Getting high

My world was spinning around as I was trying to word my sentences at work. For the first time, I have been on such strong narcotics. I can see how it has messed up my brain.

For starters, my landlady said that I came out of surgery howling. I had no reason to do that, but anesthesia affects the cry-centers of my brain. She drove me back and brought me home, and as she did that, I passed out on the floor. I lost track of time. I had no energy to get up. I remember wondering what if the bed shrunk and I fell off it? The floor seemed safer. Such were my levels of delusion. She called my insurance (I had no idea where my insurance card was and my speech was a disaster), got me my medication, shoved them down my throat with a glass of water, all the while when I was splayed like a lizard on the floor, only, on my back, my hands and legs stretched out. I heard her come and go and come back. I was conscious that way. But since I had lost my sense of time, it felt a matter of a few minutes. I am glad she has a set of keys to my apartment.

There was utter confusion, lack of sense of time, and blurry speeches after that. I slept for hours, but did not realize how time flew. My emails were no longer coherent, and I kept forgetting words. The next few days have been a blur. I have restricted my activities to mostly the basics- finding food, eating, and getting back to bed. But today, I dragged myself to work. Two minutes into my bus ride, a strong bout of nausea hit me. I was dizzy, the world was spinning around me. The parking department guy takes the same bus (imagine the irony, parking guy takes the bus). I vaguely remember telling him that I am going to throw up. He not only escorted me to my office, but came back to check on me during lunch hours. Soon after, two kind colleagues barged into my office and literally ordered me to leave. The bus ride back was equally terrible.

That brownie I had in Amsterdam, I only felt a fraction of everything I am feeling now, only for a few hours. Saying that it was fun was a stretch, but it was educational. This is not. It's only been three days, and I am sick of these constant bouts of nausea. I cannot imagine how people take these drugs on a regular basis for pain management. It makes you realize how hard life can get when you are no longer healthy.

I am addicted to books on neuroscience and the brain. Reading is something, but experiencing first-hand how narcotics affect the brain is something else. Everything you do without thinking- speaking coherently, walking upright, digesting food without throwing up, being able to have a focused vision, and even a sense of humor, everything is going to be compromised. I have been sleeping 12 hours a day ever since, and I am still tired. I want to go back and reread Jill Bolte Taylor's book. But I can no longer read at a stretch without feeling dizzy. If you haven't read the book, you must at least listen to her TED talk.

sunshine

Viewing the world differently

We are very close with a certain family. Whenever I ring their doorbell, auntie shouts from inside, asking who it is. It leaves me a little confused, since she could look through the eye hole.

"It's me!," I shout back, instantly realizing how useless my answer is. Who exactly is this me? My parents have given me such a weird pet name that I am reluctant to shout out my name and let the entire community know. So I keep mum until auntie opens the door and tells me the story.

A petty thief got in the building, and on not being able to find anything better, stole their eye hole. So now, their door was left without anything to peep from. Uncle bought a new eye hole. Their daughter decided to take matters in her hand, and ended up gluing the new eye hole, but in the opposite direction. Auntie is still unable to see anything through it. So now, their son mocks his sister and decides to take things in his hand. He gets even stronger glue, takes the eye hole out, looks at it this way and that way with one eye closed like a detective would, and ends up gluing the eye hole exactly the same way again- the correct side reversed. Now the glue is so strong that it will not even come out. I actually saw it for myself. When I ring the door bell now, I can peep from outside and clearly see their living room while auntie comes up to the door to open it from inside. Auntie still has no idea who is standing outside.

The irony of this situation is not lost on me. For this could have only happened in a household with two engineer-siblings.

sunshine

The Art of Rejecting

I don't have a problem with rejections. However, I have a problem with how rejection letters are usually written. Here take a look:

"Dear Dr. sunshine,

The XYZ Committee met to review applications from applicants for the XYZ position. The meeting required to take some difficult decisions – we had many more applications than we could possibly accommodate. We were guided by the referees’ reports we had received on each applicant’s synopsis. We had to take into account the balance of nationalities, and the role of the XYZ in providing support for different contexts across Europe.

We regret that we are unable at present to offer you a position at the XYZ....."

(The letter continues for two more paragraphs).

I don't have the patience to read 120 words before I know of your decision. Rejections suck anyway, but people move on. Had this been an acceptance letter, it would have started with, "Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that ...."

