Learning Challenge: Sleep Deprivation is Not a Badge of Honor

The funny thing is, I set out to find a Learning Challenge prompt this week, but it almost feels like I found a Growth Mindset one instead.

In general, I'm a pretty big supporter of sleep. If I don't get a certain number of hours, my health usually takes a nosedive, and also, sleep is just too nice to miss out on in general. The chance to reset and wake up feeling sharper and more equipped to handle everything is kind of great.

But over the past couple years, I've heard a lot of people around me talk about how they've sacrificed a ton of sleep each night and ended up accomplishing all sorts of other things because of it, and I started to feel like maybe I should start sucking it up and trying that too. After all, this semester's been insanely busy for me, and I wouldn't have as much trouble juggling everything if there were more hours in the day.

That's why I'm glad I stumbled across "Sleep Deprivation is Not a Badge of Honor," by DDH. In his opening lines, the author equates sacrificing sleep to borrowing from a loan shark: a short-term fix that only creates more problems for you in the long run, when the debt stacks up and you make it harder and harder for yourself to repay. Sure, it means I might not always be able to find extra hours for non-homework reading and writing, but it also hopefully keeps me from making long-lasting mistakes, which is always appreciated. I'll be sure to keep this one in mind moving forward.


Image Credit: Alarm Clock, by Niki_filipova. Source: Pixabay.

Week 10 Review: Interior Spring Cleaning

This week, my favorite tidbit actually came from today’s announcements, and I’d actually saved it to my computer before I decided to do this assignment and realized I’d need to hunt it down again. I’ve loved everything I’ve seen so far by Grant Snider, because the way he playfully mixes metaphor and reality is really amusing; this cartoon is no different. At this point in the semester, classes are also crazier and messier for me than any others have ever been, so the tidying up of the interior life was an especially timely reminder.

Image Credit: "Interior Life" by Grant Snider. Source: Learning by HEART.

Famous Last Words: In Which I'm Not Quite Drowning in Homework, But Occasionally Choking On It

I’ve never used the “Famous Last Words” option before, so I thought I’d try it out this week, and I actually think I might start doing it more often, even when I’m not making up points. I like the idea of looking back and seeing how the semester progressed—especially since, at this point, it looks a tiny bit like a train wreck.

From the outside, it’s going well—last semester, keeping up with classes—and I’m sure that’s how it’ll look at the end of the year, too. But for now, it’s all kind of messy, and this class is getting hit the hardest. I’ve had a lot of writing to do in other classes, which isn’t exactly new, since I’m a PW major; but I’ve also had less time than any other semester to work on getting that writer done, and I’m slow under the best circumstances anyways. To keep up in other classes, I’ve had to skip writing assignments in this class for the past few weeks and do extra credit opportunities to make up for it. I hate skipping the writing, since that was my favorite part of the Myth-Folklore class last semester, and I’ve been looking forward to the idea of being able to look back at a new crop of potential stories once May comes.

For now, though, it’s kind of a necessary evil, and I’m just glad to have extra credit options to fall back on. One thing I have been able to do is keep up with the readings, and I’m really enjoying the freedom the Indian Epics course offers in that department. The mix of different story mediums just goes to show how strong and flexible stories themselves are, and getting to experience the same stories through different approaches has been really interesting. The episodic nature of the Mahabharata (and its sprawling cast) makes the TV-like nature of the Epified videos or the comic books a natural fit, but it’s also been great getting to see the scope narrowed down to a specific, fleshed-out character with the novels. Right now, I’m reading The Palace of Illusions, and I’m hoping to read another novel after this involving a modern-day mystery and Sita.

Image Credit: The Palace of Illusions cover. Source: Goodreads.

Reading Notes: The Palace of Illusions, Part B

When Draupadi meets her long-lost sibling Sikhandi (the reincarnated Amba), he tells her his history and about how he came to be a man: No, I didn't pray to the gods to be changed. I lost faith in them a lifetime ago. This time I invoked a yaksha. He appeared in the sky with his burning demon sword. When he heard what I wanted, he laughed and plunged it into me. The pain was unbearable. I fainted. And when she woke up, she'd gotten her wish. There are plenty of interesting details here, like the demon's response to the wish or the way he used his sword to grant it, but I think the most striking detail is in Sikhandi's personality—in the fact that she didn't even bother going to the gods with her wish, but instead went straight to the demons. Because she knew she knew not to like them or trust them, but it's like that in itself made them more trustworthy—she knew what she was getting with them, and she knew exactly how much it would ruin her. Like I said: interesting.

