An educational dream

Between the mid-eighties and the mid-nineties, my first school was one located in a small town in Orissa. I still have vivid memories of certain things there; the two mango trees, the bougainvillea tree right at the entrance, and the huge playground that smoked of dust. We did not have electric bells. A huge piece of metal used to hang from the branches of the mango tree, and the bell man would hop onto a paved wall, and bang the metal, hammer in hand, to ring the bell. Unsuspecting little children unaware of him around and playing happily would often get startled and start crying at the loud sound of metal that reached the far corners of the school, heralding the end of a class period.

For the longest time, I wanted to know where the nuns lived. One day, I got lost on purpose, and walked through a small garden to see a door slightly ajar. I peeped through, looking at a room with the most antique looking furniture and a huge piano sitting at a corner, with stained glass windows. They used to call it the parlor. This was also the time when I was beginning to read Bronte and Charles Dickens, and the room had looked straight out of one of these novels. I always thought that our nuns from the school had come here to teach from Ireland. Later, I learnt that most of them were from Kerala. Back then as a fourth grader, my secret desire was to convert to Christianity, become one of them, and spend my evenings reading at the parlor.

Last night, I had a very vivid dream. I dreamed that I was sitting on the ground by the trees with a few professors from Virginia, discussing research ideas, and a proposal we wanted to submit to the National Science Foundation. They had no inkling that this was my first school. Everything looked ten times vivid, there were greener and more mangoes on the trees, the oranges were really orange (although I do not remember an orange tree in school), and there were many more children playing around us. And sitting there by the shade of the trees, we discussed research ideas. In my dreams, we had transcended all barriers- country, visa, race, and language. I had gone back to where all the education had started. Of course when I woke up, the rational mind could not connect the dots and kept asking, "How is this possible?" But in my dreams, memories from my childhood and other recent memories had nicely merged into one single landscape.

sunshine

The joys of not knowing

            For the longest time recently, I have been stressed out about not being able to find a job. I am 4 months away from finishing my PhD, and most students from my cohort already have a job. I am an international student studying in the US, which means that I must additionally be in compliance with the rules and not stay unemployed in the country. Further, life as a single person (man or woman, doesn’t matter) is not easy. You are entirely responsible for taking care of you, and the love, understanding, and even the temporary financial cushion you need while you look for employment is missing. Come July, my apartment lease is going to expire, and I will not have a home to live anymore. It is battling with the uncertainties that have made my life so miserable.

            Needless to say, I have had multiple meltdowns over the last few months. I have stared at the ceilings wide-eyed at nights, clueless about where I am headed. When I started my job hunt 6 months ago, I conveniently omitted applying to places I did not see myself living in; the small towns in the middle of nowhere where I know I am going to be chronically depressed. I knew I have the time and the options, and I would always find something better. In retrospect, it was a mistake. US funding agencies are going through some significant sequestrations and budget cuts. Universities are having a hiring freeze, and labs are no longer hiring that many postdoctoral researchers. I almost got a job in one of the reputed schools in the South, and then they denied me the job because they decided not to hire anyone. Surely there is no way I could start counting my chickens.

            I started my job hunt with the mindset of exclusion. I don’t want to live in the Midwest. I don’t want to live where it snows. I don’t want to live in small towns. I would prefer a sizeable Indian community around. It would help to have an international airport and a Macys nearby. I want to do a post-doc in an elite school. Soon, I realized that I was doing myself a disservice with the high expectations I had set for myself. Finding a job is not just about my abilities and qualifications, it has a lot to do with who is hiring, who has the money, and who I am shaking hands with. So now, I am applying to every school, every interdisciplinary department, leaving no stone unturned, shamelessly proactively introducing myself to everyone. My adviser still thinks that I will have a job before I graduate, but that rejection from the southern school was an eye opener.

