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. 

New Resolutions

I've decided to spend $10 a month on buying used books.  What with the plethora of used book stores in the bay area and the monthly sell out back in Bton, I should acquire a substantial number.  So, during the first month of this mid-summer resolution, I visited Recycle book store.

A quaint place, with a cat that roams around the bookshelf.  The fiction section is enormous.  I bought 

- Murakami - What I talk about when I talk about Running.

- Martin Amis Short Story Collection (Being married to an MFA student has rubbed off some of the good stuff)

- Alchemist

In the end, I spend $20.  The Alchemist cost me ten bucks, but I couldn't resist the cover.

I forgot to mention that the last time around, I had also bought this book.

Who is Ha Jin, you ask? HG's prof starting Sept 2011.  HG got her visa today, so this is a gift for her.   It is, literally, going to be A Good Fall. 

Bookstore memory

Nothing like catching up with old friends on a summer night.  M showed me around the famed Google campus, with their 18 different restaurants providing free food, their volleyball courts and swimming pools and gigantic gym, their open offices with snacks and espresso machines on every floor, their "Google" bikes that people ride around campus - it's a self contained unit with a single motive of keeping the worker in.  ( I wonder what J.G. Ballard would say). I saw pasty geeky looking devs riding around the bikes, young Indian men showing off the place proudly to their parents, few women and extremely fit men and women playing beach volleyball (M said they were from the business units).

We ate in a Tequira, which is a cheap Mexican place popular around this side of the country.  The food was good though, and then went for a couple of drinks.

Walking back, we saw a bookstore and my legs automatically steered me inside.  I've realized that I've done this enough times before and just so that I remember them, I decide to blog everytime I entered one.

So, this was Book Buyers on Castro Street, Mountain View, CA.  (Image :google)

The night was with A & M. And I bought Orhan Pamuk's Snow.

A asked who he was and didn't seem terribly interested when I said that he was dating Kiran Desai (HG is the source of this). 

Book unusual

I have to admit that this is the most unusual book I've read.  Not unusual in the story, but just in the manner of reading it.  I could go two days easily without even glancing at it, but when I do pick it up, I spend hours without even realizing the evening has turned into night and that the natural light is fading. Two days later, I can just continue exactly from where I stopped.

I've never read a book this way before.  Usually, it's the regular 50 pages a day or the frantic reading where I do nothing else. This one..hmm..strange.

Another thing about this book, I GET the guy.  I understand what he's doing - the half man the half loser character that he is.  Weird.

Even engineers have imagination

I was watching a technician setting up a huge ass mass spec instrument for our group.  Now, among other things, the instrument has a long vacuum chamber operated at 6500 V where ions happily travel from one end to the other and back.  The particular chamber is lined with fans for cooling called Medusa fans.

Excuse me, I asked the guy while he was looking for the container for these, why are they called Medusa fans?

Well, ever imagine what form that much electricity takes in a  vacuum chamber?  The bolts look like the hair of Medusa.

Huh.

Some engineers know their Greek.

My version of 'Dude, I was there'

 - Chris Daughtery
 - Sheryl Crow
 - Maroon 5

All three in the same day, all for free and all from 100 ft away.

It helps if you are working for the 'second best company to work for in the country'.  It also helps if your classmate is working for the 'second best company to work for in the country'.  Genentech was having a week of giving it back, the culmination of which was a concert at the AT &T Park in downtown San Francisco.

Yes, where the Giants play.  Yes, I walked on the green, stood next to the diamond and carefully looked for spit balls from Barry Bonds.  I also imagined hitting a home run into the stands, and was generally beaming on the rest of the Genentech crowd.

The musicians were a big secret, but since last year BEP showed up, we thought it would be pop or hip-hop. Daughtery showed up first.  Ah, it's rock for today. Good.  (One can be a snob when one has free tickets).  This is my first ever of Daughtery since I was never an American Idol fan. The band was good but he was OK, he really was ..just OK (one can be a snob etc..).  His vocals were bad, sounded very generic that what you would expect coming at the end of a rock lead up. Until he did a cover for Rebel Yell.  Maybe he was toning down the rock.

