Trin Tr-Information.

This is a purely informative post. Of late, I have received emails from some of you who have made it to a grad school in the US. First, congratulations to all of you !!!! Second, as you all requested, I have decided to write a few posts on life here. Feedback from students who are already here and would like to add more in the comments section are most welcome. This post is based on the way the telephone system works here. Of course things may vary from place to place, and many of you might already know whatever I have written here. Nevertheless, I hope this information is useful to some of you.  

In the first few days that you come here, you will be looking for good plans. There are a few providers here like Verizon, T-Mobile, Cingular, etc. and each have their own plans to choose from. Applying for a credit card may take a while, so if you have a good friend who is willing to help, you can get a phone in his/her name and keep paying the bills every month.

I was not aware of the many options by providers, and I was more confused than ever. However, G helped me out in all this. Now, I have a mobile connection that allows me 600 minutes of free talk time a month. Weekends are free. Let me explain to you what this means.

The US is a huge country. Naturally, the states fall here under 5 time zones. The eastern coast is ahead of the western coast by 3 hours. That means while your friend in the eastern coast would be eating lunch, you would still wonder what to make for breakfast.

According to my plan (that is, the option I have chosen for my cell phone), no matter which time zone I am in, 9pm to 7am and weekends are free for me. That means during this time, I can call up anyone in the US in any time zone and that would be free for me. Of course I pay an amount for this at the end of every month. Unlike in India where we buy cards worth money, here we buy plans worth time. So I get 600 minutes of talk time free. This means that anytime on weekdays 7am to 9pm I call someone, minutes will be deducted. The pulse is per minute. Once your 600 minutes are exhausted, you pay extra. If you pay more while choosing your plan, you can choose from more number of talk times. I especially like the system here because the free timings ensure that you usually keep all your phone calls for the night after you are done with work, and whatever calls you make during work time are short, important conversations.

Most universities have student rooms or computer labs with their own phones. So if you want to make local calls, it is best to use the university phone. Anywhere you need to call within the campus, you just need to punch in the last 5 digits of the phone number.

Most phone numbers are a 10 digit number where the first 3 digits are the area code. Some states might have more than one area code.

Usually, the cell phone comes free with the plan. And these are cool sets with camera and other stuff.

Sending and receiving texts both cost you.

Calling and receiving calls both use up your minutes. So even receiving calls (except from 9pm to 7am and in the weekends) is not free.

There is something called a family plan where you can include a number when you choose your plan. So you might live in Oregon while your husband/boyfriend lives in New Jersey. Including him in the family plan will ensure that all calls made at any time of the day are free.

Calling India-

I have been using the Reliance calling card (where you can but cards worth $5, $10, $25, $50, $100, or $200) and get talking minutes accordingly. However there are other calling cards too, and you must make some market research before you choose a particular card. You keep on recharging on the net once your talk time gets over.

There is another option called the Voice Over Internet Protocol (VOIP) phone. You need to install a phone in India, pay some $40 for having it installed, have broadband net connection back in India, and then make unlimited calls at home @ approximately $10 a month. Your folks pay nothing. If there are more than one phone numbers you regularly call in India, you must install more than one phone.

That in general is how the telephone system works here. However, it is always better to do your own research before you choose a plan. Any feedback or further information on whatever I might have missed out is most welcome.

sunshine.

My “Wonder”ful World.

I wonder-

Why no matter which side of the street I am on waiting for the bus, there always seems to be more buses running on the opposite side.

Why every time I hit the “up” button on the elevator, the one going down arrives first.

Why the more I study for the exams, the better gets my chances of screwing them up.

Why every time the professor in class asks a student some question, I always know the answer to it, but when it is my turn to answer questions, I am clueless.

Why every guy I have a crush on has a crush on somebody else, and guys who have a crush on me do not get crushed back at.

Why every girl from college who was better in academics has a better job, and every girl academically inferior to me has a husband, while I have neither.

Why every time I try to guess the correct answer to a true/false question in the exams, I end up choosing the wrong option.

Why every time I check the prices for avocados before buying them, they are $1 each, but every time I forget to check their price, they are $1.80 each.

Why every time I wake up late, I have all the unfinished jobs in the world to do before I leave for class.

Why my fellow passengers have always been uninteresting couples with badly behaved kids throwing a tantrum every now and then whenever I travel.

Why every time I get late for class and do not bring lunch, the girl in front of me always munches on a chicken burrito.

Why every time I tell myself that I do not have the time to cook, and my body should understand and cooperate and use up all the fat reserves, I end up feeling hungrier than ever. Perhaps my stomach has no brains.

Why the probability of me meeting my dad on my way back home always increases a hundred fold whenever I am with some guy friend.

Why when we lived in an era with no call waiting on the phone, every important call for dad came whenever I used to be on the phone.

Why mirrors in shopping malls are strategically placed everywhere so that every time you pick up a sexy dress, the fat girl in the mirror sarcastically laughs back at you.

Why every time I am done buying something (say a camera, a laptop, a webcam, whatever), its price either goes down or I see a better deal elsewhere.

Why every time I am the least prepared for class, the professor seeks my opinion on topics the most.

Why every time some girl in the group starts going out with some guy, I am always the last one to know.

Why every time a handsome guy on the plane is looking lost trying to find his seat and I pray that the empty seat beside me be his, he seats himself at the remotest corner in the plane.

Why lip sticks look great on every woman, but it makes me look like a blood-sucking vampire.

Why whenever I absentmindedly scratch my hair or dig my nose in an empty room, someone walks in without preamble.

Why of all the 30 odd 5 year old kids who were by themselves at that wedding, I was the only kid who sat on a broken chair and fell in the gutter on that cold, wintry night.

Why every time I make a resolution of working the most on a particular weekend, I end up sleeping the most.

Why every time G comes over to my place, my room is in a mess, while it looks fine the rest of the days (or maybe whenever my room is in a mess, G decides to come over).

Why every guy who looks interesting is engaged, married, or has migrated to Antarctica.

Why every time Y would call me up back at home, I would be in the loo.

Why every time I study lead, arsenic, and cadmium, a question on mercury comes for the exams.

If the hypothesis of a good looking person always marrying a bad looking spouse is true, should I prefer considering myself good looking or should I prefer having a good looking husband instead?

Why every time I forget the phone and imagine every Tom, Dick, and Harry trying to call me up, I rush home at the end of the day only to find that no Tom, Dick, or Harry called me.

Why any sari that looks good on me always looks better on my friends.

Why just when I reach the crossing does the light turn red.

Why every time I stood on the left in a crowded metro, the lady on the right always got a seat first.
Why every time someone clicked the camera without telling me, either my eyes were shut or my paunch was showing.

Why every time I had an important appointment to attend to, the alarm clock would ditch me.

Why every time I sat down to watch India playing, Ganguly got out.

Why every time I would need my sun glasses, I would forget to put them in my purse.

Why every time I would go on for a photo-clicking spree, the batteries would run low.

Why every time there would be a huge queue to get a platform ticket, there would be a paunchy ticket inspector right at the gate.

Why I can never determine what spices to put in what curry and always end up cooking horrible food with all the wrong spices.

Why every time I am in a huge family gathering, some aunt of mine always has to recount inappropriate stories from my childhood.

Why every time I have a nightmare of getting onto a weighing machine and the pointer crazily deflecting to the right, it is actually never a nightmare, but stark, harsh reality.

Why every time I decided to wear something adventurous to college, dad would go to office late or come home early.

Why every time I am on the phone and am required to note down something, maybe a number or an address, I can never find a pen in the radius of some 10 feet.

Why I can usually remember any persons’ month of birth, but usually never the date of birth.

Why every time I miss the bus despite running to get it is the bus I needed to take, and why whenever I reach the bus stop on time, it is never the bus I needed to take that arrives first.

Why every time I sneaked into the kitchen at night, I’d get caught by mom. Even now I have this habit of looking here and there to make sure that no one is around when I am stealing food from the fridge, though I very well know that no one is around.

So what are you wondering about today?

sunshine.

I Miss-

1. Going to sleep with a leg over my sister.
2. The smell of fried onions on Sundays when dad cooked meat.
3. The tanginess of paani puri and the mouth watering pakode on rainy days.
4. Saying “dada, jaben na ki?” to the cab driver.
5. Singing the national anthem in school everyday.
6. Hushed conversations, sweating inside telephone booths on sweltering days.
7. Sweating in general (unless I am at the gym).
8. Bargaining prices and the unnecessary, yet customary, “Achhe dekhke subzi dena” to the shopkeeper, and the equally feigned “Haan haan, bilkul fresh hai”.
9. My kids at school wishing me, and then a few girls coming up to me after class and smiling shyly, “You look very nice in a sari ma'am”.
10. Ma asking me- “And who was that you were whispering to over the phone to for so long?”
11. My best friend and I making plans of running away to Africa someday. 
12. The irritating tunes of those K-serial songs I knew so well, since every TV in the neighborhood would be switched on in the evenings.
13. The librarian telling me- 5 baj gaye hain (it's 5pm now), the library is gonna close now, and me saying- 5 minutes more please (libraries are open 24 hours on weekdays here).
14. Rushing to catch the last metro and fretting over the fact that dad would be mad at me for getting back home at 10 pm (most of our parties start at 10 pm here).
15. Staying abreast of every new Bollywood movie, thanks to my trailer-watching addiction. 
16. Bengali graffiti on the walls.
17. Double checking if the hand-written “bill” the local shopkeeper gave me was added correctly.
18. Home made raw mango sherbet during the summer.
19. Raiding sis's or mom's wardrobe to wear something interesting at parties.
20. Whining to my friend that I have never been to Goa and she has been to. Now, she whines that she has never been to the US.
21. The hang of having exams once a year. I now take them almost once a week.
22. Looking at the US flag at the USEFI and telling myself- someday I'd be there.
23. Eating in plates and leaving them in the sink for the domestic help.
24. Making a fuss whenever mom cooked spinach or raw banana curry.
25. Asking dad in office what is he gonna get for me on his way back, and dad calling mom on his way from office and telling her, “Don't cook dinner tonight. I am getting Biryani for the kids”.
26. Giving missed calls at home while they called me back. Now, they give me missed calls and I call them back.
27. Sending texts and missed calls to friends. Here, you pay for texts too. 
28. Threatening mom I'd go to sleep on an empty stomach if she didn't make goat meat in the next 2 days, and she actually telling me that I was welcome to do so, for this way I could lose some weight.
29. The prasad from neighbors after the Puja, and the sound of conch shells.
30. Asking mom to wake me up at a certain time the next day, and going to sleep in peace. It is my shrill alarm clock that does the job now. And in case I have exams, I make sure that I keep the lights on so that I sleep light.
31. Not having to worry where my next meal is gonna come from.
32. Waking up in the mornings and demanding dad to come and sit by the bed so that I would hold his hand before I decided to leave bed.
33. Going to class only to be told by the prof that he has decided not to teach that day for some unknown reason.
34. Gandhiji smiling on Indian currency. They are different heroes now.
35. Calling up Munnu on a random day and demanding- BUNK CLASSES, I WANNA HAVE PIZZAS !!!!!
36. Dad screaming suddenly while watching the Discovery Channel- “Come here quick, see how rockets fly!” while I'd escape at the first signs of commercial ads.
37. Those ritualistic fights with dad and arguments with mom.
38. Watching every second movie in cinema halls. 
39. The unannounced (or announced) arrival of guests at home. I don't get to entertain guests here.
40. Going over to the terrace and looking up at the moon and the stars.
41. Wedding invitations, those cards that somehow looked all the same to me, and me pleading with dad- But please I do not wanna go, I don't even know anybody there.
42. Locking myself up in the bathroom every time the train left the platform, in fear of the eunuchs. I used to be so scared of them.
43. The painful site of little children and old people begging on the streets.
44. Railway stations, and their all familiar sights and sounds and smells.
45. The fear while crossing the streets in India, and the joy every time I would make it.
46. Grandma, and her aloo parathe. She telling me about how thin and pale I looked every time she saw me, and her defending me in front of mom all the time.
47. Kali Puja, Holi, and Durga Puja. It isn't the same here.
48. Getting welcome holidays on these frequent Bandhs.
49. Talking to friends while not having to calculate the time difference.
50. Locking myself up in the bathroom while I cried so that nobody would see me. Now I cry in my own room out in the open and nobody knows. 

What are you missing today?

sunshine.

If Blogging Were A Profession.

Ever wondered what if blogging were a profession? What if blogging was something we did 40 hours a week to earn money, and not something we did to unwind at the end of a long day? I hear that some people are professional bloggeres and make good money out of it. And then there is Adsense too. But I don't mean all that. What if in a party, there were people introducing themselves to each other in answer to “What do you do?”, saying, I am a doctor, I am a journalist, I am an engineer, and I am a blogger? After all, there were no biotechnologists, computer scientists, epidemiologists, graphic designers, or choreographers once upon a time. And then there would be further introductions about the educational backgrounds. So perhaps when the engineer came from Delhi (just randomly), the doctor from a medical school in Bangalore, the journalist from Pune, the blogger too would identify as an alumna of the prestigious Indian Institute of Blogging Sciences, the first of its kid in South Asia. While engineers had specializations in electrical, computer, mechanical, and so on, and management students specialized in finance, marketing, or HR, bloggers could specialize in social blogs, media blogs, review blogs, literary blogs, picture blogs, blogs on politics, food blogs, blogs on activism, sports, child rearing, and so on.

What if there were blogging companies, sometimes multinational, that hired bloggers fresh out of blogging school? These freshers perhaps got a four year undergraduate degree in Blogging Sciences (BBSc) or a masters level degree (MBSc). Of course they could have an option to pursue higher studies in any of the prestigious American schools (or for that matter, anywhere in the world) that had an entire department, “Department of Blogging Sciences and Research” to it. There could be new concepts like macroblogging and microblogging. Of course there would be general GRE, TOEFL, and Subject GRE (depending on what you wanted to specialize in).

In the job sector, one had the freedom to blog about what one was good at. They would help the companies that hired them earn revenue in some way. They had a choice of working in a cubicle in the office with the computer, or going outdoors to write about things (or maybe a combination of both). They had certain rights and as employees, were entitled to certain allowances and emoluments. Their employers could get them transferred to other blogging projects, or even other cities or countries. And blogging as a profession wouldn't just be an extension of media or journalism. There would be new concepts and different dimensions to it. Blog researchers and professors could take a sabbatical and go visit other countries. Like doctors saved lives (and some looted their patients) and engineers made machines to help people save time they don't know what they are gonna do with and managers skilfully transferred their work to the lower rung and marketing professionals made people buy products they could do without and government officials spent all day drinking gallons of chai and chatting and biotech researchers fiddled around all day with genes, inserting the gene of a fish into that of a lizard to see if it could swim better, (no offense meant), bloggers too could have some kind of contribution to the society. After all, the concept behind the establishment of most professions in the society lies in creating a demand among people and then meeting the demand created with a steady supply.

And then there would be such and such ads in the matrimonial columns of the newspaper- “Alliance wanted for tall, fair, handsome Brahmin Blogger (IIBS), only son, own house, working with an MNC in Bangalore, A+, earning 10lac pa, wanted fair, slim, convent educated girl (preferably blogger)”. Mothers could work from home, since it mostly requires a computer and creativity. 

And then the Oxford English Dictionary could have new words added to it, like blogomania (madness for blogging), blogophobic (someone who is scared of blogs), blogstipation (temporary or permanent inability to relate to or write blogs), blogosophy (like philosophy), blogoholic, gynoblogger (a female blogger), a misoblogist (hater of blogs or bloggers) and an anthropoblogist (one who blogged about humankind), perhaps an ornithoblogger (blogger of birds) and a sauroblogger (blogger of reptiles). Of course omnibloggers like me could write about anything under the sun. And with the evolution of the new language, who knows, we could find some innovative swear words related to blogs or bloggers. Come to think of it, if excreta or the technical act of love making can be converted into swear words, then why not this?

And then, two gentlemen newly introduced to each other would converse something along these lines.

Hi, I am a medical student of AIIMS.

Hi, I am a blogging sciences student from IIBS.

Oh wow, that's cool. I took the entrance test for that institute four years ago, but couldn't go beyond the prelims.

I too failed to clear the AIIMS entrance test. Luckily, I made it here.

So what would you want to do next?

Oh, there were campus interviews last month. I got a job in the R&D section of Blogtor & Gamble.

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

"Heights" Of Frustration.

I was looking at my school pictures, the ones that almost belonged to a different era. Once a year, we came to school prim and proper, looking our best and our shoes shining, when we would be queued up and a pot-bellied man from Sharda Studios would take our class pics. I noticed that in all these pictures, I always stood somewhere at the back, my smiling face making every effort to pop out somewhere in between other faces. Why was it that in every pic, I was either lurking at the back with my face barely visible, or crouched low on the ground in front of the others as if I did not matter?

I guess you get my drift of thoughts. I have always been among the top 3 tall girls in class. In college, I was actually in the top 2. And let me tell you that though many girls I know would gladly exchange their high-heeled shoes to get my height, being tall is not always that cool. Okay, now I don't have the gigantic height the “Susmitas” and the “Bipashas” can boast of, but I guess standing roughly 165 cm tall is not so bad in my part of the world. Or maybe it is.

In school, I never belonged to the group of elite or petite girls who acted all coy while the boys dreamed of them and wooed them. Till middle school, most boys in my class were shorter than me, barring the ones who took gymnastic lessons or older boys who failed and repeated classes. I guess most guys considered me "one of them", since they never showed any interest in me except when pairing up for science quizzes. 

Being tall ensured that I was always pushed to the hinterlands of the group because it is the privileged short girls who were allowed to stand at the center. In most pics, my head would be popping out of nowhere or I'd be sitting on my knees with a dozen hands making a V behind my head. While working in labs, I would help get the reagent bottles off the top shelves, put them back again, and climbed stools if need be. If you had a fantasy for dating tall men, almost 70% of the men you met would be eliminated off your list immediately, unless you were in Scandinavia.

I am not just tall, but large-footed too. Until puberty, and sometime even after that, I outgrew my shoes every six months. Bata soon stopped stocking my size of footwear. Even today, barring flip slops and running shoes, most shoes for girls do not fit me. Nor does all those tank tops and tube tops marked S, M, or even L. Anyone could mistake my feet for a man's feet, sans the hair. My palms are larger than most girls', and no amount of manicure or nail polish would make them look pretty.

I wore my dad's shoes and tee-shirts through most of my teens (also because those hormonal changes were making me go through some identity crises). I am the tallest woman in my family, and nothing they buy for themselves (except saris) fits me. Three more inches, and I'd be my dad's height.

Things weren't this way always. But when in my teens, my mom bought me a skipping rope, and I had to jump everyday. Jump, jump, jump, and soon, I was growing by inches every month. There is a "Wall of Fame" at home where everyone's height is marked and dates every few months. Dad would hold a scale by my head and note down my height with a pencil. 

I have heard weird questions like, “Don't you find the ground far away when you look down?” Or, “How will you find a Bengali guy?”, and “Did you ever plan to join the armed forces?” 

How can I forget my misery during dancing/cultural events when I would always have to dress and act the part of a boy? While the shorter girls would look pretty in their frilly frocks and lipstick and rouge, I was always wearing shirts and trousers and ties in dance events. While the girls wore colorful sarees as they danced to Marathi songs, I tried to look happy in my dhoti and gamcha on my head. The taller ones were always paired as men with the shorter ones, and soon, I gave up participating in dance events just because I was tired of dressing and dancing and acting like a guy. I was tired of the black painted mustaches and beards. I wanted to dance wearing flowers and garlands and lipstick.

Of course I always got the upper berth in trains. And got to lead my group in the Independence Day parades, holding the flag. I got to be the confidante of guys in school who considered me closer to them than the other girls. All said and done, I'd rather be tall than short. 

Things changed when I moved to the US. Suddenly, most people were taller than I am. No more did I stand in a class group photo as the tallest girl. There have been times when I've stared at a girl a little longer than necessary, trying to debate if she was 5'10” or more. And the last time I went to buy a pair of track pants, no more did I have to grope for the XXL, XL, or L. The M fitted me fine, and with a little bit of effort, who knows, I might even be able to go for the S. 

No matter what, frilly frocks or no frocks, high-heeled shoes or no shoes, petite looks or no looks, and tall boy friends or no boy friends, I am proud to be who I am. I am not sure I would feel the same way though if I was born as Rani Mukherjee.

sunshine.

I Am Her Fan Now.

Autobiography Of A Fan.

Rejection always hurts, whatever be the reason. In fact, it gets worse when you do not know the reason. I would never know why my past owners rejected me. I mean, I must have been brand new and spic and span once upon a time. But my owners dumped me in the parking lot of Costco. It could be that it was winter, and they no longer needed my services. It could be that they found a better replacement, someone who did less acrobatics and gave better return on investment. Whatever be it, I was extremely hurt, lying cold and dejected on the streets in winter for God knows how many days.

And then she found me. sunshine found me. Not that she was willing to haul me on her shoulders and carry me home. You see, I am quite tall and heavy. In fact, it was sunshine's friend G who spotted me first. I heard her ask sunshine if she wanted a fan. She didn't look very convinced at first. You see, she was new to the country and didn't know the ways here. She didn't really appreciate picking up stuff from the roadside and carrying them home. Little did she know that expensive stuff like sofas, printers, and bikes find themselves on the streets too, all in great conditions, just because their owners grew tired of having them. Luck could make one come across an array of discarded stuff, from shoes to table lamps to desks and chairs.

And then I heard G explain her that she was a student and it was okay to take something someone had left on the streets if it was still in usable condition. She had been embarrassed at first. It felt cheap, picking up stuff from the streets like rag pickers. Seems she didn't know the adage about Rome and Romans. She didn't know if she would need me in a cold country like this. Well, she hadn't yet seen the summers yet, had she? I also heard her asking how she could haul me all the way to her place. I guess she didn't like the way I looked. Or may be she didn't want to clutter her room.

Much to my delight, I soon found myself being hauled into the trunk of the SUV and being carried away from the parking lot. How glad I was at the prospect of finding a home. But then, she didn't really think she needed me. She adopted me more because she didn't want to argue with her friend. Who knows, she would soon discard me, and I would find myself lonely on the streets again.

She didn't send me away at first. For months, I stood in a corner of her room in the hinterlands of her closet where I could not be seen by anyone. Every time she opened the closet and then could not shut it back because my legs would come in between, I would hear her swear to herself. Perhaps I occupied a lot of space. Nevertheless, I was happy to be home.

And then one fine morning, she decided to clean her room and get rid of the junk. I knew my time in this house had come and gone. Soon I would be on the streets again, cold and lonely and depressed. I already saw a lot of things find their way into her trash can. And then it was my turn. She opened the closet and scanned me for a while. She frowned and I wondered if she was making up her mind. And then she pulled me out of the closet. I was so happy to see the sun again. And then, out of nowhere, my prayers were answered. She was soon on her haunches, oiling me and cleaning me and fixing up my parts and screwing me tight (not literally so). At least she was willing to give me a chance and see if I could be of use. I heard her mutter under her breath how bad she was with gadgets and machines. Well, she wasn't stupid, just slow and awkward. She scanned my parts and soon, she was pressing the right buttons.

It felt so good to be of use after months. There is a different kind of satisfaction when you are of use to people. I knew that she had changed her mind about throwing me away. She placed me in a corner of her room. Ever since, we have been great buddies.

I've seen her groping for me the moment she would come home. Winter is almost gone and I guess she feels stuffy in her room. I watch her sleep comfortably at night while I worked. And I watch her while she works. I watch her while she studies and does homework, happy to be of use. I watch her while she crouches on the floor and writes blog posts. I loved to see the enthusiasm on her face when she blogs. I loved to read what she writes. 

And then one day, I saw her writing about me. I saw myself being mentioned in her blogs. I read about myself and people read about me.

Ever since, I've been her fan. All puns intended.

A Fan.

(sunshine).

And You Thought I Couldn't Make Decent Omelets?

I have been mad at myself. Today, I burnt my lunch. I could not even make a decent omelet for myself. Girls my age are making babies and managing homes. And I was incapable of even taking care of myself. I have been swamped and stressed with work the last few days. So I was not really paying attention to the omelets. That's my excuse. But failures have a way of letting me feel low.

I am useless. I can't cook myself a decent meal. What is the use of so much of education, so much wisdom if I could not fry a simple omelet?

But then, as a desperate measure, I had to see the humor in the situation. Okay, so I could still not prepare a decent meal. Granted. But then, I could do so many things that many others who cooked well could not. 23 years of student life has taught me some of the things I would never ever need in daily life. And there lies the humor, even in such a grim situation.