I was also really intrigued by Sikhandi's relationship with the rest of his family. He's the long-estranged son returning home, black sheep of the family, but Drupad has to at least go through the motions of welcoming him back to save face. There's a lot of tension there, and a lot of history to go with it: King Drupad had invited Sikhandi to stay with him, but Sikhandi politely excused himself. (Drupad tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise his relief at this.) However, when Sikhandi said that he would like to stay with my brother and me instead, I sensed our father's uneasiness. Perhaps he was worried that Sikhandi would be a corrupting influence! But I was delighted. Something about Sikhandi drew me to him... He bore his destiny so casually, it made me worry less about Dhri's and mine. I love this idea of the black-sheep, no-good, supposedly bad-seed older brother coming home despite his dad's wishes, and shaking up the whole family order, changing how the younger sibling sees the world and his dad and himself.

That said, because I'm a sucker for sibling dynamics in general, I really loved the one between Sikhandi, Dhri, and Draupadi—Divakaruni develops it so efficiently and seemingly effortlessly, till it feels like Sikhandi has always been part of the group: We whiled away his short visit in eating and storytelling and playing at dice (for Dhri had taught me this most unladylike pastime). We laughed a great deal, often at the littlest things. I composed poems and riddles to entertain my brothers and watch as they practiced with swords.

Then there's this little gem, in an exchange between Dhri and Sakhandi: Dhri bested Sakhandi easily, then asked with concern, "How are you going to defeat Bheesma?"
    "I don't have to defeat him," Sakhandi said. "I just have to kill him." Let's just make it clear once and for all: besides being a compelling character study, Sakhandi is just plain awesome.

Finally, as my last Sakhandi note, there's the fact that he refuses his siblings' nice parting gifts, because he explains that he's got to take up his penance. They protest, saying that if anybody owes penance, it's all the people who've wronged him. But no. Sakhandi says that he's going to kill Bheesma, the greatest warrior of their time, and that that's a big sin: "It's worse when it's done through trickery—and that's what I'll have to resort to, because I certainly don't have the skill to achieve it otherwise. I'm atoning for it in advance, as it's very likely that I, too, will die in the process." There are a lot of things I love about this—the flat-out acknowledgement (and acceptance) that he won't be able to fight fair and still achieve his goals, the plans for trickery—but more than anything else, I love the fact that he's starting his penance now, atoning for the kill in advance. A downpayment on his sins. There's something slightly Matt Murdock about it, if Matt had become a rough-and-tumble hitman instead of a masked do-gooder, and I'm a fan of everything about it. That's a fascinating character, and one I'd like to get to know. So that's probably one of the strongest story seeds I've been drawn to all semester.

Moving on to other characters now, I was also really interested in Draupadi's reflection on her dad's outlook, and on what a good king but terrible dad that would make Drupad: "Power—that's all he cares about, not his children.... Why won't you ever admit the truth?" I spoke bitterly. "We're nothing but pawns for King Drupad to sacrifice when it's most to his advantage." I think, if spun off in a slightly different direction, with a different perspective and different trappings, that could be a pretty interesting story in its own right. The kids of a chessmaster king, cold and calculating, raising himself an army of kids and doomed heirs to wield like weapons. Collect 'em all, then divide and conquer.

I'm also a fan of this thought Draupadi has about her brother's eventual fate, and think it could make for the great core of a character: I wondered if it would break him or harden him, and which would be worse.

Already, this book has already made me view Kunti differently, and definitely with more respect: Kunti, devastated though she must have been by both her husband's death and his last act, gathered all her willpower. She brought the five princes back to Hastinapur, making no distinction between her own children and those of her rival. She was determined that no one would cheat them out of her inheritance. For years she struggled, a widow alone and in disfavor, to keep them safe in Dhritarashtra's court until finally, now, they were grown. A matriarch like that—all jagged edges and flint soul—would raise such a strong, interesting family, and probably wouldn't have many qualms about doing whatever she has to to claw her clan's way to the top. It makes me think of the mom from Sons of Anarchy or even Animal Kingdom, and I think the whole thing's worth considering through a genre bent.

This makes me think of Ozymandias from Watchmen, and in my book, interpreting it as a very intentional act makes the whole thing that much more worth investigating: "Too few [good kings]," she said, "and they're tired with fighting. In this Third Age of Man, the good are mostly weak. That is why the earth needs the Great War, so she can start over."

