2. The Son of the Soil

The hard, strenuous life is not for me

And Ive always shunned all labour and toil

That being as it may be

I still wish I was a son of the soil.

As a toddler he played in the puddles

On the track that led to my farm

As I swerved my car to avoid him

He smiled at me without alarm.

Ive seen him walking to school

The wind blowing rain in his face

He's barefoot with a well ironed shirt

Completely at ease in his place.

I pass him by in my car

Insulated from the wind and the rain

and the dirt and germs and the people and pain

and my country and its lovely refrain.

Ive seen him standing at the tea stall

With his cutting chai in his hand

With chappals that have never seen a mall

He's at ease, he belongs to the land.

I pick my way through the garbage

Looking away from the beggars I pity

He strides by with a spring in his step

A villager at ease in my city.

Ive never seen envy in his eyes

and I see him every now and again

He knows he knows and hears what I dont

Our country and its lovely refrain.

I have much and seen many lands

An interesting life without toil

And every moment Im back in my country

I wish I was a son of the soil.

-Yours Truly.

1. The Master of Science

Much has happened since I last posted anything here. I finished my thesis, I left St. Andrews, I went to Belgium, I had a great time, I left Belgium and I came to India. Along the way I picked up my degree and became a certified 'Master of Science' while drifting as far away from being able to weave the various threads of my life into one harmonoius 'shimmering tapestry' as I have ever been. I - for once - feel reasonably competent at what I do while I have become more aware than ever of the utterly incomprehensible vastness of the abyss that remains beyond all knowledge.

Someone once told me that science is an ever expanding frontier of ignorance. At the Perimeter Institute this coming year I will be transported from one edge of that frontier of ignorance to another, from technology and engineering research to theories and speculations of the most fundamental nature - powerful, far removed and abstruse. In all this esoteric knowledge seeking and continent hopping I have conveniently ignored what I consider my fundamental duties - to have an income, a family and generally make my parent's lives more pleasant in ways more immediate and real than the abstract achievements of research and academia.

I would have loved to write about the absolutely brilliant time I had at the EMMP Summer School in Gent, the fantastic people I met, old friends, old haunts in a city I have come to love and the goodbyes, the firm handshakes and the promises to meet again. A beautiful place, good people and healthy emotion resting comfortably on a bedrock of learning and competence - i.e. all the things that make life worth living were present in generous quantities at that summer school but I can no longer write about any of it. I have spent barely 3 days in India and it has overwhelmed me. The delicate and pleasing emotions that are so natural in the genteel environs of Gent have been swept away by a violent and painfully enjoyable barrage of crowds, memories, relations, conventions, smells, foods, stories and lives.

One must follow one's dreams - that I cannot bring myself to doubt but where does the pursuit of knowledge fit in this mad milieu of noise, money, passion, tragedy and history ? Is this not the first fight I must fight ? To create a bubble of happiness and maintain it till my children take over the job ? Has my father not done this all his adult life, and done it brilliantly without a word, is this not where I still return for guidance and solace and comfort ? I give advice while doing precious little to lend a hand, should I not be helping to strenghten our lovely bubble, expanding it and decorating it, so that my family can rest secure, and my dad can walk without the weight of responsibility on his shoulders for the first time in 30 years ? Is this not my first duty ?

It is. And I have no clue how what I am doing is going to help me discharge it. Im running on faith and hope. India is a wonderful place - painfully, violently, enjoyable. Much more naked and up front than the west ever is. There is more passion and drama on any road in Mumbai than all the couples in all the squares of Paris. India is like a raging river, invitingly mad, cruel and sad, fey and boisterous, shiny and old, silly and wise, it is everything to everyone and I want to jump in and experience it again but I cant. Im in the river but I dont get wet, the water flows over and around me without touching me. I dont look, sound or feel like I can handle the torrents that flow through the veins of India and so I am spared and excluded.

Mumbai speaks to me no longer, it seems I can but watch from afar - I no longer see myself in the people on the roads, I see strangers and I wish I was them, with them, sharing their city, listening to their stories which form the story of the city and the country, my country. Master of Science with 'Great Distinction' is nothing. In my homeland, at home, I have not done my bit, my character hardly has a role while everyone waits for the main protagonist to step up and play his part.

Here, I am no one, I barely exist.

And thats all that matters.