Catharsis of a research scholar part 7 - Thesis detatchment

Many have told me this before but you never learn certain things unless you experience them and I am an experiential being. I always took my thesis quite seriously. I believed I was saving the universe with my work. I know many of you who have done this would be laughing right now and the rest would be wide awake wondering haven't I thought the same?  The thing with atleast some of us in Social Sciences is that we pick up topics close to our heart so we live them all the while. When we read the newspaper, a novel, watch a movie or hear a friend narrate an incident, we look for insights and that's how researchers are. Or atleast that's how I was. I would keep telling my hubby- "They need some lifeskills", "You corporates are screwing the education system". He trained himself to accept he was dealing with a passionate researcher. The next level would be consoling oneself not being able to put down all those running thoughts in one's head and not because you are cognitively impaired or grammatically incompetent (though your supervisor would attribute so) but because you feel anything you write is obvious or known to all. Yes, you end up believing the whole world grew with your obsession in the past few years you dedicated to research. And then you hit the pothole- I hate research phase. Days you read anything but work related, wish you studied something uninteresting, days you find some new literature and you panic because you never found it earlier. And you reach a phase I call - Thesis detachment.

I have recently realised the problem here is  that you never detached work and life in the first place. And you made the mistake or blurring the walls between life and work. It happens a lot in India and to women especially, when they are single or when they don't live with family. You have the world's time and resources and you get used to your one bedroom life so you read everything necessary and unnecessary and finally you end up feeling overloaded and detached. Now having said this - How does one stay away from this phase?

To a certain extent I think it's fine. But when I look back I regret for continuing this track so for fellow researchers there's few tips I would love to give you. 

1. Don't put all your eggs into one basket.  Don't mix research and life. Learn to stop thinking of work sometimes. Anyone who told you he works 15 hours a day is a liar. Man is not a machine, man runs machines. Science students claim they run experiments for hours. I have seen my friends set their set ups and then read something else. Unfortunately for social science students things don't work that way; we read all throughout. So it's obvious you don't do other stuff like read, go out (some do, but I have seen most don't) or enjoy. Learn to dissociate yourself for few hours a day and do something different from research.

2. Learn a new skill. I regret quitting violin, for not signing up more baking courses because those were the moments I experienced sanity. You won't lose time  from research when you engage in activities you like butu rather you will be in control of the detatchment phase.

3. Travel during weekends, meet new people. This seldom happens with people living in hostels inside campus. This is something I saw friends in Europe do and they all managed to complete their work. Something to look forward to helps us finish our work efficiently and also gives us space to detach ourselves from our thesis before it bores us. Researchers often end up asocial because we lose track of time once we start research. We end up being our sole companion and it's also irritating to talk to the same crowd who is constantly paranoid and anxious. Meeting people outside reminds us we live inside a bubble and there is a world out there.

4. Always remember your work is not for a nobel prize, it is just an academic exercise, no matter what anyone tells you. I admire people who look at research like a 9-5 job. They work only between those hours but they do full justice to their job. What I appreciate about this crowd which comprises mostly of married women is the fact that they get the better part of both their lives - research and family. They pick up topics that are reasonable and can switch off their minds as soon as they step off campus.

5. Do something everyday for your soul. Be it a jog, or buying a rose, reading a science fiction novel, reading a cartoon strip or grooming yourself. Make sure you do something for your soul. There are times you feel low because of the behaviour of others (supervisor, colleagues, journal editor or family) and that makes it even more  important that you bruise that esteem of yours.

6. Avoid negative people, negative vibes that takes you closer to thesis detachment. You will get that a lot in research life. People who scare you with their work schedules, achievements, relationships advises, big shots in their area and the job offers they get. It is also possible people overtake you and you feel lost. Beware of these people. It's an illusion, it's set up to pull you down. I use the term 'dementors' from Harry Potter for such people. They suck all the happy memories and feelings from you and make you determined to quit. But the fun part is using the 'Patronus charm' and evading the dementors.

So now you know what's causing the detachment it becomes easier to tackle. Always remember the degree you get is not for the knowledge acquisition, it is for the endurance and tolerance to a lot of these issues and for behaving professionally (that's how academics define it). It is for waking up every morning and asking yourself " Can I push it a little forward today?" and frankly it's for that you get the degree after 5 years, everything else was just part of the game.

