Airtight

A few months ago, I got hooked to watching air crash investigation videos on YouTube. Almost an hour-long each, these are fascinating videos recreated of airplane crashes, explaining what went wrong. It isn't a morbid fantasy, I am not into the emotional or social or economic aspect of a disaster of this magnitude. I am just fascinated by the science and technology of flying. I want to know how airplanes remain suspended in air, and what all could possibly go wrong. I have watched so many videos that I can theoretically fly planes now. Or write a book about flying planes. Cockpit voice recorder. Flight data recorder. Holding pattern. Pitot tubes. Lift. Stalling. The three components of an autopilot. TCAS. I know it all.

An Ethiopian airplane was hijacked and had to crash-land in the sea. A Helios flight had a sudden lack of oxygen due to which everyone went in a coma and the plane crashed after eventually running out of fuel. The Air France crash of 2008 when there were false pitot tube readings due to cold weather, and the pilots intuitively made nose-up inputs rather than puling the nose down, which led to a sea crash. The flight that crashed in the swamps of Everglades, and how it led to infections and gangrenes. A mid-air collision at right angle between a passenger and a cargo plane because one of the pilots was listening to the air traffic controller, and the other one to the airplane alerts, causing them both to change altitude simultaneously.

As a result, I am petrified of flying now. My heart just wouldn't calm down when I am in air. My fear has reached crazy proportions, because usually seated by the window side, I keep looking outside for signs of disaster. I try to distract myself with food, pointless movies, or a Mills & Boon kept handy with the interesting pages dog-eared. But neither good food, nor reading about sex can keep me distracted for long, and I go back to gluing my nose to the freezing double-pane windows, watching out for imminent signs of disaster.

The other day, they made us deplane after boarding, causing a 3 hour delay. One of the engines was giving funny test readings, and although the other engines were fine, the airline did not want to risk anything. While all the passengers cursed about the inconvenience of getting on and off and then on another plane, children shrieking and pillows flying and all, I was perhaps the only one who did a mental balle-balle, thanking God that the airplane did not take off. I was more than happy to wait for 3 hours to be able to get home safely. People tell me that the chances of dying in a road accident is far more than dying in a plane crash. I don't know what is it that bothers me about flying, that does not have the same effect on me about driving.

I will be flying in a few days, and it is needless to say that I have been hyperventilating and getting sleepless nights. It does not help much that I am also re-reading a great book by Mary Roach called Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. I realize that as I am ageing, I am turning out to be a pretty weird and eccentric person. In a few decades, I will turn out to be one of those irritable grannies like Maxine.

sunshine.

Goodbye Woes

Saying goodbye to old friends was never easy. After having shared an exceptionally great (almost) three years with my camera, I bought an upgraded model this Christmas. For the longest time, I was undecided about whether I should do it or not. You see, I realized the fun of photography after I purchased my first D SLR in 2009. I started going places, and my camera always went with me. Be it road trips, parties, outdoor events, or hikes, my camera always accompanied me. I sometimes used it to get through boring events when I would shy away from conversations in the name of taking pictures. I was so proud of it, and so proud of all the pictures I took using it. But sometimes, knowing more is harmful. As I started to read up more about photography, I realized that my camera can only take me so far. I realized I had (almost) learned everything that I could learn using this camera. It was perhaps the right time to graduate to the next level.

I felt my new camera would make me ecstatic, especially after all the money I spent on it. I am not so sure about it. I like it alright, but I feel guilty as hell. I feel guilty that I decided to part with my old camera. The previous two cameras I had (which were not D SLRs by the way), I gave it away to my father. So I never really felt bad about them, knowing they are still in the family. Now, I no longer require my old D SLR camera. I should sell it, and I tried spreading the word. But something in me felt so sad and guilty when I did that. Perhaps this was attachment, and the result of spending every significant moment of my life for the past three years with my camera. I have lost count of the number of pictures I have taken, of the numerous occasions I have witnessed with my camera. I have often ventured out on my own, for hikes or for long drives, just with my camera. I realized that I could close my eyes and use my camera, I am so used to it by now. Somewhere down the line, a typical human emotion like fondness, usually reserved for animate beings, got transferred into an inanimate object. An inanimate object I learned to call my own, and shared three years of my life with.

I have given myself some time. If by the end of it I still have a sad feeling about it, I will perhaps hold on to my camera. Not a very wise decision perhaps, but a little bit of irrational emotion, especially an emotion like attachment, never hurt anyone.

sunshine

On A Musical Note

I have been experimenting with my time, doing the things I have wanted to but never did so far. Yesterday I started my classical vocal weekly lessons. A friend of mine who gives music lessons agreed to teach me. It has been one of the better things I have done for myself in a long time.

