The "sir" syndrome

In the US, you address everyone by the first name, regardless of age. He could be your graduate professor or the person at the grocery counter. "Hi Jim" will work at both places equally well! Coming from India, you find it odd, especially when you are talking to someone, twice your age. The honorific "sir" comes automatically, both in written and spoken speech.

Imagine calling "Subramaniam sir" in college as "Hi Sub!" and engaging in the conversation with a cheery, "How are you doing dude?" It would sound jarring. Moreover, you are sure he will make a mental note of it and get back at you in kind, when he evaluates your exam paper! There was no point taking a chance! You were better off with a safe "sir".

The only confusion arose when it came to Mr Desai and Mr Sardesai and both were your professors. You had to demarcate them carefully as “Sir Desai” and the other with almost a double honorific as "Sir Sir-desai"!

“Sir” was your best bet when you had to cringe and plead for marks. “Sir-sir-sir-sir, please sir! Give me one mark sir! I will pass sir!”

"Sir" could well be a legacy from the days of the Raj. You signed letters in the olden days with "yours obediently" and "yours respectfully" that mandated a natural "sir" at the beginning. But “sir” might have predated the British too. Some of your common prayers, asking for the whole world to be happy, surprisingly start with a “sir”- “sir-vey bhavantu sukhinah!”

In India, you use "sir" generously, almost like a punctuation mark, even with peers. "When did you reach Delhi sir? I hope you are having a good time sir!" This style works like a charm- it is a deft way of endearing yourself into the other’s good books.

In North India, the sir is coupled with a trailing ‘ji’. While "sir" sounds too curt and British like, "sir ji" has an avuncular tone to it. Respect and affection are wrapped in the usage. “No problem sir ji!  We can always find some paratha and some lassi-shassi for dinner sir ji!” 

In the South, "sir" is changed to "saar". It is strewn liberally in daily conversation. "What is this Saar? Why should you pay? I will pay for the idli and bonda saar!"

Sometimes, the "sir" comes out with a different punch. You casually tell the person, “I am planning to go to the US for a few weeks”. He sits bolt upright and acknowledges with a crisp “sir!” “I will be back by the end of the month.” He shoots back, “Sir!” The "sir" says it all- both intent and attention. He has to be from the army!

Given the above track record, how can I call you, “Hi Jim”? It is not going to work Jim saar! I will have to call you Jim sir ji!

 

Washing and ironing- the 2 paradigms!

In India, you take a lot of things for granted- something as elementary as washing and ironing clothes. Think about it- you have a domestic help who comes home each day. The clothes are washed and set to dry in the balcony. Over the weekend, the iron-wala is at your doorstep. You give him specific instructions, "I need this shirt and this pant by the end of the day!" Such customization is possible. 

Sure enough, by the end of the day, you have your ironed pair home-delivered. In a couple of days, he brings back the entire load. You needn't pay him right away. He keeps track of the record and every few months, you make a lumpsum payment.

You unwrap the cloth bundle- the shirts and pants are crisply pressed and stacked in a pile. Touch the ironed cloth to the cheek, and you feel the entrapped warmth. A subtle aroma of coal hangs about each dress.  Each shirt has a newspaper backing, to keep it stiff and straight. There is such precision to the entire process.

Come the next day, open your wardrobe, and there are so many options to choose from! 

True, this perk comes with a few trappings. Off and on, the iron-wala wants you to lend some cash.  Either there is a wedding in the family or some eventuality that you cannot question. "Every month, I will deduct 500, and that way, you need not pay me!" He comes up with detailed statistical data. It is too confusing- you gloss over the calculation. The trust is so total.

At times, he hangs around longer than usual. You wonder what the reason is. He shuffles his feet, scratches his head, and mumbles, "Deepavali is round the corner, something...little bit you can spare please?"

