Goodbye Australia :'(

I had never imagined myself tearing up at the end of my final PhD talk. I had practiced it in front of the mirror some 5 times before I actually appeared in front of a room full of audience -- most of them plant biotechnologists; who had no clue as to what my research really meant in terms of chemistry. But they were there to cheer me on. So when I reached my last well-rehearsed acknowledgment bit, I was fine until I thanked my family. When I started thanking Australia -- a place that gave me so many friends, I found myself suppressing that well-known feeling of having hot air trying to escape your throat and eyes. :(

It has been a hectic and enlightening three and a half years. I don't know when I am going to fully realize the value of this phase; both in terms of academic and cultural experience. But my guess is that I would continue appreciating this all my life. If there is anything Australia as a culture taught me, it is how to relax. I have still not fully grasped it, because I am an unnecessarily high strung person.

I will miss a lot of things about Australia. I will miss being woken up by this -- a kookaburra laughing in a tree. It is no use being used to hear the song of an Indian Koel if you are planning to move to Australia. The first time I heard a kookaburra call, I thought the bird was dying, and the first time I saw an Australian magpie, I thought it was a crow with a skin condition.Here's Danny Bhoy  --a Scottish comedian (who is half Indian!), talking about Australian wildlife. And to be honest, he is not exaggerating! :)

I will dearly miss the Australian accent. How the sentences here end in inflection points and how the Os are uttered like a strong surf wave hitting the Australian beach. Here is a better description of the Australian accent by Danny Bhoy again.
I will also miss the Queensland beaches with their golden sand and deep turquoise water. Sitting on the sunny beach watching the restless Pacific were some of  my rare, calm moments here. :)
I will miss the touch of the Mediterranean that Australia has. With Greek, Spanish cuisines almost an Australian staple. The small shops owned by European entrepreneurs, proudly presenting the very best from their countries, the Italian caffes and Greek tavernas.

I will miss my friends. I remember when I came to Australia, the only people I knew, that too through the Internet were my PhD guide and my would-be flatmate. When I landed in Brisbane my unreasonable worrying mind was wondering what would happen if the girl I met on the Internet is in reality a scary trap! :)

I value what I learned outside the lab more than what I did in the lab in order to get a PhD. It is a strange feeling to know more everyday yet feel like you know nothing yet. To see people who have lived lives exploring paths that never even existed in the road map that was carved for you when you were growing up. To meet people who have come a long way from their home but have still managed to carry their home with them. And then to meet people who have never left home, but have long journeys embedded in their hearts. It is quite perplexing to slowly see yourself lose the ability to make strong judgment. To see yourself as a collage of many identities and to be less certain of what is the most predominant of all of those. What is more surprising than being less certain about who you really are, is being happy about it!

Kabir and Kumar Gandharva

Following the spiritual thread from the last post, I have two musical recommendations for you. Both are Kabir bhajans. I have always been fascinated by Nirguni Bhajans that celebrate the formlessness of the divine. Kabir bhajans are not just about formlessness; they are also lessons in detachment. Like this one by Kumar Gandharva. It portrays the spirit as a swan that flies away, all alone, making this whole world a mere visual spectacle.
Although the song is about detachment, Kumar Gandarva's sincere rendition makes it impossible not to attach yourself to it! :)
This one, by Kalapini Komkali (Kumar Gandharva's daughter) is a less popular but much more beautiful rendition of  "chadariya jhini". The more popular version is by Anup Jalota. A short introduction to her style and her gharana can be found here. She transports you into the realm of an oddly satisfying emptiness. The poem establishes a parallel between human body and weaving of a shawl, only to remind the listeners in the end not to confuse this shawl with an eternal possession; for all of us have to leave it behind one day.

Where is your gold?

I subscribe to a meditation podcast (yes, I am that bad). I am not a fan of how the West categorizes Yogasanas and talks about Buddhism. But I have seen and met so many dedicated Yogis outside India that I have stopped being cynical. Actually, I think I prefer being gullible to being cynical.
The usual course of how I listen to my podcast goes in two simple steps. I lie down in a comfortable position as recommended, with headphones in my ears. The next step is when I wake up next morning at 5 AM. Although I think that Zencast is one of the most genuine podcasts on Buddhist philosophy, I have very rarely made it to the other side of an episode in all consciousness.
But two days ago, the story of this golden Buddha made me reflect. This statue that weighs about 5 tonnes, was known to all as a 'clay Buddha' for centuries before someone discovered in 1957, that it was actually a statue made out of pure gold. When the Burmese army was about to invade Thailand, the monks covered this statue in clay to protect it from being looted or disfigured.
Although Buddhist thought has so many parallels and anecdotes to offer, I think this story is a parable in itself. There is much more gold than the literal gold these monks were trying to protect. It instantly reminded me of the Tall Poppy Syndrome,  which is a commonly used phrase in Australia. People  play down their achievements in order to not fall a victim to peer envy. I find that it is a significant part of work politics in every society.The fear of creating envy in others' mind is, believe it or not a genuine fear. It also has a name (zelophobia) if this source is to be trusted.
When you realize the worth of your gold, plastering it with a thick layer of clay would perhaps take you to a peaceful mind. 

Where Children Sleep

I saw a short review of this in the latest issue of Marie Claire. Then, I googled James Mollison. :)
It is a story built with photographs. He went around the world photographing kids and their bedrooms (if they had any). His pictures from Hebron, where ten year old Douha lives in a Palestinian refugee camp and nine year old Tzvika, who lives in Israel say a lot about the region without saying much. On the Life photogallery, I found the picture of seven year old Indira and her bedroom very moving. She works in a granite mine for five hours every day before going to school. There is also ten year old Sherap, from Nepal again, dressed in his red monk robes next to the inset picture of four year old child beauty queen Jasmine (Jazzy) from Kentucky, U.S.,  set against the larger picture of her bedroom. While Sherap sleeps in a bunk bed with a tiny bag hanging off the window, Jazzy's bedroom seems like it is made exclusively of ice cream and fairy floss, embellished with all the tiaras she has won in her four years of being alive!

The pictures also leave behind a train of innocent dreams. A rockstar, a kempo martial arts teacher, a pediatrician (or a model) and my favorite - an ice cream seller. :)
This was a very refreshing, yet deeply moving interlude.

The hypochondriac

I must confess that I google even the most minor ailments that I suffer from. A few years ago, I started seeing a floater in my vision. Before I found out what it really was (and reassured by a doctor) I was gunning for permanent blindness. Just a few months ago, I could hear my heart beat in my ear. It sounds ridiculous, I know. What kind of an arid unromantic am I? But then I googled it and found that it was Pulsatile tinnitus (at least that is what I settled on after a lot of browsing, since my doctor had advised me to stay away from google after the blindness episode). Just after Christmas when it got really hot in Australia, I decided that my frequent thirst and fatigue was definitely related to the possibility that my pancreas have failed and I have contracted Diabetes. Since this runs in the family, I found that my thirst aggravated miraculously after I made up my mind about being diabetic. Sometimes when I feel low in the evening and very happy in the morning, I imagine that I might be bipolar. One day, after an eight hour day at my part time job, which primarily consisted of entering weights to the fifth decimal in an excel sheet, I concluded that I sometimes reverse the digits in numbers owing to a latent dyslexia. Today,  in my breaks from data excavation, I am googling up "sore calves". Although I have a perfectly plausible explanation (an overdose of suryanamaskaras; 50 a day for the past one week),I would  like to go with Pseudothrombophlebitis syndrome.I should not bore you with my version of being a hypochondriac. The following excerpt from the 'Three Men in a Boat' was the inspiration for this post. I think every one should have this book by their bedside. :)

"It is a most extraordinary thing, but I never read a patent medicine 
advertisement without being impelled to the conclusion that I am 
suffering from the particular disease therein dealt with in its most 
virulent form. The diagnosis seems in every case to correspond exactly 
with all the sensations that I have ever felt.

