Eclipse

The longest solar eclipse of the century tracked over India late last week; it was heralded by astronomical nerds for weeks prior, and even the average global citizen found cause for excitement as the time for the eclipse approached. There’s a lot to be learned about the sun during an eclipse, about the outer layers of the corona, and solar flares; more interesting to me is what was to be learned about those watching.

The path of the eclipse was predicted to cut across northern India, then on to China and terminating in the Pacific. When the news began to spread that there would be an eclipse, interesting things began happening… an eclipse has certain superstitious portents, and preparations cannot be thrown together lightly to make full use of the power and avoid the threat of eclipse.

In Northern Karnataka (the state where Bangalore is located), many families brought disabled children to a common place in the village and buried them in mud up to their necks. It was believed that performing this act during the eclipse would help to heal these children. The children were reported as rather uncomfortable with the process, but most were hopeful for progress. This strikes some of us as superstition at best – how can people in the modern age believe these things? But for rural people who crave for competent medical care even at basic levels, how different is this mud treatment from sticking your child in a machine that pops out pictures of their bones?

In certain areas, an eclipse requires certain ablutions at temples, and it was possible prior to the eclipse to purchase eclipse insurance related to journeys to these temples. Has there been such a pleasant meeting of modern and ancient?

As for myself, the celestial proved rather banal. I set my alarm for 6am (for those of you aware of my sleeping preferences understand what commitment this indicates to see the celestial event) and headed outside with my camera, journal, and two sheets of paper to create a “pinhole” effect; at some point, I remember Mr. Murphy, my slightly terrifying elementary art teacher, explaining that looking directly at an eclipse would scald your corneas. I walked out to the mango grove near my little home, hoping for the best sightlines to the east. There, I ran into Aishwarya and Barathi, two of my favorite girls from Bandhavi, loitering after yoga. They looked surprised to see their rather oddly attired aunty tromping around in the bushes with my expedition gear. I explained as best I could the impending event – “camera is Suriya (sun) and journal is Chandra (moon)… suriya no see…” Barathi has a sharp little laugh, and has no hesitation to cry out, “Auuuuntieeee” when I am being particularly ridiculous. Aishwarya grabbed my hand, and pulled me towards Bandhavi – “TV, Aunty,” and sure enough, it seemed that Bangalore was sadly refusing my excitement—monsoon clouds hung low and heavy. Why not watch a little TV?

But when I arrived, the whole of the group were watching the eclipse on their little television in the dining hall, 70 girls in various states of wakefulness (Small Shruti didn’t even pretend, wrapping her head in a blanket and falling asleep on the floor) settled in to watch the sun disappear, with the sound of Star Trek: Voyager playing in the background.

And so, I watched the eclipse on television, like so many other of millions around the world, but in a way that left me more pleased by the experience than any old mango grove could provide.