The Bus Lover

My mom has taken her love for riding the city buses to a whole new level. She is crazy-obsessed about the bus, to the point that we often wonder if she had some feelings for a bus driver or a conductor at some point. Whenever we need to visit the other corner of the city, my knee-jerk response is, "Abar bari theke berote hobe?" (Do I have to step out of home again?), while hers is, "Yaay! Amra bus a kore jaabo!" (Yaay! We get to take the bus!)

Needless to say, mom and I are always fighting and arguing. I don't necessarily mind taking the bus, but a cab is faster, although mom questions what I will do with the extra time since I am on vacation. Then again, I do not fancy standing in a crowded bus, tucked between the armpits of people, smelling their sweat and perfume and whatever they ate for lunch, and occasionally getting a squeeze in the bum. She takes language classes three times a week, and loves commuting to the other end of the city (easily 2 hours one way) in a bus. For me, it is simple. I spend roughly €3-5 in Germany on bus fares every day. I can easily take a cab in Calcutta with that money. 

Earlier, mom and I used to waste a lot of time standing at the bus stop and arguing about this. She would say things like, "Chol na, raasta dekhte dekhte jaabo, koto hawa debe, koto lok dekhbo, poisha noshto korishna, taxi waala bodmaash lok hobe, onno kothao niye chole jaabe”, etc. (We will see so many people, it is breezy, the cab driver might abduct us, etc.). Then, she got smarter. She would say, "Yes, let’s take a cab.", and while we waited for the cab, me happy that mom has finally grown wiser and wondering why not a single cab is in sight, an extremely slow and rickety bus will crawl up at a snail's pace, the conductor inviting everyone with open arms to board it. Mom would get super excited seeing the bus, and like Chachi in the movie Chachi 420, she would run and hop on the bus and wave to me, "Aaye aaye shiggiri aaye, bus chhere debe" (Come quickly, the bus will leave). Talk about deception. Once she is on the bus, I cannot keep standing on the roadside, flagging cabs. I am forced to take the bus, fuming, and she looks at me innocently and says, "Look, it's so empty. There was no cab anyway." She has tricked me so many times now.

When she cannot argue anymore, she will say something like, "We are humble people. We have to travel like this." Once on the bus, she will nicely plug in her iPod and listen to music. Now, I find it hard to believe that someone with her collection of electronic gadgets comes from a humble background. Once, the family went for a wedding, and when I asked how was the wedding, she said something like- “It was great. We had a lot of fun, being decked up. And that bus ride was amazing.”

So mom goes to Sikkim and injures her spine. She is in a lot of pain, and cannot move an inch. We somehow manage to bring her to Kolkata, and get the doctor's appointment in the other extreme fringe of the city. I mean, this place is so far that I have never even been there or do not even know how to get there (I pride myself in knowing most areas of the city). We book a cab that picks us up from the doorstep. It being her birthday too, I try to pep her up and tell her how this will be a fun birthday ride, traveling in all this comfort. We suspect a slipped disc, a dislocated spine, and she is really nervous. When I tell her what a slipped disc is (having suffered that myself a few years ago), she is petrified and breaks down. She fears that she will never walk normally again. 

We go to the doctor's, who says that although it is not a slipped disc, her condition is bad. He recommends physiotherapy for a month, and gives her pills (10-15/day) that is expensive enough to blow big holes in the pocket. We have waited at the doctor's for almost 2 hours now, and in that time, I have managed to see what pain and suffering looks like. There is an evident stench of sickness in the air, and I have controlled my gag reflexes a few times now. We are finally done, and dad and I have managed to buy all the pills and understand how many she needs to take at what times of the day. Mom is limping a little less now, although the limp and the pain are very much there. 

"Did you hear, no slipped disc", she says.

"Yes, that's a relief!", dad says.

"So now, can we please take the bus home? Pllllease!"

She looked so heartbroken that evening, taking another cab back home.

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The Malady of Ageing

There was a half hour wait at the doctor's office. A little boy with big, bright eyes showed up with his parents. On asking him what had happened, he showed me his right arm, which had a huge, black burn scar. The rongmoshal er baaji (colored fire cracker) went off in the wrong direction and burnt his arm.

Despite his injury, the little fellow seemed to be in high spirits, enjoying the attention everyone was giving him. The medicine shop owner gave him a disposable plastic injection cap to play with. He first turned the cap into a makeshift pistol, standing like a cop, hands on hips, and pointing at everyone. Then, he pointed at the doctor's office and said, "daktar kaku ke injection diye debo" (I will give the doctor an injection shot). When the fellow went inside to get his wounds dressed, we heard loud screams and wails. A candy or two would have been nice to pacify him, but all I heard was the doctor's rather scary, baritone voice saying, "noro na noro na, rokto porbe" (Don't move, you will start bleeding again). Rokto! Blood! What a morbid thing to tell a little child.

And why was I there? Because I have no real ailment, except perhaps the malady of old age. I was there with the reports from my blood work for a battery of tests- Blood sugar, urea, thyroid, creatinine, cholesterol, and the other usual suspects. I was pretty convinced that nothing is wrong with me, but science relies on data and not instincts. I have no issues with sleep or hunger, I could eat anything and fall asleep anywhere. But I am in that age bracket that demands that I get myself checked from time to time. I was there at the same doctor 16 years ago when I had a real injury, like the little one did. I had slipped and fractured my leg. Dad had hauled me up on his shoulders like we do with babies, and carried me to the doctor's. I was no lightweight back then, but being lifted seems unimaginable for me now. I was instructed to rest for a month, and what a ball I had. Friends visited me every now and then, signing "get well soon" notes on my pink plaster, turning it into a mural. I was almost sorry to let go of my plaster after a month.

The nature of my ailments was different then. Now, I go to the doctor to make sure that my heart, lungs, kidneys, and innards are working fine, and I am not at a risk of having an unforeseen heart attack, collapsing on the streets, and dying out of the blue.

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A foreigner in my own land

Two random people. Two occasions. Same question.

I lay under the glaring lights in the dentist's office, looking my most uncomplimentary self. My mouth pried wide open, I shivered on hearing the drill and the suction pump inside my mouth. I wrenched my hands together, paralyzed with fear. The seconds tick by, painfully slowly. My mouth felt dry and salty. When I was asked to wash my mouth, I smelt dental cement. I spat blood. 

I was asked to lie this way, my mouth agape like a crocodile's. The dentist has seen me in a way no one else has- vulnerable, afraid, open-mouthed. He got up to wash his hands, instructing me to stay still, my mouth wide open. Knowing full well that I will not be able to reply, he asked his final question-

“Aage to US e chhilen. Okhankar passport hoye gechey?”

(You were in the US before this, right? Do you have a US passport?)

What was I supposed to say? And why him?

And then, a guy showed up one fine morning to do my blood work. I think Calcutta is the only place where I can afford such luxury. You pay someone a very reasonable price, and they show up with their paraphernalia to draw blood. I am mortally afraid of seeing blood, already reeling from a 12-hour fast. So I held on to dad's hands tight, looking away. The man took hold of my right hand, pricked a needle, and drew four vials of blood. 

"Didi, hoye gechey. I am done. I'll be on my way"- I soon heard, much to my relief. And while he was putting on his shoes, the final question. 

“Green card hoye gechey?” Are you done with your green card?

I am too confused to make sense of his question. How is a green card related to blood work? They don't even offer Green Cards in Germany, even if I wanted one.

Paraphrasing Jane Austen's opening line in Pride and Prejudice, "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person living outside the country must be in possession of a US passport or Green Card, even if they do not live in the US, and even if that piece of document has nothing to do with their health, dental or otherwise."

Go ahead. Delegitimize me, because I do not live in the country country. Although you are the one who swears by McDonald's and Subways, celebrates Halloween parties, replies in accented English to my Bangla queries, and shows up in western wear whereas I hardly wear anything other than sarees, I am the outsider. I am the foreigner. I should be the one trying to fit in.

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Dental-Mental

Sometimes, it feels like I visit Calcutta to visit family, and a man. This man makes me wait for him with nervous energy, and the first thing we meet, he wastes no time but goes directly for my mouth. But not to kiss me.

I am talking about the dentist. 

Weeks before I land, my sister meticulously makes an appointment. There is no time wasted. I meet him even before I meet my greater family, cousins, recent crushes, or ex-flames. This is because every time I visit Calcutta, I have no idea how long these dental sessions would last. Sometimes, a few days. Sometimes, weeks. This pretty smile comes at a huge maintenance cost. 

This time, I thought it was not too bad. I was here less than a year ago (sobbing and having meltdowns and tantrums in this same seat), and what could go wrong in ten months? Just that the cap he had put on after my root canal last year had come off. Seemed pretty innocuous. My brother-in-law had the same problem, and was done in less than ten minutes. He had even smiled and waved at the dentist saying, "Dekha hobe abar", or "See you soon!". I think that the irony of that statement was lost on him.

So as usual, I was there at the dentist's. His two assistants instantly recognized and smiled at me, very used to seeing me now. Chiranjeevi was making some hip thrusting moves on the television with a chick less than half his age and weight, making me christen him Pelvis Presley in my mind. At least, it took my mind off the impending ten minutes. 

Only this time, I was not going to get away in ten minutes. The dentist looked at the chipped cap, and tried thrusting it in my mouth with all his strength. Just that it wouldn't fit well anymore. So I had to come back for a few more sessions, when they cut me open once again, and reset my tooth for that perfectly infectious smile one could swoon over. It was little relief that he did it for free, since he was the one who did not set things right the last time. When my grandma had to replace all her dentition, she actually opted for a teeth setting that resembles Madhuri Dixit's (I am not kidding). I think I am still a few decades away from the luxury of that choice.

Anyway, knowing how I make the best use of the situation, I decided to go in the opposite direction from home, so forlorn I was. There was only one thing that could cheer me up at that hour. A pair of fleshy green coconuts. I visited the square close to home, where my mom usually encourages me to bargain a little. But I do not. Anything good that comes for less than €1 is not worth bargaining for. Just that the green coconut guy was really concerned, not knowing how I would have two coconuts in one go.

"Bari niye jaaben? Nijei khaben? Pack kore debo?", he kept asking me. (Will you take it home? Will you share? Should I pack it for you?). Thank God he did not enlighten me about the calories two coconuts contain.

At least I walked back home feeling content, temporarily happy, and thankful for having teeth. According to me, tooth problems are better than toothless problems, and graying hair is better than a receding hairline. Tomorrow, we shall see tomorrow.

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School Children

 I spent some time last year traveling Sikkim, a beautiful state in India located in the Himalayan mountains. Taking the mountainous, roller coaster rides, sitting in the back of an SUV, and having my innards constantly shaken to the point that I thought if this can actually and miraculously people of constipation. I spent a lot of time being on the road, mostly driving through extremely steep, mountainous roads and navigating dangerous switchbacks. Frequently, I saw little children in groups of twos and mostly threes, walking to or back from school. It's evident that they came from poor families. They wore school uniforms with ties, and never carried school bags. Most of them were single digits in age. When in threes, there was usually someone slightly older among them, escorting the younger ones. Often, they walked with their dogs. The children never seemed to be in a hurry. They took their time squatting by the roadside and examining stones, twigs, flowers, and insects. There were no school buses and no parents escorting them. They walked dangerously close to the edge of the mountains, and excitedly waved at us as we sped by, leaving a wake of dust through the half-built mud roads. Our driver told us that they are used to walking long distances. And I had so many questions as I watched them from my backseat, moving in reverse before disappearing. If they all went to the same school, why did they walk in groups of threes, at different times of the day? Don't they have fixed school hours? Where were their school bags? How did they make sure that they are not lost? How did they walk during harsh winters? Why were they never escorted by adults? How did they get the energy to hike such lengths through the steep mountain roads? What jewels did they seek in those pebbles and twigs they collected?

There is so much to observe, wonder, and learn when you are on the road. I come from the strata where I am used to seeing children being escorted to schools by adults, in cars and buses. They carry cell phones for their safety, and are computer wizards. They are busy, enrolled in a bunch of coaching classes after school. They learn to swim, dance, paint, and recite with elan. They come first in class, and are duly reprimanded by parents if they do not achieve that coveted 95+ percent. That is one reality, the one borne from the complexities of city-life, children caught and strangled between a web of parental aspirations and societal expectations, their lives mostly run by machines, nannies, tuition teachers, and helicopter parents. And then, there is this reality. Of little children who walk to school in chappals, excitedly waving at cars, being escorted by their dogs or older siblings, and crouching over the ground to play with flowers and insects. I have a feeling that there are beautiful stories hiding here, chapters of human lives that have never been explored and have not made it to the mainstream media. If I could, I would shadow them to understand what the harsh lives of these simple people from the mountains look like.

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Landing in style

Landing in Calcutta for me is landing in style. I live dual lives, and with time, I have learnt to switch between the two. My life in the west can best be described as calm, methodical, and predictable. I know exactly what I am supposed to do every day. In my free time, I read, write, and ruminate. Sometimes, I work on my own and do not talk to anyone for days. If I want space and privacy, there is ample of it.

Then, I take that flight to Calcutta, and my entire way of being changes. I step out of the air-conditioned airport lobby, trying to identify my parents in the crowd. However, my glasses fog momentarily due to the humidity, and I am unable to see anything. While I am still trying to recover, a pair of hands grab my luggage, and wet, sloppy kisses start raining on my cheeks from nowhere. As I regain my composure, I realize that dad has taken charge of my bags, and mom, my cheeks. The first time, I was extremely disoriented, but this is routine now. Glasses fog. Baggage is gone. People grab me. I know I am home.

As we make our way to the car parking, the first thing I notice is that I have started to sweat. The feeling, although not quite alien, is uncomfortable. Back there, I only sweat under controlled environs, when I am working out. I am still wearing sweaters and coats because it was freezing cold when I had started. I might have parked my car at the airport parking and taken that flight singly, but the rambunctious crowd that awaits me at the other end of the world always consists of mom, dad, siblings, siblings-in-law, and an assortment of neighbors or close friends. All of them have stopped whatever they were doing in life and have showed up to come pick me up. I suspect that if dad owned a bus, more people would show up at the airport. Kakima and her family always send their car to pick me. As I am finally settled in the car, my hands involuntarily looking for the seat belt although knowing that there is none, the fun ride starts. Dad is more restrained in showing his joy, so he sits in front and instructs the driver in his baritone voice what roads to avoid. But the rest of the family goes wild, laughing, joking, pulling my cheeks, and saying inappropriate things. My mom had rechristened me "bachcha" (kiddo) at some point, and although I made her promise that she would never call me that outside home, she forgets her promises and shouts my name from the opposite street, making a dozen heads turn and my head shake in embarrassment. The car moves through the bumps and the potholes, shaking me as I squint outside and try to recognize the streets. I do not, because every time, there are new flyovers, new streets, new malls, and more people. For a change, people who look like me. 

"Chul koto jhaakra jhaakra hoye bere gechey. Eto mota hoye gechish. Kaanchkolar jhol khaabi aaj theke. E ma chul peke gechey. Hagu hochhey to theek kore? Jaanish paraaye ei cholchey. Eder breakup hoye gechey. Ei cinema cholchey. Ranbir er cinema dekhechish? Ebaare ekhane ekhaane khete jaabo, bujhli?"

("Your hair is so grown now, we need to get it cut. How did you manage to put on so much weight? We need to feed you green banana curry. My God, look at the graying hair. Are you still suffering from constipation? Do you know so and so in the neighborhood eloped with so and so? Do you know so and so broke up with so and so? Such and such movies are in now. Have you checked out the latest Ranbir movies? We should try out these restaurants this time.")

If you have seen the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, you will exactly know what this crazy family of mine is like.

As I get off the car and make my way upstairs, all the close neighbors are waiting to greet me. Suddenly, there are so many people, and so much commotion. Hordes of people show up to meet me, and the commotion continues until I go back to the other home, a home where there is no one to pick me up from the airport, carry my bags, or shower sloppy kisses. I am blessed that even at my age, this is the celebrity treatment I get. I can literally get away with anything here. I can ask for anything I want to eat or drink, travel anywhere in the country, and my wishes will be fulfilled. Even as I am walking towards my apartment in Germany, my head buzzes from all the commotion. It feels like I just woke up from a dream where I showed up at a party and thousands of people were merry-making. And then, I insert the key in the lock and open my apartment door in Germany. Absolute silence. Everything just the way I had left it, orderly, in place. The calm and the silence is back. The only mementos I have brought back with me from the trip are memories, hundreds of pictures, and home cooked food that will last me the next month or so. 

Old age is going to be very hard for me to get used to. I am well aware of that.

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Funny Fire Drill

Colleague: There is a fire drill today. When the fire alarm goes off, collect your jacket, exit the building, and wait outside. 