            Eventually, I have sensed a shift of energy, a detachment I have developed with this process. I am still proactively looking for jobs and applying. I am not ready to quit and move back to India for many reasons, but mostly because I don’t have a plan if I have to do so. However, I have realized that stressing myself out and comparing myself with those stellar personalities I rub shoulders with is not going to help. I have personally known people who have multiple job offers 6 months prior to finishing a PhD (or people who didn’t even need to finish their PhD), who have professors from Ivy League schools vying for them, wanting them to work in their labs, people who drive cross-country and make summer trips to Europe when they finish school because they have all the time, money, and a lucrative job waiting for them with a window office overlooking the sea. I’d have loved to visit Greece or Spain as a graduation gift to myself, but let’s be realistic here. We are talking about basic survival needs, the need to have a home and be able to feed oneself, fuel the car, and afford a gym membership without asking for help. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves and try to build some fancy vacation itineraries when it might not happen.

            Of late, I have realized that worrying about something unknown in future is counterproductive. And what’s so wrong with not knowing about the future. Why do I have to know what will happen to me months in advance? With some introspection and mental effort, I have started to enjoy this moment of not knowing where I am headed next. This way, I visualize my future whatever way I want to. At times, I think that I am going to be a postdoctoral researcher at Harvard University. Then I imagine myself as an educational adviser working for UNESCO in Paris. Sometimes, I visualize myself going back to Seattle and spending a few years scaling Mount Rainier and spending summery weekends by the beaches of Olympic National Park. Sometimes, I want to move to San Diego and enjoy the sun and the Pacific. Maybe I could work for the AAMC in Washington DC, since my dissertation topic is directly relevant to the medical workforce. Or I could start working on my DrPH degree on Global Health next year, and work in other continents like Africa and Latin America. And why education or public health? I could be a photographer working for Nat Geo, or better still, work for myself. I could be a writer visiting countries and writing about the lives of people. The opportunities are limitless when you have a vivid imagination.  In fact, the more I visualize my imaginary future, the more I realize that imaginations spring from the heart and not from the head.

            Imagination is a powerful tool to create and shape one’s future the way one wants to. We often think that external circumstances and other people shape our life events, but how often do we realize that what we become in life is a manifestation of who we imagine ourselves to be? I know I will eventually find a job, there is no denying that; if I don’t, I will probably be the only qualified person in this world who has been unable to find gainful employment, and I don’t see that happening. However, once I know where I am working, I will know, and will not be able to undo the knowing. But this moment of not knowing is beautiful too. The more I am fixated on the idea of finding a job in academia in the US, the more I see myself getting frustrated. Maybe I am not meant to be a professor in some US institution, and what is the big thing about being something or not being something anyway? Who am I to define who I should be or who I should not be? The more I imagine alternative possibilities, the more I find my fears allaying and my inhibitions dissolving. After all, the purpose of going through the graduate school journey, or of doing anything for that matter is to enjoy the ride, learn something new, meet someone unknown, learn a new skill, go to a new place, do something you have never done before, make a plan, fail, and do a better job at it, and most importantly, find happiness in what you do. I have done all this in graduate school, and to let the fag end of my journey be fraught with fears, insecurities, and frustrations would be defeating the whole purpose of educating myself in the first place.

            So I tell myself every day that it’s okay to not know everything that will happen to me in the next few months. I have 16 more weeks in graduate school, and I should just focus on being done. Things have a way of falling in place and working out eventually, they always have. The end of graduate school might be the beginning of a new chapter in life, a new journey to look forward to, something that will take me to a new place, and make my life meaningful in some way. I don’t, for a moment, underestimate the power of hope and imagination for that matter.

sunshine

The beast that would not let go

It was out of the blue that I was attacked. This time, I was driving. I barely had time to look in the rearview mirror to see that it was a creature with serrations all over its body. I somehow managed to park my car, but this time, the creature was trying to jump off, run away, and hide in the forest. I have never been a brave person, never the ones who would observe fasts for human rights or be vociferous about issues that plague us. I never thought I was bold, courageous, and fearless. But something in me snapped. I didn’t want this creature, half-man, half-beast, with a green skin and serrations all over it to scare me and hide away. Not knowing what to do, I gripped it by the arm.