This is not the only example of a poorly written rejection letter, and certainly not a European thing. I have had many job rejects under my belt the past few years, and the rejection letters all looked the same. Verbose. Babbling. Vague. Vain. Lacking depth and focus. And inconsiderate of the rejected's time and patience. Do you see how acceptance letters are all about the candidate ("Congratulations! We are so proud to have someone like you in our team.") while rejection letters are all about the person rejecting ("We had to make an extremely difficult decision, we had applicants from all over the solar system!").

Have the courage to reject gracefully and respect my time. I should be able to read the first line of your letter and know your answer. I can handle rejections well. You got the candidate you wanted, but I've still got to look for another position. Rejections sting. They will sting still the same if I have to read a paragraph of your justification about why I was not good enough. Treat them like injections/shots. Make it quick. Be brief, concise, and to the point. There is no need to ramble and justify your decision. Because the justification you provide is also vague (too many applicants, too little space). 

And if you really care, what will really help is some constructive and honest feedback ("Your language was not at par, your experience was not enough, your publications did not focus on these things, you did not take a multilevel modeling class, etc."). Not your cookie-cutter cliches of helplessness. Because when I read a poorly written letter like this, I feel like picking up a tissue and reaching out to you to wipe your tears saying, "Don't worry, I can feel your pain. You seem more stressed rejecting me than I feel taking your rejection. Don't waste your time anymore. And don't waste my time anymore."

sunshine

Judging a bottle by its cover

Baba Ramdev has been omnipresent in our household for decades now. In an era when watching television before evening was a strict no-no, my mom would dutifully watch his yoga programs first thing in the morning, hoping that watching proves to be at least half as effective as doing it. So this time, I was not surprised when I saw that the entire household has been taken over by his brand of products. From cooking spices to breakfast food to hair oil, personal care products, cosmetics, and even the vermilion my mother wears on her forehead, everything had Baba Ramdev's stamp on it. Open the kitchen drawers, open the bathroom shelves, he is everywhere. 

Now, I strictly refused to use these products, mainly for three reasons- Did not like the smell, did not like the name, and did not like the fact that everyone in the family was obsessed about him, using terms like "natural" with no idea about what natural is. Ironic enough, my sister has an equally voluminous stash of beauty products collected from Europe and America, although she has never stepped outside India. 

One day while taking a shower, I am pleasantly surprised to find a bottle of shower gel amid a jungle of Ramdev products. L’Occitane is a very favorite brand of mine (French in origin), and I remember getting all excited about discovering this store when I visited France earlier one summer. It is an expensive brand, and I use it quite conservatively. I am quite surprised that my sister knows about it too, and more importantly, has a huge collection of this brand, way more than I do. I happily take a shower, but wonder why I step out of the shower smelling of papayas and pumpkins. 

Looks like she emptied a bottle of Baba Ramdev's hand wash into the L’Occitane bottle.

We haven't been on speaking terms ever since.

sunshine

Your Old Faithful Travel Guide

I am generally known to be a level-headed, not-usually-hyper, rational person. But sometimes, only sometimes, I do things that befit this description. I do stupid things that befit my age, and maturity. I realize that I just wrote the concluding paragraph without even starting the post.

I was on my way to Seattle during the winter holidays. I was flying on Christmas eve, hoping to reach Seattle just in time for Christmas. When I was checking in at the airport and the machine at the kiosk asked me if I would like to board the next flight in return for a $200 travel voucher, I should have taken the hint and said yes. I did not. I was in a hurry to reach my most favorite place in the world. Which I did not.

There were weather related issues, and by the time I reached Denver, I had missed my connecting flight to Seattle. I could neither reach Seattle on Christmas eve, nor could get the $200 travel voucher. I spent the night at a hotel in Denver, and had to be up by 4 am to take the 5:20 am shuttle to be on time for the 6:00 am flight to Seattle. In the fear that I would oversleep and miss my flight, I mostly did not sleep at all. By the time the alarm went off, I had already showered, packed again, and was ready for the airport.