I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment 
for some slight ailment of which I had a touch - hay fever, I fancy it 
was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an 
unthinking moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indolently 
study diseases, generally. I forget which was the first distemper I 
plunged into - some fearful, devastating scourge, I know - and, before I 
had glanced half down the list of "premonitory symptoms," it was borne in 
upon me that I had fairly got it.

I sat for awhile, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of 
despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever - read 
the symptoms - discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for 
months without knowing it - wondered what else I had got; turned up St. 
Vitus's Dance - found, as I expected, that I had that too, - began to get 
interested in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, and so 
started alphabetically - read up ague, and learnt that I was sickening 
for it, and that the acute stage would commence in about another 
fortnight. Bright's disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a 
modified form, and, so far as that was concerned, I might live for years. 
Cholera I had, with severe complications; and diphtheria I seemed to have 
been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six 
letters, and the only malady I could conclude I had not got was 
housemaid's knee.

I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed somehow to be a sort of 
slight. Why hadn't I got housemaid's knee? Why this invidious 
reservation? After a while, however, less grasping feelings prevailed. I 
reflected that I had every other known malady in the pharmacology, and I 
grew less selfish, and determined to do without housemaid's knee. Gout, 
in its most malignant stage, it would appear, had seized me without my 
being aware of it; and zymosis I had evidently been suffering with from 
boyhood. There were no more diseases after zymosis, so I concluded there 
was nothing else the matter with me.

I sat and pondered. I thought what an interesting case I must be from a 
medical point of view, what an acquisition I should be to a class! 
Students would have no need to "walk the hospitals," if they had me. I 
was a hospital in myself. All they need do would be to walk round me, 
and, after that, take their diploma".

Imagine what would have happened if Jerome K. Jerome had access to Google!

Selected Amartya Sen

I had resolved to put together selected works of Prof. Amartya Sen a few months ago. I stumbled upon some lectures that I had heard previously. In 2008, I wrote a review for one of his popular books The Argumentative Indian, in which he takes the reader through an entertaining yet refreshingly academic journey through India's history of public dialogue.That was the first time I read anything written by the Nobel laureate. However, since then, I have downloaded many of his more serious essays and articles on various developmental issues. His research in the theories of social choice is considered amongst the pioneering works in the field. However, he is better known for his work on famines and poverty.

I have a limited understanding of economics. Sometimes, I have to look up other references to clearly understand Sen's arguments but I think the struggle is worth it. The links I have included in this post are some of his famous academic talks. So there is bound to be a lag between listening to what he says and understanding it to the best of your ability, especially if you do  not have a background in economics. Nonetheless, I would urge everyone to make the time to listen.

This lecture  titled Identity and violence : the violence of illusion, takes a closer look at the reasons behind communal and religious violence, not just in the Indian context but all over the world. He articulates not just on how divisive politics works but also on how and why it is received so well in some situations. His book, Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny, which I go back to every now and then is a thesis on the many faces of human identity. In his narrative, Sen elaborates from time to time on the many identities that a single human being could have without any internal clash with one another and how, the clashes occur only when a single identity is isolated and glorified and pitched against a rival. He criticizes the popular 'clash of the civilization' theory and the attempts by politicians all over the world to try and put the world's peoples into isolated boxes. 
His thoughts on accepting the plurality of our own identities while scrutinizing each one one of them in an independent and critical manner is what the world really needs when it comes out of the Age of Religion. He is an atheist.However, instead of rejecting the existence of God, he takes us back to a 14th century Hindu text that accepts atheism as one of the schools of religious practice within Hinduism. 


This New York Review of Books article is titled More than 100 million women are missing. Sen comments on the female:male ratios all over the world, with a special analysis of South Asia. The ratio varies significantly even between the states within India. Northern states of Punjab and Haryana have the worst  ratios while Kerala (which ranks high both in status of women in general and literacy) has the highest. He frequently refers to this issue in his other talks as well and his analysis makes you reflect on how much of an enigma the Indian social fabric really is. This issue is close to my heart because it makes me aware that being an only girl child in a country such as India isn't the norm. When I read/listen to what Sen has to say about the development of women in India, I am also reminded of the many faces of feminism all over the world. In India, feminism exists with a passive resilience. We would never have a majority of Indian feminists reciting My Short Skirt. But millions of women are being empowered to have a little more control over their own lives and their own decisions day by day. 


Lastly, this 1999 Kenan lecture titled Human rights and consequences is something I highly recommend. He begins his lecture by saying that people advocating the establishment of clear and uniform human rights around the world are looked upon as softies or impractical intellectuals. However, just looking at it through an Indian perspective, I doubt whether we as a diverse society unified under a common identity of being Indian, have even given the concept of human rights enough consideration. Sen not only defines the scope of human rights but also reflects on the process of granting a right. He speaks about the disparity in the perception towards human rights between cultures, classes and sexes. He conducts the lecture by constantly bringing us to the critic's perspective on human rights. That makes it more convincing than if it were just a lesson.


In one of the chapters in his book on Violence, Sen talks about Robindranath Tagore's short story - Gora. It is about the life of a devout Bengali Bramhin who believes in the superiority of his 'Hindu', 'Brahmin' identity to the extent of making it his mission. Years later, his mother tells him that he was adopted after his Irish parents died in the mutiny of 1857. His whole world comes crumbling down and he is faced with the ironic challenge of applying all the rules of his Hindu superiority to his new identity. In the end, he accepts that no matter what his real identity is, he will always feel at home in India. 


Although we often stumble upon our own identities, it is not a mere discovery. Having discovered an identity does not mean acquiring it. Wearing it with confidence, conscience, flexibility and respect (both for our own and others') is a matter of careful choice. It is time that we all wake up to this choice. 


  

Drive in

I am fortunate to have very creative friends. A few of my friends decided to rent a projector over this weekend for a party. We made good use of it by watching two good movies in the back yard of their house, both of which have been nominated for the Academy Awards this year. Although it puts a serious question mark on my dedication to thesis writing, I must admit that for the first time, I have watched four movies that have been nominated for the Academy Awards before the ceremony took place. They are, in the order that I liked them, The King's Speech, 127 Hours, The Black Swan and Social Network.

There was a lot of discussion over why people liked The King's Speech. An analysis of "The Kings Speech Vs Social Network" happened before the Oscars. Here is an interesting article on why the former is likely to win (which it did!). For those of you who do not know what it is about, it is about King George VI and his long battle with a speech impediment. As a movie, it appealed to me more than Social Network because of the room it afforded for the actors. Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush both present their characters with remarkable honesty. I am a fan of Rush since the time I saw his portrayal of Marquis De Sade in Quills.
As it is argued in the article given above, The King's Speech may have the psychological effect of the age old 'triumph of the good and the honest', that human beings are subconsciously attracted to. At the same time, it has the element of breaching of 'established social hierarchy', where a king goes to a commoner for help.

Although it did not do a stellar job at the Oscars, Danny Boyle's 127 Hours is a gripping story. It is about an avid adrenaline junkie who has to go through an unexpected accident. I don't want to spoil the story so I won't say much about it. However, if someone had narrated the story to me before I watched the movie, I would not believe that it could be made into a ninety minute movie. So the USP of this movie is almost entirely in its making. I loved the background score by Rahman. It added the needed zing to the intense emotion of the storyline.

I loved The Black Swan because Natalie Portman tells the entire story using her face alone. She went through a physically demanding makeover for this movie. Both Natalie and Mila Kunis, who plays Natalie's rival, were on a 1200 calorie (and a 5 hour workout) schedule for their roles. But going beyond the physical transformation, Natalie makes the pain, the anguish, the surrender to discipline, the uncertainty of being in the most coveted position come to life through her facial expressions. It is a disturbing movie but it deals with psychological issues that are faced by human beings in varying degrees, in every profession, even though they are more severe in fields like fashion and professional ballet.