And then Sheryl (yes, 100 ft away is enough for first name basis) shows up. She's really tiny but effortless in her vocal range.  Her songs were most of the popular hits from her 7 Grammy career, but with variations and improvisations.  Plus she had a mean guitarist who took it away every single time he was asked to do so.

Maroon 5 was just ..awesome.  Adam Levine showed what a true band leader would do in a live concert (Hope Daughtery was taking notes - BOOM! Ok last one). And Dusick was easily the best drummer I've seen, which I admit isn't much.  Sunday Morning was stretched out to a whole 12 minutes.  Levine Has Skills.

And of course, there was free beer and food too.

A good weekend, one where you know someone up there is sitting where they should be sitting.

Every family needs a Godfather

The mallu nair/menon are tradionally maternal. Our family takes it one step further.  We become our uncles. 

It all started with my granduncle whom I could easily call my grandfather.  My mom's dad died when she was a kid. My granduncle made the decision to take his widowed elder sister and her four children right under his wing.    All he had going for him was a job at Cochin Customs which he was terribly good at, and a doting wife who happily agreed in spite (or because) of the fact that they themselves had no kids.  Slowly, brick by brick he laid the foundations of our family.  The other brothers were less selfless.  They each sought to set up their own families first, establishing themselves in Bangalore and Kuwait and such. They always lend a helping hand, of course.  But the guy who stayed put to face the drum music was my granduncle on his measly salary but with a determined mind and a pure heart.  Only one other brother Chandran stood at his side.

Little stories emerge like the time when my mom's cousin Balu moved back to Kerala to study. Balu's mom and dad were sufficiently rich for him to attend KV (then a big deal).  Sunny, Usha and Suja (my mom) had all been educated in governtment schools till then. There was the youngest, fondly called Baby, who's education was still left.  Everyone including Chandran, said - forget KV, it's expensive and plus Baby might find it too hard. Send him to the Govt. school just like the others.  My granduncle put his foot down and said he was going to send Baby to KV no matter what.  He did exactly that.  Baby wasn't aware of all of this (he still is not). But that hasn't stopped him from being a Director of Finance in Phillips. 

 Balu hung around the ancestral place long enough for some of whatever it is that works in our family to rub off on him.  He was smart and ambitious, wanting  to come to the US at 28 for his MS.  His own dad said no.  My granduncle again put his foot down and said yes.  We'll arrange it. The family was not all that rich.  I have no idea how exactly he managed to pull it off with his impeccably high-standard of conduct and his ethical nature.  I hear stories of hardship, but that somehow seems irrelevant when I think of how amazing the fact is that everytime he put his foot down, he had nothing to go on except a pure gut feeling that this will work.

Balu came to the US. Baby followed.  Then my cousin Vinu and then me.

The next time he put his foot down was in choosing a bride for Baby. Another grand decision that paid so well in that I now have a gem of an aunt. 

My granduncle went on to win Presidental Award while in Customs.  He retired with great prestige and establish a successful insurance detective agency which further extended his fame.  In fact, one of the things that worked in mine and HG's favor was that my father in law knew  him!

Robin was a house painter whom my granduncle found reading an English newspaper on his break. He had tough luck in getting an education but wanted it badly enough.  My granduncle called up his now established nephew, Baby for some help.  Baby never even asked what exactly Robin was going to do.  When Robin was told there was money available for his education, he said gimme a week.  He went away and found a course in bartending that he could take at a reasonable amount.  Baby said yes, his wife equally agreed and Robin went on to become a bartender on a cruise ship.  He always came back from his sails with presents for my granduncle and grandaunt.

My granduncle is gone.  To be be left by a crowd of people, family and otherwise, whom he has touched.   And I get a lump in my throat everytime I think of that big place without him in it. 

My granduncle once recently told me - don't worry, I have done enough good in my life time that you and Vinu will definitely get it all back.  This is how I will remember him.

And Baby is becoming him.  Balu is not too far behind.  Half my generation owe it these two, whether they recall it or not.  I know I couldn't have made it  here and survived here without them.  And being around them has rubbed off whatever works in our family on to me.

At least I hope.  I hope I become Baby and Balu someday. 

If I let myself think that people who died are looking over me right now, I imagine a long list of uncles  gazing over my shoulder. The stern Chandra, the life-loving Anniyan, the book loving Appu, and the truest of them all  - Achuthan.

