Just Imagine

Of the weird things I have on my bucket list, one has always been being part of a protest. Filmy that I am, the vision of me marching and shouting slogans has always seemed immensely appealing. Maybe it’s the idea of being a part of something bigger than me, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. But it would definitely make for an interesting experience and a good story. Today, I sort of fulfilled that wish. Today, I marched for science.

Technically speaking, this wasn’t the first march I’ve attended. A couple of months ago, I braved the cold winter weather to participate in a small local march in support of Planned Parenthood and the women’s rights it stands for. It was a lot like a traditional protest with people standing out on the road waving signs. People in cars passing by, enthusiastically honking to show support or else pointedly staying silent. And then the actual march, led by a police car to clear the traffic, while we shout out catchy (hopefully) slogans, the tail end of the group often a beat or two out of sync with the front. Then comes the traditional group photo at the end of the march, words of encouragement and a plea for continued support by the organizers and then we disperse. It was a fun experience, with the quintessential satisfaction that comes with standing up for a cause that matters. But if you asked me what concrete goal was achieved by that march, in all honesty, I wouldn’t have an answer. 

It’s an issue that has been often debated in my house. If you choose, for a moment, to play the devil’s advocate, you can easily question the utility of such a one-off act. It’s not a pessimistic viewpoint, just realistic. You can shout out slogans for a full day. All the opposing party has to do is block their ears and ignore you and all the effort is wasted. If a person’s mind is made up then it’s not very likely that a few slogans, no matter how catchy, will change that; especially since they know that our view towards them is pitiful at best and antagonistic at worst. Maybe a few people who are undecided might hear us and change their mind, but that’s a slim chance. I know, this sounds super pessimistic. But changing the world is a tough job. Hell, changing the opinion of even one person is a tall order, then imagine what it would take to change the world! But if I truly think that marches are a hopeless endeavor, then why go today?

A few months ago, I waged a teeny tiny war with a stranger on facebook. A “facebook friend” of my colleague posted an anti-vaccine article on his wall and I decided to help set him straight. Of all the debates around science, vaccines are the one issue where the skepticism is almost entirely foundationless and the benefits are unquestionable. I went about the task determined to be polite, direct, concise and precise in my arguments. I wanted to debate in a way that would not seem like an attack but rather a calm rebuttal of the fallacies in his argument. We had a couple of back and forths, at the end of which, predictably, nothing was achieved. I failed to change his opinion. But somehow I still felt good about it. 

For once, I felt like I had done my duty as a scientist. I stood up to someone, to defend the facts. It didn’t change his mind, but his misinformation did not go unchallenged. My dissent officially marks his post and there’s some measure of satisfaction in that. And it’s not just strangers. Even in my own family, close family in fact, there are many with opinions which are not based on evidence and logic. For years, I have been supportive of the bad experiences that have informed these opinions. But I realize now that I am doing them a disservice by keeping what I know to be facts from them. Running away from a debate just because it takes effort and might be futile is not excusable. The goal may be to win, but a loss doesn’t lessen the value of the fight. Science and Facts are worth the fight.

Which is why today I marched for science. I know what some of you might say to this. Didn’t I just write a whole paragraph about marches being futile? To be completely honest, going in to it, all I expected was for it to be a fun personal experience. I spent an evening making posters with colleagues. It promised to be a good time with fellow scientists supporting a worthy cause.  But being there actually made me realize how much more it represented. 

March for Science, inspired by the women’s march in January, started out relatively small. But over the past couple of months, the idea spread across hundreds of cities in the US and across the globe to march in support of science to mark Earth Day. In Boston, where I attended, the march had appropriated the massive Boston Commons for the event and it was filled with thousands of men, women and children all carrying colorful and witty posters in support of the cause. My favorite part of the evening was just watching the people around me. There was something really magical in the atmosphere, something very powerful about so many people gathered to send out a positive message rather than shouting slogans against something or someone.

More than anything else, I was in love with the idea of the Kids zone. I think it was a brilliant idea by the leadership of the march. Organizations from across the city had set up stalls to engage children in activities. There were kids blowing beautiful smoke rings in the air, learning to inject medicine into teddy bears and small girls building structures using straws. Looking at all the excited, engaged faces took me back to a lecture I recently attended by a famous professor at Brown, who is deeply engaged in public outreach. He spoke of his own childhood; how as a kid there was no need for anyone to push him into science. The space race in the US and good science programming on TV, was more than enough to spark the imagination of his entire generation. Finding a way to light that spark for the current generation, would probably be much more effective than countless debates. And today at the march, I felt as though I could see that happening.

