Letter to a Friend
Varad
I hope this letter finds you in peak health. I was elated to hear from your mother of your admission to Ohio State University. My very natural best wishes for your undergraduate life aside, I would be looking forward for your letter, once you have been acclimatized to this new milieu, describing the minutiae of the system itself. Perhaps I may be able to add substantial nuance to my past utopian understanding of the U.S. education system.
Times, needless to say, have changed. No longer are summer vacations typified by the joyful innocence of yore, long hours of cricket in the dappled afternoon sun, disregardful of the protests of worried mothers back home. No longer do there prevail accusations of cheating back and forth; no longer do we behave as if our group contretemps would be the basis of a third world war. No longer, in essence, are we any close to savouring summer vacations with such abandon as we would once as school-going children.
No, we are accustomed more to studies and books as we grow in years — not so much in mind, however, to the vexation of our parents. But I insist that a transition from Franklin W Dixon (Hardy Boys!) to ruminations on multiculturalism by Arthur Schlesinger Jr. and the vivid descriptions of the wounded Indian civilization by V. S. Naipaul, qualifies as intellectual progress. That is certainly how I have been spending my summer vacations; reading books written by eminences in their respective fields. As has been my habit in academically active days, I rise early and read as much as possible: free from the cacophonous laughter of my younger brother immersed in YouTube videos devoid of worth; free from the loud and enthusiastic conversations that the domestic help has with grandmother; free, in the sense of being at peace in the salubrity of morning air.
You note that biographies of Ronald Reagan and Winston Churchill have shaped your thinking in quite some measure. Their foibles and flaws aside, you may have noted that both were firm on that which they deemed it in their national interest to pursue. Reagan ramped up the re-armament of the U.S. Armed Forces; Churchill staked all Britain had in World War II — these men were in a sense ardent with regard to military prowess. Why, he who is desirous of peace may ask. Why cannot we all just get along? Why have these militaries? You have mentioned your vexation with such idealists, but I can recommend a truly cogent argument against their wishful thinking — a fabulous book by the historian and archaeologist Ian Morris, “War — What is it Good For?” It turns out that war has essayed a substantial role in precipitating the world towards larger organizations, greater safety and greater prosperity: tribes to villages to cities to kingdoms to empires to modern nation-states; war has been vital in this voyage. And yet, in the face of overwhelming evidence spanning ten millennia, Morris is not a warmonger, and not an apologist for war machines.
His book is perhaps the most refreshing read I have had in a long time. You may have a great time reading it, too. Such, I say, are the only little islets of reprieve that besprinkle the sea of overall despondency that appears to characterize these times. As the columnist and businessman Suhel Seth says, these months of the pandemic have exposed the world for what it truly is: fragile, with no sense of its destiny. Those culpable for the pandemic will roam free; those worst hit by it shall be too effete to bring to fruition their sense of righteous reproof. Leaders are hardly able to lead through exemplary conduct. Lives and livelihoods have been consigned to the flames of recurrent if not permanent state apathy, and as life returns to normal, all shall soon be forgotten. None in the administration shall be held accountable. Life will go on, much the same as India has gone on, impervious to its historical wounds, its ubiquitous indigence often rendering irrelevant the source of its governorship.
It is in such times that our letters to one another, and the myriad friendships and familial relationships of people at large, infuse us with what little verve is requisite to keep going. It is here that summer vacations assume importance for it is in these transient days of respite from university that I am not constrained by its idiosyncrasies, with its unfruitful assignments and soporific online classes — and I can thus marshal enough time to pen this poignant, candid letter to you. Should a third-party come across this letter, it might be tempted to regard me as a cynic, a perennial pessimist. But it would not be aware of how you and I have embraced this poignance as an indelible aspect of our lives; it adds to the sincerity of our conversation; it prompts us to offer solutions to one another’s personal problems. For our language may reek of resignation to fate — we regard ourselves as realists on more counts than not — but if we are to tread on, we might as well confront this despondency. And therefore, we write, freeing the emotional tempest within.
I can find solace in the knowledge that you are by no means expecting a buoyant letter from me. Truth be told, there is not much to feel optimistic about in these times. But we do have the logophilic, distant company of one another, oxymoronic though its connotations are. And while we could not possibly have novel events to write about everyday, we can certainly write to one another in a monthly fashion.
I hear Veena has discovered the joy of writing as well. Do convey to her my inspiriting views; I should really like to read what she writes. Does she look up to your writing as a possible source of inspiration? It is one thing to have a generally headstrong younger sister, but an entirely different thing for the realization that she can learn a lot from you to dawn on her.
Do convey my best regards to your family.
Yours truly
Periphrasis Incorporated
