Machu Picchu and Myth-Tenses

 I have been unable to return to this space for a month. Of course, as they do, many things happened that I have wanted to write about. 

For instance, my visit to the Machu Picchu exhibit remains most memorable. The ubiquitous gold was impressive but fails to leave a lasting impression; I have seen a lot of it, especially dazzling from behind untouchable cases of museums and palaces. The Machu Picchu exhibit has left a lasting impression of the epic story of Ai Apaec, the Andean hero who travels all three realms, fighting animal monsters and gaining their powers, even as he loses parts of himself. I found the idea of the fertile dead fascinating. Finally, of course, the architecture is breathtakingly innovative, symmetrical, and beautiful. 

I wished for a refresher to Incan mythology, a course a colleague teaches his middle school class. 

Again, I wish for my dream job, being part of a research team that excavates the myths of the world to create present day movies for kids or TV serials. Being a part of a plot-writers' team working on Hindi serials is a close second, of course. 

However, since I see no path, crooked or otherwise that could lead me to these destinies, it might be better to stick to the present continuous and the present perfect continuous tenses. Obsessing over using the past perfect to fuel future modals of low probabilities seems a pointless exercise. 

Yes, patient reader. The most that I have done is figured out different ways of reviewing the 12 tenses of English. I also taught a few weeks of basic Word & Power Point, much to the delight of students and amusement of my staff. 

I used to teach 6 hours of Magic in my courses (a lot of it based on The Golden Bough, Jung, and many others, of course). I miss that like a wound. In the present tenses (all 4 of them), watching the glitter in a student's eyes as she changes the design of her power point presentation is the nearest I get to the magic I used to teach. The magic of spell-casting has been replaced with the rules of spelling. The Machu Picchu exhibit, with its myths of spirals, animal hierarchies, and the many connections between spiritual realities and the transient physical world humans inhabited reminded me of the magic of the land that defines Arthuriana, in which two realities occupy and fight over a single geography.

Experiencing the Andean myths was like being suddenly aware of the subdued text that shines through a palimpsest, insisting on being read. 

Has this exhibit changed something in me? I don't know. It has, however and definitely, added to my thirsts and yearnings. Now, I yearn for more stories from a different people. 

Again, I ask myself, what use are the stories? Maybe I can use them, somehow, to teach the perfect and perfect continuous past tenses and past modals? 

Then again, facing the continuous tense of myths is like facing the ocean. And of what use can an ocean be?  

 

Derma

I have protection on my mind. Last week, I visited a dialysis center and it has brought the extraordinary quality of my skin to the fore. The nurse repeatedly emphasized the importance of keeping all infection away since I would have an open way in the body cavity. I nodded sagely in solemn agreement.

Later that day, I accidentally touched a hot kettle and the cat accidentally scratched me. My hand felt the accidents and as is my wont, I ignored them and went about my work. Today, I noticed the new, pale, unbroken skin beneath the little burned patch and the red angry scratch scar had healed over.

This is absolutely and totally incredible and magical! My skin is so perfect a protector to the rest of me, that my sensitive inner organs need no armor, no pelt, no spikes. The skin is alive, with an intelligence of its own and knows its job, which it pursues relentlessly, determined, it seems, to protect the rest of me beyond the foreseeable future. Protean in its nature, it changes its hues, shades, textures, and size to keep up with my changing body. A skin-less opening can spell so much disaster that a separate intelligence, diligence, and deliberation are constantly needed, and even then, it is only a matter of time when "human error" will lead to serious infections.

Previously, I have confessed my amazement at the miracle the body is, one's first and last home, one's best friend if only one would let it, whose betrayal leaves one broken in unimaginable ways. It must have indeed been a benevolent star that oversaw the evolving of multi-cellular mammals. And incredible as all other organs are, the skin is the one that gives us a face, expresses feelings, gives alerts to the rest of the body, like an interactive suit from a futuristic world.

Today, I m feeling a bit under weather (either a burst cyst or a pulled muscle, I cannot quite tell) and my skin envelops and comforts me better than any quilt can. It provides me further comfort, the kind only a friends-and-family photo album can. Instead of haunting my facebook for memories, I examine my arm, my leg, my face: here is the scar I got when I fell down the steps of my grandfather's house; that faint streak of paler shade is the medal of honor I received when I fell off my bike for the first time; that birthmark on my shoulder is the same I share with my daughter; this one I inherited from my mother; the wrinkles at the edges of my eyes are very much like the ones my father had, my favorite part of his smile.

How incredible that the connections I am always looking for, which bind me to the world I have trotted away from, are always with me; all I need is a mirror that speaks the truth!

Fobbed Off

In the middle of somewhere in Southern England, there is a little town where tour buses stop not for long, only to give a tantalizing glimpse of the well-renowned charm of the English countryside. This town is sleepy and most shops are still closed at 10am. In fact, as though to underline the effect, there is a plaque hung on the wall of the only open shop, that claims that at this spot, nothing happened whatsoever. This town is supposed to be eminently forgettable, and of course, manages to be the opposite. I am thinking of that town today; that is exactly the kind of day I wanted this to be.