Social Network is about the journey of Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook. In reading the analysis of this movie online, I often came across a new stereotype that the media has coined - the rejected geek. He seems to be spiteful of the other two well established stereotypes, the hot girl at school and handsome 'dudes' who haunt the school gym and the basketball court. However, unlike the older stereotype of a powerless nerd, this new avatar is capable of doing some serious damage (and making some serious moolah). I enjoyed it for its pace that matches the pace of the age in which it was made.

Another noteworthy fact is that of the four, three movies were based on true stories.
Now, that I have played the movie reviewer, I should better get back to reviewing my papers. :)

Milestones

I am almost* at the end of my PhD. So it is time that I should formulate my own version of the hardships I went through during this time. In my mom's (expert) opinion, no one remembers their PhD as a glorious time of their lives. Every time I whinge about something to her, she tops that with an exceedingly horrible narration from her own PhD. Some of her stories, for example, the one where she goes, "we did not even have computers back then", need some correction factors for the technological advancement over the years and its effect on mental hardships.

As a PhD student, you are used to your (evasive) milestones. However, there are a number of philosophical milestones that you need to cross in order to truly deserve your PhD. I am going to list some of those here so that my compatriots in various parts of the world feel good about themselves.

1. The first rejection

For all the stellar PhD candidates out there, who get their papers accepted in the first attempt ever, they should know that they are missing out. The first rejection is as important to a PhD as a first heart break is to a teenager. It validates your position in this world (as close to non-existent) so firmly, that without this important milestone, you may form a totally deluded view of life itself. Whether you are coming down from an impact factor (which by the way is not a realistic measure of journal performance) of 30 to 5, or from 5 to 3, the first rejection is essential to normalize your measurement of what your work stands for. It takes a while (and a good amount of alcohol) to get over it, but boy! does it build character!

2. The first peer review

Well, to put it in perspective, if the first rejection is to be compared to the pain of unrequited love, then the first peer review is like marriage. When someone rejects you, all you have to do is go to the nearest pub with your other rejected mates and try and forget it with some EtOH. However, when someone accepts you, you have to go through an agonizing, never ending self-improvement session to prove that you are worthy of them. It might sound crazy, but peer review is actually more painful than an outright rejection. There were many bright Sunday mornings, when just as I was putting some sunscreen on with a butter knife, I saw the dreaded email from the editor of the journal saying, "you now have two weeks to fix this. Otherwise your paper is going to be considered as a fresh submission". There are times when these reviews overlap with all your papers, together with the rather insulting Australian reviews you are getting from your own supervisor. In the end, it leaves you with only enough self-confidence that can exist in equilibrium with complete hopelessness.

3. Running out of scholarship

I don't this this is essential, but when it happens, it feels like a scene straight out of a sitcom. Just as you are letting out a satisfied sigh about exiting the lab for good and planting your bum in a chair for the final write up, you get an email from the student center telling you that your scholarship has been cut off. You go to the people responsible to renew it, armed with an entreating monologue and a pack of tissues and get only kind sympathy in return. One of the solutions offered to you is, "maybe you can request your parents to help", which is enough to make you cup your ears with your palms and run out of their office screaming at the top of your voice. Then you come back home and apply for jobs (and make dartboards out of the pictures of people who did not renew your scholarship). You are appointed (thankfully) as a research assistant in a project that requires an intensity of concentration that would put a 200mW laser to shame. You come home exhausted from the job and have to get back to writing. Your boss at work treats your job as a full time job and keeps sending you emails with attachments for your to read after work. As if that is not enough, you keep meeting other PhD students from work who have had their scholarship renewed for up to 4 years while yours was cut off in 3 years and 3 months.

4. The technology betrayal

I am hoping this is the last one of them. As soon as you sort out your employment, your visa and that ugly fight you had with your supervisor and sit in front of your computer, you realize that it is dead. It has to be out of warranty and you have to be broke in order for this milestone to work on your character. Sometimes I think all these inanimate things we depend on, actually have a life of their own. How else would you have your computer die in the most final stages of your thesis? I have to assume that it is to make the plot more riveting. Something similar to one of those guys who lose their job on the same day as their girlfriend of eight years dumps them. Fortunately, by this time you have learned that the whole Universe is against your PhD so you have backed up your data online. Somehow this philosophical F#$% you is unbearable for your computer and it declares that it will work only on the power outlet. Fair enough. :)

It reminds me of a quote by Saint Calvin,

"That's one of the remarkable things about life. It is never so bad that it cannot get worse."

There are silver linings too. Getting a job before graduation, having supportive friends who are always willing to help you out and cheer you up. Having people bring you your favorite drink when you are bawling away in your room. Being so tired every day that your mind is completely stripped of unreasonable fears and demands.
Most importantly, realizing the meaning of 'being grateful' all over again!

*contingent on numerous factors that are totally beyond my control.

Obituary: Pulp and ink.

One of my most prominent childhood memories is the image of my dad on a Sunday, with his favorite newspapers around him. Baba would have Sakal delivered to him every day but on Sundays, he would walk to the nearest newspaper stall and bring home about half a dozen other newspapers too. His collection usually included Maharashtra Times, The Economic Times, The Times of India, Indian Express and The Hindu (on the rare occasions that it was available in Pune). His fascination with newspapers was a weekly cause of my mom's eye-rolling. Growing up in a city that did not hesitate to judge people by the newspapers they read, coupled with my dad's lack of loyalty to any one newspaper left me entirely undecided about what I liked - something I still struggle with when I read everything that is available to me.
The 'newspaper experience' in a middle class Marathi household was not just about what it conveyed in terms of information and knowledge, but also about the not-so-obvious feeling of pride that a young, hardworking man had for being able to have an opinion on the world.
Newspapers were the much needed cellulosic fodder for my dad and his friends' Saturday ruminations over endless cups of coffee and cigarettes. This metaphorical information grazing has since then stuck in my head, and I find myself turning into a cow in the virtual world every Sunday, visiting my favorite newspaper website pastures. So when I read this New Yorker article,
a little sigh escaped my lips.

It got me thinking about my own transition from the little girl fascinated by how 'her dad knows everything' to a young woman who knows a lot of unnecessary things. I have always been decidedly undecided about my take on mind clutter. I definitely tend towards hating a cluttered mind but sometimes, when a form or a face starts emerging out of chaos, I question my hatred. The death of the printed newspaper, I believe is going to be the metaphorical beginning of the new generation's chaotic storage and assimilation of information.

While I was going through these thoughts, I came across this incisive piece, in the New Yorker again, by Adam Gopnik. He characterizes people in three groups when it comes to the perspectives on the age of Internet - the Never-Betters, the Better-Nevers and the Ever-wasers.

"The Never-Betters believe that we’re on the brink of a new utopia, where information will be free and democratic, news will be made from the bottom up, love will reign, and cookies will bake themselves. The Better-Nevers think that we would have been better off if the whole thing had never happened, that the world that is coming to an end is superior to the one that is taking its place, and that, at a minimum, books and magazines create private space for minds in ways that twenty-second bursts of information don’t. The Ever-Wasers insist that at any moment in modernity something like this is going on, and that a new way of organizing data and connecting users is always thrilling to some and chilling to others—that something like this is going on is exactly what makes it a modern moment".

