Mr. Trump's nightmare

I am sitting in the balcony of our daughter’s apartment in Kensington, Brooklyn, watching the world go by. It is Sunday and a threat of rain is in the air.

There is a party for a young Jewish girl in a house in front. A pony is called to give rides to a number of two year olds. The family is all there...old grandpa with his yarmulke, middle-aged people, some youngsters. The birthday girl is frightened of her pony ride and wails.

Next door, children of a Hasidic family are out riding their bikes and so are the neighborhood Bangladeshi kids. The neighborhood is quite alive; the promised rain has not yet materialized.

We go for shopping in a Bangladeshi supermarket. It is filled with Muslims from all different parts of the world. "Inshalla" and "Khuda Hafiz" are the words that we hear. The storekeeper is very polite and helps us navigate through the intricacies of what dates to buy…Saudi Arabian or Kuwaiti.

Then we take a walk on Fort Hamilton Parkway. The neighborhood changes. Now there are Mexicans and Central Americans. We enter an area where one can buy food from Honduras and Mexican tacos. Just like that English gives way to Spanish.

Clusters of Hasidic families, each with number of children all dressed in the same way, are heading toward a Park. The children look cute with their long braided sideburns. They speak Yiddish.  

We come back. It starts raining. We sit in the balcony sipping Japanese Sapporo beer. A Chinese woman in front house comes out briefly to throw garbage. A Bengali man comes out in his lungi and ganji, checking the rain pouring down. The Hasidic kids rush back, throwing their bicycles on the ground. An Indian father runs with his baby in a stroller.

Our daughter’s landlord Abdul comes back home and says hello to us. It is Ramadan and they will not eat until moonrise. The dates my wife has purchased from the Bangladeshi store are meant for them, as that's what they like to eat when they break their daily fast.

This is the America of our dream, where we all live peacefully. It does not matter who you are or what religion you follow. It is a fascinating tapestry of folks like us who have worked hard to escape poverty or persecution. We make this country vibrant and prosperous. There is no "us" and "them".

This is Mr. Trump's nightmare.

An unnatural stage of life

Compared to our genetically similar ancestors we live a long life.

“Chimpanzees and great apes are genetically similar to humans, yet they rarely live for more than 50 years. Although the average human lifespan has doubled in the last 200 years — due largely to decreased infant mortality related to advances in diet, environment and medicine — even without these improvements, people living in high mortality hunter-forager lifestyles still have twice the life expectancy at birth as wild chimpanzees do.”  (Ref. Live Science, Dec. 15, 2009)

This is a real bonus, because as far as nature is concerned, we have done our work as soon as we have given birth to children and brought them up. The “selfish genes” do not need us around once the continuation of their lineage is assured.

Of the pleasures we get in these bonus years, the greatest one, I am told, is to be able to enjoy our grandchildren.   We humans have the unique opportunity to do so. I do not believe too many apes live to see their grandchildren let alone enjoy their early years. For us, it is it is a very common experience.

We are going to find that out. A few days ago, our daughter gave birth to a baby girl and suddenly we are in that next stage of life, the “unnatural” one.

The first part of this stage allows you to re-live the experience when your own children were born. The high level of anticipation when the news is announced is mixed with anxiety, just as it was earlier. This is followed by utter delight when the child comes out looking normal. The fact that a new human being has emerged from almost nothing still feels like a miracle even for a non-believer. The gaze of the child when he/she looks at you for the first time is thrilling even this time around.

Of course, not everything is the same. This time you know that you have the luxury of skimming off the best part of the child rearing experience. While the poor parents bear the brunt of sleepless nights and constant worries as the child progresses through various stages of life, you participate as you wish or as you are needed. You could get away with being the indulgent adult for you grandchild even as the parents take over the responsibility of drawing lines.

There are other ways the experience is not the same. When I was born, my grandfather sent a postcard informing my father of birth. My mother had gone to her parents’ house for delivery while my father had stayed back. When our own children were born, we used telephones to inform all our relatives and I was allowed to be in the delivery room, unlike my father when I was born. When our granddaughter was born, the entire media spectrum was utilized to inform relatives and friends, far and near. Within seconds everyone became aware of the wonderful news and saw what the baby looks like. Videos were taken and Skype was used to bring along the other grandma (in England) participate in the experience.

There are now Apps available for the new parents navigate through the maze of parenting. Anything that the baby or the mother needs can now be instantly ordered for the same day, or next day, delivery.

The baby industry has progressed to the new level from the days when we were raising our children more than three decades ago. The number of options available, say in diapers, makes your mind reel. You end up coming out of the store wondering if the diaper you bought has the right type of “soiled diaper” indicator. In our times the options were few and smell was the only indicator.

The car seat is another story. The modern ones would make an astronaut proud. They are designed to protect the child in every type of car accident, which is good, but their massive and complicated appearance scares the crap out of a new child exploring the world around her. It took us ten minutes to figure out how to unlock the mobile upper portion of the car seat from the fixed lower portion….and I am an engineer.

We would have missed all these experiences if the nature had not allowed us to live beyond our useful period. If the selfish genes had refused to yield, we would be gone by now. 