What happened for the next few minutes was strange, surprising, and scary. I saw the world go by me without noticing me. I saw my mom, and then my sister, talking to others, laughing, and walking by me, without a look. It seemed like I was trapped in a glass shell, wherefrom I could see people, but people could not see me. I tried screaming as hard as I could. But as it always happen with me in fear, no voice would come out. I took a deep breath, and tried screaming again, but no sound this time as well. My grip was getting slacker, the animal was trying to wriggle itself free, but I would not let go. I felt tears stinging my eyes, for I was so helpless that my own family could not see me struggle while I could clearly see them. What made is worse was that no voice would come out, no matter how hard I tried to scream. I was resolved to not let go, so I remained the way I was, unable to scream, but my grip tightly on the repulsive creature. I had not noticed before, but the creature emanated a foul smell from its body, an odor far too repulsive for comfort. With one hand, I tried reaching my phone ad dialing 911. It took me quite some effort, but I eventually managed to do it.

Within no time, the cops were there, freeing the beast off my grip. What I don’t remember is, how did they know who I was or that I needed help, when I had lost my voice? I have no remembrance. However, they freed me, and I slumped on the ground, looking at the breast, now captured by the cops. I held my hand close to my forehead and started crying. I was stunned, exhausted, taken aback, relieved, tired, and had lost my voice, all at the same time. It’s true I did not let go, but I sensed a dreariness, a sense of loss, even after having won a battle. Who this animal was? What was it doing here? Why did it choose to attack me of all people? I had no idea.

I have seen different versions of this dream for years now. Different versions because the situation is different every time, sometimes an animal, sometimes a man. But I always lose my voice while seeking help. And the dream always ends with me crying. And then I wake up, shaken, tired, scared, and relieved at the same time that it was just a dream, and cry some more.

sunshine

Plane of Reality

I have a Chinese girl in my class I meet once every week. The first day we met at the orientation, she told me that she was worried about the English spoken and written test every incoming graduate student has to take before they start their research. She asked me if I had similar concerns. I didn’t know the “right” answer to tell her. Yes, I was concerned, but that was not because of the test. It was because I would have to wake up on a Sunday morning and drag myself to write the exam by 8 am. I was more annoyed that the school is not convinced about my English written and spoken abilities, and I could not sleep till late on that Sunday.

I passed the test. She didn’t. It meant that she would have to take an English class once every week for the rest of the semester. Bummer ! If the class load and the research and TA-ing wasn’t bad enough, the last thing you wanted was extra class load. I empathize. The next time we met in class, she came running to me asking to me which day I was assigned to for the English class. I observed that she had assumed I had not passed the test. It broke my heart to tell her that I had, and didn’t need extra English coaching. She didn’t do a good job to hide her disappointment. She looked confused that how could I be exempt from it when she was forced to take it.

Ever since every time I meet her for my research class, she asks me how are my English classes going. It seems her perceived reality has accepted that being an international student, I too had failed my English class. I felt sorry for her, but it unnerved me a little. Last week when I met her in class, I saw her talking to an American student. She was telling her how difficult this part of the semester is with midterms and then pointed to me asked me if I was having a hard time with the extra English class. It seems it had never registered in her mind that I was not taking any English classes. Amidst rectifying her yet once again (to which she looked a little startled), some strange realization dawned on me too. I realized that we all live in our own realities, and sometimes the plane of our realities might not match that of others. Does that mean there is no concept of absolute reality? What is unreal to me might very well be someone else’s reality. Often we hear people recounting stories when we think to ourselves, “This is not possible, is it true?” This is because the things we do not believe in are the things that are beyond the scope of “our” reality.

This girl was clearly upset, not just because she has to take extra classes, but because her reality might be that she thinks she has failed herself by failing the test. So at some point, her reality started to believe that as a non-native English speaker, I had failed the test too, maybe in order to make her pain or guilt less bearable. Whenever she asked me about my English classes, she was very empathetic, and it was clear that she was not making fun of me but genuinely believed that I had failed the test. What she thinks might not be the truth, but it is her reality that she has spun around herself to make it less painful for her.

I looked back at my life and realized I might have done this at some point too, though not to this drastic extent. I might have known things which might not have been true, and on being corrected, I must have asked, “Oh, why did I believe it otherwise then?” Which means while 2 plus 2 is always 4, it might not always be 4 in some of our realities. It is a scary thought, and an equally interesting one. I would love to read up more about psychology and realities if I can find some interesting books. Think about it, how fascinating it would be if each of us lived in our respective realities, and there was no concept of an absolute truth. So though in reality I am a poor, Indian graduate student, in my mind, I could be a princess, a Hollywood actor, or a heart surgeon. Is that what we call the beginning of incipient lunacy?

