Apr 5, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real:  Day 12 of My Lone Vigil
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I awoke, swampily, out of a thick dream which enclosed me like a blanket, and when I opened my eyes, I found it was the blanket.  Pah!  It was no dream at all (although there might have been a flying monkey somewhere in there, and a giant, flashing being who straddled the sky and earth – but I might have imagined it).

Last week, I was out there at the Intersection on four out of five days.  This week, today was my first day out.  Yesterday, it snowed and snowed, and I declined firmly and politely to go out and face it, having (as usual), gone to sleep at an ungodly hour (there must be a detox facility for those who are addicted to late-night wake-itude like me).

This morning, after putting on three layers of shirts, one sweater, a fleece sweater on top of that, plus tights and pants, and two pairs of socks, and a winter coat, I called Warren, and said, “Wait for me – I’ll join you soon.”  Alas, after I filled up my travel mug with hot coffee, and  dealt with Her Serenely Goofy Dogginess, I did join him – but not soon, you understand.

Still, I made it there.  The sidewalks were treacherously slippery, and it was 25 degrees out there – REALLY cold – but the sun shone merrily, and the sky was a tranquil blue, and I felt less reluctant today. 

Warren and I had barely any time together (he had to return to teach a student on Skype), so I continued where he left off.

I put on my ear-buds, and listened to Guruji sing Kafi:  “Aja Khelo Shyama Sang Hori Re” – very ironic, because this song (although appropriate for the Spring season, and India’s Holi festival) seemed so absurdly out of place in today’s snow-cloaked landscape and roadscape.  Our voices in the recording were full of laughter and pleasure, and rich, warm singing from all of us.  Guruji’s follow-up after that was thrilling, and I enjoyed myself singing along with his tappa composition titled “Bera, Bera, Manuva,” which was full of twiddly bits and, and gamak-laden bol-taans.

And, as I watched the cars go by, I felt both pleasure and sorrow in the vigil today.

Pleasure, because I was alive, still fit, still strong, still full of life, and love of life.  Pleasure, because the sky and sun were blue and gold, and the air was cold, and I’ve learned to love the cold.  Pleasure, because I knew at the end of my vigil, I could go home, and eat a slice of toast, and drink something, and take my daughter to Home-School Chorus, and write a poem at Starbucks while I waited.  Pleasure, because I would come home after that, and eat Sambhar-chadam, and drink water, and cuddle with Holly.  Pleasure, because my life’s pretty good, and reasonably safe, and full of interesting things to look forward to.

And sorrow, because I shall never be as good as I want to be about helping the cause.  I have too many selfish needs, and am too enmeshed in this world to sacrifice much.  What I SHOULD be doing is to give up ALL new things, eat less, drink no coffee, avoid buying foods that are trucked in from far away, refrigerated for all that time, avoid restaurants, avoid buying new books, avoid the clothes dryer, the washing machine, the dishwasher, electricity, a car, and give up all milk products, entirely (I couldn’t care less for most milk products, but I really LOVE yogurt, and no matter what the vegans say, soy or any other yogurt is HORRIBLE).

What I WANT to do is:
Go vegan completely (I tried it for a few months, and it was good, but I went back to my bad old vegetarian ways);
Eat only vegetables that I’ve grown;Not travel, unless it’s by bicycle, foot, or public transport (at least we have only one car, and we use it mostly for S’s activities);
Raise my own awareness by reading a whole lot more about Climate Change, not just the hair-raising articles I see online;
Attend more conferences on Climate Change;
Preach at schools (and THAT would be very popular, no doubt – HAH!);
Propose Neighborhood Meetings where people can pool together local resources;
Do something dramatic and public about it.

But I’m selfish.  I like to read, sing, dream, work at home, write, take care of my family.  How does one reconcile private needs with Public Need? 

If I were to cut everything, I would have to give up being a family person, too, because being in a family means taking into account everyone’s needs at home, or making sure that no one (including me) feels forced to do something, or give up a way of living.  That’s not on the cards right now – no way!  So, compromise is all I’ve got.

Meanwhile, as I thought sadly about my various failings and failures, I stood there, sipping hot coffee, enjoying the sun on my face, and the intense cold on my nose.  I saw the cars go by steadily, assembly-line style, coming into view, and vanishing into nothingness, as ephemeral as my place in this world.

Many honked, and smiled, and waved, and one man smiled, leaned out, and called: Vijaya!  (Although he looked familiar, I did not know him – perhaps, he could be a friend of mine from another dimension.)  So, I said, “OMG, HI!” enthusiastically, figuring that if he was someone I knew, I had acknowledged him.  It doesn’t hurt to do that.

At the end of forty-five minutes, I had to leave to attend to my daughter’s schedule (I have to come earlier tomorrow).

