Mar 18, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings
Climate Change is Real – Day 2 of my Vigil Alone
©March 18th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
So, another late night followed by an even earlier morning (6:15) for me today – sigh!
I made coffee to take in my trusty travel mug, and a hot breakfast, and ginger tea for my daughter (who arose at 7:20 in order to get ready for our post-vigil haul all the way to Cohasset, MA, where she will be attending a once-a-week farming/harvesting/animal-care home-school class at Holly Hill Farm from now until mid-May). The dog was philosophical when left for my vigil. My daughter was sanguine. I love them both.
Despite awakening so early, I was STILL fifteen minutes behind the Warren-time on the vigil! Never mind. I made it, at least.
It’s been a beautiful, sunshiny day all day today, and it was cool (45 degrees), but sunny in the morning at my spot. Blue-jays flashed in blue streaks between the trees, and mid-way through, a sudden rush of wings divided the air near me. I saw, with wonder, two Canada geese arise from the boggy area of the Fells, which come close to the Warren Intersection (as I now call that part of Roosevelt Circle), and end right near where he/I stand at our vigil, and rise up, honking madly. It was quite arresting.
I was in low-energy mode, so I sang what I ALWAYS sing when I don’t know what to sing – namely, Bhairav – my default setting, possibly because I grew up learning South Indian music. Mayamalavagowla (with the same notes as Bhairav) is the first raga that all good little South Indian children learn if they learn Carnatic music. I made moaning aakars, and some paltas, and droned on, did some sargam (Indian solfege) work, and sang Jaago, Mohana Pyaare Tumha, as well as Jaago Brija Raja Kumara. My voice held up for a bit, then cracked on some of the not-so-high higher notes. (Sigh! I have a long, uphill climb to regain my skills in singing Hindustani music). In any case, I had a good time.
Cars went by, and I had several thumbs-ups – one from an older white-haired, man with a Bernie bumper-sticker, one from a grey-haired man with distinctly liberal features, several smiles and waves from younger men and women, and even one heavily bearded, long-haired young hippie-ish looking guy driving a low pick-up car-truck thing (I don’t know what to call those!) – who, having apparently being much taken by the sight of a woman standing with a protest sign, must have driven ahead, and parked his car somewhere, because I turned to see him walking up to me. He asked to take my picture, asked me my name, told me his name, and added that he worked for a magazine called In League Press, which published pictures and articles about people with protest signs, or something like that. I told him that it was really my husband’s sign, and that I was covering for him, and that he would probably see my husband in a couple of weeks. He told me I would probably see my picture on FB or Twitter in a few days (or, did he say, weeks), and then left. I was pleased by him, and warmed by our exchange.
A woman drove by, applying lipstick. Another drove by, elaborately applying mascara. How did she do that and not slam into the car in front of her? I admired her, in spite of myself. Mothers turning back to their children in the back drove by, and fathers with empty car seats in the back drove by, as well. So much potential for distraction when we have children! I remember having to carefully explain to my daughter when she was younger that I could not turn around and look every time she said, ” Mom, look! See what I’m doing!” She was put out at first, but understood when I explained some more. How much can one tell one’s young children about potential disaster (car accidents, Climate Change) without upsetting them, or making them into bundles of anxiety? I walk a fine line there. I think I do okay, but only time will tell.
Several plumber-type trucks and construction vehicles were out this morning, and I thought, not for the first time, about how plumbing and construction are some of the REAL jobs that would be nice to learn. At the same time, they signal the fact that we occupy space, and leave waste behind. Sometimes, when I feel pessimistic and misanthropic, I think that to be human is to create waste and denude the land of its natural beauty. Thinking this does not make me happy. (Quick! Think better thoughts! Yes, yes! We humans create beauty, yes, we create music, yes, we create art, yes, we create language … yes, we create entire dimensions of thought and being. Yes, we’re all right. Phew!)
