Posted on 5th Jan 20225th Jan 2022 in Uncategorized

A walk in the PARK

Prelude:

I entered the clustered premises of a very famous medical book store in the City Market area in Bangalore. There is something that I absolutely love about bookstores. It is the excitement of a kid walking into a toffee store or a toy store. My heart beat suddenly jumps with exhilaration. And the distinctive smell of books. I pick any new book randomly, open any page randomly and take in the wonderful smell of fresh pages of a new, previously unopened book. Ummmm……Lovely. Absolute bliss!!

The book store was abuzz with activity and excitement. There was an added chaotic activity related to some renovation being done in the store. Along with new books, there were new workers, new carpenters, new furniture being assembled. The smell of wood. And the smell of Fevicol!! Oh my God!! This was a sudden, unexpected assault of a tantalizing concoction on my olfactory senses knocking me out of my sanities!!

It is always crowded. No matter what time of the day or the year, whether it’s raining, it’s sunny, there’s a thunderstorm, there’s an earthquake. It is just crowded. I’ve never seen it empty. The book store has always been a cynosure of intense rush, excitement and activity. Almost all new medical, dental, nursing and other health care professional students in the entire bustling city of Bangalore and nearby areas visit this bookstore for purchasing text books. A lot of other things other than textbooks. It was almost mandatory!!

Those days we did not have any online shopping. So we had to physically visit the book stores, pay hard earned hard cash and buy hard copy books!! No e-books, no e-payments. Sounds archaic. But those were the good ol’ days. One could easily see the excitement, hope and worry in parent’s eyes and all of this with a tinge of fear in the aspiring student’s eyes. I had visited this bookstore many times during my undergrad years. But this time around, I was visiting the stores to buy my first set of books for my post-graduation training program.

After the customary “hi, hello, how are you?”, I asked for the books and the helper in the store immediately congratulated me. He realized that these books were clearly for postgrad students. He took a brief viva-voce, similar to the chair-side viva-voce about my PG seat. Where, what, why, when, how, who, till when: all these were liberally employed in his quick, to-the-point polite enquiries. I answered all of his questions to the best of my abilities. As a new-kid-on-the-block, I was pretty pumped up to address his queries.

It was then that I first saw it. The book. That book. The incomparable, the one and only, the supreme, the unparalleled, the unrivalled. Park. The Park. THE PARK!!

It’s the standard, prescribed text book for Preventive and Social Medicine, avidly read by all Public Health aspirants. It came in a yellow and green front cover, hard copy edition. The moment I set my eyes on it, I knew. I knew I had found a part of me on that momentous day. A clear case of love at first sight.

The shopkeeper asked if I wanted it covered. Those days all new books used to be covered in a black, rexin kind of material, with threads enmeshed on the inner side. It used to be pretty tough and long-lasting. I wonder if this is still the practice. Since I had to travel to my new abode of learning, I was not sure if it would stay put. I politely declined. I paid in cash, gathered the books and stepped out of the stores after thanking him profusely. I had a new set of books in my hands, hope and excitement in my eyes and a thumping, racing heart in my chest. The excitement had clearly begun!!

Phase I: Heroism

I started out reading Park and Park like I try to read any other book. Read from cover to cover, don’t leave out one single word. Try to imbibe everything. Process it, understand it, commit to memory and then reproduce on demand. I shall conquer the book!! Everything in the book!! Or so I thought. “You have to be the master of the subject”. My professor’s words are still ringing in my ears!! On hindsight, that was a pretty stupid thought and a stupid start.

Phase II: Exasperation

I spent what felt like a really long time pouring over Park. I checked my watch and it was just a little over an hour. I had hardly “covered” one page!! I felt stupid and delinquent. I spent more of such exasperating hours trying to master the master of all books. After such arduous hours, after I felt I had imbibed every single of the “gospel”, I would close it with a huge sigh of relief. I would feel like I have won a major battle, only to gather that I was losing the war.

On opening the book later, I would painfully realize that I could recollect nothing. NOTHING!! Zero. Zilch. It had all vanished into thin air. I felt cheated. I felt robbed. I felt betrayed. I felt let down. By my own self. It was like trying to collect water using a fishing net!! I had got all the laws of memory/retention absolutely wrong!! My frustration was scaling new heights.

I had never felt like this before in my life. I could reasonably lay claim to the fact that I had waded through the maze of some very difficult text books of some very difficult subjects, taught by some very difficult faculty members. But nothing could match the “Park experience”. Not even close. At one point in time I felt I had some serious, mysterious learning disability/disorder, which my parents and my earlier teachers had missed to notice during my upbringing. Park now seemed like a mirage. It’s there, but not there. Elusive, yet enticing!! Awe-inspiring, but still inspiring!! It does throw down the gauntlet!!

Phase III: Nadir

The lowest point of my tryst with destiny with Park came when I read 2 particular chapters. Disposal of human waste and family planning. I distinctly remember reading the section on human waste disposal and the specifications of the dimensions of the Indian squatting toilet seat/commode. I could hear my father probing “What exactly do you study??!!”. I could hear my brother enquire “Is there scope for the subject?” I had always thought that family planning was “out of bounds/syllabus”, but now I realized that it was “out of the world”!! I could feel the mocking glances and stifled laughter of my friends who had opted for “clinical” branches during their PG counselling. I now envied my friends who had elected engineering, BSc/BCom or other disciplines. Their voices and queries adding to the commotion that was churning into a raging storm in my head.

A voice in my head yelled “But I did not sign up for this!!”. I had reached the nadir on my learning curve. My lowest point till date. I had hit rock bottom.

Phase IV: Recuperation: Less is more and more is less

I undertook what can be called a textbook case of “experience survey”. My earlier question was “How to read Park?” I just changed this question to my seniors and other (approachable!!!!!) staff into “How did you read Park?”. They would all give their own answers, their own solutions. I would just listen.

One good example of “How to read Park?” would be buffet dinner. When we go for buffet style dinner, we don’t go to the first counter, take the whole thing and then move to the next counter, take the whole thing there. We do not reach the last counter taking every single item being served in the buffet. The trick is to take what we want. The trick is to be picky. The trick is to take what we like. The trick is to take less. And then it dawned on me!!

This was the “voila” moment in my life-long rendezvous with Park!!

Phase V: Exploration

I started out slowly experimenting with the verbose and eloquent pages of the encyclopedia called Park. I started to just take the gist of things from the book, the main headings from the book, the main concepts from the book. Understand everything and tell it in our own words. I started feeling way better now.

Upon closing the book, things would again vanish. It was like Park was playing hide and seek. It wanted me to seek again. It was tantalizing, enticing, frustrating, tormenting, and excruciatingly painful. I would fret. I would just take a deep breath and take a break. I would later get back to the same portion and revise only the headings.

The following is a gist of “Operation Park”:

Operation Park: The DO’s

Park is a book of concepts and ideas. You need to get to that idea, understand the concept. You can explain all of this in your own words.
First reading has to be detailed. Read every word, but, and, if, the, comma, semi-colon, full stop. Everything.
Next reading was to underline important words, phrases and sentences.
You can use the “sidebar” in the pages to write words/phrases that summarize the entire paragraph. Get creative and make your own summary words.
Next reading will be revision of main headings, main text passages, piecing the whole thing together
Next reading will be revision
Revise
Revise
Revise
Just skim through the whole text so that you’ll know the gist of entire sections
Be patient!! This will go a long way in reading this super-book!!
It is highly preferable and recommended to refer to other textbooks of Preventive and Social Medicine. The trick is to read what is not included in Park. Very selective reading. This might sound very exasperating. I am not trying to pile on to the agony of students. This somehow increases retention of Park’s contents. Some notable books include those by Gupta & Mahajan, Baride & Kulkarni, and Shesh Babu. The last of these books is in the format of questions and answers and is very helpful!! Just give it a try!!
Try using colored highlighting pens. It will make Park look more colorful. Be creative and play around with colors!! It will break the monotony.
Consider discussing Park and its contents with your peers. I am not sure if students of this (e)generation believe in personal interactions with fellow human beings, let alone discussions about academics. And let alone discussions about Park, of all the text books!! It is a great supplement for effective reading!!
See what works best for you. The idea is to go with the best possible strategy that works for you.
Make it a habit to read Park every day. Every single day, till your exams. It can be short paragraph, it can be an entire chapter, it can be a small portion. You may have seminar, thesis data collection, best friends’ wedding, CORONA may have a “n^th” variant, earth may split into 2 pieces, aliens may attack earth. Come what may!! Operation Park ideally should never cease. Ideally. Keep chipping at it. Keep nibbling at it. Keep going.
“Love thy Park!!”. You have to have a genuine liking to the content of Park to truly appreciate and retain its contents. Its ultimately a very fabulous book. Without a shadow of doubt!!
Last but not the least: STAY POSITIVE. This is easily the most important message that I would like to convey through this blogpost!! Just keep going. Never give up.