As I walked home, with the wind buffeting the two signs I held, I saw something shining in the snow on the sidewalk. My glasses from last week! I picked it up, and was sad to see that it had lost one ear-stem (at least, that’s what I call it). I kept it, anyway. Perhaps, I’ll see the missing part tomorrow. Maybe, I’ll even be able to fix it.

Thank you for reading, all!

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #GoingVegan, #SacrificesICannotMakeYet

Mar 28, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings, Uncategorized

Climate Change is Real:  Day 8 of my Lone Vigil
© March 28th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

This morning, I actually had some dreams (which means I had about five hours of sleep, instead of four) from which I arose, like a fish jumping out of the sea, water streaming off its fins, before plopping onto an unforgiving shore.  Fortunately, that’s where the fish analogy ends, because I evolved quite rapidly, grew legs, and trooped downstairs with dog, to start my coffee.

Dog went out, came back in, settled down, and I left.

I dragged myself to Warren’s Intersection (as I have dubbed it), travel mug in hand, and the “Climate Change is Real” sign on my shoulder.  This was a most unusually flavored coffee, for it tasted like French Roast and Ginkgo Clarity tea (because I had accidentally forgotten I was pouring coffee into the travel mug, and had tossed in the ginkgo tea prior to that.  Fortunately, I detected it before I left, and fished out the offender).  Ever tasted coffee that tastes like ginkgo and other herbal ingredients?  I don’t really recommend it, though it wasn’t completely awful.

It was a cloudy, gray morning, with no sign of sun.  There was no sign of anything that denoted life, except an endless stream of cars, which, having awakened from their Sunday torpor, sullenly headed towards Boston.

I should have checked the weather (duh, here I am holding a Climate Change sign, and I don’t even remember to check the weather?!  Tsk, tsk!).  Why?  Well, it started to rain, and increased in volume as the hour unrolled – and I’d forgotten to wear rain-proof gear.  I mean, my wool-influenced winter coat held off the worst of it, and so did my wool felt hat, but my shoes were getting more wet than I would have liked.  So irate and discombobulated  was I that I didn’t notice anything much that would have piqued my interest.

So, I drank my coffee grimly, and started up the music, my ear-buds in place, hoping that would dispel my gathering gloom, and it did.  More songs in Raga Bhatiyar, a nice tarana (the Indian Classical Music equivalent of scat-singing) that our Guruji had composed that was massively fun and rhythmically thrilling to sing, so much so that I had laughed out loud in delight in our 1994 recording, and laughed out loud today.  That cheered me up a little, and took my mind off the weather.  I confess I forgot about Climate Change, as well, for a little bit.

So, the cars went by, and there were even a few waves, smiles, thumbs-ups, despite the dreariness of the morning.  At one point, someone honked, and I looked up from fiddling with the i-Pod, and a young man waved, held his phone out the car, and took a picture.  Hm.  (I’m going to be world-famous, folks!  Hah!)

The usual vans and trucks advertising various services drove by – plumbing, masonry, water conservation, air purification systems and other environmental services, security systems, communication systems and construction services – the providers of the infrastructure of our modern modes of living.  (Sometimes, I wish that Atlas could shrug.  That would show us the way to a different world).  Apart from that, the usual cars drove by with preoccupied people and their Dunkin Donuts coffee, their i-Phones, their children, their spouses.

When I see all these cars, I make up stories about the people in them, just to pass the time.  I have always, always, been curious about every single individual I see, because each person is such a magical mystery tour of sorts, each person’s trajectory is unique, each person’s life is being lived parallel to mine, and I know ONLY mine.  And yet, great things happen simultaneously with terrible events, tragedies occur, people are born, people learn, people play, fall in love, get married, get separated, or stay together, and people die.  People love and hate, live and give, and take and make, and everyone is moving blindly, or consciously, along the path or her or his life, like a bead on a wire.  And we learn from all these experiences, and from our reactions to our setbacks.  It’s all we can ever hope to do.  And music can steady us as we learn.

Music has been in my blood and bones, in my voice and in my fingers, and it has helped me always – that is why when Warren speaks about saving music, the traditional music that bridges the past and the future, it resonates deeply with me.  Music is the best of who we are.  (I wrote a semi-sci-fi story about it three years ago, which I transferred from an old blog of mine to my current one.  See:  Polaris-Bound – A Short Story.)

We have to preserve our best selves.  We have to preserve the planet and its music.  Climate Change is Real, true, but music is Real-er (sorry about the grammar, but as a former English teacher, I grant myself a pardon on this one!) – so, sing, and learn the music that sustained you as you grew up.  And if it didn’t, find the music that does sustain you.  When there’s more beauty, there’s more peace, and more concerted effort to unite.  And we can unite on this issue.