Still, if I were to be reincarnated, I think I’ll opt to be a bird, or a frog. Or, better still, a dolphin. Birds sing, frogs sing, dolphins click – who wouldn’t want that?
More good things: A lovely black van drove by with this legend: Earth, Stone and Water. That was somehow soothing, even grand, in its way. I imagined the company to be concerned with environmental work. No doubt, if I Google it, I’ll find out something mundane. I do not want to know. It was followed by another van with this on its side: Plumbing / Heating / HVAC / Boilers. Good, but not as nice. Humpf! After a while, another van drove by, and its driver, a young man, gave me a thumbs-up and a big smile. The sign on the side and back said something about bee-keeping services. I felt an absurd upwelling of affection for him.
So, I droned in Bhairav, and felt freer by the second.
Fifty minutes passed. Suddenly, a nasty sour-faced SUV drove by, and a scowling man leaned out from the passenger seat, and snarled, “Oh, go get a job!”
If I had not heard from my husband about his routinely hearing such remarks every week, I might have stiffened and perhaps, gotten briefly upset. As it was, I just laughed, and said, well after the car had driven past, “Oh, go to hell!” Not the wittiest of retorts, but it was all I could muster in the moment.
I sang some more, finished my coffee, and trundled back home, and then raced around the house to get ready to take my daughter to Holly Hill Farm far, far away in Cohasset, and Warren’s student Thomas, showed up to dog-sit our Standard Poodle, Holly. Holly is crazy about Thomas, and I swear that if we were to vanish from the earth, Holly would live quite happily with him. It’s sweet to see her adore him so waggily and goofily. He must emanate the scent of goodness (He’s certainly a very kind and good person, from what I’ve seen!)
My daughter and I returned after a lovely few hours at the Farm, and now, I have written this post.
Contradictions exist – we all know that. I stood with a “Climate Change is Real” sign for an hour this morning, then got in my car, and drove several miles to have my daughter be in the midst of growing vegetables and animals in a beautiful area. I wish things could be less complicated, but nothing is.
What we can do is try to reduce our carbon footprint, grow more things, buy less stuff. We do what we can, and raise consciousness as we do it. Every conscious action leads others to conscious action. I hope this is true.
Thanks for reading!
Signing off,
Dreamer of Dreams
(Standing in for Man with Sign)
Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #Contradictions, #Man with Sign, #Nature, #Waste, #Woman with Sign
Mar 4, 2016 Uncategorized
Descent
©March 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
First comes desire, an urgent
Pressing need to do:
I want this, I want to do this.
Next comes resistance:
No, I don’t!
I won’t! I cannot!
Then comes stasis.
And the minutes tick away
Lifetimes slide past,
Looking sorrowfully
Out of the corners of their
Eyes, moist with promise.
And grey ghosts crowd at the door.
Beckoning through the wood.
(They can see through it, you understand.)
And one says, “Do you practise?
Do you practise your literature?”
Practise my literature?
What sort of question is that, Dad?
A dream nudges memory:
Carrying a third of an appalam
To Appa, lying on the floor above.
He smiles, pale and alive.
But he’s dead, don’t you remember?
Been dead a few years!
Dust on the floor makes faces
Faces gleam through air and mist.
Faces gibber and point in mirrors.
Faces emerge from bones in dreams.
I like this one best!
Fingers trace patterns on coverlet.
Geometric ones, beautiful,
But gone forever, air-molecules
Carrying away pictures
Into the dustbin of time.
And the music stays on
And on, and on, like madness,
Like a tap that someone forgot to
Turn off.
Turn it off!
Turn it all off!
String together this lute.
Play it on the edge of a cliff.
Start singing to the sun.
Let the song grow.
Get UP!
Descend the stairs.
They never end.
Tags: #Contradictions, #Original Poetry, Descent, Resistance and need
Feb 4, 2016 Daily Life, Uncategorized
Shadows of the Real
©February 4th, 2016By Vijaya Sundaram
Shadows chase shadows chasing shadows
And mirrors reflect mirrors reflecting mirrors.