Me: Okay.

Colleague: And don't tell anyone else.

Me: Why not?

Colleague: Because it is a surprise fire drill. People should not know beforehand. 

Me: Then why did you tell me beforehand?

Colleague: Because you do not understand German. 

(I still haven't figured out what not knowing German has got to do with the fire alarm. The alarm did go off, almost rupturing my auditory canal. But I need not have known German to do the needful.)

Rich me. Poor me.

I did not know the day I became rich. And I did not know the day I became poor either. Simply because I don’t understand German.

Let me get to the poor bit first.

My German bank gives me pretty poor service. I say this because they do not fulfill the basic expectation of an international customer- communicating in a language the customer understands. By language, I do not mean Swahili or Igbo. I mean English, a language spoken by many in the western world. I have often gotten the “deer in the headlights” look whenever I request to be spoken to in English- in person, on the phone, or in emails. Last December, I started getting a series of emails from the bank. Every time, I replied, asking to tell me in English instead of German. No one replied. Then one day, just like that, they deducted €5 from my account. Just like that. Since my bank statements are also in German, I had no idea what I had done.

In Hindi, we have a saying about the iron cutting the iron. I let the German cut the German.

I asked a German friend to look into this. She called the bank. Apparently the emails were about asking me to confirm my home address. Since I had replied in English, instead of replying to their query, they assumed that I had changed addresses without letting them know, and they deducted €5 as penalty. €5 is not a lot of money, but it was wrongfully taken. I have been promised that the money will be deposited back since the confusion was cleared. Time will tell.

Banking in Germany is funny. In India, you get interest when you put money in the bank. In the USA, you do not get interest, but you do not have your money taken away either. Germany is a different beast. Here, I pay money annually to own a credit card. And with every transaction I make (when I spend money, and even when someone puts money in my bank, like my salary), the bank deducts some money as transaction fees. It will take me a long time to understand this country.

Now about the rich part.

Last December again, I had applied to the German government to give me some travel money to go to the USA. They said that they will let me know by March. I assumed that let me know in this age means sending an email.

I never check my mailbox (letterbox) simply because no one writes me letters. So when the German government sent me a letter two months before their March timeline, it lay in my mailbox for two weeks, unattended. One night, I was bored and could not fall asleep, and decided to kill time by checking my mailbox. I took the stairs, went up, and opened my mailbox, expecting an empty one. There lay a big fat envelope. With shaking hands and bated breath, I opened it. Five pages of German text. Not a single word I could decipher. Not even a keyword like “Herzliche Glückwünsche” (congratulations) or apologies. Just five pages of plain German text. Imagine my plight, holding the result of my application and not knowing what it said. I waited the entire night.

The next morning, the same German friend came to my rescue. My application had made it, and it was five pages of rules about what I should do or not do to be able to claim the money after the conference. I wonder why they didn’t send an email instead. Imagine, the letter lying there for two weeks. I could have been a happy person half a month earlier. 

On a different note, I recently got an award from the university for being "an impulse driver for innovative, trend-setting teaching" at the university. Two eminent people from the university even signed it. I haven't received an award like this since the sixth grade, but some kind of validation is always nice. These days, I've taken validation-whoring to a whole new level. Any award, any publication, anything CV-worthy happens, and I get busy updating the CV. Traits of someone on the job prowl, you know!

Always a fan of the German way of doing things, I love how they even framed the certificate and directly put it in my mailbox. No drama, no ceremonies, no blowing kisses in the air and hugging people and fake tears and making false promises of changing the education system on my part. The funny thing is, I don't really know what exactly the certificate said, since it is once again in German. Colleagues kept coming in and out of my office, congratulating me and admiring it, but I had no idea what exactly was written. It was later that a kind co-worker nicely translated it for me in a word document, formatting it exactly the way it looked, but in English. It's an interesting experience for me, being a part of a system and navigating mostly out of instinct, fulfilling the expectations and achieving the benchmarks, but not really getting it.

I emailed the award-issuing person, thanking them, and asking if they could send me a translated version of this award in English. I still haven't heard back. I'm sure they rarely get an email from an awardee, not happy with what they have and asking them to issue another award.

So that is the summary of my life in Germany. A part of a heterogeneous mixture, and not necessarily a homogeneous solution. I am a part of the society, but I don’t blend in. I stand out. And while I struggle with the language, life happens. I get money. I lose money. I get awards. But I still don’t get the language. The analogy I love to tell people is, living in Germany is like living in with a very good looking man who does not speak to you. I am enamored by this place, and how beautiful it is. But the place doesn’t speak to me. We live like two separate entities, like two strangers in the same house. Together, but not gelling in.

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A strangulating mass of nothing

I have some stuff inside a few suitcases hiding away in a friend’s garage in a different country. Things I did not want to throw, and things I did not want to keep. Things I did not know what to do about. This time, I decided to go through them, and cull through the clutter.

And so I did, in the dark and damp garage. Going through stuff, and mostly throwing them. If I did not need them this long, I was not likely to need them.

Then, I opened a particular suitcase. Inside it lay a tangled assortment of cords, cables, and wires of every kind. Laptop chargers. Extension cords. Internet cables. Router cables. In blacks and blues and whites. I could have sorted through them and separated them. But something was so off-putting about the sight that I stared at it for a few minutes, shut the suitcase, and put it back. I did not have the mental bandwidth to sort through a tangled bunch of wires.