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P.S.  A nice encounter this afternoon.  I was walking Holly in the misty afternoon rain, when a young man came towards me from the opposite direction, and said, “Excuse me, but are you the one who stands with the sign every morning?”  When I said I was, he said, “I have to tell you I appreciate what you’re doing, and think that it’s right and true.”  Then, he said, “And what happened to that gentleman who held the sign earlier?”
I informed him that “that gentleman” was my husband, and that he was returning on Tuesday, and would be back at the circle.  We exchanged names.  He had nice words for Holly, and we parted.  Gives one hope, doesn’t it?

Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Music, #Original Short Story: Polaris-Bound

Mar 27, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Tapping your feet is inappropriate
He said.

My feet itched and twitched, but I held still.

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Tags: #Drumming, #Foot-tapping, #Self-control

Mar 27, 2016 Daily Life, Original Poetry

Asking questions is inappropriate,
He said.

And I wanted to ask, “Why?”

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Tags: #AskingQuestions, #CulturalMores

Mar 25, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real:  Day 7 of My Lone Vigil
©March 25th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I awoke at an early hour, emerging sluggishly from a swamp-like sleep, in which I could not detect any dreams.  As I got ready, put the dog out, heated up old coffee, and dressed, I was feeling pretty detached.

Still, I looked forward to going out there to battle the elements with my trusty sword, or rather, Warren’s trusty sign, “Climate Change is Real.”

Today, I was better prepared.  More layers, thick gloves, the same scarlet and orange scarf as yesterday, two pairs of pants, moon-boots, hat – all that good New England preparedness which it took me years to learn. My phone and i-Pod were charged, and ready to go.  Holly took her time coming back in.  I was briefly frustrated, then shrugged it off.  Whatever.  She’s a dog, and has her business to attend to.  It must be hard being so dependent on her humans who let her in and out, and decide when she can be taken for a walk.  I felt bad for her, then shrugged, again. She has a very good life.  We each pay the price for safety and shelter.  What we do get is boundless love in the case of our dogs, though.

Holly was as good as gold when I left.  She always is.

I was there at 7:54 a.m. sharp.  Pah, again!  Well, there’s always Monday to look forward to, and two days of blessed rest on Saturday and Sunday (of course, “rest” is a relative term)!

The air was rich with March moisture.  While it cheered me to see the fog (I like fog), the fine, misty rain, which is more insidious than an outright downpour chilled me to the bone, despite it being about 40 degrees or so.  I don’t like the cold of rain – I prefer the cold of snow.  In any case, it got much warmer as the day wore on, just not in the hour that I stood there, fingers numb despite warm, thick gloves. 

It being Friday, the traffic was somewhat sparser at the beginning, but grew denser as the hour unrolled.  I sang Raga Bhatiyar moodily, my mind on other things, such as how awful old coffee tasted, and what possessed me get to bed so late all of this week, and did we have a future on this bleak planet, and why couldn’t I focus on Bhatiyar? 

It didn’t matter.  I sang, and my voice got stronger, and clearer, but the foggy air did not. 

Listening to our Guruji’s voice, I re-focused my efforts.  More taans and meandering aakars, gamaks and then, this very philosophical song (which I believe our teacher, Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali wrote.  Correct me if I’m mistaken in this memory, Warren):

Kahe Dekhata Mukha Chandra

Asthai:  Kahe dekhata mukha chandra (why do you look at my moon-face?  Note:  It doesn’t sound so silly in our language, because chandra is not just moon; it signifies radiant, shining, effulgent beauty, and such-like concepts.)
Dekho na, dekho na mukha chandra (do not look at my moon-face)
Nahi dekho mora mukha chandra (same thing)
Prati dina yaha cheena hota  (Every day, it [the moon, and my beauty] wanes)
(“This beauty is ultimately going to perish,” said our teacher at this point)

Antara:  Athi chanchala jobana roopa (“The form/beauty of youth is fleeting, flickering, transitory”)
Ghadi pala yaha ghatata jaata (“Every moment, it gets diminished, goes away”)
Mohe nahi isape ghuman (“I don’t have any pride in this, because every moment it’s going away, it is so fleeting, I know for certain that it is not going to last …” so explained our Guruji.)

I love our teacher’s philosophical, exhortatory songs!

The cold seeped into my fingers and feet, but I didn’t mind so much anymore.  There is something lovely about March rain.  I admired the deep browns and grays behind me, where the Fells began (or ended), and stretched into the unseen distance.  I was grateful for stereo vision (as I am every day).  A few brown-yellow leaves from last fall stood out, brightly three-dimensional, against a background of dark brown tree-branches, and the pearl-gray gleam of water behind them made me glimmer in response.  I admired the reflection of the golden headlights of the cars on the tarmac, moving steadily towards me in the dim rain.  I looked up at the sky, and admired it for being the sky.  Now, as I write this, my favorite Beatles song Because sneaks, unwittingly, into my head. 