I have previously blogged about the joys of doing nothing, of having forgettable days, of the importance of the fallow season. Yesterday, I decided that I'd give myself this day off. I woke up earlier than usual and cleaned up the usual messes the old cat makes, anticipating a wonderfully nothing day. The other cats watched me cautiously all morning, wondering when I'd leave, since I seemed to be in a hurry. When I finally finished, I arranged myself on my usual spot on the couch; the kitten napping next to the spot jumped up and left the house, spooked at my strange break in routine.


When I sank down on my spot, I had decided against doing anything of import. However, somewhere in the middle of the day, as I checked mail and handled the recycling, I saw my car.


I knew the day would be lost in all manner of ways.


I was not wrong, more is the pity.


I have a new key fob that needs to be programmed to my car, and wikis and youtube videos had assured me it is easy work, no need to worry, none whatsoever. So I decided that since this job was not of much import (I have one working key), it would be allowed on a day like today. So armed with instructions, I clicked open the car and flicked my perfectly good nothing-day away.


The instructions wanted me to put in and remove my key fob a certain amount of times, within a certain number of seconds, and magically, the car would respond. It all felt like magic, like so much of science does: a certain action repeated in a particular configuration, like a ritual right out of The Golden Bough, and the magic would take.


Unfortunately, this spell was faulty, or I failed to follow the ritual properly, because the key fob stared back unresponsive at me and the car remained stubbornly silent and cold. Unbelieving, I tried running the car around a few blocks, thinking that perhaps she just needed to wake up a bit. Then, I let her rest for exactly a blink and a half, and began the ritual again.


Einstein defines insanity as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results; perhaps he fails to understand the importance of repeating a ritual during a process of magic. Be that as it may, I stopped after four hours, since the neighbors began glancing uncomfortably in my direction, as I switched on and off the car and opened and closed the door, as though caught in some kind of inexplicable rhythm. The man walking his dog from the land behind mine guided his canine friend away, and the woman from two doors across steered the children she was supervising towards the large trees, encouraging them to move away from my stationary car, going off and on as though possessed.


I am defeated: the little black plastic box that looks like a defunct controller of a toy car remains unconquered. In deference to my neighbors, I have slunk back onto my spot on the couch, but I cannot stop glaring at the fob and beyond it, at the car. Of course, I make sure that my glaring at the car is not too baleful: it would never do to have my most important friend be angry with me.


I think I shall refrain from checking mail or handling any recycling until I can recover from today. The cats are absolutely right: one must make an effort to resist the siren call of chores and sit still until the world spins away.


A mug of saffron tea, tempered with lemon and ginger helps immensely if a day is to be successfully fobbed off. 

Movie Magic

There is an explosion, a disturbance throbs through the air, and the chase is on! Yes, reader, I saw Dhoom 3 on the big screen and I cannot think of a better way of enjoying a holiday afternoon with my family. I have previously waxed exuberantly about the magic of Hindi movies, and I am reassured that that magic has not waned as I get older.

As a girl, I remember the excitement that flooded the pit of my stomach at the prospect of a film outing, especially if a large number of people were to join in. During vacations, the afternoon or morning shows were preferred, and during regular school days, we went for night shows. The entire day ended up revolving around these outings, even when we had other things going on, other treats. We had consultations about wardrobes, who might say what, who would sit next to whom, and conjectures about what possible plot lines could lead up to the songs we all knew by then, thanks to the Binaca Geet Mala on the radio. Buying snacks at the theatre was out of question; those snacks would be prohibitively, exorbitantly priced. But perhaps, we could go for bhel or other spicy-sour-irresistible street food after the film. Oh the possibilities of how the outing could turn out were endless! Who knows what adventures awaited us in the unpredictable, electrifying hustle-bustle of the city streets and cinema halls! We wanted to be prepared for it all!

As I grew up, I promised myself I'd bloom into this sophisticate, for whom a film outing would be no big deal, nothing to be excited about; such excitement was for silly young girls, who had no real "life" to speak of. I had plans for my "life," which would be scintillating and sparkling with all manner of unimaginably brilliant things. Hindi films would pale, I promised myself.

Last week, when I went for Dhoom 3, I realized that this was one of the many promises I'd broken to myself. I could not resist the excitement that flooded over, unexpectedly. Of course, since I am no longer the dashing thrill-seeker, I do pray that no unexpected adventure awaits me on the streets or cinema hall. But when the chase is on, I find myself on the edge of my seat; I love the surprises splashed on the large screen; I do not need the screen to be 3-D to get fully immersed in the movie.

There are a few selves I wear, which help me live most fully. The un-aging self in the cinema house is one of these selves. It is well-known that those who read, get to live a thousand alternate lives; I would contend that the same is true of those who love the movies!

On this last day of the year, try out an unfamiliar self; go to the cinema theatre! Find a motorcycle you'd never ride, navigate vectors you could never balance or control, swing behind the screen to discover an unforeseen, amazing reality; who knows what astonishing, electrifying adventure awaits a half-forgotten imagined self?