Pappachan's Lingo

I was watching Akkarakazhchakal a series on a Malayali family settled in New Jersey. My hubby and I off late enjoy this series especially the characters of George Thekumootil and Gregory. My fondness for this series is because of the resemblance George's character bears to my own father. Having lived in the middle east our childhood was no different from Chakki's and Matt's except for the fact that in the middle east we weren't americanised or 'middle easternised'. There are certain classy dialogues and lingos that George uses which reminded me of the classic dialogues of my father. With him not being around I thought I should pen them down before I forget them. I so wish I had recorded my dad's voice to remember his intonations. Many of dad's dialogues are something I see in common with a lot of malayalee dads. My hubby and I discussed these dialogues and he said he wasn't familiar with many and his dad's was a different lingo. I will write these lines with their intended meanings. Many of them were gender biased but today they make me laugh though long time ago they did make me mad.It seems hard to remember them when I want to write them down though I use a lot of them in my day to day life.

Papachan's Lingo

1. Thandaku ezhu divasam munbe janichavale ( born seven days before your dad)- This was his favourite line when he was mad at me. I don't know if he meant I was smart but he showered this quite frequently when i argued with him.
2. Pothu pole valarnallo ( You have grown like a buffalo)- This never meant about my physical growth it was always mentioned when I refused to do a chore and was used to remind me that I would be married off soon so I needed more training in domestic chores. However, this line was targeted at me since my year 3 , dad was anxious about my marriage from my kindergarten days.
3. Kunjumuthukan ( Little old guy) - Dad loved describing people, especially when we went to visit new born babies. He often said some kids had a kiddish charm while some kids looked like old men which he believed was a reincarnation of an old grandparent into the body of a child so it was a miniature grandpa hence the name kunju(little) muthukan ( old man). He often called a gujarati neighbour's son in this name and that was our code name for this kid.
4. Onathi- Onathi according to dad was a lady who was his neighbour back in home town. According to dad this woman cried throughout her conversation with anyone and so was named Onathi which roughly translates as a woman who cries. My sis was a  cry baby when she was young so dad often told her not to turn into Onathi.
5. Durkilavan- ( evil old man)- Dad beleived many old men who were evil would rot in hell when they die. He especially recounted a story of an old guy he saw in his childhood. He was an altar boy and went to this old man's house with the priest to give the last sacrament. The old man kept screaming " the devil is here with chains, I don't wanna go". Dad said bad old guys like this go to hell for their bad deeds and called them " Dur kilavan". He believed one of his own brother was a durkilavan :).
6. Kottayil koriko ( Sweep into a basket)- Dad used this term for rash drivers and believed they would be swept from the road into baskets in an accident. He  was biased regarding women drivers and believed many would meet their ends in basket.
7. Pettiyil pokuka ( Go in a box)- Dad hated funerals and also the fact that he had to see many close friends die and go back to India in a coffin box worried him even more. He often joked that we all came to the desert in a plan but would go back in a box.All his life he swore his end would be different and eventually succumbed to what fate had in store for him.
8. Pela manam ( a bad odour) - Dad smelt very sweet, he was crazy about perfumes and equally mad at people who were not conscious of their body odour. Pela manam is a term he gave to the body odour which resembled the odour of the working class labourers back in his home town. Though a very casteist remark he often used this at my brother when he didn't take a shower.I use it with my hubby and is a word that has become popular in our household these days.
9. Tolve ( Twelve)- I loved the way dad pronounced twelve and though I never corrected him, I could not help giggle every time he pronounced twelve.I know I could have my flaws too but dad thought he was perfect and so this little error of his was a joke between us kids.
10. Kathanarum, paleem , pattakarum ( priest, church and the holy ones)- In my mom's family priests are revered and called 'Achan'. Dad however referred to priests as Kathanar and there was an irreverence every time he uttered it.To every argument mom made in the name of the church dad's response would be " Ninte paleem, pattakarum" - Your church and holy ones. Dad loved criticism and never spared the church.
11. Njondu viralan( Half finger), poochakanni ( Cat eyes), kokku (Stork), ambattan ( barmber community), unda ( Short),  chooduvellam ( Hot water)- Dad loved baptising people with nicknames and based on their attributes or an act they did, dad labelled them and taught mom these lingos without fail mostly they were attributed to her friends. I would refrain from the stories lest some of them chance upon this post.
12. Koppa ( Bowl)- Dad  used this word very rarely when he was nostalgic and remembered his childhood days. He said they had their coffee and and toddy in a soup bowl referred to as Koppa in those days. A friend of mine whose Anglo Indian told me once that koppa is a Portuguese word and a lingo they still used in their families.