Operation Park: The DON’Ts

Never underestimate Park. At any stage of your exam preparation. At any stage of your education/career. At any stage of your life!! N. E. V. E. R. Never!! Respect it for what it is.
Do not try to memorize everything. Park is not meant for rote learning. Nobody can claim that they know everything in Park. It is impossible by any stretch of imagination or by any standards of memory, brain capacity, retention among ordinary mortals like the idiot writing this blog.
Do not read anything only once. Revise, revise, revise is the mantra!!
Do not get arrogant about Park or its contents. Life is a great leveler. Park is a great leveler. “Respect thy Park!!”
I am not a big fan of mnemonics. Using the first words/letters from a list, students make funny sentences like “My brothers best friends’ neighbors’ dog is a dinosaur”. This strategy has never quite worked for me. I have a strange problem with mnemonics. I usually forget which mnemonic is for which aspect of the text. This totally defeats the very purpose of mnemonics.
- More importantly, there are so many concepts, so many portions in Park that the list of these mnemonics will be quite literally endless!!

Never give up!! No matter how tough it gets, no matter how big the odds are stacked against you, no matter how low you feel. Keep going. There is a method to this madness.

D-day:

On the day of exams, it can be quite daunting and exasperating. In the evening before the final theory exams, you will be wondering where to start reading/revising, what/how much to read. Just flip through the pages. Like a scanning machine. Like a Xerox machine. Just see whatever you can, whatever you want.

Go with the feeling that you have put in your hard work. Try to remember only the headings and explain things in your own words. You will be surprised at how much you can write, especially about things that you have absolutely no clue about!! Jokes apart, you will be able to do it!! Just stick to the main concepts, main headings. You should be fine!!

At the end of the day:

I had my own share of heroism-turned-exasperation in my tryst with Park. This book is by far one of the unique books I have read in my entire life. It poses a unique challenge for any student and it does require a special set of learning skills, abilities and strategies. It can be a chaotic and frightening experience and at one point of time, you will go mad. It is important to realize that there is a method to this madness. The trick is to figure out your own method.

I had to book a hotel for my visa interview in Chennai. The name of the hotel sounded vaguely familiar. It was named “The Park”. I brushed it aside as a matter of sheer coincidence. I had to book an accommodation for my stay in a land far, far away. The name of the street is “Park Drive”. I took a deep breath and went ahead with the booking. This can’t be a coincidence. I decided to pen my thoughts about my dear Park for once. After years and years of trying to get familiar with Park, it is probably time.

Park reminds me of my mathematics teacher. He was a short, lean and frail looking gentleman. When he starts teaching mathematics, he would turn into a gigantic superhuman. He always used to say “You should play with the subject, if not the subject will play with you”.

Now that sure does sound familiar!!

Posted on 19th Jun 2021 in Uncategorized

PHD dictums

Post graduate training had a lot of ‘firsts’ in my life. I found myself suddenly thrown into uncharted waters and I learnt a lot of lessons. The following is an attempt at capturing my life’s headlines during my PG days. It is like the “breaking news” in contemporary idiot box. I’m not sure if the country wants to know. But I do want to reminisce and share as to how I stumbled and fumbled, crept and wept, lost and found my way during those wonder years.

Pièce de résistance: Field work

Public health related work usually involves venturing out. Venturing out of comfort zone. I found it difficult to string together a set of 4 words in a meaningful manner to a bunch of any 4 random people gathered in any random place. All of a sudden I had to visit corridors of power for signatures and permissions. The big thing within me called “ego” vanished into thin air. I found myself talking to government officials, school headmasters, panchayat sarpanchs, Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) workers, anganwadi workers. From grass root level cadres to heads of organizations. They come in all hues. Talking was just the beginning. I had to get my work done through them. Things that no textbook will state and no teacher can teach.

Cleanliness is next to godliness

I read the seminal work of physician John Snow in 1854 cholera epidemic in London. What struck me the most was the fact that the causative organism, Vibrio cholerae was yet to be discovered, in spite of which the epidemic was controlled and many lives were saved. This was a “wow-moment”. Hit-man epidemiology had suddenly turned super hero. In the eyes of my mind, physician John Snow and the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes suddenly merged. They came together to solve public health mysteries in the magical world of epidemiology. The struggling and stuttering student in me had found a new mission. I wanted to be an agent of change, contributing towards betterment of human lives. I also developed a passion for teaching epidemiology, whatever little I could accrue, to a diverse group of research aspirants.

Prevention is better than cure

For the improvement of the health of people and communities, one cannot treat, treat, treat, treat, treat and achieve better health. One has to prevent, prevent, prevent, prevent, and prevent to reach good health. Treatment is always over-rated and prevention is under-rated. If all those concerned with the health care system, including common people understand this concept and practice prevention, it is just magic. Pure magic.

Do not compare apples with oranges

Compare like with like. One of the important dictums of epidemiology is similar things have to be compared. If there is a 100-meter dash, the starting points of all athletes should be the same. Similarly, at the beginning of any study, particularly randomized controlled trial, the different arms of the trial should be similar with respect to certain important parameters. An academician’s colleague asked him casually “How’s your wife?” The academician replied “Compared to whom? My mother or my sister or an average Indian women?”. He added “with respect to what? Her cooking or job or what aspect?” My first reaction was that this guy is a “psycho”. Then I realized the power of strong comparison.

Time, place and person

“Marriage is getting married to the right person, in the right time and in the right place”. This is the definition of marriage. Coming from a specialty that is (wrongly) accused of being a stickler for definitions, this does not come as a surprise. These 3 words are like the 3 musketeers. Very famous words in epidemiology. A new disease has to be first described under time, place and person. COVID-19 is a classic example.

Minimum efforts, maximum benefits

If I have to switch off all the lights in my workplace, should I turn off every single switch or just the main switch? Welcome to Public Health!! The idea is to reach as many people as possible with minimum resources. We do not have the luxury of unlimited resources, and still cater to the needs of one and all. This calls for identification of methods and approaches that will maximize health benefits of maximum number of individuals. “Greatest good of greatest number of people”.

Do not do anything that cannot be evaluated

One of the mantras of Public Health practice is to evaluate all activities to find out if it is meeting its objectives or not. We routinely conduct school checkup and outreach programs. Does it work? Is it effective? These are some real, tough questions that I have been facing since many eons. This dictum changed my way of thinking and shaped my initiatives.

Do not do anything that cannot be published

This is the addendum of the previous dictum. If something can be evaluated, it can be published. We are currently living in an era of “Publish or Perish”, “Publish and Flourish”. This makes my thought process a lot more precise and clearer. Over a period of time, I found this to be a very useful tool.

“Operation teamwork”: No heroism

There is a big problem with disaster stories in popular culture and media. There will be one hero, who will save the world. Fortunately or unfortunately, this is not true in Public Health. For instance, a school check-up program is not a one-man-show. It entails obtaining permissions, preparing and sterilizing instruments, commuting, check-up and other aspects. One person cannot do everything. Many intricate details that go into these routine programs is humbling. Again, our fragile “ego” vanishes into thin air. Public Health is a great leveler!!

When in doubt, ask

There were innumerable doubts during my “teething” PG days. Some small, some not so small. Some big, some not so big. I used to pester my immediate seniors and junior faculty with all those mundane queries. I can vividly recollect my senior’s hostel roommate who started walking out of the room the moment I entered. I’m not kidding!! Our conversations were so “toxic”!! “Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you.” Amen!! Just ask.

When in doubt, do

This is the addendum for the previous dictum. Sometimes, one will not know if a certain idea works or not. The only way to find out is to do it. “Just do it” as the famous adage goes. It is highly recommended to follow the first dictum first and then the addendum later. Only after your peers throw you out of their rooms, you can embark on this adventure.

At the end of the day

Public Health Dentistry is an altruistic discipline that puts the health of all as its ultimate goal. It requires skill-sets that are different from conventional clinical practice. Prevention of diseases is one of its core principles. PG days were truly my wonder years. An amazing and an exciting voyage of learning and discovery. For coffee/tea lovers, PHD is like coffee/tea. Difficult to put in words as to why you love it, but you love it nonetheless!!

Posted on 13th Jun 202113th Jun 2021 in Uncategorized

Majestic!!

