On Distended Bladders

Nothing feels more painful than bearing the pressure of a distended bladder. All the wrong things happen then, the bus ride gets bumpy, people elbow you accidentally, and passing by the lake watching the water takes forever, further aggravating matters. It takes a lot of will power, muscle power, and clenching power.

Nothing feels more blissful than letting go of the distended bladder. It is like piercing a pin through a balloon and watching it deflate slowly. The relief, the ecstasy, the letting go of clenched muscles while listening to your heartbeat- I am convinced that the involuntary moan sounds more authentic than an orgasmic one.

Just my 2 cents on the pangs of distended bladders.

sunshine

Cold Treatment

March 4, 2009

I find most people’s behavior in the US to be exaggerated and  melodramatic to the extent that it almost becomes obnoxiously comical. Talk about how your stupid kitty gulped down a bunch of carpet fur and got sick, or about how the man you were dating ditched you, and women will grab their chest and make a contorted facial expression, almost sinking to the floor saying “Oooo I am sooo sorry”. I mean, what is there to be sorry about a fat stupid glutton kitty eating fur or about a screwed up man who decided not to waste your time? 

People will get melodramatic for things as trivial as you getting on the wrong bus or your morning alarm not going off. It is nyakamo in its own way- ask any Bengali if you don’t know the word, I couldn’t come up with an apt translation, ooo I am soooo sorry (clenching my chest). 

You must be wondering what pissed me all of a sudden about the mannerisms of people. The move and the weather took a toll on me, not to mention my office colleague who was suspiciously sneezing for a while, and I caught one of the nastiest cold I can remember ever since I came here. It started with a choked voice and relapsed to get back to full-fledged chest congestion, sneezing, and a terrible migraine. While it was still benign last week, I was making myself some tea in the office kitchen while I coughed. This alerted my colleague, who asked me if I was doing fine. Showing her the bunch of Kleenex tissues I was holding, I told her how I thought I might be coming down with cold. 

This woman immediately flung her hand in the air with all her melodrama, made a funny face (only she thought it was funny), and exclaimed- oooo stay away from me, I don’t want to catch it. 

In India, this would be considered condescending. You don’t want to show that you put your interest and well-being before the person who is ill, even if you feel that way. What I am used to hearing when coming with a cold is- ahaare bechaari, kheyal rakhish (poor thing, take care of yourself) and not something to the effect of what she said. I understand that it is infectious, yet the first thing I would get a cold, I would derive great comfort holding my mom’s hand and going to sleep. Here, people would put you in an isolation room, especially if you have just travelled and arrived from India. 

People think India is infested with lice and rats and mosquitoes and viruses. Some believe that there is an Asian version of every disease, which you get when you travel to or from Asia. Ever heard of Asian chicken pox or Asian dermatitis? It is ridiculous people should believe such diseases even exist. So I decided to stay home on sick leave and went back to office only when I was done with most part of the flu. I still made it a point to carry disposable Kleenex tissues and not the Indian-style handkerchief to blow my nose. I was weak, had a terrible headache, and didn’t look that good. Instead of applauding me for not staying home for something as trivial as a flu, the girls in office again started moving their limbs and contorting their faces in a way that it would seem they have been electrocuted. It’s not that I was rubbing shoulders with anyone. I quietly stayed in my room, occasionally going to the kitchen to grab some tea. People dropped by to see how I was doing, and when they saw me sniffle as if a toad was stuck in my nose, acted a false run as if a mad dog was released to bite them in their you-know-where. Ooo--- stay away from me, I don’t want to catch a cold and miss work. That is what they told me. Frustrated, I just continued to work. I hoped they would spare me the melodrama and leave me alone instead of making me feel I had some STD. I wondered which was it that caused me more headache, my flu, or the paranoid melodrama it caused. It seems people have no faith in immunity, or the healing power of the body. 

sunshine.

Shifting Blues

What amazes me about shifting is the sheer amount of junk one is capable of accumulating over a period of time. I remember when I was new to this country and was happily buying stuff in a garage sale just because the concept of a garage sale was new to me and things were so dirt cheap, a wise friend of mine had rightfully remarked- Wait for a year and you will be amazed to see how much junk you accumulate in this country.

The proof lies in the fact that this is the third time I have shifted to a place on the pretext of having a bigger place so that all my things fit, while I should be thinking the other way round and cutting down on the junk I have instead of shifting to a bigger house every year to fit it all.

Greater spending power stimulates the greedy side of the brain, and you suddenly realize that you cannot do without a little private balcony to keep your plants, that you need a breakfast bar in your apartment, an elevator perhaps, and that the carpeting should look better. Ample reason to shift to a better, bigger, and a more expensive place. I know I could spare myself the cynicism since I am the culprit, yet I am unable to forget the fact that while I arrived here with 2 big suitcases 2 years ago, I needed 3 big suitcases just to fit my clothes this time. And I wouldn’t think I’d come as a shopaholic to someone who religiously monitors every sale in the city or mentions shopping as one of her passions in the social networking sites. For all the one dollar and 50 cents stuff I had crazily bought at these wonder dollar stores and wonder garage sales, I had to shell out more than 200 bucks to pay the movers I hired. Yeah movers, you heard me right. My mother is still recovering from the shock that a single person, barely 2 years in the country, has to hire movers to shift to a bigger place, perhaps to accumulate even more junk so that even this place looks smaller.

Anyhow, I have been ruthlessly trying to get rid of stuff, cane baskets I’ll never need, old rugs that don’t match the floor anymore, bulky furniture picked for free in the university areas because people just left them on the streets, and my old clothes from India that I don’t think will fit me ever again.

Time will tell how much more junk I collect in the next year or so. Like I said, it is ironic how some people suffer from scarcity while some people suffer from excess.

sunshine

Home

I have often lain in my bed, looking at the ceiling which is so familiar now. The walls, the window blinds, even the feel of the carpet under my feet feels so familiar. You could blindfold me and yet I could find every little thing you ask me in the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or anyplace in the house. This is what happens when you live in a house for more than 2 years. When I leave for office in the morning, I lock my house subconsciously. I don’t have to look for the right keys or watch while the key is put into the door lock. I just do it out of habit. Similarly, I exactly know how much to turn the faucet to get the kind of hot water I like. Every switch and knob, every little thing I touch in the house is familiar to me. So many parties have been thrown here, so many important things have happened to me while I was in this house. I always loved the fact that there was this amazing view of the hills from the window and it was a 2 minute walk from the shopping mall. I don’t have to wait to think when someone asks me my address. I can often close my eyes and find my way in the house.

But then despite the things I have loved here, I have looked for better options. I have looked for better houses, just to get those little extra things that I do not get here. I have thought of shifting closer to my work place. I have thought of shifting to a bigger place so that I can entertain more people and have more space for myself. I have looked at other houses and have wondered if I should shift. With me earning, I can afford a little more, and you know how the things the heart craves for are endless. I started in the US in a shared housing, ended up having my own apartment without sharing, and now, I want more. Other houses have offered things different and better, sometimes a bigger kitchen to allure me, or that window facing the sunset, or a balcony where I can put some plants.

With time, a house transforms from being a structure of bricks and mortar, it becomes home. It is where you want to come back to and crash at the end of the day. It is where you want to start your day. With time, our homes become our identity. Despite my love for travel and my globe trotting expeditions, it always feels so good to put that key into the door and unlock it, to be greeted by the familiar smells of the home. I have looked at better houses, but have come home feeling guilty, as if my home is a friend personified and looking for better options would mean betraying my friend. I have wondered if the next tenant of this house would feel the same way about this house. And for more than 6 months, I have been in a dilemma. A part of me has wanted to shift to a better place with better amenities. A part of me has held me back to this place. It has told me that it is too much pain shifting. Told me that I belong to this place.

For more than 6 months, I looked at other homes and held back. I always came home feeling relieved that I decided not to shift. The familiarity of my home always welcomes me. Then one fine day, things happened, a decision was made, a deal was signed, and there it was. I’m going to be here for 3 more days. And instead of feeling happy about my new place, I feel guilty. I feel sad. I am reminded of the various important moments in my life this house has witnessed. My graduation. My first day at job. Unnecessary tension with my adviser. My home has always welcomed me and rejuvenated me.

I am leaving for a better place. And I refuse to admit that a house is merely a structure of bricks and mortar. I feel I am betraying a friend and leaving her for a better friend. I didn’t cry, but I have felt an extraordinary amount of sadness. I have been packing half heartedly. I don’t know why I even got into this whole house changing business in the very first place. On several occasions have I seen things I loved go away from me. This time, it was self-inflicted. I hope 6 months down the line I feel as attached to that place as I am to this one now. But right now, I suddenly don’t want to leave.

I feel miserable, and I just don’t know what to write more.

sunshine

Sartorial Irony

I was going through my old picture album where though astoundingly out of fashion, I still manage to look much thinner and younger. Truth be told, I would give anything to get back to that figure I had in India though mom used to make me eat right and work out even then. American food just ruined my system, and this lifestyle got me all out of shape and out of discipline. And herein lies the irony. In India, I had almost no money, lived in a conservative society, and lived with family with no access to the so called fashionable clothes. Now that I have the money and access to fashionable clothes and live in a society where I don’t have to answer to anyone about what I wear, I no longer have the figure to carry it.

This is one of the many things I have been procrastinating (along with buying that suitcase), but it’s high time I did something about the way I look now and the way I feel about myself. Am scared to call it a new year resolution because they usually remain till the first week after new year, but something needs to be done.

sunshine

A Suitcase In Time Saves –

Long long post with no promised anticlimactic end-

I am almost done with my packing for my trip to California tomorrow, though the weather predicts snow for the next many many hours, and the websites tell me dismal stories of flights getting cancelled and the airport being a pile of people and luggage going amuck. My friend predicts that I might not be able to make the trip at all, which though heartbreaking will not kill me. This week I took a lesson out of a small chapter and finally went shopping and got myself a nice red carry on suitcase. Given that the process was neither expensive not a time consuming ordeal, I wondered why I waited 2 years to do this.