I guess I will end this here. Does your family have a lingo you feel is different? You can share it here also did your parents use any of these?

Cat chronicles- Sigmu

I have very recently realized, that I can rant for hours on my cats apart from food and books my usual topics for discussion.I was brought up in a pet friendly household. If I can remember correctly the list of animals my dad kept runs from pigeons and flying ducks to hamsters, eagles, piranhas and neon frogs. Dad ran a shelter for animals in our two bedroom apartment. My mom was his accomplice alongwith my sister who thought this was a religion. I hated animals in those days. I think it was dad's over dose of doting that made me aversive to animals. I was simply jealous of the cockatoo and amazon parrot whose intelligence dad harped all the time.But nevetheless I had a turtle, few hamsters and a guinea pig which I refused to call pets.Animal love perhaps was ingrained in my blood,though I did not profoundly profess it.

Joining IIT was the phase two in my life. I lost my dad few months before joining IIT. I sometimes feel, he left few qualities of his with me when he left. I soon started appreciating the wildlife of IIT. The deer, the monkey, stray dogs and birds. But what I was never prepared for was the cats in IIT. Our hostel had few of them too. My experiences with cats in the past weren't very rosy. I even hated Tom in Tom and Jerry because my sister told I was Tom and Tom always lost to Jerry. But then I started observing cats in my hostel carefully. And then Sigmu was born. Sigmu was the first kitten I had held in my arms and the little fella grew close to me. He introduced me to the world of cats and continues to amuse me till date. He is as old a resident as me in this place and we both cohabit, room no 142 at Sarayu hostel.

Living with cats 4.5 years in IIT, I think I understand them, even respect them more. I have realized we all have myths regarding cats.We tend to beleive without experiencing  cats a lot of things which actually is not true. Like we say cats are selfish. Sigmu proves me wrong  on this note. There are times he mews at me, comes visits me expecting no food, no pampering and yet we both feel good in each other;s company. Sigmu was named after Sigmund Freud. I swear I have no interest in Freud but when I saw Sigmu- I felt like calling him Sigmu. 4 years down the line, now many call him Zorro because he has a mask like face. But even today when I enter the hostel and scream "SIGMU" after a 10 day vacation- he comes down all excited like he did when he was a kid.

What I love about Sigmu the most is his ability to sense my moods.There are days he loiters around in my room when I am  down. I find him pensive on such days, he watches me and we both sit down on the floor silent. He does not mew, he comes near me at times, licks my cheek when I cry but he never mews. He is also the most spoilt cat around and is a junk food addict.This is something I have noticed in Cats at hostel they have different eating habits. Sigmu loves chips and fried stuff and can hardly stand veg gravies on his chappathis.He loves cream biscuits and my hubby is benevolent in funding for Sigmu's diet and so I always have in store cream biscuits for this fellow. He has the most irritating voice I have seen in cats and many hate him for this matter and shoo him away. He takes his revenge by peeing on their shoes outside their room and calls him a nuisance. Till date this fellow has never  dirtied my room so I firmly believe he understands what revenge is when he pees on the sandals of other girls :)

Recently when I got a pet cat at home I realized not all cats are friendly with stuffed toys. My pet Don uses stuffed dolls are his punching bag while Sigmu loves my toys as is evident from the pic above :)
There is so much I could still describe about Sigmu but I guess we can come back again. Sigmu is a father today and I see him take care of his kittens. He watches them from a distance cautions them when they do mischiefs and dotes over them like a loving dad. I don't know if this is common to every cat because I don't see the mother cat do any of this. To many this is just a black and white cat with a horrible voice but there's so much character in this cat and a bonding we both share- he made me love cats as a species and I would always love him. Love you Sigmu.

Pappachan's Videocam

Pappachan came home radiant like the 'Olay model'. He had a video cam in his hand and flashed it proudly at his wife Treasa and kids.It  did not come as a surprise to any of them because there had been heated debates at home with regard to the purchase of this contraption.Treasa was worried about the wasteage of money on a second hand camera when they could buy a decent enough new one. Pappachan had his way with money and ego so he let himself  fall for the camera of Simonachayan who praised its clarity over 4 pegs of chivas regal.Now since Pappachan wanted to be in the same league as Simonachayan and his flock he fixed the deal over booze and this to Treasa was a poor business deal.What upset the kids was the fact that they did not get a video cam the year before on their trip to Muscat where they spent a month watching Cecily aunty and her huge belly anticipating it to burst any moment like a watermelon with a thumbelina baby. They were disappointed with their father who did not purchase this contraption two years back on their vacation to Cyprus and Israel where they could have made the best home videos. And now in this uneventful year he was buying it when none of them felt thrilled. 

Pappachan was oblivious to the plight of his family members.He was jubiliant for his youngest brother Johnichan the fairest baby boy with the best looks 'after him' was tying the knot.And Pappachan dreamt of  shooting the whole affair in his Panasonic videocam in his silk mundu and red velevety shirt. He had even made up his mind on the new hair style he would adorn and a month long facial treatment he would do for the glow people commented he had when he landed India.The kids had vague memories of this uncle.He was the one who gifted them the mango juice in a green carton that read Frooti and a chocolate in Violet wrapper that read cadbury. The uncle had pronounced it weirdly enough for them to follow him then.All these years they never heard their dad speak about his family and if he ever did they found it hard to catch up to his swearing skills.

Treasa was upfront logical in reminding Pappachan rather snapping him out of his reverie that they had no formal invitation to the wedding and this news was just a rumour they heard from a childhood friend of Pappachan who called him for a personal loan."Why would my brother need to invite me formally?",gnarled Pappachan but then he had to know the dates to book the flights he told himself.

The days thereafter were filled with nostalgia. Pappachan narrated his tales with Johnichan where the Big B carried the little one to school, how the little one once wanted to go see a temple wedding and could hardly pronounce 'Ambalalthil Kalyanam' ( wedding in temple) and ended up dragging Pappachan saying 'Ambathi kandanam'. 

As days passed by Pappachan grew impatient expecting the call from India. He checked his phone lines, dreamt of his red shirt and silk mundu and kept practising on his video cam.The bride would be fair for my brother is a hero he kept telling his kids and then narrated other tales and adventures of his childhood with Johnichan.Three months later Babykuttan came from a vacation in India and remarked what a beautiful sister in law Pappachan had.Having seen all his Sister in laws whom to him ranger from ambassador to fiat and maruti 800, he had no idea who the maruti esteem was that Baby referred to. Sensing the surprise Babykuttan blurted that he saw Johnichan and his wife at the church,the previous sunday.

It then dawned to Pappachan. The fight he had at home with his brother Georgekutty who had taken a loan of 1 lakh and never returned and how Johnichan intervened on behalf of Georgekutty. How he promised he would not marry unless he settled the account of 1 lakh." So he did not have the money so he was worried I would mess his wedding", he spoke to Treasa who was sympathetic to his grief." But  he was my baby brother", he continued.And then breaking all restraints Pappachan cried.His kids who had never seen their father cry was dumbfound by this miracle even jealous that their father never loved them so much to cry for them

The videocam lost to the world sat in the corner for the rest of Pappachan's life. He swore never to meet Johnichan and his wife but could not resist when they invited him home with pork fry. And that's how Pappachan was gullible, vulnerable,emotional and human.

Iftar Celebrations- Street food from Frazer Town Bangalore

The Holy month of Ramadan holds great significance in my life perhaps,even more than Christmas or Easter.Having grown up in Kuwait, this was the only festive season I saw in my childhood. Kuwait , post gulf war was quite dull and morose.The country was grappling with issues of safety and post traumatic experiences with war. My dad never let us out anywhere except during the month of Ramadan.Everything in our lives changed during those 40 days. Dad had evening shift so would be home more often, shops would be open after midnight and discount sales enthralled shoppers. But the most exciting part of Ramadan was the Iftar- the snack with which Muslims broke their fast. Street accidents were common during that time when noone bothered traffic signals.Mom often came home lamenting over the number of accident cases she had to deal in the children's ward ( kids falling into biriyani pots, burns and indigestion- the list was endless). There was a frenzy unexplainable in front of every shawarma, arayis, kabab stall and the streets looked gorgeous with the lighting and decorations.I can still smell the mutton fried with shallots in olive oil and herbs, and never have I tasted the same flavour ever since I left Kuwait. Back in India, I never even realised it was Eid until a holiday was declared.There is quite a solemnity and simplicity in the celebration of Eid and Ramadan here in India comapared to the Middle East. So when my hubby told me about the Iftar street stalls I was all excited.