Childhood is one of the most interesting and exciting phases of life. We are all blue eyed and eager to “grow up”. As age increases, when we get into the thick of things, we tend to miss our childhood days. We also reminisce the “good old days”. And then we realize the difference between being grown-ups and growing up.

One of the most memorable incidences in my life happened when I was 9-10 years old. I was probably in my middle school. Bang-Bang-Bangalore is my hometown and my relatives decided to spend a few days in Bangalore during summer vacations. The present day Bengalureans might find it unbelievable and shocking, but the weather in Bangalore back then was very pleasant. Bangalore was quite literally “cool”. My cousins had come down and it was all happy days. Fun and frolic, loud laughter and silent giggles, grumbling neighbours and frowning landlords. It was summertime!!

During this gala visit, the elders decided to take all of us out for some shopping or lunch, the exact details of which eludes my memory. We were all pretty excited about this as usual and so we all took off from home as one big clan. For this huge bunch of people, commuting by public transport seemed to be the best available option. We were headed towards the area of central bus stand in Bangalore, which is named Majestic. I was not involved in such trivial and boring decision making processes. I was more involved in chatting about bigger and more important things with my cousins. My memory is definitely hazy about a few things, but quite vivid about a few other things.

Anatomy of the plot:

The bus-stop is a good 10-15 minutes’ walk from home. Any bus that you board from that bus stop, you will reach Majestic. The second stop from the boarding point was Majestic, where all the buses from all over Bangalore converged. Incidentally, the bus stop was familiar territory for me as I used to walk my way to school daily. Up and down, two times a day, since so many years!!

Right behind the bus stop was/is a playground named after the school to which it belongs. So there’s always someone in that ground most of the times, especially during summer holidays. The playground is snuggled some 10 steps below the level of the main road. This depth of 10 steps added a lot of “strategic depth” when we play cricket and football, as it acted like an enclosure.

The bus journey was meant to be a short one, as it was just one straight road from the bus stop to Majestic. A preliminary exploration in google maps on my smart phone now tells me that this bus journey is just 2 kilometers. Of course, I didn’t know this back then. Of course, we didn’t have google maps back then. Of course, we didn’t have smart phones back then. Of course, I didn’t care about this back then.

Timing:

The entire clan took off from home and finally managed to reach the bus stop. It probably took a few minutes to decide which bus to board, as we were well over 20 people, who were super excited to take this ride. It was at this monumental moment in time while we were all waiting to board the bus that I got a call. Natures’ call. And for some strange reason, I decided to answer it.

The playground was very familiar. I just had to take a few steps down, take a leak and head back. Simple. I didn’t think it was necessary for me to take anyone’s permission to take a leak. Come on!! For God’s sake, I was grown up!! I have got this!!

I went down for a leak and I came back up in a jiffy. Or so I thought. By the time I could come back, my entire clan had vanished. In a jiffy. I happened to catch a glimpse of my brother, who for some strange reason decided to stand on the footboard of the bus. I tried running towards the bus, but the bus had taken off by then. I yelled out my brothers’ name from the top of my lungs, but to no avail. The timing of my leak and the boarding of the bus just happened to be impeccable!!

Suddenly I was all alone in a busy bus stop, on a busy road, on a busy day in Bangalore.

Fellow commuters were rushing towards the next buses arriving, while others were getting off the buses as if nothing had happened. People were bumping into each other and grinning and frowning and fretting. And the buses would just fly off. A few seconds of lull. Then the rush again.

Search:

I didn’t board another bus to chase my people. I didn’t have cash on me. But I knew the place well, or so I thought. I did something that was very unexplainable. I went to the middle of the road, stood on the median or the divider. During those days, small stones/blocks colored black and yellow were used as dividers. I decided to just walk till majestic by foot. So I just walked on these stones towards my destination.

I took a few steps on the black and yellow stones hoping that all my family members would get down in the next bus stop and wait for me. I was just being more than hopeful!! So I put my head down and started walking. This was based on the fundamental tenet that “the best way to find others is to be found”. So I walked as slowly as possible, hoping that the best way to get noticed would be to walk bang in the middle of a busy road.

I walked past the next bus stop. No one noticed me. No luck. The big junction of confluence of 4-5 roads had police personnel manning it. I just continued to walk hoping that the policemen would not call me out. No one called. The vehicles were whizzing past in all directions all around me. Autorickshaws, buses, cars, bikes, scooters, zipping through one of the lifelines of Bangalore’s traffic. The smoke spewed out by the vehicles was getting a bit heavy on my nose. It was close to midday and the sun was glaring down, probably wondering what I was up to. Other than the heat and pollution, I had a zillion things on my mind. I just continued to walk ahead. March!!

I seriously didn’t know what I was doing, where I was headed. I was not sure if anyone would even notice me. One lone grown up/growing up kid refusing to look up, refusing to walk on the pavements on either side of the road, refusing to accept the fact that he was lost. Nor did I look out for my relatives. I was just hopeful that they would find me. I was probably being very optimistic.

I now reached the famous Kempegowda Road, named after the founding father of the Garden City of India, which has eventually morphed into the Silicon Valley of India. From the corner of my eye, I could make out people were busy on either sides of the road. This was one of the prime locations for shopping. Kempegowda Road was also 2-way back then. It had wonderful tree cover. The vehicles seemed to run into each other and were separated by a frail divider, on which walked a frailer kid. The buses seemed to be in a rush to climb onto me. I didn’t look up. Just kept walking.

Some of the bus drivers or autorickshaw drivers or commuters might have yelled at me for walking in the middle of this road. It was not very safe. I just didn’t look up. I slowly reached another circle right in the centre of Kempegowda Road. The traffic was at its chaotic best or worst. But the chaos within me was worse. Again a few policemen in the road, again I put my head down and just walked ahead.

The return:

I reached the end of Kempegowda Road near Alankar Pearl Plaza. This was the biggest “shopping mall” in the city. If my relatives had any chance of finding me, it was here. The road bifurcates into a straight road and a curvaceous bend to the left. Another road also joins this junction and I looked all around me. Not knowing where to go, I just turned back and started walking back.

I checked all the landmarks on my way back. Still none of my relatives came running towards me. The world seemed to be carelessly trudging along, with little concern that I was all alone and lost. “Cruel world” I thought. The black and yellow stones that lined up the median on the road seemed to be helplessly staring back at me. We were both in the middle of nowhere.

In the middle of the cacophony that constituted one of the busiest roads in the city, I could now hear nothing. Everything else disappeared. I just didn’t think of anything else. Just one step at a time. I was on the road to nowhere, probably on the road to perdition. I slowly wafted towards the bus stop where it had all began. The people there continued to alight and get off buses with absolute indifference to my precarious situation.

I just decided to head back home. A few meters from the bus stop was the route that I traversed to my school daily. I took that route and went back home. Only this time I was not sure what will happen. Nevertheless, I was fully sure that I will be going back home to face a locked door staring back at me.

On my way back home, the thoughts of some monsters taking me, breaking my hand and/or legs, or may be plucking my eyeballs suddenly sprang. I would then be made to beg in the same busy roads and junctions where I was lost. Now I realize that I was being dramatic. I just wished my thoughts away. I rushed to the comfort of my house, at least the building that housed my house. Some comfort that!!

I climbed the stairs to my house perched on the first floor of the building that nested 5 families. I did not have the courage to face my neighbours, or probably didn’t feel like talking to anyone. So I just went to the balcony and stood there waiting. I was not sure if any of my relatives or family members realized that I was not with them. I plunged further into despair. I stood in the balcony for what seemed to be forever.

Union:

I then saw the entire team of my relatives slowly walking towards my house. Voila!! Lo and behold!! I immediately rushed down and spoke to all of them at the same time with wild excitement. I was livid with my brother for not having heard me from the footboard of a local bus that had taken off. Obviously!! The last person who was walking very slowly in the group was my mother. I rushed to her and held her tight. She was in tears. I started explaining to her, but she was happy and relieved that I had managed to find my way back to my house.

We all fell back on our routine of chatting, playing and such similar activities in no time.

Closure:

This incident has somehow remained within me for more than three decades. When I started to write this blog, I was sure that I will wrap it up in a flash. But the amount of details that I could recollect is astounding. So much for catharsis!! This incident did require a closure and this blog seems to serve this purpose. I suppose.

