I. The Call
It was a typical weekend evening when the call came. A hectic Saturday of errands, kid's activities and dog walking yielded to a mellow evening. There I was, reading the front pages of the Economist magazine, relaxed in the sofa chair in our study. Freddie, our second child (albeit a canine, making us a fast growing demographic - pet parents) was curled on his bed by where I was sitting. My wife was at the study table pecking away on the laptop. And there was a low sound of beeping electronics from the bedroom across the hallway, a sure sign that our son was engaged with a newly acquired Nintendo Wii game (all sorts of new features that made it a must buy - I have given up following what these 'features' are anymore).
As I was gently disagreeing with the self-confessed political tilt about the Economist point-of-view, the telephone rang. Much to my wife's consternation, I typically resist the urge to answer the home phone. People who want to reach me, call me on cell phone, I hypothesize. This is one of the many reasons, why I drop in esteem in my wife's eyes.
"Pick up the phone!", came the command after the 4th persistent ring. Even Freddie uncurled a bit to see if the tension would develop in our conversation. He takes sides in our debates, usually on my wife's side. I decided to fold my hand of cards such as they were, and picked up the phone.
"Would you like to visit the Governor's Mansion", asked the familiar caller.
"When?", I asked, intrigued.
"Saturday, next week."
"Count me in," I said in a matter of fact manner.
I have had invitations to visit the White House and the U.S. Capitol in the past and thought nothing about it other than another opportunity to visit a potentially officious place, that I has passed by on Rt 206 for many years in the past.
II. The Trip
What does it feel like to be the King, I asked myself. There is an old story from childhood days when a commoner is given a chance to be King for a day and learns some important lessons. What would one do, when the immense powers of the state rests in one's hands?
These questions were crossing my mind as I jumped on the Acela Expres train from Boston the next Friday and journeyed down south past New York City.
As the train hurtled past quaint New England villages and dying industrial towns in alternating cycles, I thought about the moment that was to come when I alighted at my destination. Not knowing what to expect, my mind retreated to the comfort of the past.
It was the day before the exams, we were kids, possibly in the 4th grade. My Dad instructed me to help my brother with his preparation for a mathematics exam the next morning. I had my own studies to do. But nevertheless, I went over to his desk and proceeded to help him. To my utter amazement, he was not ready. How did time pass during the school year, I thought to myself. How does one begin at the beginning the night before an exam? That was both a moment of clarity and despair. Whence from here?
The screeching of the train into Stamford, Connecticut, jolted me to the present and I was forced to look outside. There is a 'build it and they will come' feel to Stamford. Out of nowhere a bunch of office buildings gleamed in the evening light. All the industrial parks, all the sea of cubicles and all the aspirants pushing numbers and paper, here and there and across the world.
III. Bottoms Up
The train started pulling out and my eyes fell upon my newspaper headlining some major political upheaval and scandal in NY State politics. How does it feel to live in the glasshouse of politics, I wondered? How, when every sentence, every move is not only dissected by the paparazzi and the pundits alike, but more ominously by one's political opponents and their 'op research'.
As the trained rocked steadily on, my mind receded to the past again.
It was Friday evening and we were having a party. My dad had his friends over and they were debating and laughing over drinks. It was a continuous debate of over many Fridays over many years - which was better, was the debate - science, engineering, commerce or medicine. All four fields were represented at the party. My brother and I loved listening in, with our own glasses of Fanta in our hands. My mom, quietly would be eying the proceedings, enjoying her own sip of a glass of red wine.
As the evening wore on, there was music and dancing. I did my share of dancing, awkwardly, and would sit down. And then my brother would join. When you have a spark, you have a spark. We would all stop, stand back and totally enjoy the gay abandon with which he danced - and all the party goers loved him for it. He was little enough, that he would be carried around like the most attractive possession there was. All those evenings, and all those parties and all that music, telescope in my mind now in one continuous debate, delight and delectables ends to the work and study week.
IV. News
The train crossed New York City and my mobile beeped with a message. It was a link. The link was a news story. It was from the local rag, The Star Ledger. It talked about the new governor of NJ, if only for a day. The curent governor was going out of town and by law the next chain in command took on the reins.
The story humorously, but factually mentioned how this had happened once before, and the person who took control of the state for a day made himself busy by pardoning his best friend, opening hospitals etc. "Have a pen and will wield it."
I laughed at the thought and wondered what was going to happen the next day. I replied on my mobile, "Is something like this going to happen tomorrow?"
"Who knows" came the reply, "do no harm would be good."
I smiled.
V. Hello Guv!
I rented a car in Trenton and drove to the governor's mansion. As I walked toward the front door, my mind was flooded with memories and emotions. Images flashed in my head like a sputtering movie reel. I could not tell if the evening was misty or if my eyes had filled up.
But I composed myself and walked up to the front door and knocked.
The door opened, and two guards let me in. I walked past them into the front foyer past the passage. There were several people milling around. Out of the group broke out my brother and started striding towards me. He was in formal attire. He looked quite in command.
Only, I, his brother could read the crinkle in the corner of his eye. The crinkle that for all the years we grew up together, for all the exams that we had labored over the night before, for all the parties that he danced at, the crinkle that recognized the sheer absurdity of the moment; and his sheer moxy, that allowed him to be in this situation.