1. I can stain slides. What more, I can distinguish between almost any basic slide. For the uninitiated, a slide is the preparation of a tissue section of any or many organs of the body, and these do not resemble the original organ in any way. I can easily tell a liver slide from that of pancreas, and I know which is a kidney slide, a spleen slide, a skin slide, an intestine slide, a stomach slide, a lung slide, or slides of the male and female reproductive organs.
   So what if I cannot fry an omelet?
2. Three years of undergrad has ensured that I can identify a wide variety of bones. I can distinguish between leg bones and hand bones. I know which is a thigh bone and which is the bone of the lower leg. I can distinguish the types of vertebrae bones (bones of the spinal cord). I can identify the bones of a bird from that of a snake, fish, or even a rat. I know why a certain bone is the bone of the forelimb and not the hindlimb. I can identify the skulls of the above mentioned animals. What more, there was a time I could name and number all the 206 bones of the human body.
   So what if I burnt my omelet?
3. I have dissected some of the weirdest of systems. I can show you almost any systems of a fish, including their cranial nerves and the pituitary in their brain. The same goes for cockroaches, rats, and snails. I can show you the 7 distinct mouth parts of the cockroach. I can show you how the nerves originate from it's brains. And you thought cockroaches didn't have brains. There was a time I was so obsessed with them that immediately after I killed a cockroach at home, I would see if it was a male or a female cockroach.
   So what if I cannot fry an omelet?
4. There was a time I knew the periodic table by heart. I could assign every element to its correct group, not to mention the fact that I knew the symbol of every element. And that was when there were more than 106 elements, divided into 7 groups, most groups with sub-groups A and B.
   And you thought I was good for nothing?
5. There was a time I knew all the zip codes of Calcutta by heart. You could give me any zip code and I could locate the place for you.
   And you thought I couldn't even fry onions properly?
6. Ever done a blood test? I could easily do a bleeding time, clotting time, and cell count for you. Provided I didn't faint at the site of blood. I could tell you how they measure your blood pressure, and the fact that when you think they are looking at that instrument in your arms (it's called a sphygmomanometer by the way), they are actually listening to the sounds made by blood flowing in your arteries.
   What's the big deal about cooking?
7. I can efficiently make proteins. How? I can take minute amounts of proteins from your body, insert it into bacteria, and make million times the copy of your proteins that way by letting the bacteria reproduce and double your protein every 20 minutes. Then I can isolate the protein from the bacteria, and purify it for you. Cool, huh?
   And you thought I was a misfit in the household lab we call a kitchen?

Well, there are hundreds of such things I can do. No, I don't mean to sound boastful. Just that if I could do all that, I might as well learn to successfully handle something as logical, mathematical, and artful as cooking. 

I know I'll master it someday.

Oh, I feel so good about myself at last !

sunshine.

Little Joys In Life.

It was one of those bad mornings for me. Not just the morning, but the entire week had been bad. Projects, submissions, tests, misunderstandings, lethargy, you just name it. It seemed everything bad was jam-packed into this one week. One more day for the weekend, and I was already dog-tired. The last few nights had been bad. I had weird dreams. I had nightmares of pain and death and suffering. In one of them, I even saw that I was back in India and I did not have a job. I had woken up in cold sweat.

I had an early morning class at 8:30 am, when it is still dark. Last night, I fell asleep studying, the lights still on. The first thing I noticed when I woke up were the unwashed dishes from last night's dinner.

I hate doing the dishes, especially because that is what I have to do first thing in the morning. Grumpily, I brushed and put on some milk to heat for breakfast. Irritable and grumpy, I stood in the coldness of the wintry mornings in my shorts and somewhat crumpled tee shirt, scratching my head in confusion as I looked at the unwashed dishes in the sink and frowned. I was in a sour mood. I felt like being one of the lowest life forms on planet Earth. Washing dishes early in the morning did not make me. There was something about this morning I so very hated. Why? Why me? 

Grumpily, I opened the tap for warm water, wet the sponge, and started to hastily pour out a generous amount of the dish cleaning liquid. And then, I happened to look up and out of the kitchen window outside. And I stood there transfixed and in awe. How had I not noticed this earlier? This was my fifth month running in this house. Why did I not notice it before? I released my breath when I realized that I was involuntarily holding it.

For there before me stood the mighty and the beautiful Mount Rainier in all its pristine beauty. Never once did I realize that one of the most beautiful mountains could be seen right out of my kitchen window, when I was doing something like washing dishes.

The dishes and the class was soon forgotten. The early morning sun was casting a golden hue on the mountain. It was an unusually clear morning, unlike the usual cloudy/rainy ones. I washed and dried my hands (dishes be darned), scampered back to my room to get my camera, and here it is, the view.

The beauty I captured on the camera is nothing compared to what I saw. Sometimes, everything in life seems to be going wrong. And then, it takes just a little, just a sight out of the kitchen window you have never noticed before, to realize what joy the little things in life could bring. 

After that, I hummed a sweet note all the way while cleaning up the rest of the dishes.

sunshine.

Snow Is Not Fun.

Deceptive are the ways of Bollywood movies. Flimsy chiffon saree clad women dancing in the snow made snow look like a lot of fun. Love birds throwing snow balls at each other. It's winter here, and it's already snowing. I have never seen snow outside movies. And this sub-zero temperature is not really making it a very pleasant experience. Have you ever touched your face on a cold night to suddenly realize that you can't feel your nose? You move your fingers down to your lips, your cheeks, and you cannot feel them either. Trust me, it is not a very good feeling. I hate winters. This is the first time that I'm experiencing such extreme winters, and I am not happy. 

