Activa(ting) talk

Imagine a day comes when you make an entry in your gratitude journal that reads like this: “Today, I was able to place an order with bigbasket.” It was truly a miracle. While making the online payment, I half-expected to see the familiar message that has been popping up on my screen all week, “All slots full. Please try again later.” But my order went through. After trying for nine effing days, my order went through. Delivery day was the day after tomorrow.

I was so excited, I called mom to share the news. Then for the next twenty-four hours, I kept staring at my order list, mesmerized. So what if they have stopped supplying meat and fish and eggs? So what if only about 60% if the items were available? So what if they showed delivery time between 6 am to 3 pm, which meant waiting in a limbo for the doorbell to ring and not being able to get to work in the morning? In forty-eight hours, I would have all these items in my fridge. The fridge that was starting to look so empty these days. I never thought that the biggest joy in my life would be to wait in anticipation for two kilo apples and two large watermelons to arrive.

On delivery day, the guy called and told me that the company has asked him not do a door delivery. I would have to go meet him at the main gate and get my stuff. The same order list that gave me a dopamine high not too long ago was now going to give me nightmares. Imagine lugging two kilo of apples, one kilo of pomegranates, two large watermelons, four liters of milk, one kilo of bananas, half a kilo of cucumbers, and other such heavy things from the main gate to home. No worries, I told myself that in this 42 Celsius heat, at 10 in the morning when the sun was already high up my head, I am off for my army-training. The kind of training they show you in movies where you carry heavy bags on your back and crouch and crawl on the ground. I can do this!

One look at the stuff and I knew that I cannot do this. In a bad attempt to use the poor defenseless woman card, I made a sad face and said to myself, loud enough for the security guards to hear, “No problem, I will make four rounds in this heat to lug everything!”

One of the security guards took pity on me and asked me to hand him all the stuff. He had a scooter (Activa) parked nearby. On a side note, I did not know what an Activa is when I moved here. Someone asked me if I have an Activa and I told her that I now eat Amul Masti yogurt (and wondered how she knew about Activia, the brand of yogurt I ate in the US). Anyway, the security guard was nice enough to drop my heavy bags home. That army-training I was fantasizing about never happened.

I told this story to my family on the phone, amid much gasps and oo-maas and ahaares from mom and grandma. Of all the things, my dad asked me somewhat suspiciously, “Did you sit behind him on the scooter?”

“I can walk just fine,” I shouted at him. Ridiculous!

sunshine

Confe-runs

Last year in Germany:

I am about to bunk one session of the conference to check out the city when a needy-looking student comes running and panting, looking for group 3 (I am group 3). We had to compile a PPT and our team had done 95% of the work. All this person had to do is put it all together and give a two-minute presentation. The person just got here and doesn't yet know me or what group I belong to.

“Hallo, entschuldigen Sie, have you seen someone from group 3? I need help with the presentation!”

I am all for helping people, but I know this student is going to take an hour of my time, the time I could be exploring a new city. PhD students are supposed to be independent anyway. Evil of me, I nod a “nein! nein!” to say that I have no idea who is in group 3. I pointed to the garden in the opposite direction of the exit to tell her that a bunch of people are there and she should check them out. She ran in that direction and I ran to my exit of freedom from needy students, laughing a loud, evil, Muhahahaha in my head.

Karma, however, is a B-I-T-C-H with a capital B! I take a tour of the city and come back to find that the student has found and followed me on Twitter. Fine, I was not going to see her again anyway, I reasoned to myself.

Goddammit, I was walking down my hotel stairs for dinner that night and found her again walking up the stairs. The one time in five days that I bunk one session of the conference, karma hits me like a ton of bricks. So glad for quick reflexes and hoodies that you can use to instantly hide your face, which is what I just did!

Please tell me we are not taking the same train to the airport tomorrow!

sunshine

Foucault’s Panopticon

Late January, 2020

Winter is coming to an end, and I am grateful for the remaining few early mornings that are chilly. One such chilly morning, I was eating breakfast in the kitchen when I heard the bells ringing loudly in the neighbor’s house. I stared out of the kitchen window to see the big banana plant obstructing my view. It is the morning of Saraswati pujo. I was not sure if I found it odd or relieving that I was not invited. It’s one of those things where you feel left out when not invited but don’t get excited either when invited. There were clear signs of a pujo in progress. More bells ringing, some conch-blowing, and the telltale burning smell of incense sticks.

I did get invited though, to a different house. I went there shortly before class. It was a ghoroa pujo, not a large gathering, everything done at home. No selfies or videos, no photo shoots, no dressing up and posing in front of Saraswati. There was kool (the berry) offered to the goddess. I had kool after a decade. The priest is a fellow faculty I have never seen in a dhuti before. I met a few faculty and their partners.

A particular woman I met first thought that I am her husband’s student and was surprised to learn that my office is located next to his. “How come I have not heard of you before?” she asked me. I am torn between a witty comeback and a sarcastic one, but I decided to nod politely and not say anything. I was there to pay my respect to the goddess from the department of education. But she is not satisfied with my nod. She added, “How come none of the maids told me about you? I have never seen you during my morning walks either.”

“That's because I do not have a maid and I do not go for morning walks,” I replied.

“Well, even not having a maid is news on campus. Anyway, good to meet you, will look out for you during my walks.”

I am not sure why some old woman who has never met me before was so fixated on bumping into me during her walks. It reminded me of Foucault's panopticon metaphor. People tend to modify their behavior when they know they are being watched, as Foucault writes in his book, “Discipline and Punish.” I know that I am being watched, my garden is being watched, what plants I grow or not grow, the kind of clothes hanging from the balcony, the kinds of shoes and slippers outside my door, the lights from the house, everything is being watched. Do I care? I don't know. I know that a bunch of maids watch me every day, because some actually knock on my door every now and then and ask me why I am not hiring them. I know that the sweepers who sweep my walkway watch me every day, they keep asking me if I need a gardener. And now, an additional person on campus will be watching me too, unable to come to terms with the shock that she did not know me before.

I got down on my knees, paid my homage to the goddess, thanked my hosts for inviting me, and left for class. My immediate neighbors are performing Saraswati pujo and not inviting me. I am watching them too!

sunshine

A big basket of gratitude

Imagine a day comes when you make an entry in your gratitude journal that reads like this: “Today, I was able to place an order with Bigbasket.” It was truly a miracle. While making the online payment, I half-expected to see the familiar message that has been popping up on my screen all week, “All slots full. Please try again later.” But my order went through. After trying for nine effing days, my order went through. Delivery day was the day after tomorrow.

I was so excited, I called mom to share the news. Then for the next twenty-four hours, I kept staring at my order list, mesmerized. So what if they have stopped supplying meat and fish and eggs? So what if only about 60% if the items were available? So what if they showed delivery time between 6 am to 3 pm, which meant waiting in a limbo for the doorbell to ring and not being able to get to work in the morning? In forty-eight hours, I would have all these items in my fridge. The fridge that was starting to look so empty these days. I never thought that the biggest joy in my life would be to wait in anticipation for two kilo of apples and two large watermelons to arrive.

sunshine