Tuesday, April 19, 2005

the man upstairs is used to all of this noise

An article about an Indian doctor who has decided to hang it all up and head to the Ganges is wigging me out. I read the interview carefully to look for signs of insanity. There are signs of madness, but it's a thin line between madness and devotion. In her day, Mirabai was considered more than a little loony. The only real sign of lunacy in the case of the Indian doctor comes from this response regarding her parents' reticence about her decision:
"Well, I think they don't understand what is really happening with me, and the support isn't there. Maybe I'm not a parent, but I just don't get it. You have three other children -- what's the big deal? I'm just one person, you know?"
Umm... anyone with Indian parents can tell you that they don't care if they have three children, or fifteen, they worry over all of them until the end of time. Actually, scratch the Indian qualifier- that's pretty much applicable to all parents. But I don't know of any Indian parents who would be happy if their daughter, after establishing herself as a successful physician at one of the best medical facilities in the country, decided eh, not so much.

The interview just confused me. Folks that steadfast in their religious beliefs baffle me, because I really think I'm incapable of believing in something that fervently. I question everything, all the time. I have trouble with extremists, because I just don't understand how they can be so certain. I require evidence. Faith is an island in the setting sun, proof is the bottom line for everyone. I was definitely a nightmare as a child, one of those annoying little pig-tailed brats asking "But why?" after every statement of supposed fact. I always want an explanation.

But some things have no explanation, and those who have faith know this and are at peace with it (for more evidence, come to my neighborhood and I'll show you the church emblazoned with Jesus is the man in Spanish above the door). And the rest of us peck at it, picking the scab, hoping to get to the bottom of it. On some level, I understand that you can never know anything with absolute precision. But the Heisenberg uncertainty principle is a whole post for another time, when I'm all wistful and sh*t. Sufficed to say, I've got a bee in my bonnet over this article, although I can't explain exactly why or how.

Not to put too fine a point on it (bad segue, sorry), but the news that Death Cab for Cutie is going to play live on the OC may signal the coming of the apocalypse. No, no, just kidding. I still love the diatribe Dave Eggers once delivered about all the crap the Flaming Lips got for going on 90210. I don't particularly care if Ben Gibbard is selling out or not, because I've given up on figuring out what exactly it means to sell out. Isn't it selling out the minute your album enjoys even the slightest commercial success? Don't we wish that for the obscure artists we love? Mostly, I'm just annoyed that watching this tv show on Thursday might be the closest I get to seeing Death Cab live this year. Grr.

No comments: