China Rose

On my way to work this morning, I picked up this flower. Bangla naam- Jawba phool. Scientific name- Hibiscus rosa sinensis. The two names have very different meanings for me. I taught a class on post-structural feminism recently. It took me a long time and multiple attempts of hitting my head on the wall to understand what is post-structuralism, what is feminism, and what is post-structural feminism in this context. However, it did help me develop an appreciation for the symbolic meanings of language once I vaguely understood the concept well enough to be able to teach it.

Jawba phool reminds me of Ma Kali. Of Shibpur, Howrah. And hajar haath Kali (goddess Kali with thousand hands, you should look up her picture. It gives me goosebumps, she looks so jagrata, so alive). All these are memories from my childhood, visiting hajar haath kali mondir in Shibpur and coming home to my grandparents’ place armed with two big bags of steaming hot boma. Boma means a bomb, and Chondi'r boma is the best alu’r chop that you will ever find. The story goes that Chondi, the inventor of boma, uses a secret spice recipe that no one else in the world has been able to replicate, and this humble family business over 3 generations did so well that he built a three-storey house. I do not know how much of this is true, but I do know that my mom spent years of her childhood bonding over boma with school friends, and I haven’t had it in decades now. So if anyone could get me hot bomas from Shibpur, you are my best friend for the rest of my life!

I don’t know how I jumped from jawba phool to boma, but the other name, Hibiscus rosa sinensis, opens up a whole new world of memories for me. I am in the ninth grade and Mrs. Khurana is our biology teacher. She has just taught us how to eviscerate the flower along its longitudinal axis to expose the reproductive contents using a dissecting needle. The catch is that during the practical exam, you only get one flower and one try to get it right. Sometimes, even surgeons are not as skilled as is expected of a 14 year-old. This would be followed by my vague attempt to neatly draw and label the parts of the flower, something I hated doing. I am so bad at drawing and sketching, I could not even draw a pumpkin, forget drawing the private parts of a dissected flower. I spent a good few months of my childhood surreptitiously plucking red flowers from the landlord’s garden and practicing my surgery skills on them. I might not know how to cook biryani or write R codes, but I can surely show you the reproductive parts of this red flower.

And of course now, the flower reminds me of the three-year old grandson of our neighbor who religiously sings me “mayer paye jawba hoye” in his mellifluous voice every time we meet. It is a devotional song dedicated to Ma Kali which means something like- I will be the flower of your feet.

sunshine

A forking big problem

A fork that was stolen from the office kitchen recently was the reason for a lot of hullabaloo. The owner of the fork was inconsolable, being very attached to personal things. An impromptu committee was set up to brainstorm the solution. Should the kitchen door be locked at all times henceforth? Should someone immediately remove plates and cutlery after rinsing? Should one put up a sign outside saying access to the kitchen is for office employees only and not for students? Should one mark one’s personal things with a nail polish to deter anyone from stealing? My guess is that a student during evening class was looking for a microwave to heat up food, conveniently took the fork nearby and forgot to return it. In any case, the victim got into an emotional outburst and said,

“This is unforgivable. This is the second time my fork has been stolen!”

“In how much time?” I was so proud that my long training as a researcher was showing results and I was finally asking the right questions in life.

The victim looked up at the ceiling, made some calculations and said, “In 5 years.”

I wonder if this would be considered a statistically significant problem anymore.

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

28 and Unemployed - Part 1/3

Part 1/3 .....

Part 2/3 ....

Part 3/3 ......

I was a month past 28. Barely a year out of graduate school. Recent owner of a car after 3 years of dreading and 1 month of learning to drive. Happy with a job that wasn’t necessarily THE job, but was something. It paid the bills, maintained my visa status, gave me something to talk about in typical Indian gatherings when people asked what I did, and bought me enough time to decide where I wanted to see myself headed. I was married to my job- a classic case of an arranged marriage. We met on campus, the recruiters hooked us up, and although I didn’t love it at first sight, I learnt to appreciate the perks that came with it- a name, a recognition, a box of business cards with my work designation boldly imprinted under my name, an unbeatable security, a boost to my self-confidence, a steady paycheck that took care of my passion for travel, and enough time and energy to pursue it. A double masters graduate (a PhD dropout actually), I told myself that I would never go back to school to finish my PhD. There was no pride living the life of an overworked and underpaid PhD student, and the smart way was to get a job and have a life. As I drove to work every morning, listening to the bleak updates of the recession on the National Public Radio, of people losing jobs and organizations downsizing, my heart reached out to these people I did not know. I told myself I was the luckiest person to hold on to my job, more so because I was single and did not have a “fallback option” for a husband. The security that came with my job was something worth every hour I spend doing mundane stuff in office, not knowing who would care about my work if I died working on it. Little did I know about the ill-fated layoff that was awaiting me.

When the clock struck twelve, I stood in the cold and rain, watching the fireworks explode over the Space Needle. Squished in a merrymaking crowd in a pub, I had welcomed the New Year with unemployment. No more playing office every morning. No more pay checks for an indefinite period of time. Unemployed, penniless, homeless, visa-less, and barely a year out of graduate school, I had cried broken-heartedly for all the catharsis in my life.

To be continued .....

28 and Unemployed: Part 2/3

Part 1/3....

Part 2/3.....

Part 3/3 ......

Do you know the one big thing that losing a job does to you? No, it does not drive you bankrupt instantly, it does not make you friendless, nor does it strip you off your visa status immediately. However, it strips you off your confidence big time, eating into your self-esteem, and leaving a dull void of self-doubt at the core. You know you are supposed to go out and meet people, network to ensure you find a job soon, but it seems you have ended up with legs made of lead. You do not want to meet or talk to people. The world symbolically gets on the train leaving the station and you stand there feeling deadweight, seeing the world leave you in slow motion. You hate meeting people, or even picking up the phone because they will either ask you how you lost your job, or will tell you not to worry at the time when you have lost your happiness, your sleep, and your old self beaming with confidence. You hide and sulk, stop taking calls, eat wrong, put on weight, end up looking even more pathetic, question your abilities, look at your degrees with doubt, and sift through your graduation album and cry. Suddenly your friends are nice to you, they take you out for dinner and do not let you pay, and there you are sitting and watching them suspiciously. As an outsider, it is a simple situation where you have lost a job, and you are supposed to move on and find a new job without making a big deal. However when you are in the situation, it is the biggest deal of your life. The voices in your head forever keep nagging, “Maybe I was not good enough”. Our upbringing trains us to deal with success, but does not train us to deal with failure. You tell yourself that you were the college topper, the best performing employee in your previous job, and it does not make sense that you don’t have a job anymore. Few realize that although it is sad to lose your job, you can sail through this phase of unemployment with style, so that the world around you would die to be in your shoes.

Did I sail through my unemployment with style? I do not know about that. I am a liar if I said I accepted reality and moved on. Oh, it affects me till date. It was one single, isolated event on a fine morning when I was told I was leaving. However, I have replayed that incident in my head a million times now, making me feel the pain a million times. I still have nightmares of being asked to leave my workplace. The face of my employers change, but there is someone I always see in my nightmares sitting behind a mahogany desk with an intimidating and overpowering expression, asking me to leave. I was scared, vulnerable, and somewhere in the subconscious, I learnt to believe that I will never be good enough to hold on to a job, friends, or relationships.

I tried for months to get another job, but nothing worked out. Tired of feeling sorry, I gazed out at the waterfront, and asked myself one sunny morning what I would do if I didn’t have to worry about money, success, or what people thought of me. Pen and paper in hand, I started to make a list of the things I would do if I got a break. I was single, unattached, healthy, enthusiastic, could live in whatever part of the world I chose to, didn’t have a child to look after or a mortgage to pay, no ties absolutely. I wondered how I had overlooked these blessings. As I kept writing, my “wish list” kept growing longer. There were so many things I had always wanted to do, waiting for the opportune moment that never came. My unemployment turned out to be that opportune moment in my life. I now had a plan for my life, and a fun plan indeed. My crazy list looked something like, “Going back to school. Traveling Europe. Visiting family. Learning a skill. Losing weight. Watching all the top movies on the IMDB list. Writing a book.” I knew I could not finish even half of them, but I was already excitedly planning my unemployment period. What a welcome break it was from the boredom and monotonousness of doing routine things that everyone around me did.

To be continued ........

Tox Talks

Many (used to) ask me what I do for a living. I used to be a toxicologist by education and training before I decided to experiment a little and join grad school. Now being a toxicologist is not an easy job. First, you need to deal with a deep and profound understanding of the nature of cells and toxins and the way either interact to cause cellular injury. Then you have to deal with the knowledge that most people around you are not going to understand beans about what you do for a living.

Not that I am offended or am hurt, but it is interesting to observe consistent behavioral patterns amongst people who are told I am a toxicologist.

A tox what?

Talk-si-what?
-
Understandable, given that we mostly hear of doctors who operate, computer engineers who code (yes that’s as much I understand of comp engineers as they understand of my field), architects who design and build, and so on. Managers. Singers. Interior designers. Journalists. Those are the words we have grown up hearing.

But definitely not a toxicologist.

The situation is different when I am hanging out with my colleagues and professors and professional peers. I am the one then, groping to understand the stuff they do, the big words they throw at me.

I’ve of course had hilarious responses from people.

So do you examine snake venom?

So is global warming going to destroy the world?

So do you design toxins?

Talk-si-what???

I enjoy the responses and the blank looks I get most of the time. No matter how mundane a job I do for a living, I can always make the word look fancy and give a bunch of ideas that makes people think I do something cool.

Forensic science? Criminal investigation? An Erin Brockovich in the making?

Anyway, I am glad that I do something that isn’t understood by many. That way, the toxicologist can finally talk.

sunshine

Who moved my chicken again??

Part 1: Here

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Part 2: It so happened that the office had organized a fall potluck. In case your wondering eyebrows are arched as to what I am still doing in office, let me explain. My boss agreed that I get to stay as long as this project I was working on is active, and then basically they show me the bye bye flag. So as of today, I am still going to office and praying that the project takes forever to complete.

As a part of the office team, I was expected to contribute to the potluck. On a side not, I couldn’t hate anything more than an American potluck in our office. First, most people bring the kind of meat that I wouldn’t even touch- beef, pork, ham, turkey. It’s not religious, it’s just a psychological thing that I have not been able to bring myself to eat any kind of meat I did not eat as a kid. And then, I am still not used to eat salad, cheese, tortilla chips and dip for a main meal like lunch. Needless to say, in most office potlucks, I end up eating what I have cooked myself.

So this time they asked me to make something Indian. Something spicy and flavorful, just like the restaurants here, they told me. I didn’t have much time, hence decided to make the simple “murgir jhol” that’s such an integral part of a Bengali lunch on a lazy Sunday. It’s basically the yellow curried chicken that takes minimum effort to make, marinating chicken in yoghurt, frying onions, tomato, ginger and garlic, and then throwing everything in and cooking it together.

It was an instant hit. Everyone hogged in it, shedding tears, thanks to the great spice tolerance. It so happened that I got 2 boxes full of the curry, not knowing how many people I was cooking for. At the end of it, they had emptied one box, and the other one, or rather, 50% of the chicken was still there.

My colleague remarked again and again how wonderful the curry tasted and how her husband and the entire family loved Indian food. Though I was planning to hog on my chicken for the next week, my Indian values intervened and I offered that she take some chicken from Box 2 for her family. Readers, “some chicken” was the operative word here.

I worked till late and on my way back, entered the office kitchen to pick up my dabba. No prizes for guessing why I am writing about it. My dabba was gone. My 7 days of chicken ration was gone.

I was bewildered. My emotions ranged from confusion to anger to hurt. I could not imagine looting the whole dabba when offered “some chicken”. It seemed my fault that I had asked her to take some, instead of me sizing out her portion. I mean I could not make heads and tails out of it, as to why someone would leave no trace of almost 1.5 kg chicken. It’s not that she was known as the glutton officemate. If anything, she was quite middle aged, had a family of kids, and one would consider mother-like people did mother-like things. I remember those numerous occasions from childhood when I was taught not to pick up more than one toffee, 2 biscuits, or one gulab jamun when offered a plateful. I guess it’s the way we are brought up, taught how not to behave like a greedy glutton, live in misery, and not eye those rasgullas that look back at you all tempting and juicy. You would be left salivating like Pavlov’s dog all evening eyeing the goodies, but will not dare to touch those just because mom taught you self-restraint even if you were dying to sprint on the food. And now, all I felt was confusion.

She returned to me my dabba all cleaned up ad washed, with a thank you note. She later told me that her family had loved the chicken. I just wondered what did she do with chicken for at least 15 people.

It’s amazing how we grow up with certain values as a part of our culture. It doesn’t mean the other person who doesn’t share our values is bad. It just means the other person is different from us, and doesn’t identify with our culture. I wonder why we are brought up to live in misery and hunger and not succumb to the demands of the senses, apologize and compromise and learn to be satisfied with whatever comes in our share. My colleague I am sure would have been totally oblivious to my thoughts and confusion, and I know she did not mean harm. But it’s just that what she did was so different from what she would be expected to do.

If only the boss had vanished the chicken and had reconsidered his decision about my bye bye letter after he had it.

sunshine

3 Years

Exactly 3 years ago, I left for the U.S. today. It’s been an eventful journey so far, enjoying graduate school life and then work life. An enriching experience full of commendations, rejections, laudations, mixing, adjusting, and learning new survival skills, not just in professional life but also in personal life. And when I looked back and thought I had seen it all and done it all, little did I realize how far from the truth I was. I was thankful to have a job even when the economy went crazy. I read about people who lost their jobs and told myself, “This will not happen to me, I shall be safe”. I did not realize that I am not the “chosen one”, and anything that affects my surroundings is bound to get to me sometime. This week, barely one year into my job, I lost it. I was laid off, just like many people who were told their skills were no longer required. I went through a gamut of emotions- shock, scare, shame, self-doubt, anger, helplessness, and everything mixed up to be one emotion I barely identified with. With time, I just got detached from the pain. I am back to my job hunting schedule. It’s scary, not having a job, the constant anxiety and the sense of panic that comes with that. Ironically I was telling a friend the other day that despite the Monday morning blues, I am grateful that I have a job to look forward to in this shitty economy. Now, I no longer do. I realized that I could perhaps use my blog as a medium to de-stress myself, to pen down my thoughts and fears and concerns so that I could see things in a more objective way. For once, I am definitely leaving no stone unturned to make sure that I get a job. Till then, life will continue to be as whimsical as it has been. At least I now know that I could not have been immune and unaffected by the shitty economy that we are in the middle of right now. 
sunshine

Classrooms and Beyond

Sometime in March this year, my kids wrote their ICSE board exams. If you’ve followed my blogs for years, these are my kids who I taught in school back in India a long lifetime ago. Office commute gives me approximately an hour to sit back and think of things, a luxury for me of course, and of late, I have been thinking of my life in India a lot. I was younger, and saw the world differently. I did want to come to the US, yes, but for as long as I worked in India, I thoroughly enjoyed interacting with the kids. I wish I was the one who gave them physics and chemistry lessons before they appeared for their boards.

Now, it is a different workplace I have. I do consulting in public health, which is a very simple way to put it. All I need to function is a computer, of course with the internet and MS office, and a phone. I do not interact with kids anymore, do not teach, and have no fun stories to tell people at the end of the day. I do like my job, especially in this economy, I better like my job. But it is a lot more brainwork and a lot less human interaction.

I’ve completed 5 months of my work here, and in this season of salary slashes and layoffs, I got a hike. I wasn’t really expecting it. For people who have been through the grilling process of applying for a work visa, you will know why today’s date is so important to me. Starting today, my application will be scrutinized by someone to decide if I should stay back to work. It is a disconcerting feeling.

From classrooms to consulting rooms, I have come a long way work-wise. I have learnt new skills and have been put through newer circumstances. My resume looks more voluminous now, with big words thrown here and there. I compare my resume from 4 years back and my resume now, and the stark contrast between the two is so apparent, not in terms of contents, but in terms of the format. No one here cares about father’s name and one’s sex in a resume.

Anyway, I hope that my children do well in their boards and pursue things of their own interest. I still remember the good teachers from my school days (and the bad ones as well) and hope that my children remember me fondly.

sunshine.

What I like about job life

Is the fact that I put in 8 hours of hard work everyday and I am done for the day. I can listen to my favorite songs on my way without thinking of the assignments that need to be completed. I can plan anything after office, be it coming home and settling for a quiet evening cooking and watching TV, or choosing to go shopping or partying with friends. I need not feel guilty about study hours or early bed times. As long as I plan my work hours well, I don’t have to bring home work.

I have lived both the lives, the life of a student and that of a professional. I cannot comment on which is better, as each comes with their own set of freedom and limitations. True, it feels great to solve a research problem after months of brain work, but it also feels great to leave your brains in office at the end of the day and take out more time to pursue your interests. Both these situations of course stand true as long as there is no third commitment that takes up your time, like kids, marriage, or even a demanding relationship.

And the other thing I like about job life is that I can actually go to office empty handed. No longer do I need to carry the burden of a laptop, heavy books to be returned to the library, or tons of notes you printed but are never going to read.

Plus it does boost your confidence, adjusting to a new work culture and earning more money.

Solvency, no huge backpacks to carry and no more backaches, getting rid of those tattered jeans and dressing up in formals every day, and coming home to watch movies and read books, or just choosing to do nothing, that’s work life for me.

sunshine.

PS: I have been gently reprimanded for not replying to blog comments. I am guilty as charged, and henceforth, I’ll make an honest effort to correct it. It’s just that … anyway, never mind…

Zzzzzzz.......

I am about to complete my first week of office tomorrow. While at school, I always thought that having a job would give me enough time to come home, cook, watch TV, read books, and write blogs. In summation, it would give me ample time to do the things I like. Alas, things have not been that way. In the last few days, I have not been able to write one single blog, despite being all excited about office. I’m targeting the weekend, but with Halloween and post-Diwali celebrations and a dozen other things in my social calendar, who knows? But why have things been so hectic suddenly? Here it is why-

1. I still belong to the category of one of those extinct species who cannot drive.

2. Getting to my workplace requires a combination of changing 3 buses and walking for a good 30 minutes, each way.

3. Other than an eight hour working day, I spend half of that time commuting to and fro. Go do the math.

4. The first bus I take is at 6:30 am. The sky sees light only after 7:30 am here. What else do you expect when you live so close to the North Pole and that too during winter?

5. My office is just 20 miles away from my home.

Till now, I have been trying to catch up on my sleep zzzzing in the bus. But no amount of zzzzzzzing seems enough. Let’s see how things turn out in the long run.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…….

sunshine