Ice Ice Baby

As a kid, I was always impressed with the big city of Madras.  The buildings were bigger. People seemed to know more things.  And there was a lot happening all the time.

My father, who has always had a special place in his heart for Madras after the tragic and sudden death of his father during a visit way to the city back in 1930, was a lot more energized than his usual high-octane self when he took us around.  I could never understand then how a man with the utmost devotion to the sleepy village of Pattamadai could be so much in love with a big city. 

As I recall, every visit we ended up going to the same neighborhoods in Madras--Mahalingapuram, Royapettah, Mylapore, T-Nagar, and Triplicane.  I think it was near Triplicane that there was an "ice house." 

When I first heard "ice house," the nerd in me expected to see a structure that was like an igloo that I had read about.  Stupid me!  It was a carry over from the old days when ice was stored there during the bastard raj.

Ice in the near-equatorial conditions was a rare item back then.  I grew up without a refrigerator at home, and with no culture of drinking and eating anything that had been super-chilled.  On hot summer days, we drank hot coffee or tea, and continued on with our lives.

And then I arrived in the land of ice cream! 

I was stumped the first time I saw bags of ice cubes in the supermarket, and people hauling them to their cars.  It continues to amuse me even after all these years when I see people walking out of stores with wafer cones that overflow with multiple scoops of ice cream-- on a cold winter evening! Americans who have to have ice in their already chilled sodas!  

Observing a new culture is absolutely fascinating, and offers valuable lessons on the human condition.  This is also why I love traveling to places where I am an alien who cannot even understand the local language.  Some day soon, after Covid eases, I hope to resume such travels.    

After more than three decades here, I rarely use the ice dispenser that my refrigerator has.  I cannot even recall the last time that I had ice cream in a cone, and never an overflowing one.  The tropical boy continues to live within this balding middle-aged man.  

(Why all these about ice?  Because I read this.)

Bird-brained they might be. Valuable lesson they taught.

Finally, the icy grip loosened. There is plenty of ice all around, yes, but, it was just about warm enough for the melt to begin. People in the neighborhood poked their heads out. I drove up to the grocery store.

A simple act of going grocery shopping. But, what a pleasure it was to stir out of the home, and see people out and about. We smiled at each other--I think we were all subliminally giving that same message of "am I happy to get back to my regular life!"  I suppose it is always thus in life--we never know how good we have until there is a major disruption that forced us to re-evaluate our priorities.  But then, soon we forget those lessons. Aren't we humans the ones that are bird-brained?

I walked past an open checkout counter in order to chat with one of my favorite clerks. She gave me a big smile even before she was done with the customer.

"Things went well with the ice and snow?" I asked her as I moved up to the head of the line.  "I remember you have a long drive to work."

"Yes. But, Friday night was treacherous.  The wipers also stopped working and I could barely see anything out in front.  But I made it back home."

See, right there is a major difference between her employment and mine. Thursday and Friday the campus shut down. But, we get paid anyway.  In her case, I would think that she would have lost wages if she had not reported to work. I was worried that she would turn around and ask me about my drive to work.

Well, she is a good conversationalist and she asked me about my work and the drive.

I flubbed the answer. And cut away to something else.

I returned home and restocked the pantry. Across the window, I noticed that the yard was full of robins. Not crowded enough for me to worry that I had been cast in the remake of Hitchock's Birds. Perhaps more than twenty of them.  For a reason--the ice and snow that were so freakishly unusual had messed up the birds' food sources. I think the couple of robins that visited with me yesterday had spread the word among the robins in the area that perhaps the orangish berry like thingys in my backyard were their only food.

And so they came.

I didn't know what else I could offer these desperate visitors. The only nuts I had--cashews--were salted. I didn't want to offer them chips. Perhaps the multi-grain bread?  I tore up a slice into tiny pieces and tossed them into the snow. The robins didn't even bother to check them out, and they kept going after those berries.

Here is the strangest thing: in all these years that I have lived here, never once have I seen any bird eat them. It was clear that these birds were so starved for food that they were ready to eat these brightly colored ones.  The last time I checked the plant, it looked like they had striped away all the orange and only the green remained. That's ok.

After meeting with the grocery clerk, and after watching the birds, you think I will complain about my life?

You betcha!

I will in a few days. Because, like most of us, I am bird-brained!

I will leave you with this from the old country:

शोकस्थानसहस्राणि दुःखस्थानशतानि च ।
दिवसे दिवसे मूढमाविशन्ति न पण्डितम् ॥

- महाभारत, अरण्य

Everyday there are thousand reasons to feel sad, hundred reasons to worry.
Such things only bother fools; not wise men.

Mahabharata, Aranya

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