On one side he argues that all the big revolutions in the past, such as the revolution brought about by the age of printing, have been welcomed by both skepticism and euphoria. In the eighties, television was scrutinized, in the nineties computer faced a similar judgment. On the other hand, he genuinely questions our enslavement to our computers, going as far as calling Google the world's "Thurber wife". But somewhere hidden inside this mass paranoia over technology numbing the human mind, is a little hint of awareness that it is we who control the technology. I remember watching an interview of Rajiv Gandhi on the national television (Doordarshan) in India once. Actually, I remember it because of my dad's recollection of it on many accounts. In those days (early nineties), India was giving its information and T.V. broadcasting a new revamp. Someone asked Rajiv Gandhi what this exposure to television is going to do to India's kids. He simply replied, "there is a switch that turns the T.V. off". Today, almost twenty years later, you can see that television programs all over the world have standardized themselves to a common baseline - of empty melodramatic reality TV. Although TV has revolutionized human life in many happy ways, it has also left us with a lot to deal with.
As Gopnik rightly puts it later in the article,

"Our trouble is not the over-all absence of smartness but the intractable power of pure stupidity, and no machine, or mind, seems extended enough to cure that."

Just then, as if it was all God sent, I came across this in NY Times, which talks about an iPhone application (app) to make confessions. It is not hilarious to me because it is Catholic. I have seen similar Internet versions of 'yantras' on Hindu astrology websites. It makes me wonder how the same medium that Julian Assange uses to deconstruct a society based on an unjust power (im)balance, is used to appeal to the traditional human mind by sending the ten commandments into an iPhone!

In a country like India, however, I think printed newspapers have a significant way to go before they become extinct. Newspapers and television are still the only dominant media of relaying information in the rural parts of India. It is also heartening to see the riskshawalahs in Pune blissfully immersed in a copy of Sandhyanand, ignoring your pleas to go to a part of the city they are not interested in.
We still perhaps have a majority that is not glued to their computers or iPhone. But even then, in the online edition of TOI, tweets are taken seriously. 'What-people-think', is now only a click of a mouse away. Common man/woman using the internet to express his/her views has become an important element in reporting news and analysis. This means that no matter where you live, in the U.S., Australia or Mumbai, your take on what is happening in India could be taken seriously (if you are good enough or attract enough attention). If you come to think of it, this is a position of great responsibility. We should all be aware of that!

The Freudian Kitten

Do you remember Catharsis?
Well it happened again. When I confronted my flatmate about letting the cat out so that he does not wee in my bed out of anger, she threw a gem of a line at me.

"Saee, the cat pees in your bed because he identifies you as the weakest member of this house."

To which I replied,

"Okay then. Let your strong cat pay my share of rent from next week", and left.

I found a place within 24 hours. And I moved out in 2 days.

However, the Freudian psychoanalysis stumped me. Maybe it was due to spending a lot of time with my flatmate, but I actually began to analyze how I could have portrayed myself as a weaker person in a cat's eyes. At that point, I realized that moving out would be the best decision both for sanitation and sanity.

As I was moving out, it occurred to me that I was giving myself so much trouble just to avoid conflict. In order to do that, I was perhaps being perceived as 'the weaker member' of the house. Not by the cat, but by my flatmate. My moving out was a shock. As much as it was a shock to her, it was also a shock to me too. But my moving out made so much of a positive difference to my own life. I could walk to work, pass by the fruit shop, buy fresh salad on my way back and live exactly the way I wanted to live.

Sharing a house, a workplace, an idea is a difficult balance. It needs genuine mental audits. I have shared houses with many people over the last three years. They were all from different cultures and backgrounds. If there is one thing you need to ask yourself constantly to be a good flatmate it is, "Would I be okay, if this happens to me?".

When I moved into a new place, I had resolved that I would never again, make friends with any of my flatmates. The first morning, I heard a knock on the door and saw this utterly lost French girl - Claire, asking for directions to go to uni. I resisted for a long time, saying only a casual hello here and there. But just the way love strikes after a bitter heartbreak, friendship kind of squeezed her way between the two of us. So here I am again, planning a trip to the South of France some time soon, and practicing my (non-existent) French. Not to mention believing the ever-so-cliched-line - everything happens for a reason!

Cheers to Friendship. :)

In a perfect world..

I am back. I knew I would not last with this silence business but I am glad that I did it.
Over the past four months, I have been acutely aware of only one of the many identities I have - scientist. Finishing up is a mirage in its own way. Now, I have decided to throw myself into the arms of hopelessness. It comes in handy sometimes. But the key is to be "really" hopeless and not just pretend that you are not going to pin your hopes on a date. From the heart of true hopelessness, sprouts a new beginning. :)

Before I stopped writing, I was intrigued by the studies done around gender differences in academia. There have been a lot of controversial debates on the issue. I followed it with interest because I am on the path of entering academia myself. Whether it is women in science, women in politics, women in business or just women doing something different, I find it all interesting.
In this post, I am just pooling together all the interesting articles I have read on this issue over the last four months.

Let us begin at home before we soar high into the academic skies. When talking about women dropping out of academia, investigators often use a term called the ' leaky pipeline'. Wherein, women are said to be dropping out of a pipeline at crucial points in their scientific careers. However, in India, there are places where girls drop out of schools at a crucial age, after puberty, due to lack of real pipelines. The absence of sanitation is forcing young girls to drop out of schools in parts of rural India. This is not even a case of unconscious bias. It is a glaring proof of how the lack of sanitation, which is a basic human need, affects one sex worse than the other.

This is a clever experiment on how a 15 minute writing exercise can dramatically change the gender gap in university level physics, which brings to our notice the radical change that can be brought about by a seemingly small exercise of reaffirming your own values. This Slate article further elaborates on how subtle suggestions pointing towards a stereotype can influence test results negatively. When women of Asian origin were reminded of their Asian heritage (prompting the stereotype that Asians are good at maths) they scored better. When they were reminded about their gender (prompting the stereotype that women are not as good at maths) they did worse. Even in female dominated fields such as biology, where 50% graduates are women, the number of women at the higher faculty level is seen to be dropping to >15%. This article about Nobel Laureate Elizabeth Blackburn brings forth various dilemmas women go through while in the so called leaky pipeline. It is rightly titled 'Why Science Must Adapt to Women'. Although such studies are often 'controlled' for variables such as age, I think unless they devise a 'control' for these constant schisms, where women get torn between their toddlers at day care and their cultures in shaker flasks, a real solution for the pipeline would not happen.
Another touching article I read, which reminded me of my childhood days - when I was growing up around a dad who would not hesitate to take a month off from work so that he could hang out with me while my mom was away. This FT article talks about women CEOs and their husbands. Although I do not like the overall tone of the article and the hastiness in matching evidence with preconceived ideas, I agree that having a relaxed and caring husband at home is one of the biggest boosts an alpha-woman could receive.

This is a Washington Post article about motherhood and tenure. Karla Murdok's statement, "One of the costs of working full time and parenting is that I don't feel that I do either job as well as I could, or should.", is worth taking a special note of. Tenure is not just about being smart. So conclusions drawn just by looking at the disparity of male:female numbers at a faculty level (e.g., by counting the number of men and women who have been granted tenure as full professors in different fields) tend to be unfair towards women.
Another often repeated comment about women at work in general is that women are averse to taking risk. They tend to play safe 'naturally'. Perhaps as an answer, Naomi Klein explains where too much risk is taking us. I really enjoyed watching this TED talk because Naomi takes up serious issues and it is still very funny. Especially when she talks about women taking lesser risks and says, "it turns out that being praised less and paid less has its upsides, at least for the society". :)
In her speech, Nobel Laureate Jodi Williams presents a realistic face of world peace. With examples of women bringing women together from around the world, she elaborates on the power of coming together for a cause.

I am not taking a strictly evidence based stand here. All I really want to do is absorb various perspectives and ruminate on them. I am not really an angry feminist either. I think it is not a "Male Vs Female" debate. To be able to solve problems related to inequality, the versus should be replaced with "with". In exploiting the potential of talented women, we don't necessarily have to prove that they are better than men. We can just make their lives better than what they were yesterday. The competition here is not an egoistic battle of the sexes. It is a competition with yourself from yesterday. Also, it should be looked upon as a competition to lead a wholesome life instead of just using one of your many identities as a benchmark for success.