The sight of the harmonium opened floodgates of memories from childhood. My (late) grandfather (dadu) was a classical singer and used to riyaaz (practice) every evening. Ma insisted I learn from him, but even as a 6 year old, I used to insist that dadu teach me Bollywood songs and not classical music. I was just a naughty kid, avoiding the chore of sitting quietly and singing. Dadu had said listening is half learning, so what if I did not sing with him. Whenever I was ready for music, I would come back to it.

My teacher told me the same thing yesterday, and insisted I take one class and then just sit and listen for another higher level class. Because listening was half learning.

When dadu passed away, the riyaaz stopped and the harmonium was put away. However years later, ma started learning classical music, and the riyaaz culture started again.

The 2 hours of riyaaz yesterday transported me to a different world. It gave me goose bumps, reminding me of all those childhood evening and my dadu. Sure my rusty voice cracked at the lower notes and I had a difficult time singing and holding on to my breath at the same time. I think I croaked like a frog at times, especially since I can sing higher notes but not lower notes. But the whole atmosphere, the music of the harmonium, the sa-re-ga-ma, the aaroh and the avaroh was amazing. Once again, I developed a deep sense of respect for the singers. I have sung hindi movie songs in gatherings, but classical singing is of a totally different level. Like ma said, if the classical base is strong, sure you could sing any song of the world.

I wondered how the permutation and combination of the 7 notes (sa-re-ga-ma-pa-dha-ni) could produce so many songs and music notes. I was never told the difference between singing from the throat and singing from the belly before. And it was true, that one could choose to sing from the throat or from the belly. I regretted the fact that I have not used my time so far in the pursuit of music. Sure I like to sing and sing in tune, but I could have bettered myself with all the practice. Anyway, it’s never too late.

If there is something you have wanted to do for a while but have been postponing due to a demanding job, an inflexible spouse, or difficult in-laws, I’d strongly recommend you to go do it. Music is a gift I’ve received from both sides of my family. All I had to do was brush up my basics (and my froggy voice) a little bit, and I was up there singing and enjoying every bit of it. If there is a gift you have but haven’t developed it, you should go do it. Unlike people who say life is short and you’d die without doing things you wanted to, I say life is so long that you’d actually live to regret the things you wanted to do but didn’t do.

sunshine

In Black and White

I met this friend of mine recently, telling her how bored I felt at times, to which she said,

“With the time you have these days, why don’t you write a book”?

I laughed it off as usual, thinking she was kidding. Writing a few blogs once in a while is fine, but a book? Later that night, I got thinking about it. What if I could really use my time writing a book? Would that work? What would I write about?

For years, I believed that I would grow up to be a writer of romantic fiction. I had grown up reading so many Mills n Boon (still do actually once in a while) that I knew the moment I held the pen, words would keep flowing. I thought I could write the same old stuff I read about a tall, well-built Italian dude falling in love with a plain Jane spinster material where sparks would fly and there would be undeniable chemistry. A few years ago, I grew out of the ambition of being a romantic fiction writer.

Coming back to the point, what would I write about if I wrote a book? I could write an autobiography, but then I don’t think I have lived half my life. So if I was planning to write something in the next few years, an autobiography would have to wait.

Instead, I could write about my childhood, since I have lived it all. Like the novel “First darling of the morning”.

I could write about the cultural divide between 2 different countries. Surely living in India and then the US will provide me enough substance. Like the “Namesake”.

I could write about all my travel experiences, given that I travel a lot. Like the novel “The ghost of Che” I have been trying to read for a while.

I could write about the field of public health I specialize in, and everything I have learnt till now. Like Robin Cook concocts fiction in the medical field, I am sure I could concoct something.

I could write a guide book to taking the GRE and the TOEFL.

I could write a stress management book to deal with unemployment and the visa hassles associated with it.

I could write about my teaching experiences from India.

I could write about the idiosyncrasy of the western world and the eastern world.

I could write about the struggles of everyday life, of learning how to cook and drive. Of learning strange accents and dealing with strange people.

Surely ideas are flowing in, now that I think about it.

sunshine

Write Aid

The summer quarter being the least demanding one at school, people do all sorts of things here. Some pack their bags and go home, while some take a break and tour around the world. Some take on internships in California and treble their income while some choose to chill out and do nothing at all. I wish I had the luxury to do at least one of these, but as usual I have been working my ass off, finishing off my coursework and catering to the whims and fancy of my adviser and yada yada yada. So I decided that I would do one little thing for myself in the summer, something I really like to do, kind of a self-treat for my hard work. I started to browse through the websites to see what was happening around me, and that was when I found the perfect treat for myself.