My hubby was more excited than me to explore some street food in Bangalore during Ramadan.We kept stalling it due to some reason or the other every year.So this time when I was in Bangalore we decided to explore the street. A friend of my hubby's suggested Mosque road near Frazer town and I am glad we did go, because I learnt a lot of new recipes and their history. I recommend all my foodie friends to try this place. They have a variety of stuff and we had no issues digesting them so it is quite safe for people who don't experiment street food. Here's some of the delicacies we tried and some others I thought was interesting.

The highlights for us was pathar ka kabab. It's an escallop of beef or mutton marinated and cooked on stone- so the name. Meat often eaten at stalls and restaurants are never well cooked to my taste but this  time I was taken in for a surprise and so,I loved the experience.

Haleem was something we looked forward to as it was something hyped about. But it somehow did not suit our taste. Haleem is a mixture of broken wheat, pulses, meat, curd, and spices cooked for hours to form a porridge.It is supposedly the extravagant treat for those breaking their fast. I think we did not strike the chord.

I loved the chicken stick it was different and a combo of flavours exploded at the tip of my tongue leaving me too stunned to decipher the ingredients. But I think I can figure that out.

The kheema roll was quite filling , too bland to my hubby but fine to my taste. I guess we really were in our foodie trance ( as I would call it modestly when people hog non stop) so I guess we polished it off. Otherwise this dish alone could make a sumptuous meal.

I guess there's something fascinating when people gather randomly and eat together. It's exciting and motivating to foodies to eat with fellow foodies around. The ambience is so conducive for food lovers that you savour each bite even more. I find this experience distinct from the one you have at huge spreads and buffets. Maybe it's also because you burp and belch and fart and start all over again ;).

Some where there on the street you don't bother about your clothes and manners and you feel you belong there- your love for food connects you to those strangers eating their hearts out. And that's what I call a 'foodie orgasm' :)

Mutton Soup

Kheema roll ( Roomali roti coated with egg and stuffed with minced meat)

Chicken Stick

Desserts - Phirni, Rabri, Halwa and more....

 Katti rolls- Schezwan chicken, Chilli chicken, Mutton, Hariyali chicken

Chicken manchurian, Chicken lolipop, Chicken stick, Beef fry

Pathar ka kebab

Kheema roll - in the making

Rasmalai, Gulab Jamun, Rasgulla

Hyderabadi Haleem 

He insisted to be photographed :)

Chicken spring roll, Lemon chicken, Ginger chicken

Kebabs- Malai, Hariyali, Lasooni, Tandoori

Rare moments

There are those rare moments in life when we find ourselves alone and lonely. Being alone is a physical attribute, I prefer being alone when I read and write. Being alone never implies that one is lonely. While being lonely is an attribute of the mind. I can be lonely even when I am with a group of people. Sometimes I like being alone and lonely and sometimes it just happens even when I don’t want it to. There are also those rare moments when my self-esteem crashes like a hard disk unexpected, out of the blue- those rare days I really don’t want to be alone or lonely and yet I do end up that way. And before I can recover, the smithereens of my self respect, I am done. It takes me months to recuperate ,frankly though I can put up a face that ‘’ all is well’’. This happens to many of us we admit it or not is a different thing altogether. These fatal blows always come from people whom you value the most. Technically they should not matter for the pain they cause you but unfortunately we call them “FAMILY” so they have all the rights to kill you every time they think so. I so wish I could apply my postmodern view of family and life onto these individuals when they misjudge me. I check my pocket and mails for the credible details I could furnish to disprove them I am not the same old butter fingered girl who was responsible for every havoc at home. I don’t swear anymore (not always), I am clean, and I manage two homes, live in 3 cities and am considered quite popular in my circle. But then ‘Families’ always have short term memory loss and they don’t tend to move over from where they last saw you ( And that’s always when you were 10 years old and was coming into terms with your identity). So you tend to still be mean, demanding, selfish and self centred. And they somehow are always right. And you can never be right and that’s how god scripted this scene in your life.