1. It snows here, a light rain of flakes for a couple of hours, and I keep praying- snow more, snow more. Yet it never snows enough to shut down school. No matter how cold it is, I have to go to school every morning. And you know how it feels walking in the snow? Try jutting your face inside the freezer (where you store meat and make ice). That is exactly what it feels like when you walk in the snow.
2. The tank tops, strapped tops, even the colorful sleeved tops and tee shirts and the open sandals and chappals are gone. It's been weeks since I've shown anything more than my eyes and my nose. Sometimes I wear so many layers of clothes and am bent down with weight (if not with age) that I wonder if I'll ever recognize myself in the mirror.
3. You don't really fancy attending 8:30 am classes three days a week. I have to burn the midnight oil at the library doing reference work, poring over books and journals. It usually gets late, and then, it's a nightmare walking up to the bus stop.
4. How would you feel if you thought that while you are walking, some weird force of nature is getting your clothes damp and wet (It rains nine months of the year here)? No matter how many layers of clothes you wear, you always have a feeling that your clothes are soaking damp.
5. I don't see faces on the streets anymore. All I can see are eyes and the nose.
6. These are winters minus the steaming hot coffee, pakoras, and khichuri mom made while you spent a lazy evening reading a book. Now, even if I need a glass of water, I have to fetch it myself. 
7. Do you know how many times I've tripped and slipped while walking in the snow? It's damp, it's slippery, and it's not that simple.
8. You wait for the bus on a cold night when you see a couple approaching, holding hands and kissing and talking in each other's ears, totally oblivious to the cold. And there you keep waiting for the bus, thinking, "I wish!". 
9. Cold or no cold, exams don't wait for anyone. Sun or no sun, I have to study, no matter how sleepy this weather makes me and how I long to get inside the blanket reading a novel. 
10. Taking a shower, cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, washing hands before eating, or anything that involves water becomes a painful chore. You try to remain as far from water as you can. You kinda become hydrophobic.

11. It's too much to go out and socialize with friends.
12. Most of your money is gone either buying winter clothes, or medicines for cold, cough, and fever. Not to mention the frozen fingers threatening to become gangrene infested, dry cheeks, and chapped lips.
13. No matter how much you love the butter pecan ice creams and the pina colada yogurt, you can't eat them anymore.
14. Every time you hit the chair, the car seat, or even the shit pot, you get microvolts of pulsating electricity passing through your frozen skin.
15. Gym and working out? Forget it if that requires going out in the cold. You are so sluggish, you sleep and eat all day at home, put on weight, and then the next year you get even more bankrupt spending more money getting bigger clothes. Not to mention how you want to die when you see a well-toned person running in the cold.
    Well, what to say, sunshine needs sun, and most of the time there is no sun. A few hours more, and I'd reach the North Pole. Whatever little sunshine you have barely touches your skin; it's colorless and frozen most of the time.
    Snow looks good only in on National Geographic and in movies. In real life, it is a pain.

Pic taken from my apartment window. 

sunshine.

Fighting For That Last Drop.

It was late by the time I got back from the lab. The cell cultures that I was transforming had somehow taken a lot of time and I had to grab a bite before I headed for the library. As usual, I had missed lunch. Not having a lot of time to cook, yet hungry enough to eat an elephant (and reluctant to eat out), I decided that it would be the best to rip open one of those packs of “ready to eats”, warm it, and gulp it with some toast and juice. I made a horizontal slit along the whole length of the silver packet and poured the entire contents into a bowl. I pressed as hard as I could with my fingers without making a mess. This done, I grabbed a bottle of drinking water nearby and poured just a few drops into the pack. I held together the sides of the packet and swirled it to clean the inner walls, making sure that nothing oozed out. Finally, I emptied whatever remained of the packet right into the bowl.

Wait, the last step was not written in the directions. Not that it was a childhood habit. It's just been three months since I have actually started to cook or warm food for myself. Where did I pick this habit then?

I thought hard. And then suddenly, I knew. I remember mom would do the same with the milk packets back at home. I had often seen her adding a few drops of water to the milk packets and swirl it, finally to add the last drops of water-milk mixture into the heating vessel. 

I thought hard about this habit of mine. Did everyone do it? Why was it that I refused to let go of the last bits of food? This wasn't wastage. Would I have done it had there been guests around? Why was it that after using almost 99% of the contents, that 1% mattered so much? Come to think of it, it took me only a few seconds to get that 99% out. But it took me a lot of time and energy and effort to get that last 1% out.

And then I realized that it was not so new a habit at all. Consciously or subconsciously, I had done similar things in the past. Like these:

1. Rupturing my nails in the process of taking the last bit out of the toothpaste from the tube, and then making a slit with a razor and using up the remnants at least for the next one week.


2.Adding a little water to the ready-to-eat packets to get the last of the gravy out.

3. Licking off the inside walls of the Tastemaker in Maggi with fingers.
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4. As a kid, I used to lick off the salt from the potato chips packets. I still do when no one is looking. 

5. Licking off the chocolate from the wrapper while the actual chocolate is still in my hands.

6. Adding a little water to that shampoo bottle for that last rinse when the contents are gonna be over.

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7. Pouring juice or milk from cartons till the last drop, and then looking inside the carton to check if there is more, and finally keeping the carton upturned till the last few drops were gone.

8. Scraping off the last remnants of dried up kheer or custard from the aluminum vessel. It tastes better than the actual kheer. 
9. Using the pencil till it is too small to be gripped.
10. Eating the last grain of rice, the last thread of noodles, or the last onions from the chilly chicken gravy at a restaurant, carefully manipulating the cutlery while making sure that no one is looking.
11. Tapping off the last bits of powdery stuff from the sachets of health drink powders or powdered soups and cans of spices and salt.

