A plumber visited my house yesterday because people on the lower floor complained about some leakage. He was checking if I had used the shower earlier in the day when the "burst of water" was noticed. I said no, I hadn't showered yet so it couldn't be my flat. He tinkered around for a bit and then suggests, maybe someone else showered? I had to put him right again. No, I live on my own, nobody used the shower in this house today. Then he says, half-jokingly, no secret lover then? I was gobsmacked and mortified and embarrassed all in one. I mean, no one who knows me would make such a comment and then to have an absolute stranger saying something so forward... I was at a loss. A few moments later, he asks me where I am from. I say India. He saw in the news that India has surpassed China with most number of people. I had no idea. I said it might be because of China’s long running one-child policy. If x moves at a rate of 1 and y at rate of 3-4, y is bound to catch up, no? He wasn't expecting a logical response I suppose. But I don't do small talk. Everything feeds into my logical and analytical brain as a problem to be resolved or broken apart... hehe...

I am not sure why this exchange tickled me. When I interact with everyday type of folks, I find it a bit refreshing. It offers a window into ordinary ways of being, speaking, relating, so on which I feel more and more distant from in academia. In ordinary interaction, people don't regulate their thoughts as much or worry about decorum or saying the right thing. It's interesting in its own way.

There is a saying in the Hindi language, "Bandar ke haath mein ustara". Roughly translates to "a razor (blade) in the hands of a monkey". It means something like ‘to give a risky job to a novice’ but I also take it to mean ‘a powerful tool in the hands of one who doesn't know its use or who will not use it judiciously’. Someone recently asked me why I don't use a particular power more—as I could use it arbitrarily and without anyone questioning me. That's when I was reminded of this saying. That the quality of a human—as opposed to a monkey—lies in using our discretion, capacities, and powers with ethical intent. While a monkey might enjoy wielding the razor willy-nilly with no regard to whom it hurts, a human shouldn't. But clearly there are many humans who do... more's the pity!

As a writer, I have a terrible fear of the “blank page”. Sometimes I wonder what leads me to constantly confront this fear! If someone were to ask me if I love writing, I wouldn’t know how to give a straightforward answer. It seems more like I am compelled to write rather than “love” it because in a very real sense, I fear I cannot write, fear I am not good enough at it, fear I am an impostor, etc and so on. It might be more appropriate to say that I love being “done writing” to survey what I have written and then I might begin to love it. But the start of the process is an infinitely excruciating one and I would do anything to put off looking at that blank page… staring at me, mocking me :)

The following extract spoke to me…

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If one wants to be active, one mustn’t be afraid to do something wrong sometimes, not afraid to lapse into some mistakes. To be good — many people think that they’ll achieve it by doing no harm — and that’s a lie… That leads to stagnation, to mediocrity. Just slap something on it when you see a blank canvas staring at you with a sort of imbecility.

You don’t know how paralyzing it is, that stare from a blank canvas that says to the painter you can’t do anything. The canvas has an idiotic stare, and mesmerizes some painters so that they turn into idiots themselves.

Many painters are afraid of the blank canvas, but the blank canvas IS AFRAID of the truly passionate painter who dares — and who has once broken the spell of “you can’t.”

Life itself likewise always turns towards one an infinitely meaningless, discouraging, dispiriting blank side on which there is nothing, any more than on a blank canvas.

But however meaningless and vain, however dead life appears, the man of faith, of energy, of warmth, and who knows something, doesn’t let himself be fobbed off like that. He steps in and does something, and hangs on to that, in short, breaks, “violates”…

~ Van Gogh in a letter to Theo, October 2, 1884