“Call me Ishmael.”
That line opens one of literature’s great sweeping saga: a man, a whale, and the bruising, salt-earning adventure of simply not dying at sea. But the name does something subtle: like a polite knock on the front door of literature. It positions the narrator. In Sanskrit, nāma means exactly that: the thing by which you call someone from afar.
Happy Birthday to Me: Musings on Language and Code
Today, I find myself celebrating my birthday in the tranquil confines of a cozy Airbnb in Vancouver. It’s a momentary escape from the pressures of work, a rare breather amidst the ever-present demands of the office. Through the frost-touched window, I watch the Canadian flag battle the icy winds. Below, I can hear the faint murmurs of a French-speaking couple, my neighbors. A little later, the cadence of Mandarin reaches my ears, no doubt my landlord going about his day. And then, the phone rings. It’s my mother, calling from home, so naturally, the conversation begins in Bengali. When my father takes the phone, we switch seamlessly to Hindi. After the call, I set the phone down, open my laptop, and begin composing an email in English.