I should acknowledge Nanopolitan for his vast collection of links and perspectives on the issue. I have been following his blog regularly for the past six months. I also thank Alok Shrivastava for extending a space for a lively debate and leading me to many of the places mentioned in the post.

See you again soon!!

PurpleMoon's on a break!

PurpleMoon turns four this October. However, this year it is going to get the gift of complete silence, at least for a year. I have been contemplating a break for a long time. However, the proximity of a medium to express your thoughts and the eagerness to do it right away, has always interfered with that resolve. Since I grew up with increasingly sophisticated technology at my finger tips every year, I am curious to know whether I can hold my thoughts back and ruminate on them a bit. It is going to be just as difficult as it was in school when I was asked not to talk. Sometimes, when no one mentioned not talking, I would be quite for hours at a stretch. However, as soon as someone told me not to, I would get this obsessive compulsive urge to say something.
I think it is going to be an interesting experiment. :)
Thanks for being with PurpleMoon!!
I will see you next year, hopefully.

Is this what you want Mr. Thakrey?

I have always opined on various issues. Whether it is discrimination against Indians in Australia or Indians in India. Living away from home, it is very easy to read something and fight over it on the internet.
I buzzed about an article in TOI a few days ago that documented the amazingly foolish verbal garbage that the MNS leader seems to dispense from time to time. Little did I know that this time, I am going to get to hear about the 'taste of Raj's own venom' so close to home.
One of my mother's staff members from Maarc Labs Pvt.Ltd., Pune, was bashed black and blue in Simbholi, UP, solely for being a Maharashtrian. He had to spend a week in the hospital.
Milind Paingikar, an engineer who comes from a village near Kolhapur was at the Simbholi Sugar Mills in Uttar Pradesh to carry out a quality control training for the chemists. He was mobbed by a group of goons and bashed unconscious as soon as they found out that he is from Maharashtra.
He recovered from his injuries and came back, only to confess that he is not going to give up his job just because he was beaten up. He is determined to go back to Uttar Pradesh again and continue with his work. He said that the beating did not hurt as much as the pain of being targeted as a Maharashtrian. It is brave of Milind to come back with a new courage but this could also have led to something else.
I don't want to go into a gross generalization but if a young Marathi man, coming from exactly the kind of "humble" background that Mr.Thakrey describes has to go through something so unexpectedly violent for no fault of his own, is Thakrey's propaganda really working?
Linguistic, religious and economic polarization should be stopped. Period.
Indians need to collaborate with other Indians. Any entrepreneur will know the value of nationwide networking.
We have to see through this as Indians and not let political polarization get to the streets, for that will only hurt the innocent.

Food for thought

I have been following Jamie Oliver's food revolution for a while now. For those of you who haven't heard of him read here. He is also the recipient of the 2010 TED prize. His Food Revolution is a campaign that is run in the U.K. and the U.S., to understand how kids (and their parents) think about the process of making and consuming everyday meals. In his TED talk, he talks about how most deaths in the developed (and in the affluent parts of the developing) world are totally preventable.
It also shows little videos where Jamie goes to schools with a bag of vegetables and none of the kids can correctly name what he is holding up. I was following him on television too, where he went into high school kitchens and asked the cooks why the meals in the cafeteria were mostly pizza and french fries. The answer was that it is cheap and easy to cook and THAT IS WHAT THEY ARE BEING TOLD TO DO.
He interviewed some obese teenagers and asked them what they eat. The answers were shocking and so were their confessions about how they feel about being obese. I think being overweight/obese in your teenage years leaves much more than just weight to deal with for the rest of your life. It is a situation that has to be dealt with great care, love and a lot of positive thinking from the parents' side. Obesity does not get as much "sympathy" as malnourishment, mostly because it is a result of excess consumption, which is often related to indulgence and lack of self-restraint. Ellen Gustafson describes obesity and hunger as two sides of the same coin. Although her perspective is different, I think if hunger denotes the complete lack of food, obesity denotes lack of understanding about food. In that respect, Jamie has indeed done us all a big favor by being so blunt and outspoken about what is going on in our society.

Cooking a healthy meal is not that difficult. It needs a bit of creativity and patience. I was watching Jamie Oliver on one of his culinary adventures in Istambul. He went to the bazaar and bought an earthen pot. As he walked browsing through the market, he kept adding ingredients to his pot. Carrots, beans, pumpkin, okra, tomatoes, stock, lean meat etc. In the end he stopped at a spice shop and seasoned the contents with the spices that appealed to him. He put his earthen pot straight on to the fire. It was like coming home from the supermarket and putting your shopping bags in the oven!

Cooking also keeps you mentally healthy. The planning and execution that goes into it brings you out of your everyday stress. It is a healthy distraction if you are one of those work-obsessed people. From my own personal experience, cooking and exercise are the most frequently done activities that take me away from my computer. I consider the times that I am not using a computer very important times of my day. This is where cooking and exercise become a part of my emotional well being too. Growing up around parents who constantly experimented with food in all possible ways, it was inspiring to see how much of a change in attitude a mere change in diet brings about. One of the noteworthy experiences was when my mom was going through a detox diet that did not allow her to eat anything solid for four days. She became particularly toxic at work that week. :)
My dad's experiments with his blood sugar levels by controlling variables like diet, insulin doses, water intake, exercise etc., made me aware of all the chemical reactions that go on behind our skins. The dejection that baba faced at his failures, his dedication in going as far as plotting excel charts for his blood sugar levels and on his "25 years with diabetes" anniversary, calling the disease his best friend made me aware that very few things can be taken for granted when it comes to the chemicals in your body.
Life should not be all about food. Investing a little time in cooking everyday does not mean turning into a gourmand with epicurean tastes. However, taking that balanced time out and planning a meal for yourself, even if it is just for yourself, is equally important. It is not just food for the body, it is also food for thought. :)

The Art of Choosing

I am currently reading this book by Sheena Iyengar. This talk prompted the purchase and since it is relatively new, I could not buy it second hand - an obsession I have acquired recently. I decided to write a review before I finish it because these days, my creative writing is at the mercy of the little breaks between my experiments and thesis writing. The reading actually takes place on the train and half an hour before I go to bed.
This book is a collection of psychological experiments and their balanced interpretation on how human beings or even laboratory animals choose their circumstances. Sheena did her PhD in social psychology from Stanford University. Her thesis titled 'Choice and its Discontents' won the Best Dissertation Award from the Society of Social Experimental Psychology in 1998. However, more than the award and the topic of study, what inspires me the most about her is that she has achieved this in spite of suffering from a rare form of visual impairment called 'retinitis pigmentosa'. In this book, she clearly mentions why she was driven to get a PhD in choice. Coming from a family of conservative Sikh immigrants, she had a limited choice of aspirations at home. However, she was meant to live an inevitable double life in the U.S., where free choice is at the center of the American Dream. One more constraint was added when at the tender age of thirteen she lost almost ninety percent of her vision, being able to perceive only the difference between darkness and light. In this book, she does full justice to that ability.
She has included cross-cultural experiments between societies that are rated highly individualistic and highly collective. In countries like China, India and Japan individual decisions are often influenced by a 'greater good' or a 'collective motive'. She explains this beautifully by using the rationale behind an Indian arranged marriage, which seems ridiculous in a Western society. On the other hand, in a Western, or individualistic society, kids are taught to exercise their own choice as soon as they start talking. In today's highly globalized world, where cultures are mixing, these basic differences in attitudes pose a lot of challenges in work places.
Rather than taking a 'black and white' approach to how one should choose, this book takes a balanced empirical stand on the exercise of choice across the world. I find it quite relevant to today's society that is being driven by instant gratification and very powerful, yet inadequately used technology. How we choose to utilize the technological power we are being given can reshape the new world. However, it is equally possible that we just drown ourselves into an incoherent noise.
She gives a voice to many thoughts that I used to have in my mind as an immigrant living in a highly individualistic society (Geert Hofstede ranks Australia at 90/100 in his comprehensive ranking for individualistic nations; India being 50/100). Even though I realize the futility of pleasing people by my individual decisions, I cannot bring myself to program my thoughts accordingly. I can process my thoughts to be more individualistic later, but I cannot, naturally, think that I have no constraints in choosing my 'destiny'. This schism sets me apart from my Western friends to a certain degree that is perhaps only obvious to me. Although, the idea of 'me first' sounds very appealing in theory, I am also equally intrigued by the actions of the 'passive (s)heroes' I have seen growing up. Even though having more money, more space and more time to think entirely for yourself is the mantra of self-development, the character that is built in close knit families, where people have little choice as to what will happen to them adds another important dimension to the human mind.
Hence when I see people who, quite reasonably, equate 'collective societies' to 'primitive societies', I sense that they are victims of a situation where they have studied only one side carefully. This book, brings together an in depth analysis of both sides. That is why, I had to write a review even before I finished it. :)