It is amazing how during times of crisis we all instinctively fall back to our homes or on the people that we can fall back on. After 3 decades, I realize that so many things could have gone wrong on that fateful day. Yet, somehow, by the Grace of the Almighty, I found my way back home. I, in all my naivety of a 10-year-old kid, did not venture out into the market/shopping area or a bus or anywhere else alone. Somehow, the Almighty had put enough sense in me to stay away from dangers. The Almighty had put enough sense in me to head back home.

No matter where we go, no matter how far we go, no matter how long we are gone, no matter with whom we go, home is the tether, the leash that holds us back. It is our connection to sanity. It is our link with purpose and clarity. It is our comfort zone.

Umm…..Aaaaa……Errrrr……..I must confess though that it was pretty dumb of me to do the things that I did that day!! I was literally “dumbfounded”. I can’t even say the “idiosyncrasies of the youth”. But hey!! Come on!! I was just a 10-year-old kid. Growing up. All in the name of growing up. All in the game.

It also brings back memories of how simple life was then. I value the wonderful time that we spend with family. As kids, we used to have so much fun without any of the gadgets. Given the all too prevalent “busy culture”, I doubt if such large family gatherings would be possible now. I also realized how beautiful Bangalore was!! Oh!! Those were the days!!

At the end of the day:

Home sweet home!! How true. Suddenly I found myself stranded alone in a busy bus stop in a bustling city when I was a kid. I did try to “find” my family members by venturing out in the middle of a very busy road. Later I just walked back home and waited. The strategy worked. My clueless family members and relatives also did the same. I was mighty relieved to reunite with them all. This experience was truly “Majestic” to say the least!!

Anyways, I now live in Mangalore where “State Bank” is the name of a bus stop and “bunder” is the name of a port!!

No matter where we are, we are all connected deep within to our roots, to our family. This gives us a sense of what we are.

Bragging rights: I know Bang-Bang-Bangalore since the time Kempegowda Road was 2-way!!

Moral of the story: Don’t pee in public!!

Posted on 18th Oct 202024th Oct 2020 in Uncategorized

Traffic signal

“The only constant thing in life is change”. This is an age old adage. This proverb too has been subject to change. It has an exciting addition in the form of “choice”. Changes do bring in their own set of choices. It is up to us whether we adapt to change or stick on to the old way of going about doing things.

Soft copies have become the hard reality of our existence now. From newspapers to text books to notes to articles. All sorts of information have an e-version. Old-timers might have an aversion to e-version. Reading a newspaper is one of the luxuries that life has to offer. Reading the same news on a mobile phone quite lacks the feel, the thrills and frills, and the punch that the “hard copy” newspaper has.

All of a sudden banks were computerized and so were the transactions in banks. I always admired the bank employees who were well up the chronological ladder during that time period. They quickly adapted to this monumental shift. As I reminisce about various changes and transitions in my life, I realized they were periods of intense strife too.

The ebbs and flow of life.

Operation 12^th

Most part of the 11^th and 12^th standards were spent in listening to how critical and crucial those years were. It was like the build up for a major upheaval. Do or die situation. ‘Life is settled’ or ‘life is not settled’. An unsettling proposition. Bangalore is my home town, which has now metamorphosed into something quite different though.

If 12^th final exams were cricket test match, entrance test was more like t-20 cricket match. For a generation who are not used to multiple choice questions (MCQs)…… Remember I belong to a generation where choice, in anything, was a luxury that we couldn’t afford. MCQs were always mixed feelings. At least the answers offered choices. Wow!!

After all the mandatory exams, we did what we always wanted to do. Nothing. We just chilled at home following the eat-sleep routine. The results would come. Just a matter of time, or so we thought. Little did we anticipate what was to follow.

Uphill task

Somehow we got wind of the fact/information that we have to go to the main university office to find out about the declaration of results. Heights of herd mentality. So off we went. Me and a good old friend of mine. Everyday. Every single day. Distance from my house to university main building was around 2 kms. We used to plod those 2 kms by walk religiously to our destination in search of our “ultimate” destination.

The office in charge of our results was curiously located on the periphery of a playground. It was guarded by an “office person” whose body language oozed out “I-don’t-care”. Our first mission for the day would be to convince this person to let us in. We would put up our best “poor-cat-drenched-in-the-rain-and-hungry-and-helpless-look”. His highness, his majesty the guard would nonchalantly say “Only one of you. Only for a minute”. We would quickly exchange glances and one of us would step in.

The inside of the then university office was a busy place bustling with noise and activity. The tiled roof had ceiling fans dangling down from way above. Strategic glass panes on the roof would allow the sunlight to descend from top and hit the cement floor beneath. I was convinced that the sunlight had to take permission from the guard, who would say something to the effect of “Only a few of you. Only for 7 hrs”. The office was filled with wooden chairs and tables, aged cupboards, tall piles of ancient files and papers. All of this in the background clatter of the whirring noise of ceiling fans and someone typing furiously on typewriters. Depending upon when we entered the room, there might be a faint aroma of coffee and/or tea.

I would put on my best “helpless-cat…” look and approach the nearest table. I would begin to introduce myself. “Saaar, gud morning!! I have just finished my 12^th exams….” Before I could finish my sentence, the person manning the table would just point his finger to a table behind him. Repeat. I would again start “Saaaar….” The person there would not utter a single word till I finished my crisp intro. Then there would be just the noise of typewriter at work in the background. The office person would ask “What?”. I would again go “Saaaaar…..”. Again a pause. “Come next week!!” would be the pronouncement. It’s like the divine decree. I would venture enthusiastically into “Saaar, next week will it be announced??!!…..”. “Come next week!!”. This would sound like a stern warning. I would profusely thank the official for his valuable inputs about the most valuable thing in my life. No response from his highness though. On my way back, I would also generously thank the guard. “Out!!” would be his only response.

The moment we reach the safe territory beyond the ear shot of the guard, our body language would be that of a lion who is the king of the jungle. We would start with “Stupid fellows….!!” The discussion would immediately go on to changing the education system on the whole and ultimately to changing the entire world. All hapless students gathered around would contribute liberally from their personal experience and vent their anger and/or frustration. We would end with “Anyways…..” and disperse.

Again the next day, we would indulge in the same routine of activities. Again the same guard, the same “helpless-cat-look”, but a different student would venture in, again the “Saaaar…..” routine, again the same questions, again the same answer, and again the same post-mortem discussion and again the saving the world discussion and again disperse. This went on for “God-knows-how-many-days/months”. Part of our recce, our intel gathering system. Finally counselling dates were announced and finally we got to choose our course and college….. finally!! It was like finding land after a long lost voyage in unknown oceans.

We were late by a few months. Who cares??!!

Operation “masters”

During my preparation for my post-graduation (PG) entrance exams, my neighbours and many of my relatives and well-wishers actually thought I had flunked in the exams and was stranded at home. I had a strange sense of Deja-vu. Sitting at home and reading. Eat-sleep-read routine. Endless routine for days, for months. An entrance exam followed by the feeling that you have saved the world by just appearing for an entrance exam. Then the wait.

Results are just around the corner, or so we thought. Again. Court case. Again. Waiting game. Again. Oh no…. not again!!

Certain behavior patterns are unmistakably exhibited by certain creatures like myself during times of despair. Again I found myself walking up the stairs of university building. We were (very smartly) told by the university officials to go to court to hear judgement being given first hand on a specific date. There was apparently a major dispute about seat matrix. Again. So, so and so, me and my same old friend from my 12^th std. went to Bangalore High Court with the anticipation of hearing the judgement on Day 1 of court proceedings. How dumb!!?? If there was a Nobel prize for dumbness, me and my friend would be awarded unanimously and unopposed.

Same kind of crowd there. Bunch of tensed, worried, helpless students. Lawyers telling us in the corridors of high court, in between deep puffs of cigarettes, how all this was a “big scam” by a few powerful people. Handling the repercussions of one court case was a mundane thing. So, just to add to the excitement, there were a flurry of cases about the exams. Some grieved parties were of the opinion that the answer keys for the MCQ questions were wrong. So they filed a case. There were few who thought that whole ranking method followed was inappropriate. They too filed a case. The ‘powerful’ people had a counter case against every case. Huff!! It was getting so chaotic. More the merrier!!??

The seemingly hopeless wait looked perennial. There was this sudden rumour that the entire academic year would be declared as a zero or null year. That sounded scary. Amidst all these uncertainties, the dates for counselling was finally announced. We gathered all the documents and entered the counselling venue. No idea about seats available, no idea about seat matrix. No idea about which department we will opt for, no idea about which college we will be joining. One thing was certain. Even if there was one PG seat, one last PG seat in a God-forsaken land, with no water to drink, no electricity, no anything, I would still opt for that seat. Desperate times, desperate measures.