I am not talking about my classmate anymore, and don’t mean any offence to any non-native English speaker, but why is it that we think some people are crazy? Is it because their plane of reality doesn’t match with ours? How many times have you heard your friend complaining how her famous mathematician husband doesn’t hear what she says, forgets to do household chores when asked to, and lives in his own reality solving problems? Is this how ideas in fantasy movies are conceived, by thinking of ideas that might not align with the realities of most people? My grandmother still does not believe that it is possible for someone to travel around the world alone and not be lost. She also doesn’t believe that it is impossible to board a wrong flight. Like people sometimes get on the wrong train, my grandmother believes it is possible to get on the wrong plane; that you can actually get on a plane and realize after talking to the other passengers that the plane is going to Tokyo while you have a ticket to London. It is her reality. I don’t buy it, I don’t believe it, but it is her reality nevertheless.

Maybe we have our own realities because it makes coping with stressful situations easier. If so, then are dreams borne out of our subconscious realities? So many times I have seen dreams about things I would not admit to in my conscious state. I often dream of snakes when I am stressed. This might be because in real life, I am very scared of snakes, and will neither visit the reptile section of the zoo, nor will get into a discussion involving snakes. Then why do I see something in my dreams that I am scared of in reality? Is this because I push away those things I am scared of in my sub-conscious, and while dreaming when our mental guards are down, those issues come up? Who knows !

If you have read a good book about psychology, dreams, or realities, please let me know.

sunshine

Exams

I accidentally bumped into my exam schedule and wondered why I didn’t find it all this while. I looked at the date my first exam is going to start, and realized exams were just 10 days away. They were to last for a week, and that meant I was preparing for some 5-7 tests. The tests are pretty intense, and it is during these times that I always regret not having studied harder. I calculated the number of chapters I was supposed to study and realized that I had some 25 chapters to finish in some 10 days. Studying 2.5 chapter everyday would leave no time for revision, so I must speed up. I must target finishing at least 4 chapters a day to begin with, to give me enough acceleration. This means I need to study for 14-15 hours a day. I don’t really remember what was I busy doing throughout the year, but I am clearly not prepared for the exams. I also know that if I start to put in all my waking hours, I can manage to finish my target and do well in the exams. I will not aim for getting the highest this time as I do not have that much time. I will rather ensure that I skim through everything so that I do not end up leaving unanswered stuff. I promise I’ll study earlier and harder the next time.

But something in me doesn’t feel right. I feel the pressure, but not really the killing urge to get back to my books. It’s a bright and sunny day outside. Summer is here, and people are out there enjoying themselves. I don’t really feel like studying. I feel like standing on a railway platform, supposed to catch the train in front of me. The train starts rolling slowly. I know I must hop on to the train. But something in me doesn’t let me lunge after the train. I stand and watch as the train leaves in front of me.

I realize I am not prepared for the exams this time.

I wake up from my dream to realize that it is not quite 5am. I still have an hour’s worth of sleep. I hug my pillow tight and go back to sleep.

I am glad it was just a dream. I am glad when I wake up an hour later, I will get ready for office and not for some exam I am not prepared to take.

I wonder why even after one year of bidding student life adieu, I dream of exams approaching.

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In Our Own Shoes.

It’s now become a ritual to meet her daily. Every morning as I get down from the bus and walk the long stretch down Theatre Road, I see the familiar sight of two human figures holding hands and walking towards me. As we approach each other, gazes locked, she makes it a point to smile at me and wish me good morning. I return the greeting as always with a smile, get near, and pat the kid on her head. This has been a routine affair for the last few months now.

Initially I used to feel very uncomfortable at the prospect of having a lady almost 10-15 years senior to me wish me “good morning ma’am”. Now, I have gotten used to it. Every morning, she makes it a point to stop and ask the kid to wish me morning while the kid shrinks into mumma’s shins. Then follows 30 seconds of polite conversation when she asks me about the progress of the elder daughter and while I give a brief account, I try to grab whatever I can of the kid’s cheeks. And then I smile sweetly at her and walk away. After a few steps, I turn to look back at her. And as usual, I see the familiar sight of mother and kid holding hands and walking down the streets.