A few years ago, this lifestyle and not sleeping at night suited me fine. But I can see that I am reaching that age where I need my full 8 hours of sleep at night, need my bed, and cannot do red eye flights anymore. It spoils my entire next day, when all I do is sleep. So I boarded the flight to Seattle, texting my friend that I need some Ghoom 3 (Dhoom 3 had released that weekend, and ghoom is Bengali means sleep). Sometime during the flight, probably after I had my complimentary apple juice without ice (I always have that in flight), I put down my head on the serving tray and dozed off. I slept on and off, being very uncomfortable in that cramped space, and somehow managed to have a dream that I was visiting Yellowstone National Park.

Suddenly, I woke up with a jolt and looked outside the window. To my amazement, I saw that we were flying over the Yellowstone National Park. It was quite possible, since the route from Denver to Seattle goes through that area. Now how did I know that this is Yellowstone National Park? Because I saw the Old Faithful geyser erupting below. I have been to that national park once, 4 years ago, and loved it. How lucky one can be if one gets to see the bird’s-eye-view of such a world famous place, for free. I have traveled over Arizona, hoping to see the Grand Canyon from the airplane, but nothing I saw looked like the majestic Grand Canyon. And here, I could see the Old Faithful geyser right below my nose.

Ecstatic, and still a little groggy from sleep, I took out my camera quickly, changed lenses, and took some pictures. Barely able to contain my excitement, I told this to the neighboring two girls sitting by me. “Hey look, we are flying over the Old faithful geyser in Yellowstone”, I beamed. To my confusion, they looked initially surprised, and even tried craning their neck to see the view, but lost interest in the few seconds. I mean, how could one not be excited about the view? Maybe they have been there enough number of times to not be excited anymore? Maybe they had never been there, and did not know what they were missing? “Crazy people”, I said in my head, and looked outside, taking a few more pictures of the geyser that was slowing fading to my right now. But something about their reaction bothered me. Something in general bothered me. Why was the area around the geyser flat? I tried to remember what it looked like 4 years ago. I am pretty sure that I had seen many tall and rugged mountains during that trip. Something just did not seem right.

I kept wondering for the next fifteen-twenty minutes, when I saw the Cascade chain of mountains appear. Ten minutes later, I had landed in Seattle.

Given how quickly Seattle arrived after I saw the Old Faithful geyser, and given how flat it was around the geyser, the only rational explanation I can think of is this. Brace yourself, for I may be right, and it will shock you. We were flying above the Pullman area of eastern Washington, and what I mistook to be the world famous geyser, was a tall factory chimney which was billowing white smoke. We were hundreds of miles away from Yellowstone, both geographically, and figuratively. That explains why we landed so fast. That explained the first confused, and then irritated look those women gave me (as if they were saying to themselves, are we idiots?). And that explains how age is catching up with me, and how a groggy, half asleep state of mind makes my imagination go crazy. This is so embarrassing that sharing it in the anonymity of this blog makes me feel only marginally less stupid. I cannot imagine sharing this with my friends, who know me for my passion for travel.

For the rest of the plane trip, which was not a lot thankfully, I did not make eye contact with my fellow passengers. And you know what? Someone out there is laughing really hard with her friends, recounting how a sleepy woman mistook a factory chimney to be the Old Faithful geyser.

sunshine

The right door

4 years ago, I had rejected University of Michigan, Ann Arbor to join UW, Seattle. I don’t really know why I chose Seattle over Ann Arbor, given that I knew nothing about either. Both schools were equally good in my field, and I didn’t really have anything against UMich. I was confused for a while, so I asked a few people. Most said Ann Arbor snows like crazy [I am not much of a winter person], though Seattle rains no less. I think I was more familiar with the name Seattle [thanks to Sleepless in Seattle]. Someone suggested there would be a strong Indian crowd in Seattle, thanks to Microsoft and Amazon. Then it was a big city [unlike Ann Arbor], etc etc. The decision was made for me. I was going to Seattle. It’s like- I had two doors in front of me, one with UW written on it, and one with UMich written on it. I had opened the door to UW.

Good and bad, my life in Seattle has been eventful ever since. I finished school, decided to say “no thanks” to PhD in a year, got myself a job, and started working. I hiked, I learnt to drive, I joined salsa classes, I acted and performed in plays, I joined the local dance group, and much more. However, I don’t know how life would have been had I chosen the door with UMich written on it. Maybe I would have finished my PhD. Maybe I would have learnt to like the snow and started skiing. Maybe I would be married by now. Who knows? My friend tells me the tango dancers network at UMich is amazing. Another friend from the business school speaks highly of the place. These are friends who went to UMich. But I’ll never know what was in store for me if I went to UMich, will I?