Be it on stage or in the activities around it, the march found a way to give voice to people of all ages, genders, abilities and ethnicities. The inclusivity and diversity in the event gave it the personal connection that so many other scientific events completely lack. I imagine news channels all over the world covering the event, showing examples of so many diverse people and cultures successfully represented in science. I imagine this image sticking with kids, giving some child somewhere the hope to dream big. I imagine those kids at the march, going home and torturing their parents by asking them endless questions and insisting on building bigger and better things with straws. I imagine scientists and educators looking at the crowd around them and realizing, maybe for the first time, the number of people they could positively impact if they choose to step out of the lab more often; how dire the need for their participation and help actually is. 

I probably sound silly, imagining away in a manner only John Lennon would appreciate. For all my talk, I don’t know if this will make me do more outreach in the long term. But it gave me hope. Hope, that even if we don’t change the administrative policy for science in the short-term, that we would have ignited the minds of the people today. Hope that events like this would give us a future generation that might learn from the mistakes we made. It might be foolish and optimistic, but for once I am content to indulge myself. After all, the best things in life come from the power of our imagination.

Confessions

This post was written 4 months ago. The fact that it's taken me this long to post it is a testament to my ever-increasing laziness. Anyway, for what it's worth, here goes!

I’m in a flight, surprisingly comfortable, since the seat next to me is empty and on my way to visit San Jose. This will be the 9^th city I’ll be seeing since I moved to the US approximately a year ago. I’m sitting here with a diary and pen in hand, trying to get my thoughts in order, wondering secretly whether my co-passengers are impressed by my very serious, writer-like thoughtful pose :P. Nonetheless, audience or no audience, I finally have the chance to crystallize a jumble of half-formed reflections ever since I started my meanderings in the U.S.

There’s no dearth of books and very learned people out there extolling the many virtues of travel; meeting new people, experiencing different cultures, being one with nature and all that good stuff! This past year has allowed me to affirm much of that first hand. I’ve felt amazingly at home and entranced by New York (the same feeling I get every time I go to Mumbai). I’ve been totally converted into a lifelong Broadway fan after watching my first show (Waitress was awesome!!) and the sheer powerhouse of talent that I witnessed in a mere 2 hours. I discovered for myself that Vegas casinos are overrated and definitely not for me, while still managing to enjoy the experiences it had to offer. Basking in the sunny warmth of Florida in December, moving open-mouthed through the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. (wish I could’ve seen this as a kid!!) and so many other beautiful memories. But most of all, I’ve been surprised at the things that I’ve discovered about myself as I move through these strange cities.

Most people might agree that I’ve done a respectable job of exploring this new country…while learning to manage all on my own. Despite my tendency to focus on my failures, I feel a sense pf pride at this achievement. It definitely wasn’t a seamless transition, but a reasonably successful one. But there are some things that I discovered about myself that weren’t particularly pleasant.

There is stuff that I sort of already knew. I suck as an explorer, rather as a lone explorer. Be it shopping or sight-seeing, lack of company takes 90% of the joy out of the experience. I do it more out of a sense of “should” rather than “want to”. Definitely better than being a couch potato, but I’m still a far way from reveling in my own company.

Encountering new people and cultures here have left me with the realization that, at least in my thoughts, I can be really superficial, shallow, prudish and sometimes even racist. I’ve encountered more obesity here than ever before and found myself being shocked; instinctively reaching for the stereotype of the lazy, fast-food guzzling American. Never mind that science is beginning to show how some people are just naturally prone to gaining weight; it might not necessarily be something they can control simply by diet and exercise. I’ve heard of friends and acquaintances getting hitched and my knee-jerk thought being one of surprise; surprise that they “managed to find someone who thinks they are attractive and loves them, despite their looks”. I always thought of myself as a kind person, someone who doesn’t judge people by their looks. Lord know I’m no beauty myself and I never expected to find love. Despite being proven wrong (luckily), I guess my shallow viewpoint has never truly changed. 

