Tuesday, January 23, 2024

all the things

Wow. What a day. 

Freezing rain all day, so I moved my classes online and then was committed to sitting with my laptop all day.

I also got into it with the very pro-Hindu nationalist people on my WhatsApp. Hope springs eternal in a teacher's breast I guess. If even one of them stops to reconsider their exclusionary stance, that would be helpful. But I can't do this every day--it's exhausting and draining and makes me question what kind of world I'm living in.

Then Big A woke up grumpy and I pushed back (I mean, he's not a toddler!) and then we fought on text for a bit. Then he "hearted" something I had said in snark and then I felt bad and then the fight was over. Just like that.

My car has been in the repair shop since Monday and they don't know how to fix it--they're waiting on input from the tech team. I was so alarmed by this, that I texted "Is my Bluey [what I call my car] OK?!? 😭" to the family chat... except I sent it to the repair shop by accident... and they texted back "We should be hearing something today. Bluey has a bit of a boo-boo." And I laugh-cried in embarrassment. 

Motaz Azaiza the passionate Gazan journalist has evacuated Gaza. He did such great work, and I'm glad he's safe, and so humbled that he's only 24!

So many of my U.S. friends texted me in a panic about Trump winning the NH primary... but I don't know what to tell them. Is the option really "Genocide Joe?" The lesser of two evils just seems more like the other evil day by day. 

And finally: another day of back pain. Whomp-whomp.

Pic: An icy Red Cedar through the railing on the Sparty (not official name, I think) bridge. From my Monday walk. 

Monday, January 22, 2024

"go not to the temple"

I'm feeling frustrated about the huge celebrations in India and worldwide for the temple Hindu fundamentalists have built over the mosque they destroyed (and the blood of the people they've killed). 

My Twitter and FB feeds are mostly progressive articles and quips, but my WhatsApp (elementary school pals) is chockful of people sharing pictures and claiming they're just celebrating and that it's not at all political. How could anything that caused the deaths of over 2000 innocent people and has led to the current wave of intense and ignorant Hindu fundamentalism be unpolitical? All these (high-caste) Hindu women posting random and adulatory details of the temple! I wonder if our non-Hindu classmates--the Sikh, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Parsi, Periyarist Dalit kids--have already left or are just staying silent. 

On the cousins' chat, my cousin very helpfully posted a picture of themselves drinking out of a mug labeled "liberal tears." I was going to say something cutting, but this is a troll move and I'm not responding--anything else would be a reward for them. 

Pic: Tagore and "Go Not To the Temple." Friends have been posting a lot of Tagore, and while this is not his best work, I've been resharing it. It would be easy to ignore me, but it's a bit harder to ignore the Nobel-winning author of the Indian national anthem. 

Sunday, January 21, 2024

journeys

Nu starts a new day of term tomorrow.

At is in D.C. giving a talk to an organizing group who sprang for air tickets, hotel, and honorarium. So cool. 

Big A has been on the volunteer list for Gaza for weeks, but there has been no movement, because the organization cannot guarantee safety for its volunteers. This is the first time I've been okay with him going to a conflict zone. Twenty years ago, when he wanted to volunteer for Iraq (partly because it would forgive his med school debt), I vetoed it. I was even wary when he volunteered for COVID relief in NYC in early 2020 when things were baaaaad. But I feel like this is no longer even a choice. It's not going to get better until everyone who can help, helps.  

In the meantime, I'm so grateful a colleague is willing to travel with the honorary students to their presentation in St. Louis. Because Scout fell sick while I was at the event last year, convention hotel rooms now give me anticipatory anxiety and dread. 

Pic: The holly bush outside has been frozen for weeks now, and is now pretty in a different way.

Saturday, January 20, 2024

winter afternoon

the book forgotten in my hands
this blood rush in my wrists 
leaves of light and insight 
quickly extinguished 

by my impatience for happiness
the dear, vulgar excitements--
where I embrace your 
suspended grace 

expecting your face will soften
when I say my wild gladness 
doesn't know where to end--
has only learned to bloom 
_____________
Pic: From this afternoon's walk with Big A. The Red Cedar is frozen upstream, but here by the rapids, there were crowds of mallards with their emerald plumage and ridiculous orange feet. 

Friday, January 19, 2024

infinitesimal

falling  where I  stand
fireworks and splinters 
of every moment's joy 
waving back like seas.
Every time  I  wonder--
if  this  is the  last time

Every time I remember--
it could be the last time 
I keep  up  conversations
with my body, its  borders 
while stars fall into my lap,
songs dissolve into laughter.

Pic: One of Max's many cuddly contortions with Big A.

Thursday, January 18, 2024

Three on Thursday: What I Wore

Me: Walking down the hall...

Student: OMG, Dr. M! I LOVE YOUR OUTFIT!

Me: (grinning) Calm down, E, this isn't a belt--it's because I hurt my back.

What I wore: Ugly back brace.

*

Me: Looking all around my office, and then in a stroke of sheer genius patting the top of head... (nope), and then defeatedly asking student--"L, can you see my glasses anywhere?"

Student: (calmly) They're ON your face.

What I wore: Reading glasses.

*

Me: Chuckling to myself because there's a sign in the faculty break room that says, "Your mom doesn't work here! Do your own dishes." And At had rightly remarked that their mom DID work there and righteously asked why "mom" and not "parent?" And then I realized that despite all that, At had left some unwashed silverware by the side of the sink.

What I wore: A smirk. You know what they say about socialists and sinks.

Wednesday, January 17, 2024

buried in an obituary

            with MMN
keep your grip tight, I'm afraid 
of slipping away from life
a spectator, a specter

            It's because the days followed 
            us everywhere we went
            Right? Is that why?

I reach into my breast pocket
for a snack and I pull out 
a rib, a nipple, a heart

          I'll decorate this door on both 
          sides--you won't even know 
          if we're coming or going
______________________

Pic: Blue skies and a slight improvement on my back today. I'm a bit giddy with relief. 

anticipatory story

my mother is old, my father older the hopes in my heart older too  I will them to come back daily the way every day shows the way every day ...