12. Using the soap till it is too thin to be held, and then trying to stick it with a new bar of soap so that nothing was wasted (The cycle is repeated for subsequent bars of soaps).
.
13. Using the moist tissue paper to wipe off the face, throat, neck, and then use whatever moisture remains for the hands and legs. 
14. Making the best of spoons to get the last bits from that bottle of jam or butter, that can of soup, that cup of yogurt, or that bottle of ginger garlic paste.

15. Poising the can of condensed milk right over your tongue till the last drops are out.

16. Drinking green coconut water (or Frooti) out of a straw till nothing but air was being drawn in. Then looking inside to see if there is any flesh remaining and scraping off the last remnants of coconut using the knife (I used to get frequent finger grazes doing this).

17. Wondering if anything could be added to that moisturizing lotion bottle to be able to use the last drops of the lotion that sticks to the bottle (that is of course after you have spent quite some time poking your index finger into the bottle and getting out whatever lotion you could).
18. Wondering after the lab experiment if the latex gloves, the Eppendorf tube tips, the petridishes, and the disposable pipettes could have been used again.

19. Saving all the polythene packets, shoe boxes, paper bags, and pet jars carefully under the bed to be reused (even if that meant accumulating more junk).

20. Swiping out the last remnants of the chocolate cake icing from the paper napkin.
    .
    sunshine.

A Sense Of Belonging.

One of the many scary things about the new city is how I'd lose my way every now and then. When I arrived here, I was given a set of maps of all dimensions and sizes from the department. There were a couple of campus maps, departmental maps, and city maps as well. Yet I hardly realized their utility till I started to venture out on my own. The first day I was to make it to the orientation, I had taken directions to the department by someone. Yet the moment I stepped out of home, I was lost. I have a strange liaison with ill fate. If there is one right answer among a couple of wrong ones, I usually pick up all the wrong options first. It was a wintry morning and the moment I stepped out of home, I was supposed to decide whether to take a right, or a left, or to walk straight. I had confidently taken the left. When I realized after some futile minutes of walking that this was perhaps not the way, I had come back to where I had started, and then taken the straight road. Well, I had finally made it to the orientation a couple of minutes late, having finally taken the right one.

What's the big deal? You can always ask people.

That's what I thought initially. But this doesn't work in the US. There are no pan shops where you can ask for directions. There are no roadside shops or tea stalls where you can ask for help. There are no rickshaw pullers who will take you to the correct address. And people do not ask others for directions. They carry their own maps. Needless to say, they know how to read maps as well. That was not the case with me. Not initially at least. I had no idea how to read maps. Here, people drive from one corner of the country to another taking directions on the internet. And usually there are maps at all the major bus stops so that you can figure out where you are.

Yet I needn't even have ventured out to the city to have been lost. My campus was good enough. So huge is the campus that for weeks, I used to get lost on my way to the department. It was embarrassing asking people, since no one asks for help. They read maps and find their own way. Even when I finally started to read maps, one would see me all disoriented, a map in my left hand, me scratching my chin with my right hand, looking this way and that way. If I had to go to the right, chances were high that I would take the left. That is how I survived the first few weeks.

Then, I started to get to know the campus better. I made a note of all the bus routes that would run from my home to the department. It was embarrassing asking the bus driver every time if that particular bus would cross my department. On umpteenth occasions have I got late for class, having taken the wrong bus and realizing only a little too late. On umpteen occasions have I been lost in the maze that my department is, unable to figure out the alleys, the wings, and the corridors. Honestly, I felt so lost here. I know Calcutta so well that I would give others directions. And here early in the mornings, I would freeze in the cold, huffing and puffing, trying to figure out my way.

Eventually I managed to do fine. Eventually I managed to read maps and get on the correct bus routes. So here I was waiting for the bus one fine morning, exhaling hard intentionally to see the whiffs of water vapor go up when I saw a lady looking a little lost. She looked to the right, and then to the left, and then got pensive. She seemed a little lost, as if she was trying to figure her way out. She looked at me. I smiled. My eyebrows arched.

You need some help ma'am?, I blurted in my recently acquired American accent, only to realize a little late that I myself was unfamiliar with the city and could do with some help myself. 

Well, I am trying to figure out my way to the Downtown, she said.

Oh well, there is no direct bus for Downtown here. However, you can go straight, turn left, and keep walking till you reach the next bus stop, which is the "Khampus Porkway" (as they say "Campus Parkway" here). You can take 70, 71, 72, or 74 from there. They are quite frequent. Don't take 43, it'll take a long time before you reach there.

It seemed I said everything in a single breath, without realizing. The lady's face lit up, she smiled, thanked me, and went away. It is only then, standing alone in the bus stop, that I realized what I had just done.

I had just directed someone someplace.

I had just directed someone someplace in an unknown city.

And I had given the correct directions and the bus routes. The shortest one too.

Wow, having lost my way all this while, I had actually helped someone locate someplace in the city.

It was from that day that I developed a more intimate connection with the city. I started to notice the buildings and the roads a little better whenever I ventured out. And perhaps from that day, I subconsciously let go off my inhibitions and let the city welcome me.

I was no more a stranger here. I was now a part of it. I let a little bit of the city's soul reside in me. I felt a certain sense of belonging now.

It was not long before I figured out not just the correct roads to my campus, but the shortcuts, the trails, and the connectors that took me to my destination in a shorter time.

sunshine.