Mooned!

 

After waiting for seven years, and having travelled 400 miles in the last two days dodging clouds, we were ready to be mooned!

In a small town in Vermont in the path of totality, we waited as the moon’s shadow sped towards us with a land speed three times that of a commercial jet. The timing of contact has been predictable for 2000 years, since the Babylonians saw the pattern in eclipse records, but they did not know why or where they would occur. The location became predictable only about 300 years ago since Edmund Halley applied Newtonian gravity to the problem, for the first time predicting an eclipse in England.

In the middle of a pleasant spring day, an eerie twilight set in. The air became chilly, as the last sliver of the sun disappeared. Final rays that escaped through the craters on lunar limb, put the “diamond ring” on show.
And then, all that remained was a black hole in the sky.

We stared at the dark face of the moon, with wispy solar corona streaming in all directions around the edges. At a few spots along the rim, red plumes of solar prominence emerged, visible by naked eye. It was as if bits of our host star was oozing out into space. The prominences looked tiny, yet any one of them would be larger than the whole of the earth. Flanking the scene, two bright dots appeared in the darkened sky - Venus and Jupiter in a single line, the plane of the ecliptic.

For the shortest 3 minutes ever, and for what will be the last time in the next 20 years in America, a cloudless mid-day had turned into night.

Into A Sea of Stars

 

The Universe That Wasn’t There

Growing up in a big city almost anywhere in the world breeds a certain disinterest in the sky. 

Observing stars in the night sky just isn't something big city people do, or fill any part of their busy lives thinking about. So for most of my childhood, which was in a corner of big city, I never really developed a feel for the the night sky. There was a bookish understanding of stuff up there. Planets were things that existed in text books. The sun moved between imaginary lines of tropics in diagrams of geography lessons. A school teacher once mentioned that সপ্তর্ষি মণ্ডল (the Bengali name for the Big Dipper in the Indian sky culture) was a constellation which looked like a question mark if one looked north at the dead of the night. I only had a vague idea of where "north" was - thanks to a tiny little compass tucked away in a drawer in my grandfather's writing desk. We lived in a bungalow style home wth an open terrace. During warm summer nights, especially with power cuts which were frequent then, my parents and I sometimes went up there to catch a cool breeze. I have vague memories of seeing the moon. But trying to find a constellation at an unearthly hour was an adventure too far. I had no idea where or how to begin. Then there was in a monthly magazine a series titled কালপুরুষ   ("Kalpurush") authored by a famous writer of the time. The title stood out as strange, mysterious and memorable in an awkward way. It literally translated to "temporal man". Though I had no idea what it really was about. I would later learn in the vedic constellation nomenclature, the name was a reference to Orion the hunter. But for that time, the universe lay perfectly hidden behind the everyday things we did in the pursuit of happiness.

Temporal Man 

In the four decades that passed, my own pursuits took me to major cities in India (Delhi and Mumbai) and thereafter to the United States. And eventually I had the good fortune of moving to the suburbs of New Jersey where light pollution had not fully enveloped the night skies and life at night was not a mad rush to get ready for the next day of work. With books, and then phone apps as a guide, I slowly taught myself how to read the night sky. Armed with a digital SLR camera that I already had and a pair of astronomy binoculars which I bought, I started my journey into the world of backyard astronomy and astrophotography. These modest tools would become my magic wands to lift the veil of darkness. And one of my first adventures would involve chasing Orion.

Into a Sea of Stars

Somewhere between then and now, ten years had passed and my flirtations with the hobby had grown into a steady affair. This night in 2024, was a chilly February night with a few wispy clouds. I opened my front door for a "check in" on the universe before retiring for the night. Centered on the vaulted arch of my doorway was this starry humanoid figure majestically towering above me. Orion the hunter, It was by now a very familiar friend. Betelgeuse on its left shoulder, was visibly ruddy, as was Aldebaran, the eye of Taurus to the far right. There was also no mistaking Sirius the dog-star at its left foot. The bright "eye" aside - I could see the whole Canis Major constellation down to the dog’s tail. In my mind, for a moment every vestige of human settlement below faded away. I felt like I could take a step forward from the threshold of my home and dip into a sea or stars.

Hello Darkness

I had to pause to take a picture. This was a single shot with an SLR on a tripod. I threw in a clip-in light pollution filter to suppress the amber glow of sodium-vapor street lamps. A few tries later - I landed on this single 20 second exposure that did the trick. And after a little abracadabra on the computer - it was just  perfect.  Only in hindsight I realized that ten years after my first rendezvous, I had come a full circle standing face to face with the timeless “Temporal Man” again.

From being blind to a whole universe that lies hidden in plain sight, to being able to open the front door and step into a sea of stars - many of which I know by name - has been a long and rewarding journey into realms I did not imagine existed. And for that, I shall remain eternally grateful to life.