Today, I stand at a similar crossroad in life, only more difficult. I have 6 PhD admits with scholarships. Worse, 4 of them are similar ranking schools. I don’t really have a choice of city versus college town, as all of them are college towns. All of them are offering me similar packages. The time required to graduate is more or less the same. It’s like facing the same situation 4 years later, this time, only worse. 4 doors with different names in front of me. Which door do I choose? Of course no matter whatever door I choose, I’ll have an eventful journey ahead of me. But will I ever know what I missed out on? What if after choosing “A”, things don’t work out? I’ll always wonder what “B”, “C”, or “D” had in store for me. I was hoping my gut feeling would come handy and help me make a choice. But my gut feeling isn’t communicating with me. Mother suggested writing down all the names in little pieces of paper and asking baby Kalyani to randomly choose one. On a side note, my bollywood-influenced mother further listened to my plight and told me with all seriousness and sympathy, “I can understand, it’s like having to choose between Ranbir Kapoor and Shahid Kapoor for a husband. Both of them are so good”. I had cracked up on the phone 3 months ago when she told me this.

Anyway, I have kind of made a choice, but I had no reason to disapprove of my other choices. The super good schools that were my first choices all rejected me, and now I am left with decently good schools, and I just don’t know what to choose and what to leave behind. And I know that no matter what door I choose, I will always wonder what the doors I left behind had in store for me. Like my architect friend SD says, embarrassment of the riches. Sometimes faced with choices, you know this is THE one and you will not go for anything else. And sometimes faced with choices, you just don’t know what to choose to make you feel that was the right choice.

sunshine

Science And Religion

Last weekend, a few friends drove to the nearby Gurudwara. I am not Sikh, and I had never been to a Gurudwara before this, not even in India. It was a lovely, sunny morning, and we drove for about an hour through the picturesque roads before we reached there. Since I didn't have a dupatta of my own or a handkerchief large enough, I was given a piece of blue cloth from the basket of colorful ones to cover my head. 

I visit religious places more out of curiosity. I am curious about the visitors, the buildings, the architecture, and what people do there. Here, I was curious to see what a Gurudwara looked like. It felt that I was in India and not in the US. There were hundreds of people, children running around wearing traditional Indian clothes, dupatta-clad women, bangles and all, in their bright salwar kameez. Most men wore colored turbans, and there was something about the whole atmosphere that made me long to visit the Golden Temple. I had recently watched the movie Amu, and that came to mind too. It was soon time for the Langar to begin. We were famished and we queued up.

The food was delicious. There is something about the food cooked in God's house that makes it so delicious. We sat on the floor and ate with our hands. I couldn't have been happier to be there.

A man was going around distributing rotis for people who wanted a second helping. I lifted my palms the way the others did. The man flung a roti at me, and to my horror, it went past my outstretched palms and landed on my lap.

The man was livid. He gave me a nasty glance and muttered a flurry of things that, although incomprehensible to me, did not sound nice at all. For him, I had done something that was sacrilege. I joined my hands and bowed my head, wishing that he would not create a scene. God's house was the last place where this should have happened. 

The man left, giving me vile looks. On my way back, I kept thinking about this episode in silence. Religion says that I had done something terrible (according to the man at least). Science says that some molecules of carbohydrates had defied the laws of physics and landed wrongly, either because the neurotransmitters in my brain weren't prompt enough to stop the direction of gravitational motion, or because the man's motor units (hands) didn't act in co-ordination with my neurons for me to time the catch well. The man might as well have been a batsman, the food a cricket ball, I being the fielder. So I went for a catch and I dropped it. I instantly regretted it, and instead of answering back, I apologized. I wish the man had responded differently. 

sunshine

Forgive and Forget....I Forget, You Forgive.

I think I have recently been diagnosed with some deadly disease. What do they call it in medical parlance? Senile Dementia? Yes, that's the word. I keep forgetting things that I wouldn't even dream of.