Cat(tharsis)

In the past few weeks, I have had to wash my sheets three times. Our new cat Tom-Tom (we gave him this politically correct name after we were ridiculed for calling him G-string, and also after discovering one day, that he was a boy, contrary to our assumption) invaded my bedroom one day and declared it as his recreational toilet. He is toilet trained (Western people! Sheesh!) and also goes out in the bush like a real man (oops! labels Saee, labels!!). Somehow, for some unfathomable reason, he also likes to pee in my bed, whenever he gets the opportunity. Some of these Western habits of turning pets into humans astound me. Like, cat food. Every time I open a packet of Whiskas for Tom-Tom, I turn into a cynical, mocking Indian auntie. Why would you go fishing for cats, turn their fish into a disgusting paste, add all possible vitamins to it and sell it to people who own cats? Then, because they should have something harder to chew on, they make pellets of bone meal. Isn't all this processing and packaging in two different brands essentially serving the purpose of a whole mouse with its bones and flesh intact? This, the cat would find on its own, if it is treated like a cat and given freedom to roam around.
The fact that my bedroom has two doors, one that opens on the deck, and another that opens into the lounge makes it much harder. So there is a new, "have-I-forgotten-something" feeling in the already long list that I usually go through on the bus stop, sometimes making me return to check if I have both the doors closed. There is nothing like coming home to a smelly present in your bed. The last time I discovered cat urine on my sheets, I had just put a bunch of fragrant lilies in my room. So now, that fragrance has been tagged forever in my memory, with cat pee, like an unwanted, ugly picture on Facebook (yes, it is time that bloggers incorporate new similes in their writing).
So now, there is a cold war going on in the house. Between me and Tom-Tom. Initially, I was really concerned about it. Having lived with a compassionate flatmate, I think I have caught some of her cat-psychology bugs. So I started wondering what it means when a cat pees in your bed. I even went on to discuss this with friends who have cats. The general opinion seemed to indicate that the cat was jealous of me. He was apparently being territorial on me, maybe because he felt that I was getting more attention from my flatmate than him. I was foolish enough to try and analyze it further until I realized that it was just an experiment in anthropomorphizing animals. So I gave up on uncovering his psychological issues and decided to use combat instead.
First experiment was spraying my room with black pepper. Cats have really fleshy, tender paws. So I decided to deter him from entering my room by burning his ever-so-innocent-pink paws with pepper. It worked well. Every time Tom-Tom walked in, he used to start lifting his paws out of tune like a horse with an obsessive compulsive disorder. It worked so well, that I even thought of replacing pepper with chili flakes. Until that night, when I sneezed about a hundred times. In my sneeze induced high, I even remember hallucinating that my lungs were waving at me from outside my body. Second experiment, involved a spray bottle and some eucalyptus oil. Every time Tom-Tom walked in, I used to spray him with a five percent solution of aqueous eucalyptus. That did deter him but it also turned me into a maniac who would never want to leave her room, just so that she could spray the cat.
Over time, I realized that not forgetting to shut the door was the only practical solution. However, I also made two little gaps for Tom-Tom to step in and out of the house without having to depend on us to open the door. This seems to have alleviated his anger at my bed. The cold war is still on. It is more like a game now.
A little bit of retrospection also led me to believe in the power of Karma. As a kid, throwing cats off my grandma's balcony was perhaps my most favorite hobby. I cunningly categorize it as an educational experience now and with due respect to all the compassionate animal lovers, I think it IS an essential growing up experience to watch a cat fall off a balcony. In the first few seconds, you could see sheer panic in the cat's eyes. Half way through the fall, the cat somehow fluidized its body and always landed on all fours. It is a source of great inspiration in my unnecessarily romanticized metaphorical falls. I think this cat is taking revenge on behalf of his Indian brethren from a long time ago. Shame I cannot remember how many times I threw them off the balcony. I was also cruel enough to put about four kittens under a cardboard box and watch them go rudderless in panic. Can't remember how many times I did that either.
These episodes of Tom-Tom leaking in my bed have not in the least aroused any kind of kind forgiveness inside me, if that is what the Universal plan is. They have given me many more ways to get back at the feline species. Like clapping loudly around his ears when he sleeps too much, picking him up upside down with two paws in each hand, pretending to roast him on a spit, dangling a rag puppet around him until he gets exhausted trying to chase it, closing the cupboard when he gets in with his Sherlock Holmes whiskers, not stopping him if he dips into a wine glass that is still half full and hoping ,that he somehow drinks it. If all these descriptions have started getting him reader sympathy, let me also describe what he does in retaliation.
Climbing the big mango tree in the yard when I go out to get him in, leaving dirty paw marks on a freshly cleaned table, lying belly up at seven in the morning in my way to work to remind me of the luxuries he gets, emerging suspiciously from my room (without peeing) and making me abandon everything at hand in panic, using me to cuddle with when no one else is available and then ignoring me when his favorite girl is around.
I never really actively observe them in order to write about them. But if there is a creature that makes me philosophical, it is a cat. They will always awe me. I think, I will always have a love-hate relationship with the feline species. The only psycho-analysis I can do with this feeling is that both of us like to be the center of attention, in a craftily manipulated underplay. :)

मावसबोलीतल्या कविता

Ιθάκη

Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη,
να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος,
γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον θυμωμένο Ποσειδώνα μη φοβάσαι,
τέτοια στον δρόμο σου ποτέ σου δεν θα βρεις,
αν μέν’ η σκέψις σου υψηλή, αν εκλεκτή
συγκίνησις το πνεύμα και το σώμα σου αγγίζει.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον άγριο Ποσειδώνα δεν θα συναντήσεις,
αν δεν τους κουβανείς μες στην ψυχή σου,
αν η ψυχή σου δεν τους στήνει εμπρός σου.

Να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος.
Πολλά τα καλοκαιρινά πρωιά να είναι
που με τι ευχαρίστησι, με τι χαρά
θα μπαίνεις σε λιμένας πρωτοειδωμένους·
να σταματήσεις σ’ εμπορεία Φοινικικά,
και τες καλές πραγμάτειες ν’ αποκτήσεις,
σεντέφια και κοράλλια, κεχριμπάρια κ’ έβενους,
και ηδονικά μυρωδικά κάθε λογής,
όσο μπορείς πιο άφθονα ηδονικά μυρωδικά·
σε πόλεις Aιγυπτιακές πολλές να πας,
να μάθεις και να μάθεις απ’ τους σπουδασμένους.

Πάντα στον νου σου νάχεις την Ιθάκη.
Το φθάσιμον εκεί είν’ ο προορισμός σου.
Aλλά μη βιάζεις το ταξείδι διόλου.
Καλλίτερα χρόνια πολλά να διαρκέσει·
και γέρος πια ν’ αράξεις στο νησί,
πλούσιος με όσα κέρδισες στον δρόμο,
μη προσδοκώντας πλούτη να σε δώσει η Ιθάκη.