So many relationships around me are lying around, just like that. Unsorted. Not important enough to spend time or analyze them, yet just sitting around. People on Facebook I have never met. People I have met, but do not communicate with. Never said hi in years. Don’t really care about their status updates that have got nothing to do with my life. Never wish them on their birthdays. Couldn't care less about their annual trips to India, posting pictures of everything they do or eat. I have no idea what they are doing in my virtual world other than taking up space. Maybe someday, just someday, I would need them. Someone might just come in handy. Just like perhaps someday, I might be in need of one of these cords, cables, or ropes. That day, I will be happy that I did not throw them all away. Or maybe, I will never need them. But they will be sitting there in the garage, in a place where I don’t have to see them every day, taking up space. Because sorting through the mess is going to take time and effort. And I do not have the enthusiasm to do that. I don’t think I have more than ten close friends, and maybe a hundred good enough friends. I haven't spoken to more than fifty in the past year. But all eight hundred of them will be lying there dormant, witnessing every milestone in my life they do not care about, and sharing every milestone of their lives that I do not care about.

Just because sorting takes time and effort. And sometimes, it is easier to just let go and let things be.

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Summarizing January

The last working day in January is over. It seems like just yesterday when people were posting new year resolutions on Facebook that they are not likely to honor. And now, just like that, January is over.

I spent half of January in Seattle, a city I consider my home (although I no longer live there). One day, I was taking a walk when I had this crazy idea of grabbing a fistful of Seattle soil and bringing it back with me to Germany. I did not. Seattle is the only place that has this kind of effect on me.

This year, I resolved to write more. So far, I have honored it. I have buried myself in work these days. I once watched a movie called The Human Stain. It has a powerful line that stayed with me. “Action is the enemy of thought.” I go crazy when I think about life, living mine by yearlong contracts, trying to desperately find a faculty position and not knowing when this postdoc spell would end. My friends who started graduate school with me, both in 2006 an 2010, mostly have faculty positions by now. And I am floundering, from one Skype interview to the next, unable to understand why I am not making it.

So I decided to drown myself in work. I unfollowed a bunch of people on FB to steer clear of their uninspiring lives, generally cut down on the time that I waste on FB, and started working more. This month, I submitted two papers as first author. I just finished working on another paper as secondary author. Wrote a little grant. Got another paper published this morning. Started a new project in Asia. Won a scholarship, a little pot of money that will partially fund my trip to Baltimore this spring. I even moved offices.

Eager to welcome February now, more as a workaholic and a recluse. We often assume this divide between work and play. I think that when you enjoy what you do for a living, work becomes play. It doesn’t seem like a chore anymore. Whenever I work on interesting papers, I stop needing the alarm clock to wake up, and I am usually at work by 8 am. It is only when I do something that does not interest me that life starts to drag on. Like I said, work becomes play when you enjoy work. And play becomes work as well. I will start my country hopping in Europe starting February. Traveling is relaxing and all, but it is hardly play for me. I do a thorough research about where to go, what to see, where and what to eat, and so on. Like I said, the divide between work and play is not so pronounced for me. My work is my play, and my play involves a lot of work.

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The Food-Medicine Theory

I think for a living. Which means that I continue to think sometimes even when I am not making a living. In this complex web of thought processes, I came up with a gem of a theory one day that answered many unexplained questions I have had in the past about relationships. Not just intimate relationships or romantic relationships, but relationships. Friends, neighbors, colleagues, basically any human interaction I have had. I call this the “food-medicine theory”.

Relationships are based on need. The need to get, and sometimes, the need to give. Most relationships are either like food, or like medicine. Let’s see how.  

Some people are like food in your life. You need food everyday for sustenance. That’s a universal truth. Nutritive, life-giving food, hopefully in moderation. But routine is the key. Sure, you could fast for a day or two. But barring that, you need food. Every day.

Now once in a while, you eat bad food, and have food poisoning. You stay away from that food. What comes in handy is a medicine. Something strong, that has a more localized effect to cure you off the ill effects of food. You may continue to take it for a while. But eventually, when you are cured, you stop taking it, and go back to eating normally. 

Human relationships are just like that. Some people are food. They are just a part of your being. You do not question their need or their existence. You just need them to stay strong, healthy, and functioning. You can perform the most mundane of things as long as you have them around. And they are here, to stay in your life.

But then, other human relationships are like medicines. They have a role, and a very important and specific one to play. They come in handy only when there is a crisis. A medicine is not something you open your eyes and look forward to having on a normal day. It is effective for sure. But it is temporary. Evanescent.

Both food and medicine are important. Neither one nor the other is superior, and there is no judgment on the value one brings to the table. One can be food to some, and medicine to others. That is totally okay.

However, confusion and heartbreaks happen when you mistake one for the other. I have been medicine to many, and many have been medicine to me. Yet mistaking myself as food has caused heartbreaks so many times. In any given relationship, it is so important to know whether one is the food or the medicine, and own up to that. Whether one is serving a temporary need, or is here to stay. That helps you to step away at the right time. You do not want to be hanging around when you are no longer needed.

I know that you need me, and I am happy to be around. But you did not always need me. You started needing me to get over a bad past. A trauma. An accident. An illness. I know that the day you heal and recover, you will not need me anymore. I might still be around, like a vial tucked away in some corner of the medicine cabinet for future use. But I will not be needed all the time.

The day I realized this, so many inexplicable things started making sense to me. Why did someone get so close so soon? And why someone took off and never reported? Why was everyone being treated differently at work? I have seen people completely fall out of love, and the same has happened to me (I am not talking of just romantic love). Perhaps they were, or I was the medicine. I had an important, but only temporary role to play. Once things went back to being normal, the medicine was no longer needed.

Of course every theory has its flaws, no theory is perfect. Sure, you can refute it and find many loopholes in what I just said. But if you can look beyond the flaws, you might see some value in what I just said. I hope that you have read one of these famous quotes in statistics, “All models are wrong, but some are useful.” My theory might be wrong. But I hope that it is useful.

sunshine

Knocked Up

I was browsing through movies during a recent Zurich-Newark flight when a particular scene from a particular Bollywood movie caught my attention.