Because the world is round
It turns me on
Because the world is round
Ah Ah
Because the wind is high
It blows my mind
Because the wind is high
Ah Ah
Love is old, Love is new,
Love is all, Love is You.
Because the sky is blue
It makes me cry
Because the sky is blue oo

I know exactly how John Lennon felt.  I resonate with all of his lyrics, and all of his music.  The sky can make me cry.  The wind does blow my mind.  The convexity of the earth does turn me on.  Where the cars appear on the slope beyond my vision, and heave into view, the earth is curved and sexy (the cars aren’t). 

Okay, I’m rambling again.

Today, there were a few smiles, a few waves, one thumbs-up, no negative head-shakings, except for one woman.  I saw a couple of bicyclists, one of whom waved to me, as he does every day.   All of these, plus muted birdsong and birds, and the moody fog … all of these images, visual and sonic, just hung around me like a dream.

I thought of the head-shakers, as I picked up my effects, preparing to head on home.  I think I know why they do that.  We’ve all done that at some point in our lives, perhaps more than once.  When we don’t understand something or someone, we feel superior.  It’s easy to put down someone, much easier than trying to understand them. 

I will try not to do that in my life with things and people I don’t understand.  It’s a cheap and easy cop-out, and a loss of opportunity to learn and love the world around us, flawed though we are, and frail and foolish though we might be.  We are still beautiful and worth saving.

Have a good day or night.  Thank you for reading.  Happy weekend!

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Tags: #Because, #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #John Lennon, #PanditShreeramG.Devasthali, #The Beatles, #Warren Senders

Mar 24, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real:  Day 6 of My Lone Vigil
©March 24, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
(Woman with Sign, standing in for Man with Sign)

Everything becomes a habit, that’s why we should treat any activity with the caution it deserves.  Come close to it, sniff around it, find out whether it’s good or bad, then let it become a habit, if it’s ultimately for the good.  The problem is that good habits are very willing to die a quick death.  As for the bad, those are SO hard to get rid of (as everyone knows).

My good habit from this week?  Getting up earlier and earlier in the morning before the alarm went off (of course, this “earlier” is nothing compared to the “earlier” of the time when I was a school-teacher, but it’s VERY early compared to my rather recent late-rising tendency) – today it was 6:45 a.m. 

My bad habit?  It’s still the old, old habit of getting to bed very late at night.

Okay, moving on.

With yesterday’s reheated coffee in travel mug (ugh – but I made a fresh pot upon my return!), dog let out and let back in, orange-scarlet scarf in place, black shirt, grey pants, green hat, dash of lipstick, slash of eye-black (but very muted hardly visible), moon-boots laced up, and phone in hand (but no i-pod, because I forgot to charge it), I headed out, and made it to the location at 7:40 (it’s getting better all the time). 

The wind was not pleasant, and I was ill-prepared for the elements, plus foggy from lack of sleep.  Not many layers beneath my coat, thin gloves, and hat kept off the worst of the chill – but I was cold.  Cold can make one numb, or cheerful.  I started off numb, then grew cheerful, then numb again.  I found out later that it was 37 degrees (so foggy was I this morning that I didn’t check).  I felt yanked around unceremoniously by the weather this whole week.  I feel like protesting.  Wait!  I AM protesting!

I had Guruji’s (Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali’s) voice in my head, even if I didn’t have his voice in my ear (since I’d left the i-Pod behind, and the music thingy on my i-phone wasn’t cooperating).  Technology is fun, but it can get old.  I began to sing Raga Bhatiyar again (both Hari hari nama, and Barani na jaye, along with gamak taans, aakars and sargams, created nice rhythmic patterns, and it felt good.  Sang lustily and defiantly into the cloud-layered, windy sky above me.  The cars went by, and I didn’t care for the first few minutes. 

There were many, many smiles, waves, nods and thumbs-ups today.  Several were from women this time.  A woman driving with three children in the back, smiled at me, and all three of her children waved.  Three young women in a bright, swanky car gave me a thumbs-up.  A man drove by in a van, and his passenger stuck his head out and said, “You bet it is!” in response to the sign.  A couple of bicyclists rode by, smiled, waved.  The usual trucks advertising technology, tree-services, home-security, Verizon services, Clean Air, and so on trundled past.  Several drivers wanted me to look at them, so I did.  Our ocular spheres rolled about our orbits, each registering the other.  There was not ONE sneering face or skeptical look.  It was a good, uneventful day.

