Sugarcane Rather Than Limes

For all those times, you sit amidst one hundred people as the all-expense paid trip around the world for-two, is being raffled off and you think. “This will absolutely not be something I win.”  I never win.  Relax . . .  Today I sat amidst one hundred other professors who’d been forewarned that someone would be cold-called to present first thing this morning.  'Twas I who was picked.  The method had to do with birthdays.  “Who was born in April?”  Asked the professor.  My big day was still sixteen globe spins away but no one else admitted to a birthday any earlier.  “You sir.  You then will lead of the discussion.”

And for all those times one second-guesses on preparing for something, assuming, it won’t be me who’s in the hot seat, fortunately, I had done my work this time.  I prepared a deck the night before, just in case.  I was reasonably sure about what I wanted to say.  And indeed, taking the podium in this class room full of professors, all of whom like myself, were receiving a training, I was quite happy to finally be driving the vehicle and not sitting passively the passenger’s seat any longer.  And I picked up my virtual baton, tapped the lectern, “No.  No thank you.  I don’t need a mic,” made a few wisecracks and got on with it.

Later, the Nescafe chai-wallah had coffee.  I definitely needed coffee.  But the machines necessarily spat out a dixie-cup with two lumps of sugar.  Around the seventh cup or so I began to consider what fourteen lumps of sugar was doing to my poor heart.  The Indian food I’d been having for lunch and for dinner every day was tasty and of course veg, but it was heavy on the carbs.  Looking out over the city of Ghaziabad during the break I was pining for exercise. 

At lunch, I sat next to someone from Sri Lanka and learned all that I could in the short time the break afforded about his home country.  Another quiet fellow explained that he was a social scientist the university where we were hosted.  Last night there had been riots by the Dalit people across the country.  I inquired and he patiently explained to me that they were reacting to a mandate from the judiciary, which had just ruled that for a slanderous comment against a Dalit person to be considered an offence there had to be a witness.  It needed to have been made in public. Considering this minefield as an outsider it certainly sounded reasonable. I felt a bit like the times I’ve had to explain the second amendment to foreigners who press as to why something as simple as gun control isn’t otherwise in place. 

The Delhi air is affecting me.  Perhaps in a way that is familiar as a long time Beijinger.  I consider what it would be like to live in this distinct political and civilizational capital. I’d love the intellectual adventure.  But this class is now dragging on too long.  It was more fun when I was talking.  The desert coffees aren't making any difference.  I ask a new friend I’ve made sitting behind me, how to say: “We’ve squeezed the lime dry” in Hindi.  He laughs: “sugarcane rather than limes” and writes down a phrase suggesting how to say we’d pressed all the juice out of the sugar cane.  Yes.  This class has become dry and I don’t want any more sugar.  I practice the Hindi phrase a few times.  I’ve perhaps the brain power to take on a new civilizational challenge but it’s a lot to ask of my lungs were I to start all over again three spaces back on the Industrial Revolution gameboard.

Tuesday, 04/03/18