Monday, August 31, 2009

food, family and the freshman

One evening, during my freshman year of college, I decided to eat alone at an empty table in the corner of the dining hall. Some of my friends, sitting at a nearby table, looked at me curiously, trying to determine, I suspect, whether I was perhaps angry or upset about something. I had no books, no homework, and really nothing to make myself look busy. After a few minutes, a friend approached me:

Nitin, what’s the matter? Why are you sitting all alone?

Then another—

Is everything okay? Are you upset about something?

The truth is nothing was the matter. I thought it would be an interesting personal experiment to just focus on my food for a meal. I wanted to see what choosing to eat alone felt like. Turns out I hated it. I still find it very difficult to eat alone, although I’ve made some strides recently.

When I was growing up, eating dinner together as a family was a part of our daily routine. I consider myself very fortunate to have been raised by a mother who cooked fantastic food almost daily, and by a father who was active and present in a way that few others can claim. As a result, the five of us ate together most days between 5:30 and 6:00. This was when, clichéd as it may sound, we would talk about our days, about things that were coming up in our lives, and sometimes about general issues of interest or concern. It was in this context that I was first introduced to meals.

When I went away to boarding school, I began to eat with tables full of friends. Here, obviously, the dynamic was very different from eating at home with my family. Mischievousness and a more playful, as we adjusted to ‘independence’ and plotted our next set of pranks. And perhaps a little more guarded—everybody trying quietly to portray the person they wanted to be. Still, I treasured these times, and had some truly memorable experiences. Through four years of college, as well, I participated in meal plans and ate in dining halls with my friends. I’ve formed some of my closest friendships in these settings, and have grown with my family this way as well. It is for these reasons of precedent, possibly, that the social aspects of meals are so inextricably linked to the gastronomical ones.

The first period of my life where I was regularly eating dinner alone was when I lived in London in 2007. I remember feeling to odd-- I would fidget, sometimes even getting up and walking around the apartment between bites. I’d play music on my stereo or listen to the radio. I’d read a book or a magazine; anything to distract myself from the isolating quiet. This drew into focus just how much wrapped up I was in the social aspects of mealtimes.

Recently, as well, I have found myself eating alone more frequently. One of the main reasons for this is that I’ve really come to enjoy cooking at home. Further, I’ve tried to think more actively about food, as I eat. In doing so, I’ve sought to give thanks and also to appreciate the sensory experience of eating.

Still, I’ve found it difficult. Anybody up for pancakes?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

"this must be what mechanics feel like"

In the (partial) spirit of Gaboworld, I am writing this post with no advance roadmap in mind. As a change of pace, there will likely be little to no thematic coherence, but I'm in a mood to ramble. Apologies to Gabo, but I will inevitably still self-censor as I write. Baby steps, I suppose, on the way to complete, unrestrained, stream of consciousness.

Over the past month or so, I've proven myself remarkably adept at taking things that were working just fine, and breaking them. In this week alone, I've broken my backpack (which, admittedly, had been terminal for some time), my headphones and my cell phone! This is frustrating, to say the least. My phone will occasionally receive calls, but all text messaging is completely gone, and I've been generally unable to place outgoing calls. In a way, the breakdown has been sort of liberating-- its nice to be forcefully disconnected for a time. I've been thinking about finally succumbing and getting myself an iPhone (because they're oh-so-pretty), but the recent quiet has me rethinking this move.


Today, as I engaged in conversation with colleagues at work, I fidgeted with a trinket I’ve had for a year. The device (pictured above) is much like a sand timer, only it’s filled, instead, with light sweet crude oil. Needless to say, I’ve spent a substantial amount of time watching the sludge drop slowly from the upper to the lower chamber. Today, unfortunately, I continued my recent trend of breaking things. I felt the weight in my hand grow lighter, and I looked towards the floor, only to see that the top had come off of my trinket, and black Texas oil was sliding over my shirt, chair, pants and shoes on its way to the ground. Awkwardly, I immediately shouted out “Oh my god, I got light sweet crude all over me!” My two coworkers laughed at me. Meanwhile, I took delivery of light sweet crude all over my pants. My clothes, my chair, and the carpet in my office are all damaged, perhaps irreparably.

The spill got me thinking about the disconnect between the functional and physical realities of my professional life. On a daily basis, I enter transactions to buy and sell many thousands of barrels of crude oil. Yet, when confronted with scarcely a litre of the substance, I was completely caught off guard, with no idea quite what to do. In an information-driven economy, this disconnect is increasingly prevalent and normal. Still, it is jarring to be made so acutely aware that I'm wholly unfamiliar with a substance that I transact in on a daily basis.