 

Being on one's own

When I was at Utah, I had this nasty habit of googling up people in science, hours on end. It could be anybody - from scientists in the likes of Chandrasekhar to faculty members or even other graduate students. I would go to their pages, their publications and even their hiking photos.  When I went for my first conference, I researched almost ALL the speakers. And this was a 5 day conference.  That's a lot of research! And the few that I talked to I pretended not knowing anything about them.  Of course when I came back I had a fresh list of people's names to go through. It didn't have to be my field, I would read about physics graduates, computer science faculty - anything.  

Then I heard my friend complain that her boyfriend (a fellow graduate) also does the same thing - spend countless hours going through research profiles.  Thus the notion that this might be a bad habit first entered my mind.  Now I realize that I did this even if I didn't understand whatever research I was reading.  In fact, I did this especially when I didn't understand the research! It wasn't about the science, it never was. It was about how to do science.  Being ignorant and insecure, I was trying to find out what these guys did in order to get what they were. 

When I first started at PNNL, I started with a clean slate since I was from an another field.  I didn't know who the big guns were, and I made a conscious effort (from just a feeling that it was unnecessary) to keep my stalking habits to a minimum of names. I had a great boss and mentor who with his direction made me feel secure about my work. I pleasently discovered that my group WERE the big guns and everywhere I went, my name tag opened doors.  I could start conversations easily with other scientists, big or small, and everyone was my equal.  There was no ego, it was just about the science. 

Later in my PhD, being in an academic environment with a nice advisor and a hitherto non-problematic research has spoilt me a bit.  My work is hard, yes, but I could always count on my advisor's help.  

I now sit at my desk at this BIG company for the first time on my own as an intern and it scares the shit out of me. No one here but a handful know me.  My work here wil have to speak for itself.  I know I have to hold my own. I just have no idea if I'm smart enough to do so. 

I spend a bunch of hours this morning looking up all the people I once could talk to without knowing who they were. 

The MFA's husband

An MFA in Creative Writing is not for the faint-hearted.  I'll let HG dwell on the emotional aspects but I will give you hard core facts. The admission rate is 2-4%.  That's 2 out of a 100 applications at worst, 4 out of 100 at best.  Think about that for a second. Take two if you have to.  Remember that old story about the prof in IIT who said to his class - look at the person on your right, look at the one on your left , one of you three will make it, remember that story?  Yeah, this is actual life numbers.

At this measly 2% admission rate, if you dare ask what your chances are as a novice writer, some might you're ..well..optimistic.  If you had no background in English Literature, no background in writing, had wilted all your brain on nonsensical MBA stuff completely and you still ask what your chances are, everyone will say you're disillusioned.

In some ways, am glad we knew about these numbers only much later.  When HG applied, we didn't know the magnitude of how much competition there is.  Everyone thinks they can write, and in some cases, other people think so too - people on admissions board.  We just applied simply to test waters, so to speak, to see if there is something worth fighting for.  The hope was - stay in Bloomington. If HG does get wait-listed at some remote university, yes, we will continue next year.

Then, we got a call.  Someone told HG that her writing was unique, imaginative and emotional.  This one told the rest of the faculty - in 2000 years of Western Literature, no one ever thought of writing about a gay character's father who dressed up as his mother.  The only problem, he told HG, was convincing others that though her grammar and writing technicalities were ..ahem...on the flawed side, she really was the real deal.

In a seesaw of emotions,  we were elated at first to get the call, hopeful when told a follow-up call was promised, dejected when the said follow-up call didn't happen and finally cheated to be bought to the well but refused to be allowed a drink.

Then the call came.

You're in, the guy said. We'll take you for a year, give you money, teach you how to write.

Holy shit, my wife is going to become a writer.

But then again, am not all that surprised.  I always knew.

Mr. Bird's favorite place

We plan on getting to 1000 books as quickly as we can.

Early Weekend

We had a couple of days of pure sloth. It is such comforting to take off a random day of the week from work, stay in and mosey around. And it is more comforting to do it again the next day.  I shamelessly feigned injury and a physio appoinrment (both half truths) and skipped meetings and classes.  Ah! The privileges of graduate school life.  I told HG that it will stop when I get the big job.