I tried to think profound thoughts.  Nothing happened.  It was a Curly kind of day (I’m tryin’ to think, but nothin’ happens!”).  It was a Joseph-Heller-rambling kind of morning.  The wind didn’t help.  My fingers were getting resentful at being out in the cold without much protection.  I consoled myself by saying that I had a warm home to return to, and that an hour in the cold was simply like waiting for a bus that one just missed.  It would be over soon.  I didn’t castigate myself by saying, “There are SO many people out there who don’t have what you have, so shut up, and put up.”  Why?  Because I castigate myself enough already.

I looked around at the birds.  Yay, they were there!  I heard a birdsong that was familiar, but didn’t know what bird it is:  Tweee, tweee, tweee… twetwetwetwe (Tufted Titmouse?  Wren? I really must brush up on birds – it isn’t enough to just love anything these days.  One must know about it in some relatable way.  However, might I be excused for my ignorance for now?  Thanks!)  A lovely bluejay flashed by and landed on a branch.  Three birds of nondescript plumage tweeted imprecations at the sky.  There were no cardinals or geese to capture my imagination.

The cars were denser today, and the air began to feel less pleasant as time went on.  I saw a few Indians who looked at me in an amused, bemused way from their affluent cars.  I saw many professional-looking African-Americans in their polished cars who gave me a politely interested look, several people who might have been South-Americans going by, looking quizzically at me, and one weary-looking black Rastafarian passenger in a car driven by a white woman.  He directed a solemn look at me as they drove past me, giving me a barely perceptible nod. I nodded back, just as imperceptibly.  I wondered briefly about them, as one does.  I wondered whether he’d suffered from police pat-downs, whether the woman who drove him was his wife or girlfriend, whether her being the driver might protect him from being pulled over for DWB, whether he and the African-American drivers who went past me who looked expressionlessly at me as they went by thought, “Ya, well, easy for you.  You are not the one who’s going to get targeted.  We have to protect ourselves every day.  How will this help?”

I don’t have any answers to any questions.  It’s hard enough to just live our lives, and try to beat the Winter Blues.  It’s harder if you don’t have enough money to feed yourself and your family, about which, thankfully, we don’t have to worry.  It’s  very hard if you have to watch your back every day, not knowing if you will be the next victim.  It’s hardest when you know that none of this will matter if the coasts of the world as we know it are mostly underwater within half a century.

I was not sad, just cold.  But I sang well, and I was happy when the hour ended.  With the wind pushing hard against me and Warren’s sign, I wended my sleep-deprived way home.  I felt as if my legs were wading through molasses.  I still sang, though, and my voice sounded clear and bell-like.  Not bad for an hour in the cold in traffic!

Perhaps, gasoline fumes are good for singers who wish to protest Climate Change.   (That’s snark, in case you worry that I truly think this!)

Thanks for reading, everyone.  It’s been fun in its own strange way.  Three more week-days of writing these posts, then Warren will be back.  I cannot wait!

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #GasolineFumesAreGoodForSingersSNARK!

Mar 23, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life

Climate Change is Real:  Day 5 of my Lone Vigil
©March 23rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
(Woman with Sign, standing in for Man with Sign)

So, with Raga Bhatiyar humming around my ears like a drunken bee, I awoke just before the alarm.  This is not my favorite trend, being by nature a night-owl, but I’m proud of myself, despite myself.

Freshly brewed coffee (finally!) in travel mug?  Check.
Let Holly out, and get her back in?  Check?
Holly’s food and water replenished?
Ear-buds in place?  Check.i-Pod charged up?  Check.
Gas turned off?  Check.
Driver’s License in pocket, in case the Man decides to randomly check my ID (one never knows, especially if one is brown)?  Check.
Phone charged and ready to go?  Check.
Doors locked?  Check.
Wakefulness?  Um … let’s move on, shall we?
Muted lipstick and eye-black for those who like such things?  Check.

This was my attire:  Green scarf, red turtleneck, dark-blue sweatpants, sneakers, mustard-yellow buttonless cardigan-thing, olive-gray-green brimmed felt hat (mine, but which Warren appropriated, and I don’t mind, but I’m taking it back for now!)?  Check!  Motley isn’t too far behind at the rate at which I’m going.  I think I’ll go for wildly clashing colors tomorrow. 

And still, after all this efficiency, I was there twenty-three minutes past 7:30 a.m.  Sigh.  I envy men, I really do – well, at least my man, at any rate.  He is punctual and ready, always.  I think that somewhere, subconsciously, I’m still resenting anything that resembles my old school schedule, which was too absurdly early for any thinking human being.  That is my excuse, and I’m sticking to it!