We were late by six months. Who cares??!!

(Dubious) distinction!!

Ours was the first batch with a 3-year PG program. All of us had no clue as to what had to be done during those 3 years. We had just survived a spate of bitter legal battles to acquire our PG seats. Now we had to go through the rigmaroles of the program. No matter what. No. Matter. What.

After the rigors of a rigorous PG training program, we were bracing for the impact. PG university exams. We were told that we had to score a minimum of 50% in theory separately and of course a minimum of 50% in practical exams separately. SEPARATELY. This was like pressure cooker situation. Someone told us that we had to score a minimum of 50% in each of the theory papers to clear the exams. If not, “you will fail!!”. Those were the magical 3 words of PG training program. “You Will Fail!!”. Then it was like one had to score a minimum of 50% in each and every question in theory exam. Seriously!!?? Someone got to be kidding!! All a part of mind games. Didn’t know who were spreading this “knowledge”, but it sure was driving us crazy.

Exams came. Exams went. Like a whirlwind. We were left high and dry. It was the feeling of having crossed 7 mountains and 7 oceans in elusive search for the exclusive elixir of life.

Blast wave!!

We slowly started settling down in our new found jobs. Just taking a breather. Just going with the flow. I still vividly remember the day when we got the official intimation from the apex body. Publications were mandatory for promotions!! This was like the blast wave from nuclear explosion. It sent reverberations all around and definitely the proverbial “chills down our spine”. Clearly we didn’t see this coming!! Shucks!!

We seemed to be born in the wrong time. Wrong year. Wrong decade. This was like getting stuck in the traffic signal. If you are caught at the first signal with a red light, you are more likely to get stuck in the subsequent traffic junctions with a red signal too. There seemed to be an eerie coincidence and a spooky conspiracy against us. Me and my age cohort. Proverbial “missing the bus”.

We pressed the panic button. “Publication mode” with immediate effect. We dipped our fingers, hands and ourselves completely towards “furthering the scientific knowledge”. We had to have the mandatory number of publications. This is now reflected in our resume. It resembles the “mosaic pattern” with very diverse fields of publication and no “clear focus” on selected topics. Desperate times, desperate measures resulted in desperate outcomes.

“Operation promotion”

Ours was the first batch with 3 years of PG training program.

Ours was the first batch of “minimum 50% mandatory in theory exam”.

Ours was the first batch where promotion to Reader was after 4 years.

Ours was the first batch where promotion to Professor was 8 years.

Ours was the first batch where promotion to HOD was 10 years.

Ours was the first batch where “in-tenure” publication was mandatory for all promotions!!

It was like being at the cutting edge of “cutting edge technology”.

Its like that traffic signal. If you are stuck at one, you are more likely to get stuck in the subsequent signals.

Phewwww!!

After a few years, we just quit worrying. Just put our head down and work. If everything falls into place, well and good. If not, then continue to put our head down and work. The hunky dory ride of life will take us wherever The Almighty wants us to go. And whenever He wants us to go!!

At the end of the day

The trials and tribulations at various stages of life seem to be eerily coincidental. The agony, the pain, the despair. Akin to walking on thin ice. That sinking feeling of being forlorn and helpless in love. But hope was a constant companion. Hope that things will settle down. Hope was the only recourse. Slowly life did unfold and maybe thats what life is. But then I realized that everybody goes through struggles. Everybody has their own share of ups and downs. The ebbs and flow of life.

Counting on the pluses, I had the opportunity to learn many things during the times of strife. Life can be a cruel teacher. I also know the value of whatever I have accrued or “achieved” in life. Reminds me of the famous quote from American TV personality Tom Snyder “When everything is coming your way, you’re probably in the wrong lane”. I know the value of 138.75 and 138.25 marks in entrance exams. I was stranded at 138.25. Those 0.5 marks had 6 students within it. In an entrance test that was fiercely contested in the highest court of law in the land, maybe those 0.5 marks or 6 seats may have changed my life. May be not. But it all turned out to be fine. I guess.

We get to attend many continuing professional developmental programs. We also get to hear from international speakers of international and national origin. These speakers quote in a heavy, thick Western accent that “India is a happening place for research….”. I feel like rushing at the speed of light, in true Bollywood style slow-motion, getting to the podium or diving into my laptop, reaching for the mic, pulling my hair out in despair and whispering into the mic:

“My love!! Where were you all these years!!??”

Posted on 19th Jul 2020 in Uncategorized

COVIDiosyncrasies

I thought hard about it.

I dreaded it.

I dodged it.

I avoided it.

I postponed it.

I gave all possible excuses.

I told myself not now.

I told myself not so soon.

I said to myself there is still time.

I said its not needed. Probably.

But then, eventually, I had to give in. I had to face it.

One fine day, after a period of long and deep contemplation, I decided to face it.

I had to give myself a haircut.

Operation lockdown has not exactly turned out to be an ideal holiday. We have always longed for long holidays. Deep down inside, all of us would cherish such prospects. Long holidays with absolutely nothing to do. No work, no duty, no target, no deadlines, no going out. Just sitting at home. But when the Almighty got us to that situation, I somehow could not wrap my head around it. How typical. When we covet something, we fret, we complain. Once we get what want, we still fret. We still complain.

Lets (Hair)-do it!!

With a heavy heart and with a heavy head, I just walked into the battlefield (read: my bedroom). I quickly picked up the accouterments needed. Just a comb and a pair of scissors. I stood in front of the mirror. I looked straight into the eyes of the man in the mirror and asked him “Are you sure?”. He just nodded his head grimly. I managed to say something to the effect of “but I need your help in getting this done”. He did not think it was worth a reply.

I picked up the scissors in one hand and the comb in the other. Wow!! That felt good. I felt like I was the new super-hero on the block who will save the world with his new super-hero-skills. Only time would reveal if it is super-hero-skills or super-hero-kills. But I felt empowered. For a second I felt like I had opted for a cut-and-chop contest in one of the fake-reality shows on television!! “Highly melodramatic and over-the-top reaction” I told the man in the mirror. “Look who’s talking!!” was his quick retort.

I kept telling myself that I’m doing this on someone else, a hapless, lazy person who badly needed a new hairdo!! I have always wanted to be a skill-based worker and I have backed my (non-existent) cut-and-paste instincts with mixed results. I was always happy with my previous outcomes of practical demonstration of my skills and my wife was always not happy. That makes it mixed results!!

I could hear the man in the mirror say “think like a barber”. Ok. He instructed “first wet the hair”. Ok. I babbled “but water is in the washroom”. Ok. He said “shift the ‘crime-scene’ to the bathroom”. Ok. My heart was pounding. I could imagine my wife’s reaction at the aftermath of my new hairdo in the bedroom. My heart started beating faster. “Relax”. Ok. “Move it”. Okkkay.

Crime-scene:

I had never imagined that this exercise would be such a nerve-wracking ordeal. I sprinkled some drops of water quickly. My trembling hands naturally “sprinkled” the water. “Take a deep breath” the man in the mirror coaxed me. I obeyed. “Relax” he said again. I obeyed again. “Now go!!” he muttered with clenched teeth. I had to obey. The first cut, the first chop was the most nervous. It was like breaking the glass ceiling. I had always dreaded it. After a few tentative chops here and there, my nerves finally seemed to settle. I kind of grew immediately into my new role as the commander-general-in-charge.

By the time I could gather my wits, I ran into a strange problem. After a while, I forgot which was left side and which was right side. I was confused with which was front and which was back. I was wondering which is up and which is down. With all these 3-dimensions working together against me, my head was reeling. My mind had started playing games with me. “So much for your instincts” mocked the man in the mirror. “If you ask any doctor to operate on himself/herself, they will realize” was my silent reply. “Focus!!” he yelled. “I’m trying” I yelled back.

“Imitate the barber” he suggested. “That’s a good idea. Thanks” I replied. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” is a famous quote by Oscar Wilde. My hairdo-trial was now going wild. I tried to recollect the “working style” of the barber and tried aping it. I was pretending to be a professional now. I was only hoping that the outcomes would also be as professional. Trimming the sideburns posed special challenges. Strange term that, “sideburns” I wondered. “If you don’t get your act together, you’ll end up burning all sides” told the man in the mirror. “So much for positive thinking” I mumbled. So by sheer determination in imitation, I managed the front. I was now faced with the next big stumbling block. The back.