A woman is in the peak of her pregnancy, about to deliver any moment. No doctor could be there on time since one needs to cross a narrow bridge made of wooden planks and ropes to be able to get to the village. So the confident female protagonist in the movie decides to do the child delivery.

"Have you ever delivered a baby before?" someone had the presence of mind to ask.

"Yes," she said confidently. "I have delivered a baby goat before."

That is exactly when I switched movies.

But this ridiculous scene made me think of all the ridiculous ideas Bollywood has fed us about pregnancy. I have never been pregnant, and the only person I had closely seen being pregnant is my mom, when I was little. Naturally, I do not remember much. So back to Bollywood and the bullshit it feeds us about pregnancy.

1.     Ever noticed how when the newly-wed starts to throw up, everyone is worried, except the old matriarch in the family, who has an all-knowing smile? She does not even have a degree in medicine. I used to throw up a lot when I had ulcer. No one had smiled at me knowingly then.

2.     Ever noticed how the background music of Ravi Shankar's sitar (symbolizing love and happiness) changes to the sinister music of drums and trumpets when the woman throwing up is not married?

3.     Ever noticed how a male doctor examines a woman lying unconscious in bed with his stethoscope, checks her pulse, and declares her pregnant? I thought you only declared someone dead that way. Whatever happened to pregnancy kits? How can a stethoscope and a quick pulse check can detect pregnancy?

4.     A woman craving pickles is supposed to be pregnant. I have loved pickles all my life. What does that make me?

5.     Ever noticed the theory where if you hang someone's life size picture on the wall (usually that of the husband), and make a pregnant woman look at that picture every day, the baby will be born looking like that man?

6.     Does drinking milk infused with saffron really help Indian babies be born fair-skinned? Even long after the British left India, the desire to look like one of them didn't leave many of us. Or is this a pre-British fetish?

7.     And this is my biggest mystery question. When a baby is to be delivered, why does the village matriarch always, always ask for a big vessel of boiling water, before shutting the door on everyone? What is the role of boiling water? I hope you don't throw it on someone to induce labor. Do you make tea with the boiling water for the mother? Coffee maybe? Give her a sponge bath? I can't think of any other creative uses of boiling water.

sunshine

Airtight

A few months ago, I got hooked to watching air crash investigation videos on YouTube. Almost an hour-long each, these are fascinating videos recreated of airplane crashes, explaining what went wrong. It isn't a morbid fantasy, I am not into the emotional or social or economic aspect of a disaster of this magnitude. I am just fascinated by the science and technology of flying. I want to know how airplanes remain suspended in air, and what all could possibly go wrong. I have watched so many videos that I can theoretically fly planes now. Or write a book about flying planes. Cockpit voice recorder. Flight data recorder. Holding pattern. Pitot tubes. Lift. Stalling. The three components of an autopilot. TCAS. I know it all.

An Ethiopian airplane was hijacked and had to crash-land in the sea. A Helios flight had a sudden lack of oxygen due to which everyone went in a coma and the plane crashed after eventually running out of fuel. The Air France crash of 2008 when there were false pitot tube readings due to cold weather, and the pilots intuitively made nose-up inputs rather than puling the nose down, which led to a sea crash. The flight that crashed in the swamps of Everglades, and how it led to infections and gangrenes. A mid-air collision at right angle between a passenger and a cargo plane because one of the pilots was listening to the air traffic controller, and the other one to the airplane alerts, causing them both to change altitude simultaneously.

As a result, I am petrified of flying now. My heart just wouldn't calm down when I am in air. My fear has reached crazy proportions, because usually seated by the window side, I keep looking outside for signs of disaster. I try to distract myself with food, pointless movies, or a Mills & Boon kept handy with the interesting pages dog-eared. But neither good food, nor reading about sex can keep me distracted for long, and I go back to gluing my nose to the freezing double-pane windows, watching out for imminent signs of disaster.

The other day, they made us deplane after boarding, causing a 3 hour delay. One of the engines was giving funny test readings, and although the other engines were fine, the airline did not want to risk anything. While all the passengers cursed about the inconvenience of getting on and off and then on another plane, children shrieking and pillows flying and all, I was perhaps the only one who did a mental balle-balle, thanking God that the airplane did not take off. I was more than happy to wait for 3 hours to be able to get home safely. People tell me that the chances of dying in a road accident is far more than dying in a plane crash. I don't know what is it that bothers me about flying, that does not have the same effect on me about driving.

I will be flying in a few days, and it is needless to say that I have been hyperventilating and getting sleepless nights. It does not help much that I am also re-reading a great book by Mary Roach called Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. I realize that as I am ageing, I am turning out to be a pretty weird and eccentric person. In a few decades, I will turn out to be one of those irritable grannies like Maxine.

sunshine.

Connecting More by Connecting Less

Living without a cell phone has been one of the more liberating experiences of my stay in Germany. It’s been close to sixteen months now.

I did not do it on purpose. Having used a cell phone for over a decade, I had every intention of getting a new connection in Germany. It seemed like the natural thing to do.

However, cutting ties with my ex-phone-provider in the US turned out to be messier than a breakup. I had to pay a heavy price for terminating my two-year contract at the end of year one. A series of events led to long and futile conversations with their rather tardy customer service, hundreds of dollars and hours of lost sleep, a string of international calls, and loss of faith in their service. My cross-continental move had exhausted me, and I needed temporary respite from a telephone provider. Ironically, owning a phone in Germany is an easier process. You do not need to show your credentials, have a credit history, or have a contract to own a phone. You can just buy a pre-paid card, a phone, and use it on a need basis. However, my harrowing experience with Verizon had left me scarred, and I did not want to go through the same battle again in German, a language I do not speak or understand.