Bringing those huge 2 suitcases from India like everyone does, I did not end up buying extra luggage for myself here. For the first few months, it was the conversion bug in my head, converting from USD to INR and deciding to get the suitcase on my next trip to India. The next few months, there was not much travelling to do, and then I got myself a big-hearted roommate to beg and borrow from and never had to look back to buy one again. I mean, it’s not every month that one travels, and it makes more sense to borrow than buy. Or that’s what I told myself.

My roommate became my ex-roommate, but old habits didn’t die. I planned a trip to Philadelphia, and asked her to come over for dinner. Dinner invitation would have stood anyway, suitcase or no suitcase, but I nevertheless asked her to get hers, and she willingly obliged. But there was a glitch. The suitcase had seen years of travel and was beginning to demand some servicing. One zip doesn’t function, but the other one works perfect- or so she said. The suitcase looked healthy and sturdy otherwise, I had 20 more hours before my flight took off, and what’s this not wanting to travel with a one-zip functioning suitcase? I should be fine.

And I was fine, during the entire course of my trip. The suitcase happily served me, carried the dozens of clothes I never ended up wearing, the bottles of perfumes I carried as gifts, and more. Happy, I started to shop there, now that all the gifts were given and there was so much space. I ended up going for a wine tasting tour, and ended up buying bottles of wine for the dinners I occasionally throw. This was after I located a store that sold women’s clothes for cheap, and had accumulated a loot of winter coats and jackets and what not. Wallet wise I wasn’t loaded anymore, but suitcase-wise, I was. Happy and satisfied with my loot, I started to pack on my way back.

Things were fine during the packing as well. The next morning, just before setting for the airport, I remembered that I had not packed my stockings, and unzipped the one-zip suitcase one final time to put in my stockings and make sure all was fine. And Mr. Murphy lurking in the corner like he always does, I watched with horror the only functional zip ripping itself apart, leaving my jaws as open with shock as the suitcase was.

I had 20 minutes to leave home, which was not enough time to buy myself another suitcase. This reduced my decision making and acting time to about 10 minutes, where I either had the option of trying to fix the zip, or unpack everything, take what I need the most in the small spare bag I was carrying, and catch that flight I knew was not going to be late today, of all the days when I needed that extra time. No prizes for guessing, wine bottles were discarded along with the other things I thought I could never part with. Every little thing I hated to part with that came out of that suitcase, I asked myself if I would carry it with me if my plane burst into pieces in the sky and I was falling downward into the ocean.

Finally, a lot of my stuff was discarded, and I carried whatever I could carry in that extra bag I had the sense to bring with me. I landed safe and sound, sans the one-zipped suitcase. My initial feeling of sorry changed to benign irritation when I called up my ex-roommate to apologize for her loss (of her suitcase), to be told that it was an old suitcase anyway and it would have collapsed any day. Perhaps she was trying to make me feel better and less guilty by sounding casual, but then, hey, the collapse happened while it was with me, and I had to leave more than half my loot behind me.

With time, I realized that my anger was well found, but was being hurled at the wrong person. I was the one guilty, procrastinating to take charge and buy myself a suitcase. It wasn’t the money, if I had the money to make cross country trips I also had the money to but myself a little bag. It wasn’t even about time, I waste my time enough everyday, the time I could spend organizing my life. It was just plain, unreasonable, baseless procrastination.

And it was just not about the suitcase. I soon made a list of all the things I had been procrastinating doing in life, not because of the lack of money or power or time or resources, but because sometime in life, I just decided to be plain lazy and procrastinate without reason. I am trying to work on those. But no, I am not showing you the list.

Tomorrow if snowing stops and my flight takes off, I’ll be eating my dinner in California. And now, I am the proud owner of a lovely looking gorgeous red suitcase that took me 2 years to buy, but still hasn’t made even the minutest of the dents in my pocket. It wasn’t the suitcase or the time or the money that was the problem. It was just me.

sunshine

White Winter

This year my winter is out of a Christmas greeting card. It has been snowing here non-stop, and I haven’t seen even one-tenth of this much snow the last 2 winters. In India, snow used to look very romantic in movies, with skinny women wearing flimsy clothes and jumping around. It looked so much fun making snowballs and hurling them at each other. But reality as always is far from the surreal. In reality, I haven’t seen myself wearing nice clothes and jumping around throwing snowballs at people and listening to Christmas carols while sipping coffee and eating chicken pakora in the evenings. Thanks to the snowstorm prediction before hand, I have brought tons of office work home, and am almost on the verge of having boils and sores in you-know-where, sitting on the couch all day and working on the laptop.

2 days back, we finally decided to get adventurous and venture to office, not just because we had work to bring home, but also because the weather seemed better. But this was 2 days back. On our way to office, we decided to stop at the nearby park and have some fun. Office was soon forgotten and we were jumping around and playing in the snow. Fresh snow being powdery, it is so much fun jumping on it, but equally painful and slippery to walk on it once it has melted and become sleet. And of course for all those people who always told me to learn to drive and buy a car, isn’t it great not having to clean up the car in the biting cold first thing in the morning?

Snow seemed fun and exciting initially, but now I am bored to death at home, working. I want to have a normal life again, be able to go out and meet people, walk around the streets, do grocery, have something other than chicken stew and hot chocolate, and finally, see something around me other than white. Yesterday I was looking out of my window, feeling low and depressed for some reason, and ironically craving for sunshine when I saw this very old couple holding hands and wading their way through the snow. I felt like an old person, sitting at home and watching the world go around me, too lazy and too cold to venture outside.

I think I have had enough of the snow. I have sent snow pictures home. I have stayed for days at home, wiling the snow to go away. I have had my share of white this year. And hence sunshine must set out, to California if nowhere else, just to get that sunshine and warmth again. I am done with my hibernation. I must set out to seek the sun.

sunshine

Philli-bustering

A little late for posting this, but better late than never. I usually spend my thanksgiving holidays out of town. I choose a place I have never been to, plan a long and elaborate holiday, usually meeting up friends in the process, and that brought me to Philadelphia this Thanksgiving.

While growing up, I have had a fascination for checking out countries in the atlas. Vicarious travelling I call it, I have often felt great looking up countries and wanting to visit them someday. Due to a protected upbringing, we were never allowed to venture out on our own. I, for one, have never visited any of the metropolitan cities, unless you want to count one single solitary 3 day trip to Delhi to write an entrance exam I never made it to. No, I have never been to the so called cool places- Mumbai, Chennai, Bangalore, Pune, Mysore, just name it.

15 years later, the habit remains, the atlas being replaced by google maps. Now that I am on my own, I have made it a point to visit as many cities (and countries) as I can. So I looked up the map and decided on a city I had never visited before.

The trip was great, especially because I was also meeting up a couple of friends there. Also, the good thing about the east coast is the connectivity. You will be able to travel so many cities taking a train or hopping on to a greyhound bus, unlike the west coast where you must must absolutely must have a car and where I can only think of 2-3 major cities spanning the entire west coast, maybe a couple more once you reach California. So along with the Philly trip, I also made it to a couple more places nearby. Princeton was one of them.

However, I was soon to make a self-discovery. I realized that I can never live in a small town, greenery and scenery and all. A recluse by nature though I might be, I have to see people, hear noises, the hustle and bustle of daily life to stimulate me. Princeton was great with its beauty and charming little houses, but I would be bored to death if I was stranded there for life. Philly on the other hand was amazing, with tall buildings and a happening downtown and the people and the music and the bridges and museums and all. It’s a city by the water, something that gives you additional things to see like the boats and bridges. Also, this city has a rich history. I am not much into history and museums and things which are long gone, but it was fascinating nevertheless.

I also realized that every city has a flavor and a charm of its own. After living here for 2 years, I thought I would never like to live in another city. Now I change my mind. I think I would like to live in a place like Philadelphia, never mind people calling it old and dirty and chaotic. Sometimes a city grows on you, and sometimes you get certain vibes about a city. Spending 3 days is not time enough to make a judgment, I agree, but I still think I would like to live in a place like Philadelphia any day. The streets, the buildings, the people, the shops, the universities I visited like U Penn and Drexel, the oldness of it had something in it I really liked. Maybe I’d really like it if I were to live here someday. Who knows?

sunshine

Scatterbrain

We Bengalis are infamous in bringing up all the potty topics at the dining table. Ask anyone how conversations at the table usually involuntarily lead to the potty habits till someone puts a conscious stop to it. So we were on the thanksgiving dining table at my friends place in Philly. She had invited a couple more people including a certain doctor. The whole chicken roast was amazingly done with salmon stuffed inside its belly, which is already reason enough for any vegetarian to gross out. I had never eaten a whole chicken before, and amidst greedily gobbling it up, the biologist in me took over while I examined the body parts of the chicken with intrigue.

I sucked on to a juicy bone while I remarked about how during our undergraduate studies, bone identification was a major portion of our practical training. Thus we were taught how to identify the different bones of the pigeon, rat, frog, and even snake. Trying to appear cool amidst a bunch of engineers and theoretical physicists, I remarked how one could identify certain bones by locating certain holes in certain regions of the bone. My engineer friends looked fascinated.

I was sucking on to another piece of flesh when my physicist friend had faint remembrances of her biology lessons she took the last time in high school, more than a decade ago. Nostalgic about smelly bio labs and indecipherable terms like troglodytes, she suddenly got very excited about an obscure term she remembered back from school a long lifetime ago.

“Foramen magnum. Wasn’t that the word we studied? Do you remember where it is located?”

To which, I cast her smug glance. Of course every biologist knew where the foramen magnum was.

My right hand and my mouth half filled with food, I gestured and patted the back of my head. I was expecting adulating glances, given my profound knowledge in biology. To stress my point, I said in a Korean accent, partly due to all the food in my mouth, “Brain”.

I thought people were impressed. They were. There was just one seemingly insignificant voice from the far corner of the table that remarked with all seriousness, “Not the brain. It is the skull”.

Of course it is a sacrilege to confuse the brain with the skull for a doctor.

Now you know why I have a thing for doctors.

sunshine

Are you okay?