Back-end issues:

I contemplated the brilliant idea of hanging another mirror to the door by using a towel as a sling. That would enable me to see the reflection in 2 mirrors. That way I will be cutting my hair by mirroring my own thoughts. But then I had to deal with 2 men in the mirrors. I was sure that all 3 of us would end up messing the whole thing. My messed up brains’ motor skills were now challenged and that was scary. Besides, if in case, if by chance, if my ‘bad luck was good’ and the mirror fell, the aftermath would not be very conducive. So I dropped the idea of the second mirror before I drop the second mirror down.

“Imitate” told the man in the mirror. “But how??!! but where??!!” I asked him. He just grinned. “Cut parallel to the scalp, not perpendicular to it” he instructed. Now my brain was trying to grapple with what is perpendicular and parallel. After trying out different poses and positions, I wanted to give up. “I’ll look funny!!” I muttered. “As if you don’t look funny otherwise” was the barb from across the mirror. “Shut up!!” I yelled. “Go figure” he retorted. “Go jump” I replied. Stop fighting!!

‘Patent’ issues:

Then from the depths of my creativity and ingenuity, I came up with the “pinch and cut” technique. I am going to file a patent for this technique. One can only cut what one pinches. Like how one should only chew as much as one can eat. Brilliant!! So I started pinching my hair with my 2 fingers and just cutting only what I had pinched. With my new found zeal, I started chopping with flourish again. I started moving right to left and then up and down. But after a few chops, I got confused with that is right and left and what is up and down. My head started whirling. “Concentrate” yelled my companion in the mirror. I barely managed to say “okay okay”. I somehow finished the occipital part of the scalp. Now my hands, back, shoulders, neck and head were all aching. I just wanted to drop everything and run.

Evaluation:

I decided enough is enough and called my wife to proudly display the latest results of my skills. It was like a tensed student calling the external examiners for inspection of his clinical work during final exams. My wife was not expecting me to be giving myself a new hairdo. She was surprised and announced a loud “not bad”. Ok. She did give me instructions on how to finish the job at hand. Again I felt like the student given instructions by external examiner. “Yes mam. Thank you very much”. Then to the man in the mirror. “Yes sir. Thank you very much”.

Finally, the external examiner walked in and pointed out 2 areas where I had cut perpendicular to the scalp and not parallel. Those were the flaws in my work of art. “You cannot improve upon perfection” I complained. She replied “but you surely can worsen your imperfection”. The man in the mirror smiled wryly in agreement. Any traces of my “instincts” that were left within me vanished into thin air.

Falling back on fallback:

The genius within me suggested that I should have a fallback option. Worst case scenario. What if my haircut turns out to be extra-ordinarily, out-of-the worldly pathetic? My wifey had recently ordered a trimmer online after a meticulous, thorough, comprehensive research. For my kid’s haircut. I can always use it to fully trim the leftovers of my failed attempt. Just in case. This had been lurking in the back of my mind since the thought of this experiment originated. Tough times call for tough calls and this was one real tough call to take.

This tough call could be simplified by the external examiner who was present internally at home, who was called for evaluation. She just burst out laughing and said “What have you done?” I managed a feeble smile. She looked at the hairdo and said “Actually not bad”. Fallback option not exercised, but operation ‘hairdo’ was a just pass. I just wanted to pass in the exam. I did not want distinction and gold medal. I would take this. Anytime, any day. I was never a topper. “Anyways it’s a lockdown. For Gods’ sake, what difference does it make? ” I tried to convince the man in the mirror. No reply. Just another wry smile.

Blast from the past

During my school days, I remember one of the chapters in English was on Mahatma Gandhi. I vividly recollect his first experience of giving himself a haircut during his student days in England. Gandhi mentioned that he had managed the front side fairly well, but had spoilt the back. “Have rats been at it??!!” was the taunt that his fellow-students threw at him.

How will I look?

What will my friends tell?

How will my spouse react?

What will my kids tell?

What will my colleagues tell?

How will I face online classes?

What will I do in online meetings??

Should I lock myself up in a room now? Lockup in lockdown??

Catastrophizing is not good for confidence. We tend to imagine the worst. Sometimes it turns out to be worst-er, worst-est.

I have now more respect for Mahatma Gandhi than ever before. I actually realized the true meaning of self-reliance. I now wonder in awe about his changes he brought to his lifestyle. From his haircut to his change in his dresses. From his food habits to smoking to alcohol. From a barrister to a politician. Each of this marked an experiment that he conducted on himself. “Experiments with truth”. How apt.

About the assessment of the impact of the implementation of my surgical skills on the aesthetic appeal of the coiffure of male human study subject/s (wow!! That sounds like a good thesis topic. It may probably get accepted for publication based solely on the depth of the title), I quote Albert Einstein. I can already see my wife roll her eyes in exasperation, saying “Here he goes again!!”. When asked about his dressing sense, he said that if he is visiting a place with his friends, his friends anyways know him. If he is going to a place where he does not know anyone, he said anyways they don’t know him. “Relatively” speaking, as far as my hairstyle is concerned….. before I can complete this sentence, the man in the mirror would break the mirror and strangle my throat.

At the end of the day:

This lockdown has been a great leveler. I have now realized the value of things that we take for granted every day. The barber is an inseparable part of our lives. He has always been. Its just that this realization has dawned on us now. The biggest lesson for me to learn from Gandhi is self-reliance. That is a real tough ideal to work towards. Operation haircut has been one small step towards it. I must confess that I set out to the task of chopping my hair with trembling hands. But by the end of it, I was relatively ok with it.

As far as hairstyle is concerned, I am firmly of the opinion that “what lies beneath is more important than what lies above”. I can hear the man in the mirror and my wife yell in unison “sometimes what lies above is far better than what lies beneath”.

Posted on 4th Jul 202023rd Jul 2020 in Uncategorized

GASPED

Peaceful conditions at home are central to peaceful existence. After a tired days work, we would all love to cozy up to our nest of comfort called home. Before matrimonial commitments, peace at home was inversely proportional to cleanliness. If my living quarters was suddenly very clean, it only signaled the imminent arrival of my parents or any of my relatives. If things were scattered all over the place, it just meant one thing. Freedom.

Bachelor life entails hopping hotels from breakfast to lunch to dinner. Married life suddenly pushes “going out to eat” only to weekends. Then all things have to fall in line with that one single most important commodity. The quintessential gas cylinder.

“Essential Commodities Act” is implemented full time at home post marriage. Maintaining adequate stock of additional gas cylinder at home is very much top priority. With 2 brats at home, their food preparations only add to the excitement. The impending COVID-19 lockdown also added to the excitement.

Scene 1: Act 1: Prelude

It is a bit annoying when the gas booking agency change their numbers. The automated Interactive Voice Response System (IVRS) (that’s a mouthful!!) can get a bit exasperating. I would like to confess that I am an absent minded professor. I’m gifted.

“Please press *@@#$*&%(*& to book order”

Unfortunately, this gift came to the fore when I was booking a gas cylinder just days before lockdown 1.0. At the end of the call, the system did not generate a SMS message confirming booking. I thought I will check later and that particular “later” never came. There were all sorts of news about what would be/would not be available during lockdown. Hence the confusion, hence the panic.

Scene 1: Act 2: Announcement

Lockdown 1.0 announced. Panic sets in, anxiety creeps in. Just out of curiosity, I called up the gas booking agency to ‘confirm’ my booking. Much to my surprise/anguish, the lady at the other end of the phone could not locate my order. The lady, however, was kind enough to ask me to place the order again and the cylinder will be delivered in 2 days flat. Surprise!! Surprise!! That lady was very courteous. She must be a new recruit I thought. That strange feeling when the external examiner is very friendly to the student!! Anyways, I just followed her instructions and placed the order by using the “new” phone number of the agency. This time I did get a confirmatory message.

Scene 2: D-day

Lockdown 1.0, day # 1. On the groggy morning of COVID-19’s global act, I woke up feeling thankful that I don’t have to go to work and save the world. Television was beaming frightening pictures of lockdown from the second most populous nation in the world. India. Breakfast was late, laziness was in the air, mind was sluggish, and it just felt like another Sunday. It was then that my wife told me those 3 most important words that couples use very frequently after marriage. “Enquire about gas”.

The lady at the gas agency told me that they were facing “manpower shortage” and if I wanted, I could collect it personally. Sounded fine. This meant only one thing. I had to go there and ……Wait!! Wait!! Wait!! I had to go out on day # 1 of lockdown!! My wifey did ask me If I need to take the regulator along with the empty cylinder. Sometimes the two do not get along well with each other. Pulling out the regulator from the gas tube is like open heart surgery, fraught with extreme risks, dangers and peril. I just said no and off I went. Something was just not seeming right.

