Nuff Said

Letter

Dear HT,

I assure you I have no idea how you do it.

Did I ever tell you that when I approached you at that conference the first time, I was looking for the other guy? Probably not.  You wouldn't like to hear that you were not my first choice. You wouldn't say anything. But you would feel disappointed a bit.  So here's something nice for you.  There's a line in this book I'm reading. It's about destiny and how you have to let it run its natural course over time with all it's twists and turns.  The many events that led to me approaching that poster seem random. But then again, they don't. They seemed planned and very reassuring just like the time with you has been.

I know that I had a big chip on my shoulder in the beginning.  If I had known what I know now, I would have been less of a pretend know-it-all prick. Or tried harder to learn at least.  It took your immense simplicity and your brilliant creativity to blow me away. This is true for all your students. So don't ever change.  And your kindness? I still have the email you send me when my quals didn't go too well. You said you were proud of me and that you had no doubt I would make an independent researcher one day.

So here I am, the independent researcher, wishing you were here. The security over the past 5 years was in knowing that all answers were a walk and a knock away.  An email away. Even in the darkest hours of 2012, there was still hope mostly cause I trusted your brain and your heart.  And here I am on my own. No HT.

Fuck.

Did I really think I could do the same things that you did? I did, but I don't know why I thought that.  I was deluded to think that I have a single fraction of the intelligence you possess.  So I will quit this here and now and come back to you. Maybe I can enroll again, this time go over it the right way, whatever that is.  Am sure we can work this out.

Sigh.

Just kidding.

Bird.

Google Reader's dying yo

What's next? Blogger?

HG has got this fear that Picasa will go one day and she will lose all her precious photos.  I tell her no, but it is quite frankly a legitimate concern. We have to have backup of backups now in the vast expanding universe of clouds and other yet-to-come-cleverly-named technologies.  As far as Picasa goes, I am proud to say that I have a system. Photos get clicked on the camera and 5 second decisions are made on deletion/keep. They are loaded into Picasa where various cropping, lighting and other things happen that make me feel like a proper photographer/editor (in reality its mostly constable's two line tips combined with trial and error). And the filtered good (and great) ones go on Picasaweb.  The trouble with being married is that your spouse swoops in armed with your password and bingo, you have albums with multiple photos of the same person (read wife) in many different angles.  And of course, she will not let me delete any, so there they are, an affront to the system.

So what's up boo? Long time.

Why did I stop? Partly too busy, but partly its this - I started this blog with the pure intention of being honest and frank. Having spent 27 years through the looking glass of other people's eyes, it was time to use mine.  Somewhere along the line, I lost it. Blog entries started appearing based on -- let's see how do I put it -- not exactly what I thought people will like but close enough. Validation or the hint of it. Arch enemy.

I am off FB too, much to HG's chagrin.  A while ago, we had this fight about disclosing too much stuff on FB, especially political/liberal beliefs.  Given that at that time the job search was going very badly, it seemed a valid point that HG raised in that why do you want to put yourself out there like that for companies to find out about you. I huffed and puffed about being open and all that, and told her it took a while before I even had the courage to say out loud that I was a heck of a lot more liberal than others around me (You would have voted for the other guy, my old prof had said to me once. Don't you think people in Iraq need liberation from a dictator? I grew red and lost my tongue). But, man, FB is hard for me. Not that I was very active in posting things. For one thing, there's all the stuff that you put about yourself and then start thinking about reactions (all of you who say you don't care if anyone likes/dislikes anything you put up there esp photos..yeah, you lie). Sure, in the real physical world, you do give out from time to time, but it's a lot more selective and manageable. Second, half your friends turn out to be idiots who mourn for bal thackerey, which is fine, but they fill up your feed with their sentiments. Yes, you can tune and change and ignore but really is it worth it?  Third, my boss HT asked me for a number that had to do with my research. I knew the number, I had seen it 10 times before, but I couldn't remember for the life of me what it was then. Here's what I did remember, VG's dissertation was to start at 900 am that day, go till 11.30 maybe 12. It was on perceptions of risk in privacy. There were 6 members on his committee, 2 of which were off campus. VG was streaming it live on FB for everyone to see. He was nervous and his coffee wasn't helping.  All this was stark and clear but no number.  And that's the kind of important stuff that gets muddled under layers. I had talked to VG about 7 times in the last three years. And here I was, knowing everything about him. That was straw that did the thing to the camel. I was off.

