The Bear

Friday night dinner, our man texts me saying 'Should we bring anything?'. I call him and ask if it's possible to bring some frozen parathas on the way over.

Sure! Err..How do you spell that?

I'll text it to you.

OK.

Half hour later a text comes - 'On our way with some piranhas'

Yes, we are a couple of dorks.

Of Bosses and Men

I was reading this NYTimes article that analyzed whether women make better bosses. I haven't had a woman boss yet (at work i.e., at home, the woman rules). And I realized that even if I did, I wouldn't be able to answer that question. See, I tried very hard not to stereotype and generalize, honestly believing that a person is a sum combination of experiences, exposure and thoughts that mold him or her as an individual. If my lady boss, by being a woman, had something going for her, a unique perspective, intuitiveness, anything - I would say sure she's got this and it might be because she's a woman. But I would hesitate before saying all women had it.

Anyway, here's where I would rate my bosses so far from least to most favorite

-ICC guy. My first job, and I successfully managed to get fired by ticking him off. The dickhead took off my salary and got me to work on a commission. The sad part is my parents told me to go back and talk to him, because they thought it's better than staying at home. But when the dickhead demanded money for, wait for it, taking me back, my father wised up and said forget it.
- Princi at the teaching college. This chap was spineless. Honestly. He was close to retirement and he played the safe game, not taking sides, not getting involved. I didn't fight with him though. I had learned my lesson.
- SEB. The first prof. He was pretty ok actually. He had good projects, I got to go to beautiful Asilomar and he got me started at the lab. The only irritating thing is that he used to needlessly ask me, and only me, questions in class. And he had his eighth kid just before graduation, which was really odd. To top it, I don't think he gave me a good recommendation.
- TM. Now I've not really worked for him, in the strict sense. But I would have liked to. He was brilliant. And he got me, in a way, to quit smoking and pick up running. I actually emailed him saying so. I didn't hear back.
- NJ. The first real mentor I had. They used to call us 'the one two punch'. All my coding came from him. Along with all my papers so far. We actually did great stuff together, me being pretty much a sponge. I kinda shot my mouth at him at Indy at a conference, but my crazy ex had to be partly blamed for this. It took a while for things to get back to normal (I was devastated at my stupidity) but they did, and we're cool now. I'm definitely inviting him for my Christmas wedding.
- HT. The current prof. The gentlest person I have known. That's the only reason why he tops NJ. I actually feel bad if I don't have anything to report to him. Another great thing about him is that he is pure genius. His ideas knock me off, and am quickly learning to do think creatively, something which didn't happen till now.
- GAA. Ha! I just love this guy. He's 5 years from retirement, but sharp as a needle. He's the best manager and engineer I've known, brilliant at understanding things, great at handling people and a huge sense of humor.

True story - during my presentation two weeks ago, I load it up and hit the Fn-F8. The first slide comes up with four graphs and he immediately starts off on his own, analyzing loudly - "So this the four column blah blah and what you see is blah blah". I look at him with a grin - "Hey G, you want me around here or you good over there by yourself". He stops and looks back at me. Everyone is laughing at his shocked expression and my grin. "Oh Boy", says he, "You're at it, aren't you? Hey A, you know if you're getting paid this week? Cuz I know am getting paid"

My grin pretty much vanishes, amongst roars of laughter from the others.

He's the only guy who can pull that off.

Plus he's a hero here for the volunteer work that he does for high school kids with his robotics club and his work on promoting science and math.

If I ever end up being the GAA equivalent to my lab (if I go down that way) I'll be more than happy.

Noise

'Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again'

Open eyes that are red. Definitely not allergies. Brush teeth vehemently to get rid of that bad taste. A taste of feeling stale. Rotten. Snap back to the present. Gulp down a mug of tea and two cups of coffee. Nothings gonna get rid of the gulp in your throat. Fade away. Snap back to the present. Trudge these halls, one heavy foot after another. Be real, be real. Ashes. Lance. Meetings. Take paper and pencil to write notes, but end up with a blank page. Soup. Hope it stays down. Throbbing head. More coffee. Wish for cigarettes. Numbers numbers. Code. Perspiration. There's the bad taste again. Oh fuck. Snap back to the present. Stay here goddammit.

How many times does one travel in his head if one is away?

Confession

Dear Coauthors,

I realize that you have done a much better job than me with my research paper. I was initially pissed that during three months from which there was absolutely no word from all of you, everything was changed, including the title of my work. But 5 minutes after comparing your draft and mine, I had to stop reading mine. What can I say? It was the middle of the first semester and I had a tough time. And turned in a crappy paper that wouldn't have a chance in any scientific journal. And yes, I am stupid enough to bruise my own ego. So sorry for being judgmental and complaining about you to the office mate, the good friend and the girlfriend. I should have known better.