Well, I got there, set up my post, and spent my one hour, singing “Barani na jaaye,” a beautiful composition in Raga Bhatiyar that our Guruji taught us in January of 1994, when we spent a year in India studying with him for hours on end, almost every single day, except when we were sick, or on the rare occasions when he was unable to make it to Muktangan to teach.  This composition addresses a woman, saying that it is impossible to describe her; all similes fail when the singer is struck by the beauty of her effulgent moon-visage.  On top of all this, she is so beautifully ornamented, and perfumed with different perfumes, that he loses his senses, or loses himself when he sees her face and her beautiful form and gait.

Barani na jaye
Mose upama tehare
Mukha chandra ki
Barani na ja …

Taiso hi attara,
Aragaja lagave,
Sudha bisaratha, mukha dekha,
Chaal madhamaata ki

Such was the beauty of this song, that I lost myself in it, and paid no attention at all to the commuters for some minutes, then tried to re-focus myself. 

Right away, I saw many smiles from women today, many nods and waves, many thumbs-up (immediately followed by one SOLE thumbs-down by a grumpy guy – I waved cheerfully at him, waving him away).  One man with a Vermont license plate, and Bernie 2016 bumper sticker, waved cheerfully, rolled down his window, and said something like, “… more than one way to make a change,” and drove on.

The coffee was fragrant and heavenly after a couple of days of tea at that hour (which is truly hellish for a morning-coffee person like me), and I was happy despite four hours of sleep.  The sky was muted, and the wind blew on and off, threatening to displace Warren’s sign.  It was odd to see how different the sky was on three consecutive days.  Snowy-white on Monday, bright, cheerful blue on Monday, and opalescent gray today (I happen to like this pearly-gray, pink-imbued color).  It was cold, but not bitterly so.  I was glove-less, and grateful for it.

Guruji’s voice as usual made mine come alive.  I’m so happy to sing again!  I went to sleep with the sound of it in my head, and awoke with it, and have been singing on and off all day today.  As usual, there were taans and aakars, and gamaks, and sargams, and Warren’s and my voice blended in the recording as we followed our teacher’s guidance.

As the hour unrolled, the same old, blue pickup car-truck drove by, and the cheerful, young, bearded man from Friday waved to me, and took another picture for In League Press.  [He posted on their FB page that I was out there again today – I knew, because he had tagged me (I was a little worried at being so named in an online journal, but realized that since I had given him my name last week, and had shared Warren’s Man with Sign page with them, it was inevitable that he would mention me.)]

 I heard birdsong, but didn’t see birds today — no sudden uprush of geese, or wild chasing of cardinals, or flashes of bluejay.  Grateful that we still have birds, and that they still sing. 

No chick tracts today, thank goodness!  There’s only so much I can take about the Last Day of Judgement and harsh pronouncements utterly lacking in grace or love about the wrath of God, and so on.

However, there’s a little disappointment one feels at having no opposition (or, is it just me?  I don’t like arguing online, but I don’t mind a nice, crunchy debate in real life.) – no mouthy Tea-partiers?  No Climate Deniers?  No mean-spirited citizenry out to make my life a living hell?

Wait!  I’m kidding!  I like the waves, the smiles, the nods.  The occasional thumbs-downs I can take.  I’m an adult.  I am woman.  Hear me roar!

These are the signs I saw on passing vans: 
EnviroTech Breathe Easier (Yup, we need one for our whole planet)
Belmont Springs Water Delivery  (Wish they could just deliver some water springs without the plastic)Plymouth Rock.com Assurance  (what kind of assurance?)
First Response Fire Response  (These guys are heroes)
Fences Unlimited  (That’s almost an oxymoron, isn’t it?)
Stump Grinding – All Aspects of Tree Service  (Stump-grinding sounds obscene)

I could turn ANY of these, and ALL of these into poems.  I won’t try now, however. 

The hour ended.  I picked up my effects, and turned my face homeward.  There is a strange freedom in doing this.  At such times, I think, perhaps, I don’t need anything.  We need so little, truly.  Just food, shelter, some intellectual stimulation, lots and lots of music, basic clothing, and lots of love and friendship.  All else is immaterial. 

Thank you, Warren, for starting this!

It’s been a LONG day, and I’ve been really tired.  Sorry to write this post so late in the day.  Still, it’s not quite 11:00 p.m., so it’s still today.  Will try to do this earlier tomorrow.

Sorry for the rambling post, and thanks for reading, friends!

