Gods Behaving Badly

I came across this really creative book written by Marie Phillips.

It puts all the Greek Gods in 21st century London. All of them live together in a dilapidated old house and each of them has a day job. Aphrodite works as a phone-sex operator. Dionysus works as a bartender and a DJ. Artemis, the Goddess of hunting works as a professional dog walker!

They all are fed up living in the same house together and conserving their powers ( because they are no longer as powerful as they used to be in the olden times). Apollo , the Sun God, works as a substandard TV star and tries to entice mortal women (unsuccessfully) to change his painfully boring sex life. ( Apparently he is sad about the fact that Aphrodite is flawlessly beautiful for over three hundred years and making love is like recurring de ja vu!)

When Apollo's advances are turned down by mortals, he uses his powers to turn them into trees. When the other Gods find out about this, they make him swear on Styx that he will not use his powers to get even with sexual insults for a decade and the story takes a very funny turn when he actually breaks it and the Sun goes out.

Although it sounds somewhat like "Harry Potter for Adults" and it gets progressively predictable towards the end I was genuinely amused by the central idea.

It is crisp in places and I think it is really well researched as well. It comes with a British sense of humor so it is really hilarious in places.

It got me thinking, what if someone writes a book like this on Indian Gods. All the cities would be closed down at the same time.

There would be black flags outside the writer's house and a few Shiv Sainiks would beat the hell out of him when he goes out to get milk one morning. There would be a row over how the sentiments of Indian people have been hurt because of the contents of the book. Aaj-Tak would get lot of material for their "Breaking news" and they would leave Kareena Kapoor and Saif Ali Khan alone for a while.

Historians would protest because one group of historians would disagree with the order of Lord Krishna's 15886th wife.

The Shaivs and Vaishnavs would start fighting with each other because each one claims that their God was insulted more than the other's. There would be riots in some parts of Mumbai and a few buses would be burnt down.

The writer would be kept under house arrest with about fifty jobless protesters posted outside his house at any given moment.

All of this would get him on the best selling list and all his relatives reaching to his unborn great grandchildren would be ensured enough money to squander without getting a serious job ever in their lives.

With 33 billion Gods available to write about, it is a really juicy option!!

Viju Kaka

I had a unique childhood.  I had by some strange conspiracy of planets, some of the most intriguing people as a part of my early years. Viju kaka was one of them.

I remember him through the eye-span of a five year old so he was one of my heroes. He was around forty and single and lived in a queer little room in a chawl in Chimanbag. His room smelled of cigarettes  but I never felt uneasy. He had numerous boxes of tools lying about randomly in his room. A funny little spanner, a set of shiny pliers, cute baby screw-drivers and sand papers of all kinds. Being a girl, I was never fascinated by anything as much as by the little metal stool he had that I was fond of sitting on. It was something from my world that fit into all the little things around me.

He used to baby-sit me all the time. My mom left for work on Saturdays and my dad and Viju kaka met at a restaurant near by to talk politics over around sixteen and a half cups of coffee and a few cigarettes. I sat around listening to them or running around amusing the waiters. My dad then left me with him and went out grocery shopping exactly an hour before my mom's scheduled return. 

Viju kaka had this really rustic looking bike called "Bullet" and he made me sit on the petrol tank in the front. From the way it fired, we had named it "digee-digee" and I loved riding it. 

Sometimes, he used to be busy fixing something in his room and I used to hang around opening boxes and being overwhelmed by the amount of disorganization that he could tolerate. Compared to our house then, which was I guess the humblest we ever lived in, his room was like being in a Wonderland. There was no kitchen, but a little gas cylinder with a burner just enough for making a cup of tea whenever he felt like. There was no bedroom, just a bed which looked like it was ever willing to sacrifice its purpose as a bed for a work bench. A lonely table fan that turned its head to a different corner and circulated the yogi air in the room. A big gramophone that played jet black discs when my dad and Viju kaka had their contemplative cups of tea. They were the ferocious men in the seventies so they usually had really (pointless) intensive discussions over politics that could be true ( or pointless) either way. However, they amused themselves with speculations. Even now, every time I see men talking about politics, I turn into the same five year old that I was back then and wander off, keeping my eyes on them and my mind elsewhere. 