And you stand to one side,
A shadow within a shadow,
Leaving behind no dent,
Causing no reflections,
Barely a whiff of air to prove you existed.
So easy to say, “What’s the point?”
As you watch squirrels chase each other
In pseudo-Spring in January.
So easy to feel nothing, nothing at all!
So easy to fold clothes endlessly,
Wash dishes, and see reflections
Bouncing off metal and glass.
So easy to get upset at news
And shrug silently, and watch
Dog settle with sigh upon couch
Knowing all reality is where one is
And yet, knowing that is not all–
Children wash ashore cold and dead,
And children from the cradle of the world
Lie hurt and fearful far away
In cold lands where they would
Rather not have been,
But for the hate and rage of adults.
Contradictions will kill us all
But we butter our toast
And drink our coffee
And read a book,
And wonder where Time went.
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Tags: #Contradictions, #Life, #Original Poetry, Syrian refugees, War
Sep 28, 2015 Writing 101
So, I did not deal with the prompt relating to stats pages, and such. Those things are too off-putting, because my readership seems to go up and down, and I don’t want to wonder why. I decided that I would work on one of the alternative prompts, and chose this one:
Overnight, you discover you’ve gained 50,000 blog subscribers. What would you write for your next post?
If I gained 50,000 blog subscribers, I would be instantly suspicious. I would wonder what had happened, and whether the universe were playing a trick on me.
While I write almost every day, I am not what you would call “popular.” It’s apparently not part of my style. I wouldn’t mind being popular, but I know why I won’t be. I don’t have lots of beautiful photographs (I own a dumb phone, and thus, am not immediately able to transfer pictures I might take), nor do I write about my personal angst quite as much (although I do post those types of things from time to time). The topics I choose are NOT about hobbies, politics, books, gardening, religion, spirituality, yoga, knitting, baking, flying, travelling (I’m using the older double-the-consonant spelling of travelling here, and spell-check can go take a leap), or other interesting, fun-to-read, people-attracting topics.
So, what do I write? I write stories and poems, and occasionally share a personal story. My posts are not in a popular, breezy, funny, sentimental or revelatory style. I wish I did write in such styles, sometimes, so that I could see my stats page shoot up a little. On my first (now private) blog, I got something like 170 views on February 10th, 2013, the first day I started the old blog (which was amazing), and then, it petered out after that (which wasn’t surprising). On this blog, the most number of views I’ve had occurred on Sept. 18th, 2015. I got 97 views — it surprised me, because, by my humble standards, that’s a lot. I did gain something from the Insights page on the Stats site — something about the most popular day being Friday, and the most popular time being 5:00 p.m. Not too surprising!
I find that the number of views goes up when I get chatty. At least that’s what I think the reason might be. It seems to me that blogs are about being chatty and engaging. When I visit a lot of sites and read other people’s work (always challenging, seeing that one has to also keep abreast of one’s own work, take care of family, and so on), they reciprocate. Whether they stop by once and never return, or whether they take a fancy to what I write is another matter. However, the number of viewers does increase the chattier I get, and the more I “put myself out there.”
Here’s the nub of the problem: Putting myself out there is hard for me. I am, simultaneously, extroverted and introverted.
This, alas, has always been the case with me. I used to perform a lot as a singer-songwriter, and as a band-leader of my rock-band in school and college in India I was good at it. I loved being on stage, and was able to work the crowds easily. I did NOT suffer from stage-fright. I could make jokes and raise a laugh on stage. I could deliver my music with style and aplomb. I was in my element. When I married my husband and came over to this country, I performed at the street level, the subway level, at the coffeehouse stage level and the concert level — all this while working at a low-paying job at a music company. And yet … I decided that that life was not one I wanted to lead. I didn’t want to hustle, to push myself forward, to put out all that schmoozing energy which the act of promoting oneself requires.