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali, #Raga Bhatiyar, #Warren Senders

Mar 22, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life

Climate Change is Real:  Day 4 of my Lone Vigil
©March 22nd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

So, today:

Woke up at the sound of the alarm.  Groaned.  Hit the snooze.  Woke up ten minutes later.  Didn’t make coffee.  Made chai instead.  Let the dog out, then back in.  Reached the Warren Intersection at 7:44.  Not bad.  Perhaps, I’ll actually make it there by 7:30 by the time Friday rolls around.  All I have to do is stay up all night.  Right!  Oh, for the fashion-watchers out there, I wore old, baggy sweat pants over leggings, two pairs of old socks, purple T-Shirt, blue sweater, pale blue jacket, and an unnaturally bright purple beach hat.  I even found a minute to slash on a smear of lipstick and streak some eye-black on.  Got to give the commuters a little colour, at least!

The sun was a beautiful lemon, the sky shone a blazing blue, the clouds looked nonplussed by all this cheerfulness, and stayed away.  The drivers drove by, looking stolidly ahead, unwilling to make eye-contact.  I didn’t want to look at them, anyway, since I was fussing with ear-buds (I hate those things!), and adjusting them.  Then, sipping my chai, I sang with our beloved teacher’s voice, an echo from 1994, when he was alive. Raga  Bhatiyar was on today’s menu.  I’ve adored Bhatiyar since the first time I heard it on a Ravi Shankar record, when I was a teenager, and studying the sitar.  It’s a grand raga – I picture it as a Being dressed in deep gold-fringed purple raiment, moving solemnly on the horizon, lighting lamps.  I love the leap from Sa to shuddha Ma, and the turnaround from Pa to Ga, and then that inevitable Pa Ga re Sa, and then that haunting, eerie Ma theevra taking us through Dha, Ni, and high re, misleading us into thinking we’re in wilds of Marwa land, then deftly taking us back to the paved roads of the Bilawal thaat. 

Sargams, aakar, gamak taans, and then, Hari, Hari Nam, Le Tu Mana Mere, a beautiful composition urging the listener to “Say the name of God, and in so doing, cut away all the accumulated sins of a lifetime.  While taking God’s name, cross the ocean of life.  Tell your heart to take this advice.”  Transliterated from Hindi, it reads:

Hari hari nama le tu mana mere
Ja su katata saba paapa ghanere
Nama leta bhava paara utarata
Yaha updesha kara hirade tere

Hearing my Guru (Shreeram G. Devasthali)’s voice steadied mine.  It’s uncanny.  I started out with a horrid, raspy voice, not much improved by a few weeks of poor sleep.  By the time half an hour passed, my voice rang like a bell, and I could feel the restraints falling off.  He’s still teaching me, though he’s been gone for fourteen years.  Thank you, Guruji.

By now, the cars were slowing down, as more and more of them clogged the roads.  Now, I got a few smiles, nods, waves.  Nice.  It’s nice to be acknowledged.  I saw a small van go by which proclaimed that it was a “White Glove Domestic Services” vehicle.  White Glove, indeed!  If anyone worked at growing food, or cleaning up the mess of the world, they’d need millions of those.  Instead, why not just get dirty while cleaning up, then wash up?  I saw another small truck that said it was some sort of plumbing and drain company thingy.  I’m afraid my morning mental fog hadn’t dissipated, and I read it as “dumbing and brain.”
I could relate for a brief moment. 

Then, I’m embarrassed to say, a man drove by in an SUV, rolled down his window, and said something.  At first, I didn’t catch it, because I was singing, then I realized that he’d asked, “What’s that for?”  To my horror, I couldn’t explain it in the second or two I had, because he was still driving, so I said, “It’s hard to explain it now!” And he drove on.  Damn!  I lost the chance to say, “Look it up,” or “Our actions as humans are contributing to a climate catastrophe, and we need to change our way of life, and our habits as consumers,” or, “Do some research on Global Warming, and find out how scientists are predicting terrible consequences of our human activity not just a hundred years in the future, but in a few decades,” or …
But no, I stood there, and lost the chance to speak!  (I hope he comes by tomorrow – I’ll have a response prepared.  I’m still new at this.  Wish Warren had been there!)

Another man drove by, gestured to me, rolled down his window, and tossed out … YES!  A CHICK TRACT!  Hurray!  Having heard Warren’s account of this chap, I’d been hoping to see him, and lo, here he was! He was sent my way to prevent me from going to hell (snark!)  Yay!  I restrained myself from pouncing on it with unseemly eagerness, and picked it up after he’d driven off.  I put it in my pocket, to read it later.  Am going to take a look now.  Hang on a moment …

 … Wait!  It’s GONE!  Where did it go?  I swear I put it in my pocket!  Now, I’m doomed.  (Sigh!  I hope he throws me another one soon.)

Another fat car rolled by, with a large man chewing on, get this, a CIGAR!  An apt analogy for our dying planet.

Okay, I’ll stop dreaming.

