an itinerant observer

A previous essay ‘I feel, I write,therefore I am’ ended with the sentiment, ‘I feel, I read, therefore I am’ . Prior to drafting the new essay I had to decide on a book. The title of the new essay ‘ in and out of randomness’, although not all that random, was based on the book ‘ The Black Swan’ by N. N. Taleb. The book has nothing to do with the same name movie of Natalie Portman fame. A black swan event can be positive or negative, good or bad – it is deemed highly improbable, yet it causes massive consequences. The book is a fascinating, history-heavy account of how unpredictable today’s world is and how utterly random events are. Taleb writes more from a broad world historical perspective, but I wonder if a similar argument could be applied to one’s own life events…those that one considers to be monumental or life altering? In retrospect, we tend to tell ourselves a story and things or events seem to have occurred linearly and the outcome for that event was predictable based o

“One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all And in the darkness bind them. In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie.” [The Lord of the Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien] My fantastical imagination kicked in, all over again, when I bought a plaque for my garden. It said, “Not all who wander are lost”. If you l ooked closely at the small print you realized that this was a quote by J.R.R. Tolkien. For the ‘Tolkienians’ out there, I needn’t expand on the greatness of the epic ‘The Lord of the Rings’ and ‘The Hobbit’ . I read those, for the first time, when I was in 8th grade. If I were to tell you the year I would be (carbon) dating myself. My father’s old tattered copy of ‘The Hobbit’ triggered it all. Needless to say I became a lifelong Tolkienian . With all due respect to the Trekkies out there, my Trekkie neurons had to create some harmonious living quarters with the Tolkienians . History repeats itself. Not surprisingly Rayaan, my son

It started again last week. Noori excitedly came home with a huge card stuffed in her bag. She shoved it into my hands, gave me a hug, planted a kiss on my nose, and asked, “ Baba , will you be my Valentine?”   I could’ve said yes, no, or I don’t know. Several options. But, how does one really answer that question? I could’ve asked her what that meant to her. First impulse was that she was giving in to her kindergarten peer pressure and that had led to the ‘inquisition’. My mind generated alternative scenarios as to what would happen if I were to ‘discuss’ this more with her. Based on my past performances of forgetting love demonstration situations (birthdays, anniversaries, and the like), I have been taken to task frequently. I have been told that I don’t love or care enough. That is an absurd thought to me. You either love or care or you don’t: in my (simplistic, maybe?) mind there’s no gradation of love. Thus, doing more (or not) or saying more (or not) should not necessaril