My bad experience turned out to be serendipitous. I never got that phone. I do not intend to anymore.

Using a phone, just like using anything, is a habit. And the thing with habits is that they change. Living without a cell phone is really easy in this age of technology. I am usually always online and checking emails at work or at home. Friends who need to talk write me emails or send me Facebook messages. On weekends I religiously Skype and video chat for hours with my close friends, all of who happen to live in the US. Ironically, I never talked to them as much when I actually had a phone.

I call my family in India using Google voice. 2 cents/minute is cheap enough, but not so cheap that I would engage in long, meaningless conversations. My mother could not figure out for a long time why I renounced the comforts of a phone. She came up with a string of theories (I was depressed, going through midlife crisis, trying to be stingy, etc.), and offered to buy me a phone, demanding to know how she might get in touch with me if there was a family emergency. I explained to her that in this age, trying to shut out someone might be a more difficult endeavor than trying to get in touch with someone. I stood my ground, and she eventually gave up.

So now that I have no phone, do I travel less? Not really. On the contrary, 2015 has been my most extensively travelled year, covering 22 cities in 13 countries. So the notion that one cannot travel without a phone is entirely wrong.

And how do I travel without a phone? Just like people traveled, and even invaded and conquered empires before the era of cell phones. I do my homework beforehand, meticulously reading maps and memorizing them. I had made free-hand drawings of the way to the hostel from the train station in Frankfurt (I knew that I was reaching pretty late at night, and my hostel was a good 15 minute away). Additionally, I use this amazing resource called human beings, asking for help, and learning to say please and thank you in the local language. Rather than seeking help from technology, I ask help from human beings.

And what if I am waiting and am bored? I don’t get bored actually. Far from it. Rather than succumbing to this compulsive habit of looking at a phone, I look around me. I watch people. I carry reading and writing material. I recently had a 5-hour layover at the Helsinki airport and a 7-hour layover at the Dubai airport. I chatted up with a few random people, enjoyed a nice hot bowl of salmon soup in Helsinki, and time flew while I did nothing in particular.

What if I get an important email while traveling? Really, what could be so important? Sure, there was a time I had a compulsive habit of browsing work emails, staying abreast of everything posted on Facebook, every news that had gone viral, a disaster, a tragedy, a malady, perhaps even some joyous news. Now, I am no longer attached to the idea of staying on top of things all the time. I couldn’t care less about what people are eating, what they are arguing and fighting about, what the activists are up to, and who is leading the baseball season. It is a selfish existence you might say, but it suits me fine. I do not chase news anymore. If news is important, it chases me.

Is it hard? Not at all. It is strangely liberating actually. It is one less thing to worry about (not worrying where you left your phone, not worrying about paying the phone bill or exhausting your talk time, no peer pressure to upgrade, among a few). I am not accountable for calling people or staying in touch with them every day. Nor do I feel bad if people do not call me every day. Yes, there are websites for booking flights and buses that need you to have a phone number. I just make up a random number, and tell them that email is the best way to reach me. Calcutta, Bombay, and many airports need you to give them a cell phone number to be able to access their internet (they send you a code on your cell phone). I just choose to read/write/snooze/reminisce/plan/fantasize [insert any verb of your choice] rather than browse the internet.

And how do people respond to this? My colleague, like my mother, got concerned and gave me an extra phone and a charger to use. It is still sitting unused in my office. My mom gave me a phone too, and I have no idea where it is. Obeying Lamarck’s theory of use and disuse, I have lost my instinct to jump and respond to a ringing phone. Most of the time, I ignore ringing phones.

At the end of the day, a cell phone is just one of the many methods of staying in touch. It is just a tool, and not the cause for strong friendships. This compulsive habit of being available at everyone’s beck and call or being reachable all the time doesn’t suit me anymore. This is not a Germany-specific malady. I was in the US for 2.5 months and in India for a month, and did great without a phone. While meeting someone, I look at the bus/train timetable (I have been without a car for 16 months too) and send them an email about my expected time of arrival. My life is not a continuous job where I have to be on-call all the time. Even without a phone, I have traveled more, made more friends, forged active research collaborations, and been able to stay in touch with everyone I want to. People wanting to meet me have taken international flights and found their way to Germany. I have connected with people even more, relearned to observe and reflect more, and channelized the extra time in pursuing newer interests like learning German and understanding the technology behind how airplanes fly.

Lastly, this write-up is not really about the vices of a phone. It is about learning to give up something familiar, rewiring my habits around it, and pushing myself to do something uncomfortable. It didn’t have to be a phone, it could be anything (well, I learned to give up driving too, and I used to be an avid driver). The good news is, meet me for a meal, and you will have all my attention. I will not be compulsively checking emails and texting out of habit.

sunshine

2015: Looking Back

Certain years in our lives pose questions, and other years provide answers. Looking back at the year that 2015 was, there are so many expected things that did not, and things unexpected that happened out of the blue. Most things that happened fall into predictable categories of academic achievements, expansion of writing interests, forging new friendships, and some extensive networking. There were some interesting first times too. Doing pot in Amsterdam. Taking the Amtrak from Chicago to Seattle. Getting my first internal grant. Seeing the largest sailing event in the world. First travel grant. Going back to the UW after 7 years. 

However, the one thing that stands out more than anything is travel. 2015 has been undoubtedly the most extensively traveled year of my life. Conferences, collaborations, family trips, personal travel, everything that was meant to happen happened. Every month, I visited at least one different country. That's a total of 22 different cities in 13 different countries, including six new countries. There were three discrete trips to India and two discrete trips to the US. There were two aborted trips to Luxembourg and Italy as well, but no complaints. At one point, I was wondering why I am even paying rent.