Η Ιθάκη σ’ έδωσε τ’ ωραίο ταξείδι.
Χωρίς αυτήν δεν θάβγαινες στον δρόμο.
Άλλα δεν έχει να σε δώσει πια.

Κι αν πτωχική την βρεις, η Ιθάκη δεν σε γέλασε.
Έτσι σοφός που έγινες, με τόση πείρα,
ήδη θα το κατάλαβες η Ιθάκες τι σημαίνουν.

Ithaca
by Konstantinos Kavafis (1911)
(English translation. Source unknown)

As you set out for Ithaca
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - don't be afraid of them:
you' ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbours you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind -
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaca always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.

Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

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इथाकीला परत येताना..

इथाकीला परत येताना, नेहमी, रस्ता लांब असू द्या,
अनुभवसंपन्न आणि चिन्मयी असू द्या
आणि वाटेत भेटणा-या अक्राळ-विक्राळ नरभक्षक राक्षसांची, किंवा
त्या क्रोधांध, खवळलेल्या महासागराची भीती मुळीच बाळगू नका..
निर्धार पक्का असेल, आणि देहाभोवती त्या अलौकिक चैतन्याचा पहारा असेल,
तर हे राक्षस आणि राक्षसी सागर दिसणारच नाहीत..
कारण ते नेहमी मनाच्या त्या भयभीत कोप-यातूनच उदयाला येतात!

त्या रस्त्यावरच्या प्रत्येक रात्रीनंतर, एक नवा उष:काल व्हावा..
आणि प्राचीच्या त्या गुलाबी हास्यात, प्रत्येक पहाटेची
एक वेगळी भूपाळी असावी, जी अळवताना, भैरवीचा विसर पडावा..
तो रस्ता आडवळणाने यावा, छोट्या मोठ्या बाजार हटातून
आणि परदेशी व्यापा-यांच्या सुगंधी पेठांतून..
आणि झोळी कधी मोत्या-पोवळ्यांनी भरून जावी..
तर कधी थकलेल्या मनगटाला, गुलाब-चंदनाचा स्पर्श व्हावा..
पण पैंजणाच्या रुणुझुणूला, नेहमी, एक सुजाण, विनयी ताल असावा..

इथाकीची तजेलदार आठवण तुमच्या मनात नेहमी असू द्या..
इथाकीला परत येणं, हे जणू प्राक्तनच आहे..
पण म्हणून परत येण्याची घाई करू नका..
काळ्यांमध्ये थोडे भुरे, थोडे पांढरे व्हावे,
झोळीमध्ये नक्षत्रं असावी, पण त्यांची फिकीर नसावी..
इथाकीनी मला काय दिलं, हा सवाल मनात मुळी नसावा..
कारण इथाकिनी तुम्हाला हा प्रवास दिला..
हे पुरागमन तुमचं संचितही आहे!

कदाचित परत आल्यावर ती गरीब आणि थकलेली वाटेल,
पण तो तुमचा भ्रम निश्चितच नाही..
तुमच्या प्रवासानी तुमच्यासाठी
सगळ्या इथाकी उलगडल्या असतील!
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राजनी खो दिल्यावर डोक्यात आलेली पहिली कविता निवडली. यापूर्वी कधीच मराठीत अनुवाद केला नाहीये, त्यामुळे मन बदलायच्या आत पूर्ण करायचं आणि पोस्ट करायचं ठरवलं. ही कविता ग्रीक भाषेत आहे. पण इथे त्याचा इंग्रजी अनुवाद देते आहे. ग्रीकमध्ये "इथाका" न म्हणता "इथाकी" म्हणतात. म्हणून मी मराठीत तोच गोंडस शब्द ठेवलाय.
"घरी परतण्याकडे" असं बघायला मला फार आवडतं. मग ते नुसतं रोज कामावरून घरी जाणं असलं तरी. आणि जगात कुठेही भेटणारे, पण मनात त्यांची इथाकी घेऊन वावरणारे लोक भेटले की कावाफीच्या या उदात्त कवितेची आठवण होते. :)
माझा खो मंदारला.
ता.क. हा स्वैर अनुवाद आहे. कारण मला त्या कवितेला मराठमोळायचा मोह आवरला नाही. न राहून इथाकीच्या ऐवेजी सारखं कोल्हापूर लिहावसं वाटत होतं.

Don't call me a feminist!

How many articles have we read about the role of women in a particular field?
Every morning as I walk to work, I listen to SBS radio, a radio station that is in liaison with the BBC World service. Every other day, I get a lecture on the 'role of women' in some male dominated aspect of work. Today, however, I am going to lecture you on something else. I am going to list the funniest women I have come across in the field of entertainment.
Not getting into the details of why women are not routinely known for being funny, I am going to start with Alice Tinker.
Emma Chambers plays the dopey Alice Tinker in BBC's Vicar of Dibley . Although her character in the show is peripheral, she personifies Alice. The show itself, is a far cry from the popular American sitcoms. It is about a woman Vicar, Geraldine Granger, who is sent to the small, country parish of Dibley. Unlike the chiseled leads in other shows, Ms.Granger is blissfully obese. The other characters in this show are equally "imperfect" in their own way, but that only adds charm if anything to the whole story. I think if I had to pick one example of Alice's goofy humor, it would be this.
Another funny woman, I came across in Australia is Kitty Flanagan . She is a regular on a T.V. show on the national network. She always manages to get everyone in splits. Kitty is the perfect example of how a just a little bit of wit can make someone bypass all the usual rules of getting noticed.
The crown, however, goes to Sofia Vergara of Modern Family . She plays Gloria in the show. For the first few episodes you are just wowed by the sheer oomph she adds to the show. If the entertainment industry is a medium of objectifying sexuality, Sofia is a solid example of how that is done. But the one thing bigger than her breasts, is of course, her sense of humor and comic timing. :) Her Colombian accent adds to the hilarity of her lines. Towards the end of the show, you realize that she is a completely clued up, sensitive and bright bimbo. Something you would not expect first time you see her. I could not find the funnier parts of the show on Youtube, but here's a teaser. You don't have to worry about losing interest. ;)
These three women have made me laugh a good deal in the past few years. Feel free to add your favorite funny women to this database too!
Cheers!

The degree of Indian-ness

This , and related discussion on my buzz prompted this post.

I have nothing against people questioning their own identity. I do that many times. I think it is a sign of a healthy, functioning mind. However, when it comes to being Indian, there is no single rule that can define us all. Living away from home, I actually go through a series of panic attacks every time I have to go back home for a holiday. I attribute that fear to the fact that I am not yet strong enough to handle this culture switch gracefully. The discussion on buzz reminded me of a first hand 'Indian experience' I went through about two years ago.

I was supposed to be in India for six weeks in December 2008. As soon as I made my travel arrangements, I went out with my Australian and other international friends to celebrate. We were sitting in a gloomy bar, on a weekday afternoon, with the fresh memories of experimental failures haunting us. All of a sudden someone suggested that they should meet me in India for a back-packing trip!

I was not exactly supportive of this idea in the beginning. However, they talked me into it. All along at the back of my mind, I was worried to the core. I did not want them to be overwhelmed. I knew them all well and knew they had open minds. However, accompanying someone on a low budget trip around Rajasthan, was not exactly, my cup of tea. I had never done anything low-budget in my life in India. I had never traveled around on my own, around my own country. I had seen everything from the point of view of a spoilt tourist. Apart from that, the people I was supposedly going to escort had never been to India before. Their ideas about what goes on in India ranged from riding on an elephant to one's own wedding, to a land where everyone does Yoga on those silly, non-slipping Yoga mats!