He had invented a fictitious character called "Sugandha" to get me to behave myself. So every time I threw a tantrum he used to tell me how Sugandha never does these kind of things because she is such a good girl. She could dance,sing ( whenever they wanted her to impress guests), tell stories and she also helped her mom in the kitchen. I used to be raging mad at this epitome of goodness in a little girl's disguise. 

He used to take me around on his bike all over the city when he was running errands and baby-sitting me at the same time. So I was taken to oily and greasy service stations and made to wait for long hours till someone helped him out. He kept me entertained with his stories and I never got bored. 

I don't know what happened but we lost touch with him for a long time. In the meanwhile I grew up and those childhood flashes of memory were sewn together by "facts" that my parents provided about everyone. I got to know a lot of things about all my childhood idols that I could have done without knowing. Through coffee conversations and old-friends-getting-together-after-a-long-time events, I realized that what I saw of Viju kaka was really a very tiny part of what he was known for and somehow my mind refused to see him as a complete person. 

I met him again years later and he was true to his image in my mind, for he showed up with a big bar of chocolate even though he knew I was almost seventeen. He was married and lived in another town. I tried finding that "deegi-deegi" guy in him again but the effort was futile. 

At such times I truly regret growing up. Somehow when you are around three feet tall, you make up for all that you cannot see by your innocence. I had filled my gaps with my own imagination and I really liked thinking about Viju kaka the way I thought of him when I was five. Back then, the stench of nicotine made me feel safe! It reminded me of the little room with a lot of tool-boxes that I was "set free" into!

To Find or not to Find

Today afternoon my labmates and I discovered something really serious.
We were sitting there in front of our "designated" machines pretending to be busy when one of "us" got bored and came over for a chat. Soon the other joined us too!

Then as it follows when three chemists/physicists get together , we all got contemplative. It was so easy for Archimedes to go "Eureka!!!!" in the bath tub. Or how Newton just had to sit under an apple tree and suddenly reveal gravity to us.
Today everyone knows about gravity and buoyancy forces.
That is the problem!!
They have already discovered all the easy things and left all the difficult ones for us. That is why research seems so difficult! That is why we get lost in complicated hydrogen bonding and solvatochromic dyes.
Now that I am doing a PhD, I really want to invent something. If invention is too much of an aim, I at least want to discover something but I think there is nothing left.

Newton also apparently invented the catflap
He made a flap for his cat so that she could come visiting him in his lab whenever she felt like without bringing any light with her and upset his experiments. However, when she had kittens, Newton was so eager to please them all that he made several small flaps for the kittens too just to realize that they merrily followed their mum through the bigger flap!
Now that he is so famous, this story becomes a "cute" Newtonian story. If I had done something like that, I am pretty sure that people would roll their eyes and go "Gosh that is so much like you!! You are beyond help".

So the point is that there is nothing really left for me to invent or discover ( except maybe if I want to "discover" myself or something) and in order to be applauded for the silly things I end up discovering now and then ( Like the exact proportion of peanut butter and jam so as not to get the sandwich soggy or leave it dry), I have to invent or discover something obviously big first.
Every now and then, I do a scifinder search on my research topic and find that people are adding bits and pieces of publications to it. The scientific community is always gripped by a constant fear, " What if my current work is being published somewhere?".
We are constantly scared of some Su Chang or Sreedharan Ramaswamy Iyyer trying to write a paper on what we have been doing over the past few months.

I have decided to get over these fears though. Who are we to "discover"?
It is all already there. We are merely writing papers and amusing ourselves.
Even if we remember Newton and respect him it is his work that really matters and not his name! =)
I guess it pays to be philosophical and lazy at the same time but I genuinely hope that I discover something! =)

Shoe Bites

About two months back, I came across this little shop in Oxford street that sold shoes.