Yours,
Bird

(The only other time when I wanted to stop reading what I wrote as compared to others was...'The minds daily battles' with Heathcliff's Girl.)

July and August

July and August are my worse months here because of allergies which manifests themselves in the form of red eyes. Mornings these days find me squinting against the light, and hastening to the bathroom mirror to see which of the two got lucky. Yes, it's always only after sleeping and it's always only one eye. The sneezing starts soon after. What follows is a desperate hours-long ritual with water, popping Vitamin C tablets like skittles and eye drops to get it to go away. Usually, and this is the best it's gotten in years, it goes away by afternoon and I can regain my normal expression without looking like am impersonating Clint Eastwood. The moment I step out of this place to somewhere , anywhere, even a stone's throw away to Seattle, and it goes completely away.

I try hard not to scare the lil one.

Incidentally, the little one is picking up stuff from me. The other night, she drops her yogurt and says ' ooh maaan'. This, I realize, is her first 'curse' word. And she's only two.

To : where?when?how? and finally, who IS she?

Frantic questions from my buddy Shakes. I was quite surprised at his fervor considering I've been engaged for over 4 months. But I guess from his view point all this happened so quickly that a little suprise, however late, is warranted.

So here it is.

Once upon a time (read last year Augustish) beyond the thrice nine lands in the thrice ten kingdom (read Vancouver, Canada) I chanced upon chapter 1 of her first short story. It was simply titled 'How I met my husband', and began with a girl on her wedding day telling the reader about the 'Just Married' sign on the car below which was written - "Jayanth weds Pallavi". Later on, she writes - "We never dated. We didn't have a whirl wind romance. Nor were we arranged. We weren't exactly even friends. Acquaintances would be a good choice of word here. He was a senior from school. The fact that he never remembered me is another story, but I persisted in talking. We were in different countries. He was working as a scientist for a pharma company in Ohio. I was a mess, if that is a place to be in."

I read it. And I couldn't breathe. I read it again and again. I knew she liked me, she told me so months before but I was with the crazy ex back then and I was stupid back then to say ..'er, sorry'. But.. cough, and this is not exactly kosher, I used to always think about her, even while with the ex. She had this thing, you know, of connecting with me. And she read the same books. And her writing! Oh man, her words were so comfortable to wrap around. Sometimes they were slow, when it comes to me aday or so later. Other times, they were like a drug - one hit after another.

But, this was months later. For one thing, I was having trouble with the ex, up to the point of breaking up. For another, I knew she was dating this guy (we'll try and be polite here), and things were ok, or so I thought.

"I had a life. I could just carry on, which I soon did. But all through I kept him in the back of my mind. A niggling doubt. A happy thought. A slight ache when I saw someone resembling him."

I could not believe she was writing about me. I couldn't let this go unnoticed. I wrote up a chapter 2 right then and there. And kept it hidden. Not a word to anyone.

Two weeks later I decide to break up because I could not handle the ex anymore. It was too much - of pain, of drama, of misery and there was no turning back. I remember looking down the streets on Vancouver and realizing that something was happening - another layer of the onion was being peeled.

I casually ask her - how's it going with victor. 'Oh well, not too good, I don't know why I mess up so much'. This was the only time I was happy when she was sad. When I finally do break up - I tell her. She says - 'If you had broken up a bit earlier, you would have had an escatic me on your hands'. I mail her chapter 2 and leave Vancouver.

There's a chapter 3 and 4 and 5.

She breaks up with victor.

We're both really nervous about this.

She convinces me to give it a shot. We do.

I see her for the first time in a cafe, reading a magazine. Oblivious. I smile. This is it.

Three months later, I bought a ring and head back home for spring break. Out of a detailed plan involving a prepared speech and beach-sunsets - all that turned out was nervous mumbo jumbo and a kneel in a hotel room in the wee hours of the morning.

The parents are ok with everything by now. During the official engagement ceremony (the between family thing) which I missed out, she reaches the entrance of the hall, and she sees the sign, with both our names in it. And she thinks of her story.

Death of a personal hero

Frank McCourt died this weekend. And I am truly sad.

I promise to keep him alive in the stories I tell people..his stories, about his mother, about the postal job, about the docks, about the black kids and Hamlet, about the excuse writing notes, about Limerick and Stuyvesant , and I will read aloud his little paragraph about a writer's mindset to anyone who cares to listen. It begins with "Listen, are you listening?.."