Tensed. Uptight. Anger hurled at myself as much as anger hurled at you. Ego. All the forces humankind calls feelings that did not let me speak with you all this while. All this while, I held on to my silence as my armor and my weapon, angry at the unfairness that after coming so far and so close, we had to say a goodbye. Angry enough never to talk again. Invisible self-created barriers and self-inflicted rules that would stop me from asking or thinking about you. I told myself I had moved on. But then I heard of the blasts. I heard it, saw it, and felt it all around me. My first thought was – “Are you okay?” I worried about the X and the Y and the Z people I knew in Mumbai, hoping that they are all fine. You are the only one I wanted to speak with then and there to make sure you are fine. For the first few minutes, I could actually feel the sinking feeling deep down. I looked at the pictures of places burning and charred flesh scattered, and my heart shuddered at the thought that you could be in one of them. I drifted back to the memory of the conversation I had with you a few years back. A futile one if I must say, for you never did listen to me. Why live in Mumbai? I had asked. Why not come to the US?

-

Because this is where I belong. Curt. Simple. To the point. A lot was left unsaid. We went our own ways. Our ways never crossed again. “If only…”, I thought. I would not be worrying about you this way today. I left voice messages. I sent emails. All I cared about was the assurance that you were fine. Selfish and dastardly though it may sound, your safety was my first concern. I had 10 school friends, 18 college friends, 8 friends from social networking sites, and 5 blog acquaintances over there, give or take 10 more. Yet the person I learnt to stop caring about was the first one I wanted to know about. Suddenly, it seemed unfair that you should be in the midst of chaos while I should be vacationing, enjoying my thanksgiving dinners, and sightseeing Philadelphia. A simple “I am fine, thank you” was all I longed for. “Yes, I am fine, thanks for asking. I am in Singapore”. Oh Singapore? As far as it could get away from the trouble zone. I am glad. I feel happy. I said a thank-you-God. 

And then it resurfaced. The pain, the bitterness, the agony. It is amazing how a distressful news connected me to you, unselfishly, even though momentarily. All I cared about was the assurance that you were fine. And now that I knew you were fine, all my bitterness resurfaced. I had my hands crossed against my chest. They said it was a body language showing defensiveness. “Am glad that you are fine. Have a good life” “Can’t we still be friends? Why the animosity?”, you were quick to ask. “No, I don’t think we can be friends” Signed out. I wondered, why such care and concern if the hostility and the defensiveness had to resurface once I knew all was fine. It’s like not wanting to see him hurt, but reserving the rights of hurting him in my own way. Sometimes I have difficulty in understanding myself. I told myself all this while that I did not care. But I think I did. Maybe not enough to want to stick around in your life, but enough to want you to stick around here in this world. Safe. 

 sunshine.

Homesick

Earlier this evening, a strange realization hit me. It has been more than 2 years and 2 months ever since I have come here, and not once have I visited home. It's not that this was news to me, but as it started to sink in, I was engulfed in a train of thoughts. Before I came here, I had never left home, not even to live in hostels or visit relatives in other cities, and once I left home, I never went back. During the end of the first year, as I was planning a trip in the summer, I ran out of funding and had to spend the entire quarter running around and knocking doors of professors trying to help me earn and sustain myself. Soon, a visit to India became a distant dream. During the end of the second year, I contemplated another visit during summer. This time, my greatly venerable academic advisor threatened to not sign my thesis unless I finished certain chunks of the project. These chunks happened to be bigger than the iceberg that hit Titanic, and soon all my plans of visiting home had sunk. Eventually she did sign my thesis, and I am all free now, but I got into this thing called OPT where people tell you horror stories about how other people they know tried leaving the country and were never let in again. No one of course knows who these people are, but everyone knows another person with a sad story like this. Needless to say, visiting home is not an option anymore. not at least for the next one year till my OPT ends.

My passport looks pristine and spotless, with not a single stamp every since the last one was put at the LA airport. Every year, I see people excitedly pack and leave to visit homes, taking pounds of American chocolates and expensive perfumes back for people home. I see these same people come back after weeks carrying pounds of Indian goodies like puffed rice, jaggery, and sweets. They animatedly discuss the latest developments they witnessed in India. People are attending weddings, convocations, and anniversaries. I on the other hand am celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving.

I wonder if my parents will look older and grayer when I see them next. I wonder how much has the price of goods increased ever since I left India. I wonder if the walls adjoining our building have the same graffiti of vote for CPM scribbled all over as they always were. I wonder if the maid tells the same old stories about the same old people she works for to my mom. The kids from our community must be in high school now. Suddenly, everything is vivid and clear to me, the font of the letters painted on the letterbox with the name of my dad, the different music it played every time someone hit the doorbell, and the familiar sounds of the vendors selling stuff outside the apartment. I wonder how much of it has changed.

Sorry for the extremely sentimental post. As usual, I am just thinking aloud.

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…

Alarming

I am the lowest form of my species. No matter how much I want it, it is futile for me to dream of rubbing shoulders with the successful. Self-discipline is a concept I can conjure up in my mind, and that’s about it. Neither do I give enough attention to how I start my day, nor do I have the time to care about what I eat and drink. Every time I tell myself I am doing that 30 minute workout and I don’t, I feel myself a couple of pounds heavier. Will I ever be able to take care of an entire family some day? I need to do things in a hurry, and screw them. She is gone, and I know she left on time. I read somewhere that if you did not complete one half of the day’s work by 10 am, you were at a risk of leaving the other half undone. Here it is almost that time and I have barely started. My promises are all false, especially the ones I make to myself, because no matter what, I will never be able to keep them. The alarm clock will do its job, but without any use. Perhaps I should be embarrassed of keeping an alarm clock at all. Tomorrow, I say tomorrow would be different, that tomorrow will be full of hopes and bright promises, of changes and improvements, but that tomorrow never comes. Why do I do this to myself, I know not. I know not if I deserve to do this to myself. But I can only hope that tomorrow is different. O God, give me a chance more. I promise, tomorrow would be different.