They were not magnificent and I thought them to be a tad bit expensive for a student so I banished them from my mind.

A few days went by and I was smitten by a gypsy skirt in my favorite bohemian (Boho) shop called "Tree of Life". I bought the skirt and then my heart turned into a butterfly and went to Oxford street.

They were not really that good, but I kept thinking how cute they would go with the new skirt.

The sweltering heat of the Australian summer turned into a pleasant chill. The Gulmohars stopped blushing orange and oranges filled the supermarkets. My lab book half-filled, with pretty spectra stuck on every other page, I always thought of those shoes when I went for a walk on Oxford street.
Then I decided to get over the silent hankering by actually going out and buying them. So on one Saturday when I had plans to go out with friends in the evening, Riju and I went to Oxford street and got those cute gypsy shoes.
They are those schoolgirl shoes, with little patches of cloth on them and a band that goes diagonally across your pretty foot. I was elated and I decorated myself with the skirt and the shoes and left for the big party.
I sensed some abrasion at the back of my ankle but I dismissed it as a minor incident and kept walking towards the bus stop. The bus took me to the train station from where I had to walk to my friend's house. I sensed a bit more friction when I was trying to cover the steep incline that leads to his house and I was overcome with worry.
We went dancing and I let go with everyone else and my feet began crying tears of pain.
I kept telling myself not to think of it.
It is just a shoe bite and there are so many other beautiful things to look at!!
There was food, dance, lots of beer and all my friends but my mind kept going into my ankles.
The music filled the air but there was only one voice ringing in my ears, " The new shoes are biting you".
They looked so innocent behind the glass in the shop! They almost seduced my feet.
Like those pretty women who turn into monsters when they get control over your life, these shoes began feasting on my feet the moment they were put on.
I slipped my feet in and out of them now and then to ease the pain but every time I strapped them back, I used one of the filthiest swear words from my vocabulary.
When some of my friends commented on them and said that they looked really nice I could hear myself saying "Yeah right!".
I longed for my faithful Adidas sneakers. Or the fifty rupee Osho slippers that I got off the streets in Koregaon Park in Pune. I wished I had my walking shoes in my bag. I rationalized that no one would notice that I was wearing sneakers that did not match with the skirt because the skirt was long enough to hide most of the shoes, which made me feel even more like a complete idiot!
At night, we had to walk back to my friend's place again and I just could not take the thought of keeping my feet in those carnivores anymore. I got out of them and walked home barefoot.
Now there was an added challenge of having a few sharp pricks every now and then on my soles too! Fresh rains had left the roads washed and cold. So every time we saw a grass-lined pavement, I took the grass. It felt so good on my tired feet!
I wished I had not bought them. At least I would still like them because they were not bought. I would go back to Oxford street and tell myself that I would buy them some day and live with that happy thought. Like the cute guy behind the coffee shop counter!! You keep liking him because you don't know that he dropped out of high school, has been in and out of rehab a couple of times and is a big fan of Britney Spears.
So I have a few conclusions from this story...
1) Nothing is as good as it looks like in your imagination.
2) Sometimes, window shopping is better than real shopping
3) It is harder to handle hidden pain when everything looks perfect from the outside.
4) God has a sense of humor. He makes you spend $100 on shoes and then you realize how beautiful it is to walk barefoot on rain-soaked grass.
5) Beauty is but skin deep. :)
6) Shoe bites make you grateful towards all the other shoes you have that don't bite.
7) As Osho says, too much yearning and attachment leads to grief. We should go beyond shoes and learn to enjoy dancing barefoot!! =)

Measuring Chaos

I vividly remember the first day I saw my supervisors. When I came to Australia, I came with an extra baggage of an "attitude". I was a bit of a snob back then.
When I entered my co-supervisors office, I found that there were little heaps of files and folders all along the floor. He was really warm in welcoming me and suggested a few things that I should read. He happily sat down on the floor and began opening one folder after the other to get what he wanted me to read. I was horrified.
Anything that you want him to read, goes on the floor. His room has a very high entropy!
I took great pride during the first few months here in keeping my desk clean and tidy and decorating it with various things. Somehow as time went by, I turned into one of them too!