I looked at him. We grinned broadly at each other. As we patted each other's shoulders, I said clearly and distinctly, "Hello Guv!"
VI. The news story
This story from the NY Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/29/nyregion/29gov.html?_r=1
It was a typical weekend evening when the call came. A hectic Saturday of errands, kid's activities and dog walking yielded to a mellow evening. There I was, reading the front pages of the Economist magazine, relaxed in the sofa chair in our study. Freddie, our second child (albeit a canine, making us a fast growing demographic - pet parents) was curled on his bed by where I was sitting. My wife was at the study table pecking away on the laptop. And there was a low sound of beeping electronics from the bedroom across the hallway, a sure sign that our son was engaged with a newly acquired Nintendo Wii game (all sorts of new features that made it a must buy - I have given up following what these 'features' are anymore).
As I was gently disagreeing with the self-confessed political tilt about the Economist point-of-view, the telephone rang. Much to my wife's consternation, I typically resist the urge to answer the home phone. People who want to reach me, call me on cell phone, I hypothesize. This is one of the many reasons, why I drop in esteem in my wife's eyes.
"Pick up the phone!", came the command after the 4th persistent ring. Even Freddie uncurled a bit to see if the tension would develop in our conversation. He takes sides in our debates, usually on my wife's side. I decided to fold my hand of cards such as they were, and picked up the phone.
"Would you like to visit the Governor's Mansion", asked the familiar caller.
"When?", I asked, intrigued.
"Saturday, next week."
"Count me in," I said in a matter of fact manner.
I have had invitations to visit the White House and the U.S. Capitol in the past and thought nothing about it other than another opportunity to visit a potentially officious place, that I has passed by on Rt 206 for many years in the past.
II. The Trip
What does it feel like to be the King, I asked myself. There is an old story from childhood days when a commoner is given a chance to be King for a day and learns some important lessons. What would one do, when the immense powers of the state rests in one's hands?
These questions were crossing my mind as I jumped on the Acela Expres train from Boston the next Friday and journeyed down south past New York City.
As the train hurtled past quaint New England villages and dying industrial towns in alternating cycles, I thought about the moment that was to come when I alighted at my destination. Not knowing what to expect, my mind retreated to the comfort of the past.
It was the day before the exams, we were kids, possibly in the 4th grade. My Dad instructed me to help my brother with his preparation for a mathematics exam the next morning. I had my own studies to do. But nevertheless, I went over to his desk and proceeded to help him. To my utter amazement, he was not ready. How did time pass during the school year, I thought to myself. How does one begin at the beginning the night before an exam? That was both a moment of clarity and despair. Whence from here?
The screeching of the train into Stamford, Connecticut, jolted me to the present and I was forced to look outside. There is a 'build it and they will come' feel to Stamford. Out of nowhere a bunch of office buildings gleamed in the evening light. All the industrial parks, all the sea of cubicles and all the aspirants pushing numbers and paper, here and there and across the world.
III. Bottoms Up
The train started pulling out and my eyes fell upon my newspaper headlining some major political upheaval and scandal in NY State politics. How does it feel to live in the glasshouse of politics, I wondered? How, when every sentence, every move is not only dissected by the paparazzi and the pundits alike, but more ominously by one's political opponents and their 'op research'.
As the trained rocked steadily on, my mind receded to the past again.
It was Friday evening and we were having a party. My dad had his friends over and they were debating and laughing over drinks. It was a continuous debate of over many Fridays over many years - which was better, was the debate - science, engineering, commerce or medicine. All four fields were represented at the party. My brother and I loved listening in, with our own glasses of Fanta in our hands. My mom, quietly would be eying the proceedings, enjoying her own sip of a glass of red wine.
IV. News
The train crossed New York City and my mobile beeped with a message. It was a link. The link was a news story. It was from the local rag, The Star Ledger. It talked about the new governor of NJ, if only for a day. The curent governor was going out of town and by law the next chain in command took on the reins.
The story humorously, but factually mentioned how this had happened once before, and the person who took control of the state for a day made himself busy by pardoning his best friend, opening hospitals etc. "Have a pen and will wield it."
I laughed at the thought and wondered what was going to happen the next day. I replied on my mobile, "Is something like this going to happen tomorrow?"
"Who knows" came the reply, "do no harm would be good."
I smiled.
V. Hello Guv!
I rented a car in Trenton and drove to the governor's mansion. As I walked toward the front door, my mind was flooded with memories and emotions. Images flashed in my head like a sputtering movie reel. I could not tell if the evening was misty or if my eyes had filled up.
But I composed myself and walked up to the front door and knocked.
The door opened, and two guards let me in. I walked past them into the front foyer past the passage. There were several people milling around. Out of the group broke out my brother and started striding towards me. He was in formal attire. He looked quite in command.
Only, I, his brother could read the crinkle in the corner of his eye. The crinkle that for all the years we grew up together, for all the exams that we had labored over the night before, for all the parties that he danced at, the crinkle that recognized the sheer absurdity of the moment; and his sheer moxy, that allowed him to be in this situation.
I looked at him. We grinned broadly at each other. As we patted each other's shoulders, I said clearly and distinctly, "Hello Guv!"
VI. The news story
This story from the NY Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/29/nyregion/29gov.html?_r=1
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