You now land up in the US. There is no outside help; the onus is entirely on you. If you rent an apartment, there is no washer-dryer at home. Every weekend, you head out with the basket of unwashed clothes to the community laundromat. You carry with you "7 quarter" coins for the washer, plus the detergent. After 45 minutes of washing, you come back. You shift the washed clothes to the dryer. 4 more quarter coins are required to kickstart the dryer. Once the clothes emerge from the dryer, you hang them up in the closet. That's it! No need to iron the clothes since they come out reasonably fluffy from the dryer. Plus, you learn to be less finicky!

Two opposite paradigms are at work here- one, where you are part of a human story, unfolding each day, with several characters hanging around you. The other, where the mantra is plain and simple- "Self-help is the best help!" (swayam kritam...su-kritam!) 

Both models work. It is for you to choose!

   

A stroll through Berkeley

A university campus makes you feel like a student once more. It's just the ambience- filled with buildings of different sciences, that kindles the thirst for knowledge. 

The Berkeley campus is one such. It is early summer at this time of the year. The days are long, with bright sunshine well after 7 in the evening. Out in the sun, it feels warm, but the moment you step into the shade, you feel the nip in the air. 

You walk down Oxford Street till you meet Hearst Street. The university campus stretches beyond Hearst. There is no clear demcarcation between the town and the university. They seemlessly merge into the other, without a boundary wall to separate the two worlds. Perhaps, the founding principle of "free speech" at Berkeley, influenced such a juxtaposition. Alternately, in an earlier world, there was no need for additional security. After all, the Berkeley campus goes back in time, to the late 1800s. 

The terrain in undulating. You are negotiating slopes all the time. From vantage points within the campus, you look yonder, and you can spot the Bay. In the sun, the limpid water of the distant bay is a crisp silver line and beyond the bay, you can see the outline of the mountains, colored a deep purple.

Redwood trees that California is known for, pock the university campus. The trees are gigantic- with the bark, several feet wide and with dark green foliage. It is a riot of green-some trees with a fresh coat of light-green leaves in spring and the redwoods, with its deep-green competing with these newborns! A tiny creek creeps its way on one side of the campus. The flow is gentle, with the sound of one of those therapeutic fountains that you would keep in the living room- just that steady drip, and no more,

You leave the redwoods and it opens into vast meadows of green, that sparkle in the late afternoon sun. The department of Psychology, the Life Sciences building and the Library are imposing structures. 

Alongside, is the campus clock tower called the "campanile". This tower can be seen from most parts of the campus. It tolls and announces each hour. Beyond the campus tower is the Greek Theatre- It looks like a colliseum- a stadium in stone, arranged in a circle and overlooking the stage. The Graduation ceremony is held here for select departments.

The campus also hosts a stadium, bigger than the Greek Theatre. Almost the size of a Cricket ground, this is the location where the Graduation ceremony for all departments is held. Almost 8000 of them graduate each year and the stadium is packed with 10s of thousands of spectators for the Graduation ceremony. 

The library holds special interest. Once inside, it looks like Victorian era palace, with paintings on the walls. There is a sculpture of Mark Twain, sitting casually on a bench, as soon as you enter the library.

An essay on Berkeley would be incomplete without mentioning its characteristic shout of "Go Bears!" Each ceremonial speech is ended with "Go Bears", that is met with the same response from the raucous crowd!

The ChatGPT takeover

The internet took over our lives, so much so, we can hardly imagine life without it. It has proliferated into every nook and cranny, across all strata of society. 

We are told, we are on the cusp of a similar takeover, this time, by ChatGPT.

It is such a buzzword that if you express ignorance, people glare at you, “You have not heard about ChatGPT?”  “Who is he?” I asked. “It’s a chatbot!” my friend replied. “What’s a chatbot?” I questioned. “It’s a bot!” he replied. “What’s a bot?” I asked, wondering if he is going to answer- “a bot is an ot”!

Thankfully, I did get a bounded answer- “A bot is something you can program to do certain tasks”. “What tasks can chatGPT do?” I asked. “It can do all tasks- it can write software code, better than you!” I was relieved, “I don’t even want to write code. I’ll gladly let chatGPT write my code!” “Then, what will you do?” he asked. “Well, I will do something, may be, farming!” I replied with a wry smile.