Exactly my guilt laden thoughts every time I oversleep, wake up late, and miss the 7am bus. There is something heavenly about shutting up the alarm and going back to sleep, promising yourself that it’s just five more minutes.

Just that five minutes are never five minutes.

sunshine

Supper With Sunshine

Monday mornings are lazy mornings, with the weekend lethargy still suffused into you and the mind not being able to clear up despite consuming galloons of coffee. On a dreary such Monday morning, I switched on my office computer, not expecting a lot of fun during the week ahead. As I punched in my password, I looked far out of the window, hoping for a rainbow, a snowfall, or something remarkable to happen. Talking about remarkableness, the password clicked, and I told myself like I always do – “You’ve got mail”.

Skimming through the email subject lines brought my attention to a certain email that forms the basis of this post. A few lines of introduction about the person, and I was wondering does this guy need feedback about his GRE preparation, or is writing about the list of schools he has selected, and seeks my opinion even though his specialization is something totally different like robotics (I often get such emails)? A few more lines and I was wondering does this guy need a favor from someone big shot I know? An extremely respectful but lengthy email got me thinking while skimming through- “What does this guy want after all?”

Well, it seems that he is a regular reader of my blog, is visiting town for some official work, and wanted to meet up. Meet up fine, but to ensure credibility so that I do not misunderstand his honest efforts as that of someone wanting to make franship, he had the foresight to send me his resume, website, his research interests, picture galleries, and a couple more details. The only things missing were names of references I could call up and verify the existence of the reader. Phew ! So much for a meeting.

My readers know that I have never met a blog reader except that one time when we ended up becoming inseparable buddies, and we proudly continue to do so. Otherwise, I have never met any of my readers in person, not as a rule, but more because no one has asked me to. So influenced by Koffee with Karan, will there be supper with sunshine? Will sunshine agree to meet this reader who is visiting her city? Will the reader treat her as a blog writer, or will be able to see beyond her writings as a human in flesh and blood? Will he come with preconceived notions and half formed expectations, wanting to find such and such thing in the person whose writings he is familiar with? Or can they meet as two individuals, and not as a blogger and a reader?

Time will say.

sunshine

Halloween Weekend

In here, people spend one day a year indulging themselves and their other like-minded friends fancy dressing on the streets, in office, at homes. You walk down the streets on Halloween and you would see people of all age and shape dressed up. I have seen people dressed as trash cans, fruits and vegetables, science fiction characters, and what not. The lady at the front door in office sat in her witch costume, mink coat, and the black magic wand the whole day. Ever imagined our parents going to offices dressed as Hanuman and Gadaadhaari Bhim? This country is crazy.

I have done two unique things this Halloween. Three in fact. One, much to the disappointment of my friends, I did not indulge my time and money picking up a Halloween costume. My friends reiterated again and again how un-cool and un-sporty I am, but I refused to give in to the temptation and spend $50 going to a party dressed up like a spider pig. Two, I carved a pumpkin for the first time. Again, I resisted and did not want to. But people around me sat on floors with pumpkins and dozen knives all around them, unleashing their creative self and carving out figures on pumpkins. It did feel weird at first, carving out the hard cover and then putting your hand inside to scoop out the gooey mass from within. But once the insides of the pumpkin was clean, I was free to carve designs the way I wanted to. Since it was Diwali weekend as well, I carved diyas all over the pumpkin before placing a lit candle inside. My hands smelled like pumpkins for days despite all the soaping, reminding me of this term in Bengali "kumro-potash" with God knows what meaning. During this time of the year when pumpkin is harvested, people use pumpkins in all kinds of food, even in desserts and in Starbucks coffee ! Been years since I have had 2 very tasty Bengali dishes made of pumpkins- kumror chokka (curry made with cubed pumpkin) and kumro fool bhaja (pumpkin flowers fried in besan).

Third, I spent an entire 12 hours with friends watching horror movies. I am not at all into horror movies. But my friends wanted to spend Halloween watching horror movies, and there it goes. The descent wasn’t liked much by my friends for all the blood and gore. However, I found it interesting that they should make a film about 5 women trapped inside a cave with no way to get out. I would seriously feel claustrophobic watching them crawl inside the caves. The concept was very interesting. I don’t care about the other two movies, but the last movie Shutter was just amazing. Every moment of it chilled me to the core. It’s about a photographer who takes pictures of his girlfriend during her graduation, only to find a pattern of shadow in every snapshot, and therein the story unfolds. I have been traumatized for days now, thinking of every scene of the movie. It’s worse when you don’t have another living soul in the house. Truth be told, my mind has been playing tricks, and I have been shit scared even going to the bathroom. Anyway, the movie Shutter is a must watch, really. The Thai version, and not the American version.

