Copenhagen was nice, but it will never be home

The difference between the minimalism of Scandinavia and the maximalism of South India is the difference between savoring a single drop of cold rain and swimming in warm showers from a monsoon sky.

A movement is afoot

My focus as a technologist is on equity and ethics. I am not unique in saying this, but by saying it I strengthen the movement in our industry towards being more responsible and accountable to the users we claim to serve. And perhaps above that, I see myself as part of a community of technologists who see themselves as citizens with rights, who must protect their own rights and the rights of their neighbor.

My attention is on the technology behind news media be it social media (e.g. Twitter/X), media (e.g. YouTube), or a newspaper (e.g. Washington Post). In my praxis, I examine how technology is conceived, designed, developed, deployed, and updated, and whether it is creating more equity in the world or deepening inequality.

In this conversation, the question of “emerging markets” or “the developing world” comes up. What has been the impact of Facebook on the developing world? What aspects of Whatsapp led to such high adoption in India and why? How will Twitter/X impact the 2024 elections in Bangladesh? What knowledge gaps about China exist on Wikipedia?

Dreams from my childhood

From childhood I believed my life’s purpose was to bridge the worlds of India and America, specifically rural India and suburban America. My most recent trip to India clarified for me that I am meant to help these worlds intersect in meaningful ways, mostly because I think both peoples have a lot to learn from each other. My aim is to facilitate an exchange that happens on equal footing. Not for India to see Westernization and modernity as progress nor for the U.S. to develop a savior-complex, but for there to be a brilliant and equal exchange of ideas and values between these worlds.

I am one person, so there is only so much I can achieve in this lifetime, but my true hope is for there to be a system of exchange not simply between the cities of America and India, where the most privileged live, but between the towns and villages of America and India, where immense beauty, creativity, and genius resides. At least, this is my blind belief. 

From Denmark to Dakshina Kannada

This past December my boyfriend and I spent a few weeks in Copenhagen. We stayed in a small, hygge apartment in central Copenhagen, and spent our wintery days walking around what felt to me to be the cleanest, safest city I had seen in Europe.

For fourteen days my daily life was charmed by the meticulous, unassuming, and refined design culture of the Danes. I visited museum after museum, gazed at building after building, breathed in crystal clear air and ate crystal clean food. I learned about the exchange between Danish and Japanese design, which was quite exciting to me.

I documented what it felt like to be in Copenhagen, surrounded by such harmony; everywhere I looked were healthy people, no visible poverty, and I listened to the hum of peace. I am no Danish historian so I cannot tell you what political, economic, and cultural forces shaped this country. But I can tell you how it felt to be there. And I can tell you how it felt to go to India immediately after. 

And this difference in feeling is what is left when the likes, retweets, shoulder pats, and speaking opportunities disappear, and all you are is an anonymous number among one billion. It is the difference between understanding a problem perfectly and your naked humiliation in the face of its profundity. It is the difference between feeling that everything is solvable and nothing is. It is the difference between blind optimism to fix the world’s problems, and the zen acceptance of all that is, as it is. It is the recognition of a complexity that can only be felt and seen, not opined on from afar. 

This difference in feeling was my transition from the Global North to the Global South. Let me tell you, it was a vertigo that would bring Mahishasura to his knees. There were invisible forces at work in Copenhagen that were keeping its citizens safe, streets clean, stomachs full, and electricity renewable. Those forces changed the moment I landed in Mangalore, Karnataka, India. As I stepped off the airplane and the tropical heat of Dakshina Kannada laid into my skin, everything changed. 

Copenhagen was nice, but it will never be home. 

To be continued…