Scene 3: Off the blocks

Right on day # 1 of lockdown, I hit the roads of Mangalore, with an empty gas cylinder in the rear seat and with 4 documents which told me who I was, where I lived and how I looked. Proof. I was also having the most important thing in the whole world on me. The mask. Thanks to COVID-19, the mask is now an integral and inseparable part of our bodies. I decided to take out my old 2011 model alto that was purchased when India was playing against Pakistan in 2011 world cup. Roads were empty then. Roads were empty now. Strange I thought.

I drove to the gas agency, which was less than 1 km. away from my house. The lady there courteously filled in the payment receipt and courteously told me that I have to collect the gas cylinder from their depot located in the outskirts of the city. Wokay!! Thank you very much!! And off I drove to the depot.

Scene 4: Act 1: Street-view

I was not prepared to witness what I was about to on my way to the depot. The whole city was empty. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Few policemen were scattered here and there. It was desolate. It was unnerving. It was uneasy. What would take me around 30 minutes took me just 5 minutes. I reached there in no time.

Given Mangalore’s hilly terrain, the depot is nested right below the highway. The access road to the depot from the highway is the exact opposite of highway. Very narrow, very steep, very unsettling. But the Schumacher from deep within me urged me to just chug on!! So I descended into the depot. A short, thin guy donning a makeshift mask manifested himself from nowhere in no time. I just showed him the receipt and he understood.

Scene 4: Act 2: Pit stop

I was happy to receive the dear darling gas cylinder, loaded it in the rear seat and turned on the ignition of the car. It didn’t respond. I took a deep breath and tried again. No response. I pleaded to the Almighty and tried again. No response. I waited for a few uneasy seconds and tried again. No response. Phewww!! Don’t tell me. . The was clearly “out of syllabus” question in the question paper.

The good-Samaritan-depot-guy volunteered to help me. I glanced at his thin frail frame. I didn’t utter a word. I gleefully sat on the drivers’ seat. The terrain was very uneven and after the valiant push from the depot guy, I put the car on gear and left the clutch and pushed the accelerator. No response. Just a very jerky stop.

The depot guy then told me we can try this behind the depot. The terrain there would give Mars’s terrain an inferiority complex and was truly ‘out of the world’. After negotiating the valleys and slopes behind the depot, we tried to push-declutch-accelerate. No response. My car too had decided to religiously comply with lockdown!!

The depot guy then told me he will call a few of his friends who reside nearby, but that might take a few minutes. I informed my higher authorities at home, I called the car service centre. “Manpower shortage”. I checked WhatsApp, Facebook, news, YouTube, everything.

I had nothing to do. Panic set in. There was only silence. I was just 25 yards away from National Highway, which is a part of the nation’s golden quadrilateral. Still, just pin drop silence. Standing all alone in that desolate and deserted place, I could hear my wife shout “I told you….!!” from our home located 5 kms. away. I could see my father shake his head and index finger at me with a big smirk on his face. I could hear all my friends yell “goofball”!!

Slowly panic gave way to nothingness. Those few minutes were easily one of the most memorable moments in my life. Nothing happened during that time. Nothing. I could only hear myself breathe. It was like one of those lucid dreams. You are dreaming, but you are aware that you are dreaming in your dream. I felt nothing. It was like floating in a huge swimming pool. Floating on waves in a seamless expanse of time. Just nothingness. Maybe I was stranded in this desolate depot for this. Just to take myself away from everything. Trance.

My reverie was only broken by 2 men emerging from nearby residences, who were depot man’s friends. I was feeling unconnected and incoherent. They all enthusiastically pushed the car and I managed to get the act together and pressed on the accelerator. My dear darling car finally purred to life. Hurray!! I stopped the car, but kept the engine alive. I thanked all my saviours for their invaluable help. Schumacher resurfaced and I began the ascent from the depot to the highway and crawled my way back home in my 2011 model automobile.

Scene 5: Act 1: Reverie to nightmare

I unloaded the cylinder from the car and realized that the lift in our quarters had gone kaput. My house is perched on the 4^th floor and I faced the insurmountable task of mounting with a loaded gas cylinder. Suddenly I felt that my late breakfast was savoured a long, long, long time ago. I then rendered my humble, respectful remembrances to one and all.

I cursed COVID-19 and all those responsible for it.
I cursed whoever had allocated our quarters on the 4^th floor.
I cursed whoever had invented/discovered such heavy gas cylinders.
I cursed the god-forsaken automated voice response system for gas booking.
I cursed the lift for abandoning its services during such trying and testing times.
I cursed the mouth mask as it had become bothersome.
I cursed the workers who were (supposed to be) repairing the lift.
I cursed the governments for lockdown.
I cursed whoever built such multi-storey residential buildings.
I cursed mankind for its dependence on materialistic things like gas cylinders, food….
I cursed…

It’s the hypoglycemia I thought. The ascent was back breaking, energy sapping, and inordinately painful, to say the least.

Strict infection control protocol: we had to sanitize the cylinder. I had lost all my sanity. Then the inevitable happened. The gas regulator refused to fit onto the gas cylinder. I tried all angles, methods and strategies, but in vain. Schuks!!

The writing on the wall was loud and clear. I had to repeat the entire (dumb) charade again. Voila!!

Scene 5: Act 2: Déjà vu

The descent with a fully loaded cylinder too was painful. I decided to dump the alto for the 2015 model Accent for commuting. I had also successfully extracted the regulator from the gas pipe and I was carrying it with me.

I was feeling like a student who is asked to repeat his exercise in practicals/lab. When your best work gets rejected. Ouch!! That can hurt. So I went through the entire exercise again. I met the courteous lady at gas booking office again, who redirected me to the depot, again. I drove through the empty streets of Mangalore again. I descended into the desolate depot again. The depot guy manifested himself again. He understood what had transpired without me uttering a word again. He was diligent enough to check if the regulator fits onto the gas cylinder so that he does not have to see me again. I was happy to receive the new member of our family. Again.

Schumacher emerged again and I drove back to my house soaking in what had just happened again. I parked the car and unloaded the cylinder again. I was feeling hungry again. My entire body was aching again. I had the carry the dear darling cylinder again. Pain. Again.

When I reached the 1^st floor, I wanted to yell at all those residing there. They had no clue what it meant to carry a gas cylinder all the way upto the 4^th floor. Twice.
When I reached the 2^nd floor, I just wanted to throw the gas cylinder down. It should land with a loud thud and wake all the idiots glued to the idiot box or sleeping. Why should I suffer? Twice.
When I reached the 3^rd floor, I just wanted to throw myself down. Life is just a mirage. Its a struggle for nothing. I realized. Twice.
When I reached the fourth floor, I didn’t know how to react.

Should I be happy that I successfully managed to book, fetch, replace gas cylinder(s)?
- Should I be sad due to the painful ordeal that I went through?
- Should I be angry at the strange chemistry/physics between regulator and gas cylinder or COVID-19 or gas booking system or myself?
- Should I be relieved that we were successful in welcoming 2 new members to our family during lockdown?
- Should I be proud for having done the unimaginable? Twice.
- Should I be philosophical thinking that everything happens for a reason?

But first things first. I ate. I handed over our new heavy baby to the ladies. I just asked for food. I then stood under the shower for some time and later slept. Food and sleep can soothe.

At the end of the day:

A series of rather silly and uncanny events unfolded on day # 1 of lockdown 1.0. My gas booking did not get through, my car broke-down-during-lockdown in the most unlikeliest of places and unlikeliest of times, the lift in my quarters was non-functional, I was marooned in the outskirts of the city in broad daylight, gas regulator was unreasonably angry with the gas cylinder, I unwittingly and inadvertently discovered by weight lifting skills. Too many gasps for a day. These incidents can have many takes, interpretations, angles, blah, blah, blah. Hindsight is a luxury that one cannot afford.

I realized the value of small “big” things in life. Food-shelter-family-love. They all add to the jig-saw puzzle called life. I realized the importance of “me-time”. Just being alone in a remote, isolated and desolate depot showed me my place. Driving through the streets of Mangalore, I realized the small liberties that we were going to miss henceforth. I realized the importance of that man-made contraption called lift. Gas cylinder is a very important family member and I realized the “weight” of the matter. Twice.

More importantly, I realized what the gas booking agency lady meant when she said “two days flat”. She meant that at the end of 2 days, I will be flat. I followed her hint diligently. I slept like a log.