So there goes the story of my Halloween weekend.

sunshine

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

Another New Chapter

The book of my life is at the point where a 2 year old chapter ends, and a new one begins. I have been whining forever about my never ending thesis and my ever demanding advisor. I frankly underestimated the time and effort it takes to write a good thesis, no matter how many blogs you have written your entire life. I have been going through every facet of frustration a student faces, the usual highs and lows in energy levels, a feeling of undecided indecisiveness, never earning enough for the pocket nor doing enough work to satisfy the intellect, and so on. But last Friday, I finally finished my thesis for once and forever. It took me three months and more than hundred pages of writing. But finally I am done.

And while the country is lamenting about the receding economy and people around me are struggling to find a job, I got my first job in the US (touchwood). I remember how excited I was when I got my first job 3 years back. I remember how everyday at the end of the day I would write a little post about what happened at school. There will not be such posts as I am not teaching in a school this time and have no fun stories to tell about the little ones. In fact this transition from one phase to the next is a little scary for me. But I hope that with time, I will have a lot many things to write about my new job. For a start, I spent the 2 years here listening to scary stories about job interviews, about how people tried finding jobs for months even after their scintillating achievements in life, about how they got one offer after a dozen rejects. I always thought it would take me a lifetime before I found a single job. And here I was talking to someone and here I went and interviewed and here I got the job- the only one I interviewed for, believe it or not. No matter how much my life is screwed up in certain aspects, I have been very fortunate with my education and my work history (touchwood again). And so here I am, after an entire day’s shopping of formal office wear, having packed my lunch for tomorrow and decided on what to wear so that I don’t have to rush first thing in the morning, counting my blessings and finishing this post before the new chapter of my life begins.

Tomorrow will be different. I know it.

sunshine

Ad-Wiser

When I cleared my thesis defense a few months back, I had thought – “Boy, that was simple. I can now write my thesis in two days”. Two indeed it was, but weeks that it took me to write it. That’s good too, thought I, as I clicked on the “pay now” button for my flight tickets for a week-long vacation in New York. The vacation never happened. Two months later, my advisor is still kicking my ass, making changes to my thesis. So here goes the equation: 2 hours to defend it, 2 week to write it, and 2 months to edit it.

Now this 2 month thing is an exceptional situation, or more of an equation imbalance with my advisor. I mean, who edits a thesis for 2 months, making me labor my ass off even on weekends? But my hate-post for my advisor would be written another day. However, as I am finishing up my process of writing my thesis, I realize that there indeed is a list of at least a dozen things one cannot write a thesis without. If you have been there, you know what I am talking about. If you haven’t, you will soon be.

1. Caffeine- It sometimes helps you not to fall asleep on your keyboard, but there is also something glamorous about walking the department corridor at 1 in the morning, a coffee cup in one hand, your satchel on the other shoulder, while you walk in slow motion with the other prowling night owls in the department. Not being a coffee person, I use it more for my image boost.

2. Ready made food- Maggi might seem as a mass of squirming caterpillars otherwise, but there is nothing more conveniently made and slurped on while meeting deadlines. Nothing beats the soups and sushi and spring rolls from Trader Joe’s. I have survived for weeks with my pantry stored like a bomb shelter with readymade food.

3. Eveready friends who will be willing to hear your whining at any time of the day (or night). Believe me, when you are done typing a hundred pages and have had it enough, you can do with an empathetic shoulder.

4. A post-thesis fun plan. It gives you lots of incentive to push yourself. Plan a trip to the Bahamas or the Hawaii. Keep aside a thousand dollars for your post-thesis fun shopping. You probably won’t be able to carry out these plans (unless you have a sugar daddy sponsoring you). This is just to trick you into working harder.

5. Lots of suddenly built rapport with the advisor. You suddenly want to call/email your advisor and end with a “thank you for everything you have done for me”, remember her birthday, send her a box full of Haldiram’s sweets on her anniversary, make her a dabba full of the best Indian curry your mommy taught you back at home, and remind her everyday how she is more important for you than your boy friend. This might still not save you from the onslaught of her making you write a hundred extra pages, but is still a good disaster contingency plan if you can tap on her more humane side this way.

6. Super skills with MS Office- I think I don’t just deserve a degree in whatever field in am in, but also a degree in MS Office from Mr. Gates. Never before have I known how to wade my way so smoothly through track changes, formatting, and Endnote data input. Don’t balk if I tell you it took me three whole days just to format my thesis and present it the way the school wants to read it, and I am still not done. Schools tend to be picky about small things like the page number being on top right and not bottom centered, following the same font type and size throughout, and leaving a margin accurate to three decimal places.

7. Throw away all the comfortable bedding, pillows, things that make you sleep. Instead, use your bedding and comforters to cushion your room wall(s). After months of hard work when your advisor ruthlessly chops off your favorite segments in the thesis, you want something to thunk your head against.

8. Plenty of change of clothes and lots of deodorants. There will be days at a stretch when you won’t be going home but would be working in that underground cubbyhole they call the computer lab.

9. Meditation classes with half a watermelon sitting on your head every day. There are times when you will be so close to snapping at your advisor, but will still have to smile your way through the process subserviently and keep your cool.