So why am I back here? Frankly I don't know that I am. But this whole being honest and open thing? I figured that you only need to do that for yourself. Most people who want to find out about you will do it one way or the other. Nothing is really safe in this day and age; you can easily find out who this is or who HG is irrespective of us being anonymous.  Hell, I confess that I've found out identities of anonymous bloggers before. But, really, there's no reason I have to silver-platter it, is there?

Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?

HG has begun her studies.  I am back to mine, although there are no more courses to take.  Someone mentioned that's good. But it totally depends on point on view.  It's as if I substituted the headache of assignments with anxiety attacks about thesis.

The empty apartment will take a little while to get used to. Playing music aloud didn't seem to help; ignoring the obvious doesn't work.  Escaping behind headphones and watching shows seems to make it easier.

I currently am watching four shows intertwined - Mad Men, House (the old House ; the one that was cool and didn't give a rat's ass before they all changed him into his current suppiliant form), Stargate SG-1 and Californication.  All are about (or have) male protagonists of a certain type.  I think am onto something.

I want to read better.  I told HG recently that I am hugely irritated with the Lin Kong character in Ha Jin's Waiting, who is so ordinary. I tend to like books where the characters develop something; some sort of transformation, become stronger even. Like Maugham's Phillip Carey, to give a rapid example. But then, I read what Epstein wrote: "life is lived in the middle". That hit home.  I told HG that Waiting is going to be challenging.

I also want to watch better cinema. IU has an arthouse cinema where they show more off-beat movies.  I can't decide if I should go alone or look for company.

W wanted to start a student club in our subject, to which I was most enthusiastic. Then I heard that he didn't want many graduate students to show up in case all the undergrads got scared off by the amount of Indian and Chinese students. If this is true, I am in the midst of idiots.  Most of their talk have begun to bore me. I have started to become aloof.

I no longer think about the whole industry vs. academia argument.  I used to, lots.  I would decide on one on an occasion, but the next time anyone asked me, I would choose the other.  Like I had decided industry right after the good summer internship, but right when Richard from HG's party asked what I wanted to do after my PhD - the words ' be an academic' came right out of my mouth. It was irritating - this flip-flopping.  Yesterday though, S. asked me this, and I said I hadnt made up my mind. The relief was good to feel. It's true - I haven't. I don't know why I wanted to decide this. I can be good at both, I can be unhappy at both. I mostly will choose based on what is good and available at that point of time. I realize that now.  It's like what Sam Worthington says : "They say that in your 20s you’re trying to work out the man that you want to be, and in your 30s you discover who he is. And warped and all, beer gut and all, brain damage and all, you just kind of go, ‘Well, this is it, and I might as well try to polish it a tiny bit.’ I’m stuck with who I am, but I can be man enough to iron out the creases."

At the end of my Phd, no matter what, I will discover what I will do.  The sum of my good and my faults will go with me then.  I might as well just start ironing out the creases then.

*Line in a poem by A.E.Stallings pinned to my cube wall

The Internship I worked

I loved this internship.  It opened up a new side of me. It taught me that in spite of having an ill defined problem with no beginning, no end and no statement, and having a boss who was over-dramatic in putting his heads in his hands the first time he heard my ideas, and having multiple instances of self doubt about whether to go in industry and academia, in spite of all that, I have the balls to put in the work on the grindstone, to think independently, and to see it pay off with demurity.

During the days leading up to the final presentation, I was so fucking self aware that clarity and me shook hands.

I like the boss now. He has some ideas, and one has to be patient and wait for his questions and theatrics to pass before he reaches there.

I haven't resolved the academia vs industry debate.  But you know what? I absofuckinglutely think I will be OK either way. 

Adios, california. 

Of beats and men

My old man didn't teach me much. He tried, of course, giving me the usual life lessons on honesty and hard work but it fell on deaf ears.  He gave up after while, prefering to utilize what I think of as the Show-Me-The-Way approach.  He would involve me in doing something, hoping I would learn a thing or two about planning and about doing the necessary homework.  It worked actually, much as I'd dislike admitting, that thing or two rubbed itself on me.

But there are two lessons that  came from unexpected angles.