I wanted to teach, and be of some use in the world in a setting where I knew I could work some magic. And I did. I was the teacher to whom students came to share their creative writing, or poetry, or art or ideas. I was the person who, many of my students told me, changed their lives, made them dream of a world where they could make a difference, and pursue their dreams. And I taught with energy, with humor, with vision and kindness. I loved doing that. Many of my students are still in touch with me via Facebook and email, and they have gone on to wonderful careers. I love them, bless them, and am proud of them.
Then, last year, I found I’d had enough. I loved teaching, but couldn’t bear all of the politics that surround teachers and teaching. I didn’t belong to any teacher-y cliques, and — believe me — teacher-cliques are worse than student-cliques. I found I didn’t belong — anywhere. I found, on top of that, that I didn’t want to.
My husband helped me when I said I couldn’t bear to be in public school teaching anymore. He said, “I support your decision to leave. We can make it work. I want my wife back.” So, I quit teaching this year, after seventeen years of learning what it means to be an Indian teaching English in an affluent public school system in America. I had given too much of myself away to my students, my school, my work. The past three years have blurred in my memory. My child needed me, my husband needed me, my dog needed me, and I needed me! And so, I tied up all my loose ends, gave my notice six months in advance, did all that I had to do, got praised and feted, as one does, and left in June of this year.
This world of busy-ness is too much for me. All this achievement-oriented stuff bores me to tears, but I am a creature of my times, too. I know and admire those who achieve things — and wish I could. See? Contradictions abound.
The world, in general, is too much for me these days — and yet I love this life so much. I love nature, animals, books, music, my lovely family and — above all, I love being able to sleep and dream again. I love my quiet life now (it was not quiet for the past seventeen years). I love walking in the woods with my husband, or talking with my daughter, and teaching her things, or learning things from her, or playing music with my family. I like the obscurity in which I find myself.
How is all this related to blogging?
I guess it comes back to whether I want popularity and fame, or whether I want those few people for whom my work, my life, my words make a difference.
So, if my readership suddenly goes up to 50,000, I will be deeply, deeply suspicious.
And I would come to the following conclusions:
1. Either, I have tapped into the subconscious mind of the blogosphere, an entity in itself.
2. Or, I have accidentally written about (the gods forbid!) a popular topic.
3. No, wait, another option: A gremlin has decided to play fast and loose with my site, and invited all its gremlin friends to the party.
4. A gigantic entity from outer space has found me to be a creature of peculiar and arresting interest, and has (amoeba-like) indulged in reproductive fission to get past WP’s vigilant staff, and viewed my stuff 50,000 times, while subscribing 50,000 times.
In which case, I’ll have to decide whether to retire into obscurity (the kind I enjoy now) or stay in the limelight and bask in it (something I wouldn’t mind doing, which I even crave from time to time), and write more about other popular topics, and use my influence to change some things in the world.
Or, I would have to create a gremlin of my own to distract the subscription gremlins. I might have to hoodwink the entity from outer space into believing that I would love to have it over for coffee, crumpets and conversation, in my noble, self-sacrificing, valiant attempt to prevent it from wreaking statistical havoc on other bloggers’ blogs. After that, I will fall into “innocuous desuetude,” as the brilliant Mr. Nicholas Slonimsky puts it, and dash off morbid or magical pieces on my blog page in spasmodic fits of madness.
So, what would my next topic be? How Not to Get Popular and Take the Bouquets with the Brickbats? Butterflies in springtime? Dogs Amongst the Pine-Needles? Education Among the Bloated Elite? Gremlins in the Kremlin? My Eternal Angst-rom Units? Why I Wish to Turn Into A Statue And Not Utter Another Word?
Who knows?
And meanwhile, I ended up writing about stats pages and viewership, while skirting the main topic. Sigh. And meanwhile, the contradictions continue.
I do know what I’ll always do, what I’ve done since I began blogging! You know what that is, don’t you?
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Tags: #Contradictions, 50000 blog subscribers YAY!, Dreaming in the blogosphere, Popularity be damned!, Reveling in obscurity