10. Lists. Lists of sections to finish. Lists of sections completed. Lists of diagrams and tables to include that no one cares about. List of people to thank in that acknowledgement section no one is going to read. List of reasons why you hate your advisor. List of introspective thoughts on why you don’t think you want to come back to school again. Write it down. Trust me, it is therapeutic.

11. A deaf ear. Soon, you will get used to words like “No, you haven’t”, “How come you can’t”, and “This won’t”. You will be made to feel as if you were born stupid. Just learn to gulp your ego with everything that goes down the throat, take the advice you think is useful, and dispose the rest of it.

12. The ability to laugh at the unfair side of things. You will be made to do things that you consider unnecessary and catering more to the whims of your advisor. You will be told things where you would want to scream back, “No, this is not the way it is”. But remember to choose your battles and fight those you think you can win. You need those approval signatures at the end of the day, and if that means working for an extra few weeks or repeating some experiments or rewriting entire segments, you might still want to get it done with and never look back again. Handle it with humor, handle it with wit, handle it with sarcasm, whatever it takes to motivate you to GET IT DONE ! Remember, there are far better things in life waiting for you once you are finished.

Like my acknowledgement reads, dripping with sarcasm,

“This thesis would have been finished long back without your positive input, interference or distractions- but wouldn’t have looked the same as it does today”.

If only I had the nerve to show it to her.

sunshine

Bombay Time- The Review

I am finished reading my second novel written by Thrity Umrigar, and boy, what a novel. The story in itself is a montage of short stories, each chapter describing a different character. The complexity of human psyche and the influence of social circumstances are beautifully depicted through the characters. It took me a long time to finish it (all the more because I am a slow reader), but it was worth every page turned.

For people interested, this is a story of a small Parsi community living in Bombay, the way they have led their lives, their idiosyncrasies, and so on. This is a collection of stories of ordinary people, people who have basked in the glory and learnt to live with the sorrows. No spoilers, but you may like giving this a try.

This is her second book I have read (review of first book is here), and though it is great to know about a community whose only representation for me has been a Parsi man wearing his traditional clothes standing amongst a Hindu priest, a Muslim, and a Sikh with the caption “We are Indians” in my social studies book, the general trend of always reading about the Parsi community can sometimes get a little monotonous. When you like the way someone writes, especially with all the vivid descriptions and the depth and detail that is so very typical of the writer, you don’t always want to read about a particular theme of writing. I would definitely like to explore some of the writer’s non-Parsi writings in the future.

If you have recently read a book you liked, do let me know. This is how we build our database and knowledge of books. Or anything for that matter.

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Be-car Ki Baq-Baq

Seldom have I met a student completely happy with her advisor, who doesn’t feel that her advisor has been unfair at some point of time. Every one of us have been there when we felt that our advisor was unnecessarily demanding, pushing and pressurizing, setting deadlines too ambitious to meet, ignorant of the fact that school life was about some work and some play, never mind the proportion of each. Be assured that I have felt the same way too. I have had an advisor who sets last moment deadlines, is capable of completely changing the focus of a project, and is not very famous for her communication skills with me. In short, she has never been “fair” and “lovely” to me. But this is not a rant post about the “100 different reasons why your advisor sucks”. There have been times when I have reached that stage where I wanted to be done with school and never see my advisor again, never mind the sagacity of this statement. I have told myself – “Three more months and I will be done. Two. One.”

I have been in one of those moods of late. Blogging has suffered, and I have not felt motivated enough to write. You don’t want to spend days writing and framing ideas and making posters and presentations and then writing again, and then your advisor disapproving stuff and you editing and writing again. You get the picture, right? Depressed. Irritated. Highly unmotivated.

It is at this time that I noticed my advisor giving me rides back home. Earlier it used to be when we were meeting deadlines and had stayed back in the lab late enough to decide between walking home or not going home at all. My advisor has happily dropped me home at 12 in the morning, asking me to be on time the next day in the lab. However I was clueless about why she would volunteer dropping me home at 6 in the evening these days. It happened the first day. The second day. And it kept happening. I often wanted to tell her that I was fine taking the bus home, that I looked forward to meeting that good looking man with spikes in the bus on his way back from office, but she was relentless to the extent that I started to doubt if she was going to change the focus of the project again and was doing the kind deed out of guilt.

Curious about her sudden philanthropic gesture, I finally asked her indirectly if the detour and the traffic snarl back home doesn’t inconvenience her. To which she surprised me, like she always does. She was quick to answer that writing a thesis is a very difficult time, frustrating and energy consuming, and she wanted me to feel supported during this process. She mentioned that it’s a stressful phase to go through, and she was doing her bit in making me feel connected and supported. Even if that meant taking a 30 minute detour and dropping me home so that I didn’t have to wait for the bus at the end of the day.

Needless to say, I was flabbergasted, unable to understand why I did not see the sensitive side of her before. I know she is still going to kick my ass and set unnecessary deadlines and put my peace of mind in jeopardy. But I am glad that she realizes the stress she puts me through, and is willing to meet me halfway – to the parking lot from where she can take her car and drop me home.

sunshine