“ChatGPT can do better farming. It can be programmed to sow seeds, water the plant, everything!”

Apparently, ChatGPT is already everywhere. It can do a student’s homework. Professors are having a tough time to decide if the homework was done by ChatGPT or the student. For that, they have created a bigger chatGPT- to detect the student’s ChatGPT. And of course, the students will not sit idle. They will invent a bigger ChatGPT to swallow the professor’s ChatGPT. It is like the small fish swallowed by the big fish, extending ad infinitum.

“This is the future!” my friend said grimly. “Can this be averted?” I asked. “No! It is already set in motion!” It looked as if humanity was destined to be non-participating zombies soon, taken over by ChatGPT and its ilk.

“Can I ask ChatGPT to destroy itself?” I asked. Like the demon Bhasmasura, ChatGPT can place its hand on its head and end this vicious cycle. One pandemic was enough. We don’t want another one now.

Suddenly, my friend was in a tearing hurry. “I need to check if the ChatGPT software code has considered this self-destruction clause. If not, I just have to add a one-liner instruction, “if self-destruct, then, do-nothing! That will make ChatGPT immortal!” He got into his driverless car.  As he sped away, the police booked him for rash driving and took him to custody. I was relieved that the self-destruct loophole was left open. There is still hope for mankind!

But now, I wonder if this article should be printed. Who knows? ChatGPT may read this article, get nefarious ideas from it, take care of the self-destruction clause on its own, and attain immortality!

Mankind is then certainly doomed! 

P.S: This article was written by ChatGPT.

The Chief Guest

An unavoidable fixture in any function is the Chief Guest’s address. The occasions vary- it could be the Annual Day at School, Sports Day or the neighborhood Independence Day program.

There is no doubt that the Chief Guest is a man of achievement. The anchor of the ceremony announces grandly, “Today’s Chief Guest needs no introduction!”

Call it lack of basic general knowledge, this is the first time you have heard the Chief Guest’s name. Thankfully, the anchor fills in, for the lacuna. “Nevertheless, I will go ahead and read out his accomplishments that are too many to enumerate!” The Chief Guest smiles gently.

Evidently, the Chief Guest is a pioneer in his field with several awards to his credit, “both in India and abroad”. If he is a musician, the anchor waxes eloquent. “Pandit ji has received” and reels out the full list. There is “sangeet shiromani”, “sangeet ratnakara”, “sangeet kalaanidhi” and several other poly-syllabic titles, that the anchor is reading for the first time. He stumbles and slurs over many a title name, but to his credit, keeps the introduction going.

Finally, he ends with, “I now invite the Chief Guest to grace the occasion and say a few words.” The audience claps heartily- glad to finally do something.

The Chief Guest now begins his speech. He is a sensitive person and acknowledges, “I don’t want to stand between you and the lunch to follow. I have been on the other side and understand what it feels like! I will keep it short.”

The moment the Chief Guest starts with these words of caution, you learn to be wary. Chief Guests are notorious to violate all good intention once they begin talking. It is as if, they want to exact revenge, now that they have the microphone in hand, and a captive audience.

If the Chief Guest is a techie, you have had it. He goes on an autobiographical spiel; strewn with words and terms you have never heard of. He talks about how he started with “digital control systems” and “processors” and how the “market was not ready for it in those days”. The only market you have heard about is the vegetable market and wonder why the market was not ready. Maybe, it was too early in the morning?

The Chief Guest rambles away. You glance this way and that. You are not the only hostage. The little boy alongside pesters his mother that he is getting bored. The mother sternly glares at him and orders him to sit quietly.  You make eye contact with the child and smile. He buries his head in his mother’s lap, looks at you from the corner of the eye, and smiles back. The elders are not doing any better. Some pull out their smartphones and are scrolling away, watching some reels. Others pace up and down the aisle to get to the restroom or check if early lunch is served.

The Chief Guest is blissfully unaware and continues his monotone. After a good 45 minutes, he finally vacates the podium.