Also, I think this could be really promising interpreted in a witchy/supernatural way: Still others whispered their discontent into their sleeping husbands' ears all night, so that the men, waking in the morning, acted out the anger that festered within their wives.

I taked in my previous post about the tight bond between the fire-twins, but it's worth noting again how well Divakaruni makes that clear not only through Draupadi's explanations, but by Dhri's actions, too: "He's old!" I whispered to Dhri in distaste....
    My even-tempered brother shrugged.... "But he's no danger to us. He's not going to win."
    I appreciated Dhri's choice of a pronoun that coupled our fates, but I found slim comfort in his confidence.

Also, a king like this is just dying to get the spotlight in a spec-fic story: Jarasandha, king of Magadhi, with his live-coal eyes. (I'd heard Dhri's tutor say he kept a hundred defeated kings in a labyrinth under his palace.)

This one's short and random, but the phrasing of it caught my imagination: when the portrait artist is unveiling all the suitors' portraits to Draupadi, he describes Duryodhan's as including the crown prince, plus "the scions of his court."

Since Karna's my favorite character from any of the epics, it's probably unsurprising that this snippet caught my eye. But really, it interests me more for the potential of becoming something else: For the first time, I was unconvinced by [Krishna's] words. A man who sat with such unconcern among princes, a man who had the power to perturb Krishna, had to be more than merely a chariot-driver's son. Because I love the idea of some kid from a petty-crime scumbag family raised cocky enough to think he can steal himself the world, and strolling right into a room full of princes despite (and because of) that upbringing.

Then there's also this line, which made me imagine a king sending out all his lower-ranking sons out to test rumors and traps, enemies and potential allies for him: "Princes must not panic until they've tested the truth of a rumor for themselves."

I'm also digging the idea of this road-not-taken option for Gandhari, the blindfolded queen: I wondered if there were days when she regretted her decision to opt for wifely virtue instead of the power she could have had as the blind king's guide and adviser. I get serious Victoria Vinciguerra vibes off this, and they're perfect.

I also loved this exchange, because of the image of the world it paints: "The palace was in an uproar," Dhai Ma said, "people running around wringing their hands, crying thatches was the work of demons... And that's how Duryodhan and his brothers—and their sister Duhsala—were born. Maybe that's why he's such great friends with Karna, who also came into the world in a strange way."
    ...I quipped, "Doesn't anyone have normal births anymore?"
    Dhai Ma gave me a sharp glance... "You're one to talk!"
    As always, I still find the story behind Duryodhan and his brothers' birth really compelling—because if people were sure from your birth that you were the product of demons and devil-work, what chance did you ever really have of being anything else? Born under a bad sign, almost literally. Duryodhan was never going to be the good guy, even if he'd tried.

Speaking of, I find it really interesting that despite all his flaws, Duryodhan has some really positive, admirable qualities, too. It's probably highlighted most clearly at the events of the tournament between the cousins. First, there's: Some cry out Duryodhan's name, for he is dashing, brave, and generous to a fault. Even today, riding to the tournament, he threw handfuls of gold coins into the crowd until his purse was empty.

The generosity mentioned above also makes it easier to believe that he genuinely did want to help Karna, even beyond his ulterior motives/personal benefit. When Drona and his pals try to come up with reasons Karna can't fight Arjun, just to save face, they insist that only a prince can fight another prince, and silkily ask which princely house Karna comes from.
    The stranger's face flushes. My name is Karna, he says. Then, so softly that all in the assembly must strain to hear, But I do not come from a princely house.
    And so Drona and Co. insist that he can't take on Arjun, then, but—
    Wait! cries Duryodhan, springing up in outrage. Clearly this man is a great warrior. I will not let you insult him like this, using an outdated law as your excuse! A hero is a hero, no matter what his caste. Ability is more important than the accident of birth.
    The citizens approve of these sentiments. They cheer lustily.
    Duryodhan continues, If you insist that it is necessary for Karna to be a king in order to battle Arjun, then I'll share my own inheritance with him! He calls for holy water and pours it over the stranger's head. To the cheers of the crowd, he says, King Karna, I now pronounce you ruler of Anga, and my friend.