Little things make great differences. Like if you are a normal person, after eating an apple you would want to walk to the nearest bin and drop the leftover. However, I found it really hard to get up and go to the nearest bin. So I have a box that is full of crap right under my desk.
All the articles that I read somehow turn into little heaps on their own and arrange themselves in random patterns on my desk. All the shoes I own have somehow made it to the lower rack and still I think I don't have the right shoes every time I am going out.
Australia gives you a lot of coins in change and sometimes my pockets are full of twenties and tens which I dump in a plastic bag that lies on the top shelf of my desk. So my neighbors borrow coins ( without even telling me) when they need a coke from the vending machine.
My flatmate sneaks into the postgrad room sometimes and leaves post-its for me with messages like " Call me when you are free" and I never bother to remove the notes ( or even call her when I am free).
There is a big jar of Vaseline lotion which is also one of the common utilities. So I help people with chapped cheeks and dry hands from the lab.
When things get really unpleasant to look at, I transfer some of the heaps on the desk to the drawers and make it look pretty.
All my Calvin and Hobbes have been borrowed and left their own "hollows" between the other books and I have never bothered to fill those hollows. I am just waiting for the books to come back and fill them on their own.
Inside a merry mess of shopping bags, hair clips, mint, chapstick, mobile charger, paper clips and water bottles stands my tea mug that says "I am confused...no wait ..maybe I am not!".
So I think it kind of goes with the whole picture.
The universe is expanding too!! ( Or is it contracting?? I am not too sure)
As long as everything makes sense inside your head ( and heart) it is completely fine to be a little sloppy! :)
Sometimes, chaos is inside you and sometimes it is outside. All the sloppy people I have known since my college days were really organized when it came to where they were going! I had friends who solved problems on the back of bus tickets. In the end it is just how you express chaos and making a mess is really cathartic in nature sometimes. :)
I guess I have a theory there or maybe I am just defending myself!!

20 Years Ago!!

My mum and dad scanned this picture for me.
I still remember how thrilled I was to get a ready made saree
with a very easy draw-string! Finally I had the freedom of wearing a saree when I played house in the afternoons without having to wake up aai and ajji from their afternoon seista! Although I guess I did that too because I got bored with the same color every time!
One of my greatest ambitions was to become the "Seeta" in Ramayan. I tried wearing it without the blouse to resemble the Seeta in the forests. Being "mom" was the second best. =)
I liked imitating everything my mom did before she left for work in the exact chronological order after her morning shower. I repeated all of that ( including the way she checked if her saree was all in one level in the mirror) and wore everything on my face that she wore ( not in the right proportions though). Complete with two cute bangles in the right hand and my own little plastic watch ( that showed any time you wanted it to show..ah well, actually all watches are like that!) I "left" for work.
Playing the "teacher" was reserved only when imagination was going slow because of a persistent hunger pang. It was a lot of fun playing school with dad though. He used to turn into the slowest or the naughtiest kid in my class and I punished him all the time!
I loved "going to the market" wearing that saree. I picked up a wire basket from the kitchen and plucked a few leaves off all the trees in the garden. That was my "vegetable shopping".
Then there was the classic. Playing "house"! :)

When I look at myself like that, with my hands midway in the air and a silly little jasmine garland hanging off my head, I wonder what I am doing now! How can someone like THAT turn into someone like THIS?
From the girl who wanted to do everything from owning a dish washing and laundry shop to selling ice cream with my tricycle upside down as an ice cream cart, I am amazed at how I ended up being who I am. Not that I am not proud of what I am doing, but the easy moments of childhood that are filled with hope never come back!
When everything is possible.
When if your mom does not know the answer to your question, you believe that no one knows it as yet!
When you can have just as much sugar as you want and still stay as skinny as ever.
The days of drawing doodles on the wall even though there is a whiteboard in your room!
Where happiness is a function of frequency of zoo visits, helium balloons, pani-puri and tender coconut!