Last week, I met a junior from my school. She was a junior in college as well, and that means it's barely been 2 years since we lost touch. Given the way she screamed my name in her shrill voice, I'm sure all the auto wallahs and pan wallahs and pedestrians and bus drivers in Ballygunge already know my name. We smiled, hugged, talked for 20 minutes. And all the while, I kept wondering what was her name. I thought I could escape unscathed, until we exchanged phone numbers. While she typed and saved my name effortlessly, I kept wondering what should I name her. So when I tried to act smart and asked her...

"So what was your surname?",

all she gave me was her surname. Till date, her name has been saved as ????? [Surname] in my mobile.

Sometime back, dad came home with a friend of his.

"Hi dear, remember me?"

"Of course Uncle, dad often speaks about you.", I grinned as wide as a monkey.

But just between you and me, I had no clue about who he was. Of course I had seen him before, and since he talked to me as if he has changed my diapers when I was a kid, it was only natural for me to pretend as if he is that only uncle my dad lost in touch with in the last Kumbh Mela. Later on, when I told this to mom, she acted as if she had seen a ghost. For not only had he come to our place with his entire family, but he had also given me a ride to college on one occasion. Just imagine, me sitting in a man's car and then not even recognising him one year down the line.

The problem gets worse during Durga Pujas and weddings, when the entire community gets together for the celebrations. I see faces smiling at me and I smile back, still clueless about who they are. And they shock me again and again with their accurate knowledge about my current whereabouts.

To add insult to the injury, I ask my sister, "Who is this lady smiling at me?".

And my sister starts like a record player of the 60s, "Ah, don't you remember Mukherjee Aunty? Her husband works in the Telephone Department. Her son is a real hunk and her daughter is having an affair with XYZ guy who lives in ABC Apartments. They drive a blue car..........."

Well, I never remembered my sister getting a full time job at the FBI, but since she already knows so much, that must be where she is working these days.

"Okay, I'll start socialising and by this time the next year, I'll know all the Mukherjees and Banerjees and Chatterjees by name, their husband's professions, the name of their native village, the name of their maids, their telephone numbers, email ids, everything", that is what I keep telling myself every year, but the next year, it seems that the number of unknown faces smiling at me just doubles.

So when somebody smiles now, I stick to safer pleasantries.

If it is a kid, "Hi, how are you doing in school?"(A kid has to be in school inevitably).

If it is some uncle, "Hi, how is aunty?" and vice versa.(assuming most uncles come with aunties).

But people aren't fools. No wonder they call me ABC's sis or PQR's daughter who sticks a book under her nose all day. That is my identity in our locality till date, and I have no wish to extricate them out of their false notions.

And I have already forgotten the names of my school teachers and classmates. I have been to 3 schools in 14 years, but that is no excuse I guess.

And how can I forget birthdays? I mean how can I not forget remembering birthdays? A very close friend of mine emailed me with the last line saying..."In case you have forgotten, my b'day was 4 days back." Probably it was too late to send even a belated b'day card.

Another classmate whose b'day I thought was on the 2nd week of March (it was on 2nd March actually) hasn't forgiven me till date. Not only did she not wish me on my b'day, she even went to the extent of telling me later..... "Hey, how was the b'day card I mailed you?" The thing is, I received no birthday card.

What else, I called up a friend early morning to wish her, and she giggles back at me, informing me that "mera b'day to parso hai, but thanks for being the first one to wish me."

And there was a time when I remembered everybody's b'day... Kajol's b'day, SRK's b'day, my mausi's nanad's b'day, my project partner's boyfriend's b'day, our neighbour's pet's b'day, our doodh wallah's b'day. I wonder when did those ever active grey cells started degenerating and everything in life turned into a shade of grey. And you know what? I still drink Complan (Milo actually) and practise mental maths and eat fruits and do not indulge in alcohol and am even willing to drink karele ka juice blended with neem leaves. Anything to save those grey memory cells and get rid of this "scatterbrain" tag.

So friends, please empathize. I did not purposefully forget your birthday to insult you. I forgot, because I forgot. I am still recovering from learning 80 odd chapters for my masters and some 3,000 odd words for my GRE. I have responsibilities weighing down heavily on my shoulders. How much more can this brain take? Given the large number of people I know, every day would be someone's birthday. 

I turn to you in supplication, earnestly in need of your empathy.

And that reminds me, today is a close friend's b'day, and YES, I did wish her early morning (after my sister left me a note, reminding me of it).

sunshine.