So, the cars went by, and I sang on at the top of my voice, and then, like a vision from a dream, two cardinals swooped around and around an oval space of trees, like flashes of scarlet, singing all the while.  While it might have been young love, or lust in springtime, I’d like to think of them as hope.  I continued to listen to the honey-and-gold voice of our teacher, and felt at peace.

It was time to go.  Still singing, I picked up the sign, my travel mug, and my visions of the future at 8:44 precisely.  I made my way back home, and then, the day’s work and my daughter’s schedule claimed me until now, at 6:40 in the evening. 

This music, as Warren says, connects the past with the present.  We’d love to make a bridge for it into the future.  Music is not a luxury, even though it can be considered so, especially when we know that those who toil day and night can ill afford to spend it on practising music.  But singing is for EVERYONE – no one should feel it’s the prerogative of a privileged few.  Singing is breath.  And breath should be free.

Thanks for reading!  Peace out, as OPOL of DailyKos would say.

P.S.  I FOUND my Chick Tract!  Yay! 

P.P.S.  realized after my exchange with someone on FB that I must clarify that I actually DO know what a “White Glove Domestic” is – and the concept behind that (having encountered it for the first time my former school in some discussion that someone had about wanting to form a committee to ensure spotlessly clean classrooms, so clean that a white glove swiping at a counter would not pick up any dirt).  I just wanted to put my own tangential interpretation on it in this piece.

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Hindustani classical vocal music, #Music as a bridge, #Pandit S.G.Devasthali, #Warren Senders

Mar 21, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life

Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Recycling, #Saving the Planet, #using the Fibonacci series to create patterns Hindustani vocal music

Mar 19, 2016 Daily Life, The Daily Post

In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:  Dirty

Never Be Free (Of Dirt, That is!)
©March 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Don’t touch that!  It’s dirty!
Don’t go there!  It’s … dirty!
Sit here, not there, it’s … dirty!
Oh no, the dog’s gotten all … dirty!
.
What has happened to me?

I, who raced through the main street in Tirunelveli, chasing after pigs which wallowed in disgusting filth at street corners; I, who played in the mud with great pleasure, making forts and houses and tunnels and parks with my neighborhood friend, when I lived in Pune as a young child; I, who washed my hair rarely when I was a pre-teen, because I had better things to do, so I thought;  I, who rode my bike all over the city, fell down, cut my knees badly, and rode home with city dirt in my wound – I have turned into a fuss-budget!

Alas, now, I’m too careful (although, thank goodness, when I do gardening, I really LOVE the dirt, still)!  And I worry a tiny bit too much, but not so much that I don’t know when I’m fussing.  I let my daughter know that I sometimes fuss overmuch, and that she is free to call me out on it.  And she does.  And we laugh.  Which is good.  (Sorry for the sentence fragments but hey, this is my blog!)

My only real requirements with her are:
Wash your hands before you eat.
Take your bath every day, and be clean
Wash your hair a few times every week.

The nice thing is that she is very obliging, so when she does push back about some silly thing I might worry about (dirt), I know I’ve gone overboard, and I back off.

Holly, our dog, is now used to my wiping her paws when she comes in from the backyard, and washing all four paws if it’s a wet, or muddy day.  I don’t believe in these mat-things.  Dirt goes away only when it’s washed off.  Holly is pretty obliging too – she stands there patiently when I lave her paws in warm water (I think she likes it now), then wipe them off carefully.  Not bad for a dog, actually.

Having Holly, though, has taught me to be much easier about dirt.  I don’t freak out or anything if she’s gross – I simply wash her off, and wipe down the place in a matter-of-fact way.  This is much, much better than my first reaction when she squatted in my study and did her puppy-business within the first few days of our bringing her home.  I squawked in horror, I’m ashamed to say. 

A puppy is not the same as one’s own baby, I’m afraid (although I adore our dog, and thought of her as another child within a few weeks of bringing her to our place).  A young baby does her or his business several times a day, and any squeamishness a parent might have (and strangely, neither my husband nor I had any) will dissipate simply from so much repetition.  Plus, the upside of having a baby is that she or he is not a free-ranging being, not until toddler-hood, which is a whole other thing to worry about.  A puppy, on the other hand, wanders around, and goes here and there, so all this mobility makes one nervous.

Enough with that aspect of this topic!

The interesting thing is that I tolerate clutter (and live in it, even if I’d like to not do so), but I dislike filth.  Earth dirt is not dirty, filth is dirty.  I don’t mind dust,  because that’s just … dust, and I can take care of it easily.

All these are just gradations with all of us.  I suppose true freedom will come when we simply don’t care about such things. 

Alas, then, I don’t think I shall ever be free!

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Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Dirty