Unaccustomed Earth, Language, Identities

I recently began reading Jhumpa Lahiri's 'Unaccustomed Earth'. One of the stories describes the life of Rupa, the daughter of Bengali immigrant parents, born and brought up in the USA. At one point in the story, Rupa reflects on the fact that although she grew up speaking Bengali when she was young, her conversing skills in Bengali are not what they used to be and that she has begun to find it harder and harder to carry on a conversation in Bengali - her native language. As a child growing up in a multilingual household, in many ways, I understand her predicament. You would think that growing up immersed in multiple languages, I would be highly conversant in all of them. Unfortunately as it turned out, I essentially spoke only English at home and I would describe my abilities in the other languages, that I grew up with, as being average at best. As I think back now, I feel a sense of loss. It almost feels like I am losing a link to a part of my culture. That being said, the fact of the matter is that we live in an increasingly globalized world. Being comfortable and conversant in English, the language of my adopted home (and across much of the world) has proved to be extremely helpful. So I guess that in a sense, this loss has a silver lining after all- I have moved from being a citizen of my native country to being a citizen of the world.

On friendship

"Mia: Don't you hate that? 

Vincent: What? 

Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?

Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question. 

Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." - Pulp Fiction. (1994)

I have recently come to the realization that my friends fall into one of two distinct groups. There are those who I have to make a conscious effort to carry on a conversation with and then there is the other group where the conversation always seems to flow spontaneously, and no effort seems to be required on my part. Perhaps I know the people in the second group better, and so I instinctively 'know' what makes an interesting conversation with them. But I don't think this accurately explains the difference between the two groups. I think what it comes down too is that it really doesn't matter whether I carry on a conversation with them at all... just being in their presence makes me happy ... even sitting with them in silence.

The Riddle of the Sphinx

“Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, 

at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, 

and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?”

When I was young I grew up in a country so beautiful, there was no place like it on the earth. It was a land as ancient as the earth... steeped in rich traditions, a culture as old as time itself. A land where all the people lived together in peace. Regardless of their ethnicity, their religion, their language or their customs, they lived as one. There was peace and tranquility and happiness throughout the land.

Then I grew older, and things had changed. But I couldn't understand how. Where was the peace of old? Why was everyone fighting? But we were one... right? Were we not all living together in peace? Where was the land of my youth? How did things change so fast?

Now I am old. I understand it all... I chose not to understand when I was young, I chose not to see. But it was there all along. It has been there all along. When I was young, I chose not to see the suffering around me ... the poverty, the violence, the injustice ... I looked away, closed my eyes and they were gone. Then as I grew older that's all I saw. I wanted to make a difference. Now I am cynical. Now I am a realist. I don't have time for fairy tales. I see things for what they are. The land of my youth existed only in my head. Created by escapism, perpetuated by false hope, the dream remains and will forever. After all, you don't have to acknowledge the problems of today, if you can live off the high of yesterday, do you? But when the smoke settles, and sanity returns you'll see things for what they are. And unfortunately, you wont have the excuse of naivete that was readily available when you were young. 

But deep down, I have this lingering feeling that things will get better, that someday, we will have peace and tranquility all around ... I can't explain this rationally. If you ask me for facts ... I have none. If you want reasons ... I have none. All I have to offer is a feeling ... whatever that may mean. Hope springs eternal...

Giving, guilt and the Beatles

He walks home after a long day at the lab. He looks forward to some well deserved rest. Its been a really long day at the lab. He still can't seem to get all the experiments out of his head. He's trying to think of why it isn't running quite right ... maybe it's the ... but then he stops himself. 

'Its time to head home, the experiments can wait till tomorrow',he thinks. 

He slips his had into his coat pockets, and he makes a mental note to remember to wear his woolen scarf before he sets out tomorrow. He reaches into his pocket and presses play on his new mp3 player. The song sounds familiar ... the beat ... it's a dead give away ... he smiles ... the Beatles ... its been a long time since that song has played.

He looks up. He sees a guy holding a folder. He tries to look away ... avoid eye-contact he says to himself. Too late ...

'What is it this time?', he thinks.

"Do you have a minute for ...", the guy says.

He hits pause. 'Can't really say no now, can I?', he thinks.

The guy begins reading of his sheet. 

"Do you know that ...", the guy begins. 

He rolls off a bunch of statistics, all read off the paper he's been carrying. It's his first day doing this, the guy apologetically explains. 

'He's about half done ... just a few more lines .... I know where this is going', he thinks. 

The cold winter breeze blows into his face. He puts his hands back in his coat pocket, waiting for the inevitable. He wonders how anyone can stand in the freezing cold, trying to convince a bunch of strangers to do something for their cause. He can't help admiring the guy's dedication. He wonders if he would be willing to do the same. 

'Almost done... wait for it ... wait for it,'he thinks.

"... and so the best way you can help out is by making a monthly donation to our cause...", the guy says.

He politely explains that he is a graduate student, and that making monthly donations is not something he can do right now. Deep down he feels a little guilty. 

'That money could make a difference, and I do think its an important issue', he thinks. 

But he shrugs it off quickly. 

'Maybe when I start earning', he thinks. 

The rationalization works. No guilt anymore. Pleasantries are exchanged. 

"Well have a nice day... thank you for your time", the guy says. 

"You too", he says. 

He can't help thinking that the guy sounded a little dejected. He starts walking away. 

'Maybe I should have contributed a little',he thinks. 

He almost turns back. Then just as quickly he decides that its time to move on ... no point worrying about it now.

'What's done is done ... I had a choice, and I made it', he thinks. 

He reaches down and hits play again. The familiar music fills his ears. He hears John Lennon crooning,

"I am he, as you are he, as you are me and we are all together ..."

He smiles.