India: Kolkata is Kolkata. Most of my time there goes in meeting and eating. The interesting bit was visiting during Durga Puja for the first time ever since I left India. My last Durga Puja in Kolkata was in 2005. I was in Mumbai too, very briefly, and the only thing I remember of it was dining at Mahesh Lunch Home. Unarguably the best seafood restaurant I have dined at, do not miss ordering Solkadhi, the strawberry-milkshake-lookalike drink that is anything but strawberries and sugar. It blew me away. Talking of being blown away, Sikkim had pretty much that kind of effect on me. Clean air, plastic-free, the majestic snow-capped mountains, simple people, delicious Tibetian food, and pretty homes stacked up. That is how I will always remember the capital city, Gangtok. After viewing the Kanchenjunga (the third highest mountain in the world) for two consecutive dawns from Gangtok, we went to Pelling to be able to get a better and much closer view of the mountains. However, the rain and bad weather ensured that the entire mountain is shrouded, and we saw nothing, despite excitedly waking up before dawn and waiting in the cold with camera gear. Forget seeing the mountains, even our sightseeing plans had to be cancelled. It rehashed an important life lesson. That moving physically closer to your destination doesn't necessarily mean that you will reach your destination. If something is meant to happen, it will. Most importantly, it might be good to have alternate plans in life, and move on. 

Canada, France, and UAE were short trips, mostly for meeting old friends or exploring a city during long layovers. Visiting the Scandinavian countries for the first time made me realize how short, and how poor I am. Malmö (Sweden) was nice, and so was Helsinki (Finland). Grey, exorbitant, but thankfully, English speaking. The interesting surprise was an unexpected cruise ship ride (my first time) from Helsinki to Tallinn (Estonia), when the smaller boats were cancelled due to bad weather. Try traveling in a cruise ship at least once. It is an amazing experience. The Baltic countries (Estonia, and Riga in Latvia) were very pretty, inexpensive, laidback, and replete with their eastern European charm.

In Germany, visiting the Berlin wall was a humbling experience. Even with everything I had read and the number of movies I watched over the years, nothing had prepared me for how I felt visiting it. For an onlooker who does not know, this would have seemed an ordinary park, a rather dilapidated one, with children playing, people running, and tourists taking pictures. Yet this place is full of history, full of stories that are not quite that old. Stories of pain and separation and letting go. And stories of courage and bravery and resilience of the human spirit. I was engulfed with a sense of sadness, a sense of shared grief for human suffering. But what I witnessed was also the victory of hope over suffering, of good over bad. May no wall be strong enough to confine and restrict the spirit, our dreams, love, and the sense of goodness. There are people who build walls, and there are also people who break those walls. Being here reaffirmed my faith in the resilience of the human spirit.

Lübeck turned out to be a very pretty northern German town, reminding me how pretty Germany is. The cobbled streets, the architecture, the pretty little cafes that serve amazing food and coffee in classy china, the churches and pretty homes, the waterfront, and the iconic Holsten Gate, Lübeck had to offer a lot. I spent the entire day walking, watching, reading, then walking some more, and taking in the pretty sights. Two of the many things about it- This is the home to the marzipan industry, and the home of Nobel laureate Günter Grass. Although a small place, Lübeck is actually home to three Nobel laureates.

Denmark was beautiful, and so was Switzerland. Amsterdam (Netherlands) turned out to be a city of canals, museums, and pot. I had the most amazing Indonesian food in Amsterdam. I was not aware of Netherland’s colonial history, and how Indonesian cuisine became a part of Dutch food. Seriously, when in Amsterdam, do not miss eating Indonesian.

USA: The other interesting experience was taking the Empire Builder train (Amtrak) from Chicago to Seattle ($140 one way). It leaves Chicago Union Station at 2:15 pm CST, and 46 hours later, reaches Seattle at 10:30 am PST. The scenery for more than half the trip was uneventful (unless you are like me, who loves watching any kind of landscape). I saw a lot of fields, birds, and arid lands in Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota. However, the real change started on the evening of day 2, while we were crossing Glacier National Park in Montana. The sunset was amazing. The mountains were huge. After that, it was really pretty for the rest of the trip.

The seats were much better and more comfortable than the ones in an airplane. They recline very well, and given that only half the train was full, I had two seats to myself. So I actually managed to get into a fetal position and sleep well for two nights. However, if you do not fall asleep easily, I would not recommend it.

The dining car and the observation deck had an amazing 270 degree view. YouTube has some nice videos of how it looks inside the train and the observation deck. The food was quite pricey, and nothing to die for (the menu is available online). I had anticipated this. So I carried my own food to last me for the trip, including biryani from Ghareeb Nawaz in Chicago. But then, that's me. I can sleep well, and eat biryani under any circumstances.

There is no internet, unless you have your own. I don't know about cell phone connectivity, since I did not have one. Not anymore. I was surprised at how many people boarded the train with me, and went all the way to Seattle. At some point, the train bifurcated. Half of it went to Seattle, and the other half to Portland.

Dress in layers. It was freezing at night. The restrooms were clean and big. No complaints. Also, you can check in a lot of luggage, much more than airplanes allow you. Overall, it was a great experience, and I would do it again. But then, I love trains, watching landscapes, and I was not in a hurry. If you don't have the time and are more into "tick mark tourism", this is not for you.

This is a short summary of some of the places I visited in 2015. I am not sure what 2016 has in store. As weird as it sounds, I think that I might be ready to be home, be rooted for a change, and develop different hobbies that does not require as much travel.

sunshine