I’d never encountered an openly gay person in India. One day as I was walking down the road, I passed by a person dressed as a drag queen for the gay pride parade. The entire time, I was wondering what’s the “politically correct” thing to do. Should I smile? Should I ignore him like I would any other stranger on the street? Definitely shouldn’t stare! I’m pretty sure my confusion was visible and I ended up with an awkward half-smile on my face. I always thought that I’m totally cool with homosexuality. Yet when faced with, what seemed to me as a garish display of their sexuality, I couldn’t take it in my stride. It felt excessive and blatant and it made me uncomfortable! Logically I know that I’m being petty. If the positions were reversed, I’d probably be really mad at the people passing judgement on me just because of the way I dress or my choices of a partner. It’s a classic case of practice versus preach.

One of the most shocking revelations was my closet racism. My heart has skipped a beat while walking home alone at night if a colored person passed me by! I had second thoughts about getting into an Uber to the airport at 2am because of the color of the driver. It’s the height of hypocrisy considering that I myself am a person of color! 

All of these thoughts have left me deeply disappointed with myself; disappointed and scared. Scared because it means that without even having interacted with any of these sects of people personally, stereotypes about them have unknowingly been firmly implanted in my subconscious. I take some consolation in the fact that I haven’t yet let these thoughts influence my actions or my behavior (not that I know of at least). Not to mention, that all of this is in an American context and therefore much easier for me to spot. There probably are similar stereotypes that were at play in India which I never caught on to, because it’s a lot subtler. If any of you know of any such instance, I’d greatly appreciate you bringing it to my attention. Being aware of my slip ups and analyzing the thought process behind them will hopefully allow me to rise above this eventually; at least I hope it does!

Travel is a learning experience, not only because you see new things, but also because you get to see yourself through different lenses. After enjoying the perks of being part of the “majority” voice in India all my life, it’s the first time I’m experiencing the flip side; being an outsider, a minority and given the current climate, possibly an unwelcome entity in a country. Not that it has brought any hardships to me personally, not yet at least. But it has definitely made me more aware of and sensitive to the experiences of others, both here in the U.S. as well as back home, who have to deal with these issues on a daily basis. 

P.S. If any of my confessions cause anyone pain, I sincerely apologize. It wasn't my intention at all.

Shall we dance?

It’s the end of a long day. I’m at home, sitting absolutely still on the couch. I feel overwhelmed, like a vessel that’s filled to the brim. It’s the good kind of overwhelmed because I’m overwhelmed with happiness; so much so that I feel that I’m going to start crying any moment. I had a wonderfully rewarding day today. I presented my work for the first time in my department and received a very enthusiastic and encouraging response to my work. I attended a teaching workshop where I managed to convince a group of absolute strangers from impossibly diverse backgrounds that the human gut is a fascinating and wondrous system to study. But this overwhelming joy has very little to do with all of that. Instead it comes from a brief couple of minutes in an hour long tango class. 

I want for so badly to be able to describe it to you, but try as I may I feel as though no words could actually do this feeling justice. Have you ever been so aware of something that the world sort of melts away for a little while. Your eyes are open but you aren’t really seeing anything. You are awake but you aren’t really thinking. Your brain is just absolutely quiet; no inner commentary, no internal dialogue. It’s the loveliest sort of silence. I know my description sounds like being in a daze, but it’s not; in fact it is the exact opposite. You have such crystal clear focus that your actions actually don’t need any thinking; it’s instinctive, like a reflex. It’s you and your partner, the music and the movement; all intertwined in a way that you can’t really tell one apart from the other. You lose yourself for just a little while and become part of this ephemeral whole and it is magical. 

How much fuller and richer would our experience of life be if we could just be more like this. Live life like this perfect tango. Not react to or “deal with” the circumstances in our life, constantly analyzing if we are moving in the right direction or whether other people approve of where we are going. What if, instead, life were your dance partner. Circumstances lead and you follow; and just like in tango, you aren’t dancing for an audience but only for yourself, for the sheer joy of creating that movement with your partner. There’s no right or wrong move; there’s beauty in just being still and connecting with the other person, beauty in finding that sync where the lead and the follow are virtually indistinguishable. You can go slow or fast or even be still; but connected....always connected. And in that connection there is magic…..in that connection there is peace. 

What if we were to get up every morning and say to life….”Shall we dance?”