attempted fruit grab was that, “you know, Apple didn’t invent apples … We have been around for 111 years. And I think apples have been around for a few thousand more.”

In the baby biting apple scenario, would be interesting if the baby could get sued for damages - biting the apple they were not supposed to. Maybe next thing to do is to ban the use of the word apple in any and all contexts, Seems like anything is possible these days