The audience breaks into a thunderous applause, in the process, waking up some folks who just could not keep up. The anchor is back on stage and reads out, “Thankyou sir for your thought provoking and inspiring speech. We are indeed blessed, and your words of wisdom will stay with us forever!”

International dateline and grandma!

Sitting on the flight from Bangalore to San Francisco, I pondered over how I would explain the time-change concept to my grandmother. May be, the conversation would go as follows. Grandma asks, “When are you leaving for America?”

“My flight is in the afternoon grandma, at 2 pm. I will reach America at 6 pm on the same day!”

Grandma was puzzled. “How can you reach America in 4 hours? In 4 hours, you can reach only Tiruvannamalai!”

Once I started explaining about time-change, I was tied up in knots. I used my left fist as the earth and my right palm as the plane.

“Grandma, the earth is rotating like this!” and moved my fist clockwise. “This is the plane!” and moved my right palm anti-clockwise.

Grandma interrupted me. “Your grandpa had multiple opportunities to travel abroad. He didn’t take it up. In those days, crossing the ocean was barred.”

“But grandma, you can go to America without crossing the ocean!”

I elaborated, “Grandma, I will start walking from Chennai. I will walk to Kolkata and then to the North-East. From there, I will go to China. From China, I will walk to Mongolia. From Mongolia, I will enter Siberia. From Siberia, I will cross the Bering Strait by boat and reach Alaska. From Alaska, I will walk Southwards, cross Canada and finally touch San Francisco! Bering Strait is the only water body, but that is as narrow as our Palk Strait!”

Grandma asked, “How long is this trip going to take?” I replied, “Maybe a few years!” Grandma had practical questions. “In this padayatra, who will serve you curd-rice?” “Grandma, no curd-rice! I will eat some animal- maybe, a bison for breakfast and moose for dinner!” Grandma was blunt. “You need curd-rice for every meal and now, you will eat a mouse?”

I went back to the original topic. “Grandma, my plane will go Eastwards from India. As the earth rotates, I will travel deeper into the night. Soon, I will reach morning before morning reaches India!”

Grandma asked, “It will then be the next morning, isn’t it? How can you reach America on the same day?”

 “Grandma, they have drawn a line called “the dateline”. Once you cross that line, they count it as the previous day!”

“Who has drawn this line?”

“It is an imaginary line grandma!” I replied. “If the line is imaginary, then, considering it as the previous day is also imaginary, isn’t it?”

“Yes grandma,” I stuttered.

Grandma suddenly swerved from the topic and quoted from an ancient text, “What is night for us, is day for him. What is day for him, is night for us! See! They knew about America back then!”

“Yes grandma!”

 

 

 

 

 

Holding infinity in the palm of your hand....

William Blake says, “To see a world in a grain of sand, And heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour”.

While the lines are inspiring, what is the poet trying to convey?

In India, a poet is called a “kavi”- “kraanta darshi iti kavih”. He sees more than meets the eye.  He knows to connect the dots.

As children, we did a particular exercise. The page had a set of dots strewn in a haphazard way. It made no sense initially. The moment you drew lines, connecting the dots in sequence, a beautiful figure emerged!

In the above lines, Blake conveys a certain vision- of seeing the “macrocosm” in the “microcosm”- infinity in the palm of your hand.

Indian mythology has a story to elucidate this point. At Mount Kailash, Lord Shiva and Parvati were with their children- Ganesha and Kartikeya.  Narada came to Kailash with a mango. Both Ganesha and Kartikeya clamored for the fruit. Narada laid a condition that the full mango could go to only one child. A competition was held- whosoever went around the world first, got the fruit.

Kartikeya immediately mounted his peacock and started on a world tour. Ganesha thought of an “out of the box” solution. As the primeval couple, Shiva and Parvati represented the entire world. Ganesha went around Shiva and Parvati and claimed the prize. We love this story- how Ganesha outsmarted Kartikeya.