The idea made me admire their courage (or ignorance) and the skeptic in me eventually unruffled her feathers. I spent a week in Pune before my gang of friends arrived in Mumbai from Goa. Since they were all using "Lonely Planet" as their travel Bible, they chose places recommended by the book. When I got into a taxi in Mumbai, the driver was a bit surprised when I told him to take me to a hotel close to cafe Leopold. He quizzed me about what a normal looking Indian girl is going to do in this firangi ghetto. I had to explain to him how I was showing around my Australian friends (actually by this time, two people from Holland had joined us too since they were friends of a friend I met in Australia, who was also in the group). This explanation was then stuck with me for the rest of the two weeks. I had to explain to every second person on the train, restaurant, hotel, rikshaw etc., what I was doing with these bunch of goras. We got bored of the same story so two days into it, we started making up stories just to see how our interrogators react. In one of them, I was married to one of the guys in the group. I made up some very creative Bollywoody answers to the questions related to the whole 'how-did-your-parents-take-it? question. Mumbai was extremely overwhelming for all of them. The sheer density of population on the streets was enough to make them claustrophobic. On top of that, a few of them got taken for a ride by beggars and taxi drivers. Overall the reaction was tepid, just as I had expected. Since all of us were committed to making it a fun experience, everyone was trying to look at the brighter side. There were plenty. Just walking down the streets of South Mumbai was enough to cheer everyone up. We had the much awaited "Mumbai-local" ride. Although it was not the cleanest places to be, everyone had to admit that the number of people it dutifully transports, ranging from women with huge, open baskets of fish to working class people, would put any transport system under stress.

The day we left for Jaipur, the Taj was bombed by terrorists. Some of my friends panicked and considered going back. But all roads back home went through Mumbai. So we decided to stay in Rajasthan and continue with our trip. By this time, they swore that it would have made no difference had they been traveling with an Italian or a Spanish girl instead of me. I was as clueless just about everything as them. The only advantage being, I could bargain in Hindi (they accepted this only because they did not know how Marathi my Hindi really is). We had to constantly keep accounts, haggle, wait for rooms to be cleaned, then wait again because they were not 'clean enough'. It was one of the most stressful times of my life, especially with the additional fear of more terror attacks. By this time, the colors of Rajasthan, the cheap, yummy vegetarian food, bangles, skirts with mirrors etc., had infused the much needed enjoyment in our journey.

Every person we met, however inquisitive about our personal lives had an air of harmless curiosity about them. Initially, even walking down the street with my friends was stressful. But when you come out of your own awkwardness and face people with the same honesty that you face yourself with, everyone joins in. We went to a really old Meera temple in Jaipur. At first, the priest gave me the look that seemed to say, "I hope you know what you are doing". Each one of my friends, then asked him questions about the temple, its architecture, about Meera, Lord Krishna and I was translating it for all of them. In the end, he called me back just as I was about to leave the temple and handed me a laddoo. As a gift for showing people around who are not from my culture. He only had one request, "Just the way you are showing them a slice of our culture, also explain to them the importance of being vegetarian". I was really touched by the way he put it.

The philosophy of this travel group was very simple. Eat everything, walk a lot, talk to as many people as you can and respect the local customs. We hardly ate any meat in Jaipur. We were eating hot street food only. One day, when we were in Ajmer, one of the guys in the group started craving meat. Since we did not want to take any chances, we went to a fairly expensive restaurant (from the Lonely Planet list) and paid Rs.500 for a single portion of continental chicken. That night, he became violently ill. We were living in a simple hotel called the Haveli Inn, in Ajmer. I woke up the owners who lived downstairs. The next morning, we had to take him to the local government hospital. This was my first time in a public hospital. I thought this is going to be one of the biggest points on their 'bad sides of India' list. The room was humble, but spotless. He was given intra-venous medicines all day and all night. All of that, including the rent for the room came to only Rs.2500. The actual medicines cost lesser than the chicken that had made him sick. The owners of the hotel sent their domestic help with bland, Indian, sick-man's food that was just what he needed. His firang charm made sure that he always had company in the hospital. With all the nurses asking him questions about his personal life. :)

He walked out feeling as strong as he was before. All of them took a list of medicines that the hospital needed frequently for treating kids with diarrhea, since that was the most common cause of hospitalization amongst kids living in poor neighborhoods. My friends bought a stock of those for people who might not have enough money to afford the medicines (and the fact that there are people who cannot afford it says a lot about where we are going). This was the only exception to an otherwise low-budget trip. They only kept enough cash to get by until they reached Nepal, donating the rest to the hospital. Without any intervention on my part, they were given receipts of all the donations and informed where they were going to be used. The hospital turned out to be the highest point of appreciation.

When I returned to Brisbane, we had a beer over our experiences. Although India seemed overwhelming at times, most of my friends were sure they were going to go back for a slightly upgraded holiday. Some were enticed by their visits to Yoga schools while others were floored by the beauty of the Himalayas. All of them chirped in unison that they definitely wanted to go back to Goa.

That trip was an lesson in many ways. Firstly, it was a lesson in honesty, where even though people look at you funny, you go ahead and do what you have set out for yourself. To be able to accept that your country is not perfect. To be able to present to people India, in her real form and let them make their own judgement. In the end, the message that I really wanted to put across got through. Without my having to spell it out. India doesn't care if you are a proud Indian! And Indians don't either. If you attract enough attention, they would give you a few curious looks. If you are dupe-worthy and look loaded, they would dupe you without any of their thirty three billion gods stopping them. Most of them are just looking for simple survival. In a deluge of people wanting to replace their place in this world. The country herself seems to me like this complacent mother cat. Watching a new batch of kittens amuse themselves as she lies down for rest. She does not care if you are proud to be a part of her litter. As long as you get your mouse and get by, all is well. :)

Think before you blink!

I recently collected some karma points by being an experimental subject. Every now and then, graduate students get these near desperate emails in their inbox. Some psychology or optometry student wants them to be their experimental subject. Whenever I have time, I try and take part in these kind of experiments. Sometimes, for the students because they are good friends. At others, because I am interested in the experiment.
I find the role of being a "subject" oddly relaxing. :)
For one, you have to be a complete lab-rat. Without unnecessarily opining on what they are trying to do. Apart from that, it gives you an insight into how many factors control a single experiment - something that I myself have trouble monitoring, especially in the scary forests of organic chemistry.
These experiments were carried out using a range of contact lenses. As a "healthy" subject I was required to have no acquaintance with the usage of any kind of contact lenses. I had to go through a routine visual acquity test (I aced it, btw) and then I wore a pair of contacts. The movement of my eyes was filmed in an upward and a downward gaze. We started with soft, silicon lenses and ended with hard, poly (methyl metacrylate) ones. I was not told exactly what she was trying to find out. So during filming, I was asked to count from zero onwards until she asked me to stop. I did exactly what I was told. At the end of each session, my cornea was desensitized using aneasthetic eye drops. The numb cornea was then filmed for the same duration.
The moment she told me to stop, I stopped counting.
After all the tests were over, I rated the lenses according to the level of comfort. Just before I left, she confessed that she was getting inconsistent data.
She told me that she was monitoring the blinking patterns of her subjects. Even after desensitizing the cornea, she was getting inconsistent blinking patterns. Which made me pause for thought. I realized then that I was mechanically counting numbers without trying to control the thoughts in my head. All these years that I have been successfully using my eyes, I have realized that thinking affects blinking. I blink more when I think. To study my physical blinking pattern, I think the experimentor would need to numb my mind more than my cornea. When I told her this, she said,"I asked you to count! So that I keep you in the experiment."
And count I did! With an avalanche of thoughts going on in my mind at the same time. Those ten minutes of filming were like a gold mine of time! I organized so many experiments, wrote so many new posts, planned and scrapped so many dinner menus in those ten minutes!
A little bit of Googling led me to this . I should have probably offered a repeat analysis. I took the easy way out, by not doing so.
Next time, I will think before I blink! =)