Also, as compelling as I find a good case of fictional daddy issues, this also really makes me want to focus on a positive father-son relationship in a story: ...[T]he people's attention is caught by an old man who limps into the arena. From his clothing it's clear that he belongs to a lower caste. Is he a blacksmith? No, say those who know such things. He's a chariot driver.
    He heads for Karna and—wonder of wonders—Karna sets aside his bow to touch the old man's feet.
    Son! cries the newcomer. Is it really you, back after so many years? But what are you doing here, among these noble princes? Why is there a crown on your head? 
    With infinite gentleness, Karna takes the old man's hand and guides him into a corner, explaining as he goes.
    Karna's essentially the ultimate underdog here, plus really skilled and worthy at what he does, and those are both proven character traits to win a reader's loyalty and sympathy. But what really kills me is that this top-fighter, battered-knuckled fighting machine is so gentle about taking his dad aside and claiming him and explaining to him, even though it gets him all kind of mockery and jeering.

I'd also be 100% down to frame a story around a character with a similar curse (and reaction) to this one, because it's got all the right elements to induce doomed attachment and long-simmering dread and a sense of painful inevitability: I shut my eyes. I didn't wish to hear any more of this story. I willed Karna to walk away from the fallen animal before he was discovered as its killer. I knew he wouldn't.
    In the morning he finds the owner of the cow, confesses his deed, and offers compensation. But the enraged brahmin says, You killed my cow when she was defenseless. You, too, will die when you have no means of protection. Karna pleads with him to change his curse. I'm not afraid of dying, he says. But let me die like a warrior. The brahmin refuses.
    Also, is it just me, or are all brahmins judgmental, self-righteous jerks? Totally not impressed by the representation we've seen so far.

I love the contrast between the twins, too—especially how straight-laced Dhri is compared to his sister and her nurse. Like in this scene, on Draupadi's ceremony morning: Dhri was waiting outside my rooms to walk me to the wedding hall, where the kings had already gathered. He looked severe in his ceremonial silks. I noticed the scabbard on his hip, carved with flying beasts.
   "Why the sword?" I asked.
    Dhai Ma said, "What a question! Don't you know it's the brother's sacred duty to protect his sister's virtue? He'll have his hands full today, with all those dirty old men drooling over you."
    "Your vulgarity never ceases to amaze me," Dhri told her. She laughed ad gave him a cuff on the ears, then hurried off to bully her way into the best seat in the royal attendants' area.
    But I knew the real reason for the sword. He expected trouble.

Also, I just really love Karna and Duryodhan's friendship, okay? Duryodhan made a comment—probably about me—and his companions slapped their knees and guffawed. Karna alone (I noted with gratitude) sat still as a flame. Only the slightest thinning of his lips indicated his disapproval, but it was enough to silence Duryodhan.

Anyways, all in all, it's probably fitting that my last note is about the King of Anga himself: Dhri unsheathed his sword and braced his shoulders. Karna leveled his arrow—the one he'd chosen to pierce the target—at my brother's chest. His eyes were beautiful and sad and unfaltering, the eyes of a man who always hits what he aims at. Interestingly enough, that last line reminded me so much of S.E. Hinton's Dallas Winston, another of my favorite characters: "I knew he would be dead, because he wanted to be dead and Dallas Winston always got what he wanted." Kind of a bummer, I know, by which I mean mildly soul-shattering, but hey—a lot of the time, the saddest stuff is also the strongest stuff.




Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Image Credit: Watching Audience, by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: The Palace of Illusions, Part A

One thing that Divakaruni does amazingly well with this novel is taking the events of the Mahabharata and reinterpreting them through a very human lens. So some of the inspirational lines I've snagged below are bits that've piqued my interest before, and some have caught my eye for the first time.

First, there's the perspective Draupadi's nurse brings to the palace preparations followed leading up to the birth of Draupadi and her brother: "We'd been praying for thirty days, from sun-up to sundown. All of us: your father, the hundred priests he'd invited to Kampilya to perform the fire ceremony, headed by that shifty-eyed pair, Yaja and Upayaja, the queens, the ministers, and of course the servants. We'd been fasting, too—not that we were given a choice—just one meal, each evening, of flattened rice soaked in milk... But I was scared, too, and stealing a glance here and there, I saw I wasn't the only one. What if the fire ceremony didn't work the way the scriptures had claimed it would? Would King Drupad put us all to death, claiming we hadn't prayed hard enough?"

And then there's the relationship between Draupadi and her brother Dhri, the twins born from flames. Their bond is established from the beginning: When their father the king came for them, he held out his arms—but for my brother alone. It was only my brother he meant to raise up to show to his people. Only my brother he wanted. Dhri wouldn't let go of me, however, nor I of him. We clung together so stubbornly that my father was forced to pick us both up together.