One was when, on power cut nights when we would walk the terrace, he told me about his college days.  He said that every year,  he would pick up sport - hockey, football and such, and learn it.  He would make himself excel in it. But only up to a point that stopped short of making it to the college team. He feared, he said, that it would affect his studies.  I didn't understand it then.  See, I was good..no, I was awesome at running.  But I was never allowed to participate in inter-school atheletic events.  Intra-school, among the house teams on Sports Day? Yes. But anything else? District? Zone? No.  I blame my parents second-most for my late maturity. If only I had experience outside competetition etc...Anyway, I never understood his weird concept, until this year, my final year (hopefully) of PhD.  I am now unwilling to let any sport usurp my time for thesis.  Everything has become a small part in the Life to Be Spent doing Thesis.  They exist but inconsequently. His college was presumably that important to him, I suppose, as thesis is to me.  This has led to appreciation, which is one step short of humility, if you think about it.

The second is this - my dad taught me to drum. When I was in my single digits, I watched my dad drumming rhytimically on the table. I asked him how he does that.  He said, wait, it'll come.  Sure enough, it did. And when it did, my father spend some time with me, trying to see if I could match his beats.  On our dining table while we waited for dinner to be set by Ma.  He would drum a rhythm, and wait to see if I could match his. This continued for many nights.  I can table-drum and even keep rhythm using my feet, trying to match rock drummers.  The only time I took on the bass drums was in college when I pitched in for a choir practice. I had only a vague idea, but I kept rhythm pretty well, using the heel-down, the tom and the hi-hat. I kept it good until the very last finish when I did the roll up mimicking the motions of the choir master that was supposed to lead up to a hit on the cymbal. Except I missed it completely. So it went bada - bada - boom - silence. No bish. The choir master frowned and I handed the sticks back to the main guy.

So now I just happily drum in my car on my steering wheel to the beats of 97.7 rock. I tap my foot and I think of Achan.  As I ride to last stages of my Phd.

The importance of tipping

During my first semester at Utah, very few things were going for me.  First, well, I came expecting Yamerica, but what I got was Utah.  Second, within the first week, I realized all my four years of Engineering and my hard-worked above-average GPA could go for a toss as being completely worthless.  The material was miles ahead of what I learnt, and look Ma, they give out problems, no short answer questions like we had back home! Tough, tough problems. Third, did I mention it was Utah? Translated - effin cold?   I did count my one big blessing - I had a part time research assistant-ship job. But since it was only part time, I flipped burgers at the campus grill.

By December, I had just about had it.  Most days, I was so tired from working in the grill  and the back and forth trudging in snow, that it was an effort to stay awake in class, much less at night. I constantly emanated a greasy smell, which to this day, I can recall in an instant.  It was always freezing cold. My grades were so low, I was hoping for a miracle. I hadn't understood major parts of my subjects, and I was flaying at problems. Our TA had just discovered interesting similarities between all our homeworks, so we were expecting getting called into the profs office very soon. I wasn't broke yet but knew that I needed to convert my research job from part-time to full-time if I needed to pay fees.

One day, I was at the grill generally brooding over my problems.  It was almost close-up so I started cleaning the grill.  I looked up and found this one guy who said - Can you make me a cheeseburger?  My shoulders must have stooped, and I must have let out a moan. What he said next totally took me back . "Sorry, my man. Here, let me make it up to you.  I know am not supposed to tip you but here.." he said, handing me a closed fist.  I palmed  what he gave me and opened it to see a $1 coin.  That was the first (and only) time I ever saw a $1 as a coin. And that was the first (and only) time I ever got tipped. The effect was instantaneous. My tiredness forgotten, I made him my very best.

I fiddled around with the coin in my pocket the next couple of days.  I went back and forth on spending it. Some part of me said no, don't spend it.  The other part said - hey, it's free money.  I ended up spending it finally to pay for a cheeseburger (how fitting, I thought).  I made a show of it to the cashier almost to say - look here's a $1 coin, ask me where I got it.  She didn't and the coin was gone.

December came and went. I did much better in the second sem, even grew to like the Grill. I quit when full-time research came around.  But since then, I've always tipped waiters, much to the chagrin of family.  I didn't tip all that big but I tipped very frequently, even for bad service. I would tip for coffees and for take-out. My dad and I fought over how much to tip a waiter in India.   Recently, I saw HG wrestling with the decision on whether to tip the eyebrow parlor lady.  She kept apologizing after saying that the time she worked came back to her.  I told her I completely understand.

Now, I've started cutting back just because being a student again changes things a bit.  But I tell you, tipping is almost an urge for me.