If that was the case, who would our granddaughter have gone to buy her a candy (or more likely an infant version of iPhone) when the parents would not?

Early to airport

I believe the world is divided into two types of people, those who like to get to an airport early and those who prefer to get there just in time. Let us call these folks ETA (Early to Airport) and JITA (Just in Time to Airport).

I am an extreme case of ETA. As my wife says, we are the people airlines are waiting for before opening their counters. I can be found at the airport two hours before the flight, or may be earlier if it is an international flight. I spend this time reading, having a cup of coffee, or just observing life go by. Not surprisingly, I have not missed a single flight among more than thousand I have taken.

JITAs prefer to get to the airport just in time. In an extreme case, they believe that even an extra minute spent at the airport is time wasted. They are the ones found running to the gate, as it is about to close. Not surprisingly they are quite stressed out and occasionally miss their flights.

I cannot understand why anyone would do that. What exactly would they have done with the time saved by not going to the airport early? Have an extra cup of coffee? Check emails? Couldn’t they have done that at the airport? I understand that if you are on business trip, a meeting can run late, and you need to scramble. However, that is generally not the case why a JITA gets to the airport with barely a minute to spare.

So, in my humble opinion, there is no firm benefit in reaching an airport late, but, if you miss your flight as a consequence, there is a significant downside. You inconvenience not just yourself but also others. Once, an extreme JITA person, a relative of mine, managed to miss not one but two flights to get to our daughter’s wedding. Not only did she miss the wedding, but also created a challenge for us because we were relying on her rental car to provide rides to some of our guests.

Of course, to each his own, you would say. That is a good advice if we are on our own. It is a whole another story if we are not heading to the airport from our home but from someone else’s; one filled with JITAs.

“You mean you want to start for the airport now?” That is how the conversation begins. Others are enrolled in the campaign to stop us from making that grave mistake. “How could you waste that extra 30 minutes at the airport?” The tone is one of a macho man shaming a wimp. Real men don’t get to the airport any earlier than they have to. Everyone has a laugh at our expense.

One cousin of mine, a fellow ETA, was literally scolded by a bunch of other cousins when he wanted to depart for the airport in Mumbai earlier than what they thought would be appropriate. I had to intervene, and allow him go. The next day he thanked me because he encountered heavy traffic on the way, not at all unusual in Mumbai, and the line at the airport was very long. He barely made it to the flight.

That is a bad situation, but it can be worse. If you are driving to the airport you can still depart when you want, even after being harangued by the JITAs. However, if a JITA is going to take you to the airport, things can get very tricky.  Now you are completely dependent on him or her in deciding when to leave.

I experienced that in Quito, when our innkeeper was giving us ride to the airport for a flight to Galapagos. I had read in TripAdvisor that you need to be early at the airport because there are special permits you need to get in order to visit Galapagos and the lines for that are very long. People have missed their flights because of this requirement.

Our innkeeper would not listen to my plea to depart early. He insisted that for domestic flights one does not need to reach any earlier than 90 minutes. That extra 30 minutes I was requesting was an annoyance. He finally relented but was not too happy. Yes, the process to check in passengers for Galapagos was excruciatingly slow and I was thankful that we reached early.

OK, I have made my case.

Fellow ETAs, rejoice, there are people like you around, and, to the JTAs of the world, please cut us some slack. Don’t make us butt of your jokes or torture us. We are not wimps as you make us out to be and there is a rationale behind what we do. And someday, we may be the ones with the last laugh.

Meaning of life

“It does not matter what we expect from life, but rather what life expects from us. We need to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead think of ourselves as those who are being questioned by life---daily and hourly.”

Wow. That is a profound statement and insight. By thinking of our life as a separate entity from ourselves, we suddenly find the tables turned. We are being questioned by life, not the other way around.

These are from a disturbing and insightful little book I just finished reading. “Man’s search for meaning,” by Viktor Frankl is a world wide best seller, having sold more than 12 million copies. Dr. Frankl was in a great position to ask questions about meaning of life, because he was a survivor of Nazi concentration camps.

One cannot imagine a fate worse than being herded in a concentration camp, with death lurking around every corner. Everything is taken away from you, including your name. You just become a number, to be eliminated if some sadistic pig decides that you are not worthy of preserving. Gas chamber is where you go because a bullet is too expensive to be wasted on you.

How does one survive under this condition? As per Dr. Frankl, who not only survived but also helped others do so, showing the person a future goal is an important first step. According to Nietzsche, “He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how.”

“Even if you think you have nothing more to expect from life, life is still expecting something from you. Something in the future, may be it is a child waiting for you or a book that you still need to write.”

Frequently, that is not sufficient. To be able to survive, one needs to change the way one looks at life.

“Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks, which it constantly sets for each individual. Thus it is impossible to define the meaning of life in a general way. Life’s tasks form man’s destiny, which is different and unique for each individual. When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will accept suffering as his task. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his unique burden.”

It is unlikely that anyone of us will ever end up in a situation as dire as what Dr. Frankl and his fellow inmates went through. However, thinking this way about life will help prepare us for the inevitable challenges we will face.