What is the big job? It's the job after the PhD, of course. In my head, it's blown up a bit beyond proportion. The be-all and end-all culmination of 11 years of academic training. Some part of me knows that it's only the beginning.  True research happens when you are alone, with no advisor to go check with. Alone in the dark alleys of the unknown where everything could fit if you squint your eye but you know it's not even close to the truth.  I heard a very simple, torn-down definition of research the other day from a stats prof.  It's when you face something you have never seen before - and you start first by not being scared. You trust your skills and your intuition and begin.

Anyway, where was I?

Yeah it was Constable's birthday. And HG cooked us an excellent yummy dinner with a beef slow cooked to perfection, kappa, fish curry, rice and paratha.  Did I forget to mention gulab jamun?  Evening one we drank at home. Evening two we drank outside. I do feel for HG, trying to get along with a few borrrowed friends, all the while missing her real ones. Whenever, Constable's wife was telling us about her Girls Night out parties, HG feels twangs of loneliness.

We do find ways to have fun though.  Our latest is a series of balancing bottle acts.

We never stay the same

Today, as I climbed the stairs up to my office, a kid about 20 or so dressed in a suit asked if he could borrow a pen.  Since I was always losing pens, I had made it a point to keep one always in the laptop bag.

After some digging, I took out this particular laptop pen and gave it to him.  He walked away with it calmly.  I was confused - surely he was going to give me the pen back. What if it was a favorite pen?  He didn't even ask if I wanted it back.

The old bird, with his enormous wordly patience, would have hesitated.  Excuses and reasons would have been made in the other's defense.

This was getting to be something other than about the pen.

I followed him into a room where other formally dressed kids were writing what appeared to be an exam.  I saw him go to the proctor, sign himself in and turn around when I caught his eye.

Hey, know what? Keep the pen.

He shamefacedly grinned.

That Time of the Year

Yes, its that time of the year again. And this time, it's the one that makes me three decades old.  I don't have a problem per so about getting older.  It's just that I've been feeling pretty banged up recently, what with two back to back injuries and all that. So yes, when the day came around, I did feel a bit old if only in the aching parts of the body.

But.. but...

My wife made sure that it's been my best ever. She had a tough task, what with 29 of them birthday days to beat.  Not that they were all spectacular.  In fact, her being here would have made it special.  But oh boy, did she knock this one out of the park. There were suprises after suprises.  All of them extremely unexpected.

My real birthday came two days after my 'star' birthday - you know - the one where the mother looks at the Malayalam calender and declares a date.  So friday - star birthday, Sat - bars close late, Sun - real birthday = a weekend of celebrations. The suprises were evenly distributed too.  For example, we walked into a grocery store on Friday right after I got off class. I was headed to the wine section when I was stopped by the wife, who sternly told me no alcohol on star birthdays. I stood looking at her with my mouth open.  She's never pulled the religious card on me, ever.  So I muttered and told her I was suprised at her change of attitude. We reach home, and I discover tons of food in the kitchen.  LIKE TONS! All of my favorite dishes were tastefully matched with other dishes to make it one big family package of a menu where every food item got along with every other.  And payasam. And..there was beer in the fridge.  I gave my giggling wife two seconds of a head-start before I chased her.

Saturday was drinking night.  A bunch of people toasted to my general health, and there again another suprise.  The wife had custom ordered a cake. There it was with 30 candles lit.  30 trick candles so that you blow and blow to get it out only to have it spark up again. The irony is that I had bought these candles myself a long time ago only to have forgotten it's existence. In short, I looked like an out-of-breath fish. The wife, of course, was giggling.

Sunday was the quiet day.  We saw Dhobi Ghat. And liked it. A lot. We spend it with no one else but each other.  I would have had it no other way.

If only I can keep this woman giggling for the rest of her life..

About damn time

After spending 10+ years doing stuff on computers, I finally find out how and actually build a website.

Now I understand how illiterate guys make it in the world.

Candidate for The Daily WTF

"Hello,

Thank you for your email. You have reached me during a peak time in the office. I will answer your email as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience and understanding! 

Thank you,

..."

I was contemplating going down to this person's office.