I joined a fiction writing class. It wasn’t that I had ample time or my wallet was overflowing with cash. But I thought the happiness I’d get by joining this class I wouldn’t find the same happiness keeping 100 dollars in my bag and opening the bag and finding the money there every day. So for the last one month, I go to these classes, set a time frame when I will not think about work and just learn what I really like to learn. I have borrowed a lot of fiction writing books from the library, and though I know I don’t have enough time to finish off all the books this summer, the joy of possessing them far outweighs the joy of reading through all of them. I am in a small group that meets somewhat infrequently to share our stories. And though I barely have things to share most of the time, I like to sit with them or think about their ideas later on. With my schedule, blogging is the only writing time I can offer myself right now. But the course has still been worthwhile, just because I had wanted to do this for a while now, and more importantly, there are no judgmental remarks or predetermined pressure to perform. Sometimes with the stressful life and all that, we all need to take a break and spend some time doing things on our own, things we love. And now that I look back, despite the work load and everything, I think I’ve had a nicer summer.

sunshine

White Space

I gifted myself a white board on my birthday- a pristine white space measuring 4 feet by 3 feet. I even threw in five marker pens of different colors and an eraser. And I have never been happier. For ever since, I have been scribbling and scribbling. Now, I have someplace to scribble my thoughts, my anguish, my dreams, my little achievements, and my confusions, make lists- grocery lists, hate lists, to-do lists, lists of blogs to write, movies to watch, even a list of my dreams. It is amazing how simple things look when you put them down in writing. Every day after I am back from work, I am all enthused, scribbling whatever comes to my mind. It is therapeutic. It helps me in cogent thinking. It brings me innate happiness. And all this at a very affordable price. I am glad that after two damaged shipments from an online shopping website, all returned, I finally found more than what I wanted in one of the offices of downtown. And the writer in me is scribbling ever since. I just wish a little bit of patience and wait gave me everything that I wished for thus.

It is amazing how little things in life bring you such great joy. Even a little rectangle of white space that symbolizes my personal space, creativity, and freedom of thoughts.

sunshine

Home Truths

Of the many obsessions I am blessed with, this is one of them. I know, the word shopping is usually associated with women, and as a decently earning woman of the capitalistic society, one would expect me to be involved in frequent shopping sprees. But I associate shopping for dresses, jewelry, perfumes, etc. with oodles of indecision and discomfort, not quite interested in spending all the time and energy deciding what to buy, and then what to buy next that goes with the first one, and so on. Seems weird, but I once went shopping with 3 other men, and when we were done, all 3 emerged with packets and bags in both hands while all I carried was a soda can in my hand. In fact mornings are bad times for me because I might as well sleep the few minutes I spend deciding on what to wear for the day. Frankly I could wear my pair of jeans and a tee shirt for days, but then the questioning glances I get are disconcerting, to say the least. Waiting for the bus, I have envied doctors who can prance around in their scrubs and not worry about what they were wearing underneath. I am one of those people who support the concept of uniforms, just because it requires too much thought and effort to be un-uniform, to decide what to wear each day, and then decide on the accessories, the shoes, the bags, the nail polish, and the ear rings that go with it. But then again, I digress here.

I am into a different kind of shopping, a kind that barely requires any money. I am addicted to this site craigslist.org to the extent that I spent quite some time everyday browsing through stuff there. My obsession in particular lies in looking for houses and apartments, although I am very well settled in my current coordinates and do not wish to subject myself to the hassles of changing houses unless I am moving out of the city. So what? It is so much fun looking at the different houses on rent, the locations they are in, their rent, the lighting, the doors and windows, the décor. I derive an immense amount of vicarious pleasure going through the house ads, wishing I lived by the lake or lived in that house overlooking downtown. Well wishers have often commented on the lunacy of the situation. But then, if people can spend hours in a shop looking for a particular shade of orange they are rarely going to wear, what is the big deal about seeing houses I won’t live in? I think this habit stems back from childhood when those expensive, glossy paged Inside Outside magazines dad brought home featured the homes of the affluent. While owning and maintaining a home like that needed time, money, taste, and a lot of other things, sifting through them required almost nothing. And now that is what I do, sift through these homes in the city just for kicks. One good thing about this is that I have a fairly good idea about the cost of renting apartments- studios, one or multi bedrooms, and am aware of the nuances that will make you pay extra- an apartment close to the freeway, an apartment overlooking the bay, and stuff like that. I cannot comfortably get into discussions with people regarding the people running for presidential candidacy, but I can confidently act as a home finding consultant in reasonably any part of the city.

Weird habit, I know, but a pleasurable 30 minutes for me everyday nonetheless.

sunshine