A little later, even after they've grown almost to adulthood, we see that that hasn't changed: My years in my father's house would have been unbearable had I not had my brother. I never forgot the feel of his hand clutching mine, his refusal to abandon me. Perhaps he and I would have been close otherwise, segregated as we were in the palace wing our father had set aside for us—whether for caring or for I was never sure. But that first loyalty made us inseparable. We shared our fears of the future for each other, shielded each other with fierce protectiveness from a world that regarded us as not quite normal, and comforted each other in our loneliness. We never spoke of what each one meant to each other—Dhri was uncomfortable with effusiveness. But sometimes I wrote him letters in my head, looping the words into extravagant metaphors.

Since I've also been really intrigued all semester about the way divinity and mortality coexist in these stories, I also thought Draupadi's opinion on the rumors about her family friend Krishna was pretty interesting: There were other stories about Krishna. How he'd been born in a dungeon where his uncle Kamsa had imprisoned his parents with the intention of killing him at birth. How, in spite of the many prison guards, he'd been miraculously spirited away to safety in Gokul. How, in infancy, he killed a demoness who tried to poison him with her breast milk. How he lifted up Mount Govardhan to shelter his people from a deluge that would have drowned them. I didn't pay too much attention to the stories, some of which claimed that he was a god, descended from celestial realms to save the faithful. People loved to exaggerate, and there was nothing like a dose of the supernatural to spice up the drudgery of facts.

There's also this line, from a story Draupadi tells about a poor boy who asks his mother if he can try some milk, because the other boys have been talking about how great it tastes. But their family is too poor to afford milk, so instead, the mother feeds him water mixed with flour and jaggery. After, the boy is thrilled that he knows what milk tastes like too, just like the other kids. And we get this gem of a line: And the mother, who through all the years of her hardship had never shed a tear, wept at his trust and her deception. I think that's the really interesting core of a character: someone who lies to other people constantly because the ends justify the means, and hates herself for doing it and the other person for believing it—while also loving them for believing it. It's a really interesting dynamic.

I also find Draupadi and Dhri's relationship with the rest of their family (stepmothers and half-siblings) really interesting: The stories kept us from wondering too much about the rest of Drupad's family—his queens, and the other children whom we saw only on state occasions. What were they doing? Was our father in their lighted, laughing chambers? Why didn't he invite us to join him? The way their dad treats them is especially interesting in light of the fact that he was so desperate to have them, and to have them be different from other children—but that this is how he reacts when he actually gets all that.

Then, talking about when Drona kidnapped his old friend Drupad so he could make them equals (and therefore friends) again: A brahmin embraced a king, a king embraced a brahmin. And the anger that the brahmin had carried smoldering within him all these years left his body with his out-breath in the form of dark vapor, and he was at peace. But the king saw the vapor and knew it for what it was. Eagerly, he opened his mouth and swallowed it. It would fuel him for the rest of his life.

There's also Dhri's relationship with his own prophesied destiny, and the way he lets the perceived inevitability of that shape and change him: I was hoping Dhri would let it be, but he was like a hunting dog at a boar's throat: "And then?"
    Suddenly I was tired and heartsick. I thought, I shouldn't have chosen this story. Every time I spoke it, it embedded itself deeper into my brother's flesh, for a story gains power with retelling. It deepened his belief in the inevitability of a destiny he might have otherwise sidestepped: to kill Drona. Yet like a scab that children pick at until it falls to bleeding, neither of us could leave it alone.
    And then you were called into the world, Dhri. So that what started with milk could end one day in blood.
    There was more to the story. Whose blood, and when, and how many times. All that, however, I would learn much later.
    "What do you think Drona looks like?" Dhri asked.

And then, last, not quite least, there's the palace full of queens, but no mother figures: I'd long been curious about the queens—especially Sulochana—who flitted elegant and bejeweled along the periphery of my life. In the past I'd resented them for ignoring me, but I was willing to let go of that. Perhaps, now that I was grown, we could be friends.
    Surprisingly, though the queens knew I was coming, I had to wait a long time in the visitor's hall before they appeared. When they did arrive, they spoke to me stiffly, in brief inanities, and wouldn't meet my eyes.




Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Image Credit: Fiery Orange Gem, by Hans. Source: Pixabay.

Tech Tip: Canvas Notifications

One of my other online classes has discussion posts multiple times a week, and the email notifications for those are a little overzealous. I decided to use this tech tip to opt out of those, and my OU inbox is forever thankful.

As a side note, I was surprised by how many different notification options there are in Canvas, and by how customizable the whole setup is. Just another reason I'm glad the school made the switch from D2L.


Image Credit: Laptop Focus, by Pexels. Source: Pixabay.