I have a weird feeling whenever I look into her eyes. If I could trust my gut feeling, I think she wonders what would it be like to be in my shoes. What do I appear to her? A young girl in her mid twenties who is a teacher in the school where her elder daughter studies? A young girl who has a job, a career, a set of friends? A girl who holds the key (according to her) to her daughter’s academic performance? I would have shrugged off the gut feeling had she not asked me for my email id yesterday on the pretext of wanting to be in touch with me even when I am gone from here. Why? I mean, I wouldn’t be the daughter’s class teacher anymore. Then what might she want to have to write to me?

Perhaps she thinks I am lucky to have the life I do. Perhaps she wonders what it is to be in my shoes……

Strangely, I am sure she would be greatly surprised to know that her feelings are mutually reciprocated. Sometimes I wish I could be in her shoes. Everyday when I see the familiar sight of mumma and baby holding hands and walking down the streets, I feel an inexplicable pang. I wonder how it feels to be the mother of two kids. I wonder how it is to wake up every morning, get your kid ready (all the more since most of the time, I have trouble getting myself ready, leave alone attending to someone else), drop her to school, and discuss her academic performance with the teacher. I wonder how it feels like when a lady 10-15 years your junior bends down to pat the kid’s head.

Perhaps she will never know….

Perhaps it’ll be a long time before I get to know……

She wishes she could be like me….

And here I wish I had a life like her. At least the part of her life I get to see every morning….

Suddenly I realized that I was still staring at mother and child while I had already reached the school gate. I shook my head and smiled to myself. Life…. Somehow you always ended up wishing for the things others have, never mind whatever God has given you.

sunshine.

Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi.....

This is the Vishwakarma Puja week. And here I am on the terrace, enjoying the lovely breeze, the dark gray rain clouds, and the sporadic drizzling. You should look at the sky stippled with thousands of those colorful kites!!! And a bunch of over enthusiastic boys on every terrace. Reminds me of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam.

And all I do is be a silent witness to the “Kite-Fight”. Because I’ve never learnt to fly a kite. Makes me long all the more to don my favourite floral tee shirt and faded denims, buy myself a few kites, and join the group.

Well, at 24, there are some 2400 things I want to try out. Age was never a factor, hesitancy was.

Like FLYING A KITE. There is something so very charming about flying a kite, that gives you a wild sense of freedom.

And WHISTLING IN MOVIE HALLS. Not a very lady like thing to do, I admit. In sixth grade, a guy in the last bench was caught and punished for whistling in Mrs.Ahmed's class. The culprit was me. I escaped ‘coz no body could suspect a girl doing that. But I am yet to learn those different techniques where you use your fingers to hold your lips.

Also, PLAYING FOOTBALL. My mom would get the shock of her life like Mrs.Bhamra in Bend It Like Beckham if she were to know this. Not that I am a sports fan. Just that playing football seems like a cool thing to do.

And learning MARTIAL ARTS. I’ve seriously been thinking of going for it for almost 10-12 years now. But I’m only gaining age and weight and dulling my reflexes day by day. 

And the GUITAR. One of the most romantic musical instruments according to me. Remember those guys in college who’d bunk classes and loiter around with a guitar, shamlessly drawing all the female attention? Carrying a guitar was a sure shot sign of being a cool dude and a compulsive flirt. 

Also, doing BHARAT BHRAMAN IN A MAALGADI. Well, people travel in trains and planes. But there is something about traveling in those open boxes of coal, lying on your back and watching the sky, the stars, the fields, and enjoying your freedom, with no idea about where the train is headed towards. All the better when you have eloped and have no baggage to carry.

And TRAVELLING IN A PLANE. I wonder if it is like in Hindi movies where you always get a seat beside the hero, and there would be great food and good looking air hostesses. When you wake up, you eventually find yourselves on the hero’s shoulders? Dad says travelling in planes is scary,  with bad weather and air pockets. Still, a little bit of filmy imagination never hurt anyone. I admit I still stare greedily at those blinking lights from the terrace and there is something so very beautiful, so very powerful about planes. 

And there are a hundred more things I can think of.... bunjee jumping, river rafting, skiing, going up a lighthouse (I've done it just once), etc. No wonder there are Hazaaron Khwaishien Aisi. Maybe I'll start with learning to whistle first.

sunshine.