I wish I could go back to it ..I think I already did!!
Thanks Aai-Baba! :D

The Parameters of Beauty

Yesterday afternoon, after attending a friend's birthday party at a Chinese restaurant, my friend Sergio and I decided to finish it with a cup of Mocha each. We sat down on those ridiculously comfortable chairs facing the street and I knew that it was time for a long contemplative discussion. It is always related to India because there is so much to talk about India in various ways. I have grown accustomed to be the focal point of group discussions because I come from India. Sometimes I even find myself Googling things up because I have been bowled over by specific questions that I have no idea about ( What is the exact population and area in square kilometers of your city?)!!
So I had braced myself for one of the tough ones. He sighed a big sigh in his mug and looked at me. Then he said, " I am curious to go to India and find out how beautiful Indian women can get. Although I personally think, without offending you, that the Indian race is not particularly on top of the world beauty rankings. I mean looking at you I can say that Indian women can be pretty ( Aha!! *Bow*) but I have never seen a handsome Indian man in Brisbane."
Then he sensed that I was getting a bit too full with the latent compliment so he asked me to come back to the ground state and take part in the discussion. He went on to say that Indians were wise, philosophical, tolerant, sincere, content, calm and meditative but far from being handsome.
Just a few days back when we were watching youtube videos from each other's countries, I showed him a Bollywood song with Shahrukh Khan and he was shocked at how a guy with such an out-of-place-big-nosed-ugly-face could make it so big in Bollywood.

To be honest I had never analyzed Shahrukh Khan for his beauty and I was introduced to this whole superficial analysis of looks when I came here but I was pretty sure that I would eventually find a few handsome men on the street to prove him wrong.
We were very close to the Indian market and every few minutes, we could see an "All-Indian" family trotting along to buy groceries.
I guess I was plain unlucky or Sergio was right. Not even a single man that passed by could qualify as "handsome" on global standards. We sampled some twenty odd men on a scale of 1 to 10 and we did not even have an average of 4. I was angered and frustrated. Then we began walking towards the university and decided to take the longer route to find more Indians. On every corner we found a few but again, none of them scored well on the Greek's beauty scale.
I thought of Rhitik Roshan, but then I remembered that he is often described as the "Greek God" of Bollywood.
The middle-aged Indian men abroad can be identified with the way they dress. No matter which country they are in, they will always dress like they are in India and one of the unique features of these middle-aged men is that they would sit in a bar with their beer mugs and gossip about their respective bosses just the way they would in India. Once we overheard such a piece of juicy gossip and my friends wanted me to translate it for them. I was doing well till the time things got to the point where they started identifying the gossipees using their mothers and sisters. After that I had to do a short lecture on phonetically correct Indian swear words. My international friends have dutifully included those in their arsenal of abuses when life turns its back on them.
At the end of the day, after a long contemplation I was really sad to agree with Sergio but even with their funny noses and a tad too oily brown complexion, Indian men are not behind in regaling the Aussies with their cute peculiarities.
We have an 'Indian Accent Competition' in the post grad room sometimes and unfortunately I never win it even though I am the only Indian on board.
Sometimes I go for a Yoga class with all of them and it is as cult as it gets. :)
Whatever we are on a 'Global Beauty Scale', when you get to know somebody well, all this analysis suddenly turns murky. So when I gradually turned from 'The New Indian PhD Student" to "Sergio's Indian friend" to "Saee", I realized that apart from everything that I am, I also happen to be an Indian and a really happy one at that!