The story makes an important point especially for today’s time and age. Social media is awash with pictures of friends and acquaintances. They are off to the most exotic destinations. Some post pictures from Alaska, while others from the Fjords of New Zealand. Some are frolicking on a Caribbean cruise while others are lounging in the Land of the midnight sun. It’s as if the entire world is having a gala time. Further, “bucket lists” are created, as though human life is complete only if all the boxes are ticked.

Some of us have a more anchored lifestyle. Either we cannot afford such trips due to financial compulsions, or health may not permit such an indulgence. A brooding sense of self evaluation sets in. Did I lose the plot entirely in life?

It is here that Blake’s lines and the mythological story come to our aid. Any place, be it Alaska or Norway, is but a rearrangement of the same elements- sea and sky, mountain and trees. Those elements in a different configuration exist outside my home too.  

The “happiness quotient” experienced in Alaska, I can order the same at home, provided I make an attitudinal change.

I sit by the window and look outside. A magical world is unfolding at this very moment. I consciously take in the details- the blue of the sky, speckled with fleecy white clouds. I observe the tree forming an enormous canopy, the graceful curl of the branches and the leaves with a fresh coat of green. Birds flit in and out, their collective chirp converging in a symphony. The colors change by the hour, in a fascinating interplay of light and shadow.

A child walks by the tree and looks up. It spots your face pressed by the window. It waves at you and smiles. You smile back. At that instant, happiness permeates your entire being. It is a moment of fullness- you are at peace with yourself and the world at large.

You may go to the Grand Canyon and miss this fullness. Sitting at home, you can get it. All it takes is a change of vision- for “happiness is as old as this world and as new as this moment”.

The poet has rightly said, “You can hold infinity in the palm of your hand” here and now.

Reading the newspaper

Growing up, the only newspaper section you were interested in, was the sports page! The moment the boy delivered the newspaper, you made a dash for it! Separating out the sports page, you salivated over the score card “Gavaskar- caught Rixon, bowled Thomson”!

When you went to your grandparent’s place for vacation, the rules were different. Grandpa had exclusive right to the newspaper- that too, in full. You couldn’t separate a particular limb. You were itching to ask, “Anyway, you are not going to read the sports page! Can’t I read it, instead of waiting on the side-lines?”

Grandpa was particular that the “editorial” should be read. At that age, the editorial made no sense. The topics were as dry as toast. The language was a verbal minefield, strewn with grandiose words to obfuscate comprehension. “Why are they using big words like “grandiose” and “obfuscate” grandpa?” Pat came the answer, “So that you can improve your English!”  

Grandpa was insistent, “Each word that you do not know, you should underline and look it up in the dictionary!” You wanted to file a mercy petition forthwith. “I have just finished my exams and come to Chennai. Can I be spared from more academic exercises at least now?”

“Improving English” had no clear-cut end-goal. You were stuck with a permanent “L board”. You stoutly protested, “How much more to improve? I am speaking English only, no?”

Reading newspapers in Chennai had other practical problems. The weather was hot and humid. The fan ran at top speed. Newspapers were mischievous fellows. Though you pinned them down with your knees, they were a free spirit and flapped about irritatingly. Some sections got separated from the body and loitered around the room. By the time you retrieved one section, the others had flown off!

Curiously, there were folks, who read the newspaper in stealth mode. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning, they tip-toed to the neighbor’s front-door and picked up the newspaper. CCTVs were non-existent and these trespasses went unrecorded. They read the newspaper for an entire hour, folded it carefully, and returned it to its rightful place.

And then, there were days when there was no newspaper. You opened the door and checked multiple times. The day could not be started. It was as though you hadn’t brushed your teeth. Apparently, the previous day was a national holiday. You felt terribly cheated. How can the newspaper take a holiday? Isn’t it an emergency service, more critical than the ambulance?

On days such as these, reading “yesterday’s newspaper” was out of question though several pages were unread. Yesterday’s newspaper was like dosa served from the fridge-cold and tasteless! Newspaper had to be today’s- nice and crispy, like a hot dosa straight out of the pan!