Mr. Buffo's presidency

It is hard to believe that two years have passed since the momentous events of 2016. So much has happened. Let me describe.

It all began with Mr. Buffo winning the Republican Party nomination. With the frenzy that he had whipped up, and the way he trounced his opponents, there was no alternate outcome. What was not anticipated is the sudden passing away of the Democratic front-runner. She was not young and the strain of campaigning finally got to her. Stunned by this unforeseen event, the Democratic Party out forth a candidate, who, in reality, had no chance against the juggernaut of Mr. Buffo.

So, Mr. Buffo won by a landslide. “I am the greatest,” he proclaimed in his usual humble manner. “We are going to make America great again,” he promised.

The inauguration was held at night, on request from Mr. Buffo. That way, he could have a commanding rally, similar to those held by the man he admired---that German leader who rose to power in the late 30s. Here is a picture of that rally. Mr. Buffo also had searchlights pointing upward during his inauguration, just the way the other guy did.

There were huge banners with large T emblazoned in the center. The attendees were given gold colored shits with a large T in front. No one who did not have the requisite shirt was allowed to participate. It was a grand sight.

He did not bother to have someone hold the Bible and a judge swearing him in. Like Napoleon, he crowned himself by mumbling his oath.

Then he spoke, and the crowd listened to their Messiah.

“We are going to make America great again. Just the way it was 100 years ago, when women and non-whites knew their places in the society. We will show the world that we are the greatest.  I promise you, we will clobber the crap out of whoever disagrees with what we want to do. That’s the way I ran my business and that’s the way I will run my country.” There was a thunderous applause, and a salute of Hail Buffo.

“The days of political correctness are over. If you want to call Mexicans Wetbacks, that is fine with me. Most are rapists and thugs anyway. Go ahead, you don’t need to call those black guys ‘African Americans,’ I prefer the other words much more.”

Thus began the presidency of Mr. Buffo.

As promised, he asked Mexico to give 50 billion dollars to build a wall at the border. “Jódete,” said the Mexican president. When President Buffo realized what it meant (Fu** you) he was beside himself. He wanted to invade Mexico right away and had to be persuaded not to do that. Reluctantly, he came up with another plan to raise funding.

“We will have to impose a ‘Make America Great Again’ tax on our people,” he said. His followers, keen to see America of 100 years ago come back again, reluctantly agreed. Thus funds were raised and the wall was built.

However, a curious thing happened. Harassed by white Americans, who thought it was fine to do that under President Buffo’s reign, most Mexicans decided to leave and go back to Mexico. However, the wall prevented them from doing that. President Buffo had forgotten to put any doors in the wall. Mexico managed to send ships to evacuate those desperate to leave America, Dunkirk style.

Of course, the whole agriculture sector in the South collapsed. There were no laborers available to replace the Mexicans. The gardens of rich backers of Mr. Buffo wilted and the lawns turned brown. There were no nannies available to take care of kids. “You are not making America great, as you promised,” hollered some of the backers.

Meanwhile, Buffo was busy fulfilling his other promise. He demanded that all Muslims wear a crescent moon symbol on their garments, so people could identify potential terrorists. The borders were sealed for Muslims. Insulted by this assault on their religion, the countries in the Middle East started an embargo of their oil. The price of gasoline soared and once again there were lines at the pump. Furious, Mr. Buffo sent all Muslims to Internment Camps. “Hey Roosevelt did that with the Japanese, why can’t I?”

In order to facilitate transfer to the Internment Camps, President Buffo had to come out with a new group of enforcers. Called Make America Great GREAT Official Troops---MAGGOTS for short, had full authority to what they wanted, over and above the other agencies and departments.

Emboldened by his success at spawning MAGGOTS, President Buffo picked his next target. He called the Chinese leader and told him to shape up or US will halt all its trade with his country. “Nī tā mā de,” said the Chinese leader. “Fu** you.” All exports to China stopped and so did all import. Soon the shelves in American malls were emptied. There was practically nothing that the consumers could buy. President Buffo, who had managed to keep control of his business in spite of being President, started a manufacturing plant to make some of the things, but when he mentioned what he would be willing to pay, no American worker was interested. “You are fired,” he said, fondly remembering the simpler times.

“I will pay more attention to the Chinese,” he declared, and he found a way to do that. Noticing that a large majority of graduate students in some of the best colleges in US were Chinese and Indians, he decreed that the admissions to those ‘others’ be suspended so that more of ‘us’ can be admitted. “Until we find out what the hell is going on.”

Colleges were asked to open their doors to anyone who wanted to attend, without any consideration to grades or recommendations. It took about a year, but by the end of it, most colleges were in dire trouble and foreign students went to Europe, which welcomed them with open arms.

Eventually, what was inevitable happened. The country’s finances unraveled, riots broke out, and his folks were ready to lynch him. “I would like the country to declare bankruptcy,” he demanded. “That is the way I have always managed to get out of such messy situations.”

When reminded that he could not declare the country bankrupt, he said he did not want to play this game. “You are all idiots, and do not appreciate what a great leader I have been.” With that he resigned.

Thus began the reign of Rush Limbaugh, the Vice President who was waiting for such a chance.