So I have learnt that not everyone can be for you when you want them- you like it or not !!!! So if you think you would rather commit suicide discovering this truth, I would say it’s waste of effort, life would go on you die or not ( and even for your family members !!! ). If you decide not to work and take a day off, you lag by a day and days together makes months and a year and I have lost those and my antagonists never realized. And finally when you muster up courage to put things in perspective they turn around and tell you “ You are ranting out of stress and need to think straight”. And then it falls flat your greatest pride which is also the universal myth “ I live for my family and they know me”.

I have spend many moments of my sleepless nights crafting those lines in my thesis’s acknowledgement – that I owe it all to my family. And then I realized very recently had I left it all ( which I did feel like and I was always asked why I chose PhD in the fisrt place), would they have bothered, now that I struggle what is it that they do for me? A call , a mail, a letter, a visit ( none of this actually happens) so is it out of modesty that I craft these lines? Maybe yes many of us do it out of clichéd modesty.

I have decided to write these lines no matter how arrogant they feel-

“I tried, tried and tried alone, therefore I succeeded”

Some journeys are meant to be alone, should be traversed alone for they are yours and if it was left to family every child would end up being the same in life, but since we  struggle and aspire to do something different in life, it’s we ourselves who bring us up to a point.

And yet, many a times we still yearn for that word of appreciation from a loved one. It won’t happen, life is not merciful and so is everyone in this world. After all families too are composed of human beings. Sometimes it hurts, very badly, I wish people realized that. And sometimes I wish I never realized the pain. But these rare moments in which your life flashes in front of you- tells you who you really are and how far you can go tolerating all the crap people tell you and the mess the create out of their and your life.

A friend of mine once told me “No one will understand your pangs in doing this PhD, for you chose something different when you could be out there earning and taking up vacations. But PhD is nothing great it’s just an academic exercise. It’s waking up every day and pushing yourself beyond your limits. Each day you create new limits. And the degree is not for the miracles you did but for the endurance”

All the disappointments and those rare moments of madness and loneliness is just part of pushing oneself beyond the limits. It’s part of the test for endurance. So every day I wake up I ask myself two questions. Is it worth staying away from my hubby? And am I ready to tolerate the crap being asked and thrown at , to push myself even farther?

I do, so I am here.

On the rooftop

Some days I reflect on how misconstrued our notion of our self is. How we spend days reflecting, selecting, vomiting grandiose ideas for ourselves. When I look out of this window from a 4 storeyed library hall, I feel grandiose, I feel delusional, I feel I am god. The cars on the road looks like a race course I designed, and I feel exhilarated, I feel the cars can speed and slow down at a snap of my finger. A swarm of dragon flies look like speck of sand to me and an airplane like a bird. And the reflection of my  physical self  seems larger than all of them, the cars, the plane, the dragon fly and the whole world beneath me.What would cause me to look smaller than all of them, I contemplate? And my dream from last night comes to my mind- A thud and me crashing down from the top of a building. That’s all that would require bringing me back to reality. That would be enough to remind me I am just a bubble waiting to burst and my delusion lasts as long as I am intact. Do I feel grateful for this life I have? And the multitude of possibilities of utilizing it for my ‘self’ and others? Some great star recently said when he needs a dose of humility he travels to ‘US’ J I think he just needs to get onto a rooftop and look down. Sometimes our egos are large than burj al khalifa maybe we need to look down from there once in a while. I think every man ought to do something for the other, share what he has rather accumulate. Emptiness of soul is nothing but a symptom of over accumulation. After all people often say I have it all and I still feel empty, you never hear that from a slum dweller. He still has not got everything. So the simple solution to boredom and emptiness is to give… share…..

And to think of it we end up paying masters and mentors to do this J, learning soft skills, lifeskills and ‘what not skills’ to discover this, while all you had to do was go upto your rooftop. No wonder people got realizations at Himalayas.

I still feel god like from this 4^th floor looking down at those cars and dragon flies…………. J