It occurs to me that my ability and competence with the manifest is quite limited. A few weeks ago, a neighbour helped me take the lock out of my mailbox, as I'd lost my keys. To date, my mailbox remains without a lock, though I've purchased a new one! Why? I haven't a clue how to install the lock. A close friend and I have recently been talking about 'the trades' and the value of skilled physical labour. Matthew Crawford, in
Shop as Soulcraft: An Inquiry Into The Value of Work, examines this very topic. There is honour, and arguably, there are metaphysical benefits to be gained, from crafting things with one's hands. I've been meaning to pick this book up, and my recent experiences with my lock. backpack, and crude oil just may prove to be the final incentive I need. In any case, I have tremendous respect for craftsmen and tradesmen, and recent episodes only serve to heighten this sentiment.


So I've broken some things, and have been forced to think critically as a result. Perhaps, now that all is said and done, I might just find a way to put these things back together.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

doubt

Academically and professionally, I have been taught to understand the world as fundamentally stochastic. People often underestimate the amount of randomness that drives nearly every human process, be it physical or social. We make decisions under uncertainty every day, and this is something that most people are intuitively comfortable with. At times, we can convince ourselves that some situation is effectively deterministic, by ignoring a small probability to the contrary. Perhaps most confounding: in situations where our sample consists of only a single observation of the event in question, who is to say?

I have been thinking recently about the feuding cousins called doubt and faith. Doubt seems a natural consequence of an uncertain world, and I've found faith to be an elusive way to deny probabilistic realities. The truth is, for all my textbook exhortations, I often struggle to live under uncertainty. To make decisions and take steps that, given what I know, should be obvious. I've found it difficult to overcome doubt. This in spite of a firm intellectual understanding that one never has perfect information with which to move forward. Enter faith. I bristled the other day when somebody advised me about a problem I'd been having, to "have faith and it will turn out fine in the end." What gives strength to this kind of a phrase, and on what authority can this really ease my worries? We all know that things don't always turn out fine in the end. Some situations go well, and others go poorly. I can't reasonably take solace here.

Yet this is hardly an argument for paralysis in the face of doubt and uncertainty. Rather, the very sense of reason that causes me to reject the 'faith formulation,' should itself instruct against any tendency to seize up. Ultimately, we have to live and confront challenges with the understanding that while uncertainty and doubt will persist, the best we can do is to act in accordance with the best information we have. Sometimes this means using reason and common sense to mount a violent rejection of one's own irrational tendencies. At other times, quieting the voices that amplify deep-seated fears that threaten to debilitate. We have to move on.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

baby fever


"It's not something that I like to tell people, but yeah, I definitely want babies."

Growing up, I usually had cousins or cousins' children who were still babies, and I have fond memories of playing with them. I've always loved babies. A few weeks ago, a male friend spoke the opening quote to me in confidence. It's a funny feeling, reaching an age where babies suddenly become a realistic possibility. Now, suddenly, uttering the phrase 'I love babies' feels like a supercharged game of chicken against fate. The plausibility of the scenario draws the inevitable consequences into focus. In recent years, against the pressures implied by the opening quote, I've becoming increasingly open about my own sense of baby fever. Where does this impulse come from, and why are so many men so uncomfortable admitting to it?

I will comfortably assert that the impulse does not come from an intellectual place. We understand the consequences. Having a baby is (or should be) the single biggest shift in most peoples' lives. Your carefree life of thinking only of yourself is over. This is an incredibly dramatic shift in perspective for people. A few weeks ago, a friend described our car accident while on a road trip to Rhode Island as "the accidental baby of our trip." His point was that nothing was the same after the accident, and an air of seriousness had fallen upon the trip. His wit was funny, but nonetheless, it sheds some light on the way that many young people think about babies. The consequences are a focal point, and we are acutely aware of them.

In spite of all this, in spite of occasionally saying things like "once you have a baby, it's game over," I want a baby. Badly. Do I want the consequences? On the surface, no, but I am willing to take it all for a baby. This is an irrational sort of position to take, and seems to diminish the seriousness of having a baby. Maybe I just find babies cute and fun. But then, cats, dogs and turtles are cute and fun, and require notably less than a baby in terms of committment and responsibility. If I can hardly keep my own life together and running smoothly, what business do I have thinking about a baby? On the other hand, maybe the changes that come with having a baby are so big that it's not really possible to grapple with them until they actually happen. Does anybody ever 'want' the things that come with having a baby independently? Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean they won't be well worth it.

Someone close to me once suggested that 'baby fever', both for me and generally, is driven by a natural biological urge to procreate. I don't think this is the case, but my inability to explain it any other way makes me wonder. If it is true, however, that baby fever has something to do with masculine identity, it seems odd that so many men feel the need to be secretive about it. In any case, baby fever is alive and well, and hopefully a good thing in the end.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

harry patch (in memory of)

radiohead have released a new song called 'harry patch (in memory of).' it's a beautiful piece with moving lyrics, and i recommend you give it a listen. you can read about it and check out lyrics in the august 5 entry at radiohead.com. here is the link to purchase the song. enjoy--