Posted on 7th Feb 2020 in Uncategorized

Research and marriage: unlikely friends and strange bedfellows

The first time that I heard about research was during my school days. It meant something related to studies, more specifically with science. Aspiring to be an ART-ist, read Academician, Researcher and Teacher, was not the most important aspect of life back them. With advancing stages of education, the meaning of research seems to only get larger and larger. During undergraduate days, research meant just another word about which I did not have to do anything in particular.

Things changed quite drastically and dramatically during my post-graduation training. Suddenly we found ourselves in a new world of protocols, seminars, journal clubs, short studies, library dissertations, blah, blah, blah. This was the bridge course from UG to PG. Once we successfully cleared the big hurdle of PG exams eventually in life, phewww……..we settled into our jobs. The pioneering, earth-shattering, ground-breaking, game-changing circular from the apex body was in every sense, a blot from the blue. Publications were now mandatory for faculty promotions. We had been hit!! Mayday!! Mayday!! Mayday!!

We began our frantic journey of “operation publications”. Things have steadily changed over a period of time. We have now progressed to an era of in-tenure publications. Now undergraduates, post graduates, PhD students, faculty members, even clinicians and private practitioners are talking about research. Why are people into research? This is an amazing research question in itself.

Another universal phenomenon is marriage. I cannot but wonder at the strange commonalities that research and marriage seem to share. The following is an attempt to research the marriage between research and marriage. At the outset, we need to ponder as to why people undertake these humungous initiatives.

“Obedient” researchers:

One of the most common reason for students to initiate research is that their HOD/guide is interested in it. Novices will be casually told to “just have a look at it”. It is only later that the senior PGs and junior staff members will reveal the true, actual and in depth meaning and implications of the phrase “just have a look at it” to the hapless new rookie-on-the-block. These students invariably end up telling that they do not seem to find anything worthwhile in the topic, but their higher ups want them venture into this “wild goose chase”. It is the prerogative, whole and sole responsibility, and bound duty of this fresher to formulate this into a brand new protocol that will eventually and ultimately save the world. Bingo!!

Marriages tend to be initiated on a similar note, especially in the market of “arranged marriage”. Eligible bachelors/spinsters will be told to “just have a look” at the profile. Those who are a bit adventurous and prefer to choose their life partners on their own also tend to start with the premise that they will “just have a look”. Somewhere down the line, all partnerships will end up with “there is nothing worthwhile in this topic”, but they still have to pursue them. That vague concept which is glorified all over the world; in innumerable movies, novels and media; that which people hail as the essence of human existence; what people call ‘romance’ seems to have vanished into thin air. So soon, so fast. Phew!!

“Mandatory” researchers:

These researchers pursue research only because it is clearly stated in the great annals of their curriculum that they will not be able to acquire their degree without conducting a significant body of ‘significant’ research. If the statuary bodies decide one fine day that research is no longer mandatory to obtain any degree or for promotions and is only optional, will they still pursue their quest for new knowledge to expand the horizons of human understanding and thinking? Ummm…..Aaaaaa…….Errrrrrrr.

Many individuals end up tying the proverbial knot because marriage is also a part of the curriculum called ‘life’. When they run out of all possible reasons and excuses, it slowly dawns on them that marriage is inevitable. The question of “what will the others say” if they stay single forever will keep haunting them. They will have to save themselves and their parents from the embarrassment of not being married. These norms do vary from country to country and from region to region and more importantly, from time to time.

“Peer-pressure” researchers:

This usually happens with the undergraduates who are keen to build their resume. Suddenly when the ‘trend’ of initiating research picks up in a batch of students, everyone is super-eager to jump on the bandwagon of wannabe researchers. They do not seem to think much beyond this. So much for clarity of thought and a well thought about research question.

When every other person has a boyfriend/girlfriend, there seems to be some sense of urgency in everyone to ‘get’ themselves a partner. Whether they will like each other’s company or not, whether they can indulge in 2 decent lines of civilized conversation with each other or not seems quite immaterial. It’s all about the status of having a partner. When this is applied to marriage, the stakes can be quite high. William Pollard, the British Physicist and priest, quoted “change is not always growth just a movement is not always progress”. Peer pressure can do wonders to one’s resume and err….. to (married) life in general!!

“Gold-digger” researchers:

Many researchers want something for themselves out of research. It can be publications, grants, international collaborations. The name-fame-glory that comes with it. There does not seem to be anything wrong with that though. On this charge, I plead guilty. But doing research with the sole intention of “operation CV-enhancement”, well, that’s something else. We do come across many individuals who are so intensely focused on the self, like horses with blinkers. Nothing else matters, nobody else matters. A long, intense, and harrowing ego trip.

This is similar to many individuals saying that they are getting married to someone because he/she is rich. They are clearly focused on the luxuries that their commitment can get them. The lifestyle, the parties, the expansive villas and expensive cars. Oh!! What a life!! Companionship, camaraderie, soul mates, sharing and caring, walking hand in hand. Well, whats that??!!

“Deadline” researchers:

This category of researchers put up protocols mainly and sometimes solely to meet the deadline of their universities/departments/HODs/guides. I have been contacted many times by tense students who ask me to ‘complete’ their almost-complete-protocol. On opening their word document, the protocol would abruptly end after a couple of pages of purely plagiarized content. I then ask them for the entire-whole-complete document. The students then pose with a face of an innocent little cat that is chased and hounded by a bunch of irascible canines. Wokay!! Got it!! They have to submit this protocol ASAP. It is like having to complete a closed gate community of housing apartments loaded with swimming pool, Jacuzzi and spa, gymnasium, tennis courts, play area for kids, lifts, parking amenities, security arrangements, all within a weeks’ time. Desperate times call for desperate measures!!

Deadline marriages are mostly common among individuals visiting their homeland during vacations. Parents are eager to finalize a wedding proposal within 2 weeks. That’s pretty tight!! Or rather loose for choosing a life partner!! Many eligible bachelors or spinsters often tend to panic because they are XYZ years old and they have to get hooked ASAP. That’s their imaginary and self-imposed deadline for marriage. Deadlines are deadlines nonetheless, irrespective of who imposes them on whom!! It’s like sitting on a time-bomb and the clock is ticking fast. Cometh the moment, cometh the man/woman??!!

“I like it” researchers:

Very rarely have I come across students or faculty members pursuing one particular and specific research topic because they like/love it, they are passionate about it. People debate intensely about what exactly is passion in work. They have been repeatedly told that one has to be passionate about their work to enhance their productivity.

So the moot question is what specifically does passion in work entail. More importantly, what specifically does passion in research mean? That famous tag line of 1997 commercial about a computer company named after a fruit read “The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do”. These people must have found that all elusive ‘passion’.

Now, now, now. There are a whole bunch of people who get hooked to their partners because they like them, because they love them, because they are passionate about them. This is the universal ideal. This is fuelled by glossy eyed movies, colourful commercials, run-of-the-mill novels, life styles of the rich and famous. This seems to be the universal aspiration for the young, even for the not-so-young, and for the not-so-old. Love seems to be the new opium of the masses. Or has always been THE opium of the masses?

“Curious” researchers:

Very rarely do I come across individuals who are curious to find out about something. More often than not, this set of researchers comprises of the undergraduates. They are more curious than their senior counterparts. As age increases, our thinking gets too muddled by the overweighing burden of theory, and awareness of limitations of practicalities of life. Truly, ignorance is bliss.

There are some elite novices who are curious about the complex and intricate interactions with the members of the opposite gender. “Curiosity killed the cat??!!”. Let us not get there. Shall we??!! However, after marriage, if one’s wife gets curious about her husband’s glorious checkered past, she will conduct a “systematic review” and provide “evidence” for further activities. This is what is called as “impacting the lives of others” by research.

“Maverick” researchers:

This set of researchers work with very high levels of passion and dedication. They are driven by their immense and intense desire to bring about a change. Its almost an obsession. They write papers to disrupt. They want to disrupt the status quo, because this disruption will bring about a change, hopefully for the better. They constitute the other end of the spectrum of researchers who end up ringing all the bells in my head if I happen to interact with them.

They do pose some extremely uncomfortable questions to me. They ask me of what use is my publication? Has it brought about any meaningful/substantial change? Or has it only added to the weight of this big round earth? Now it is my turn to make the face of an innocent little cat being chased and hounded by set of irascible dogs…. Err…. Lions, cheetahs, tigers and panthers….well wait!! There is a T-rex!! I quietly pick up an excuse like an imaginary, incoming, (read: non-existent) phone call and slip away to freedom. Liberty!! Phewwww!!

Many eons ago, I thought that people who were not particularly good at anything ended up being academicians. Once I became an academician, in my case, I realized it was so true!! All that I am worried is about my citations, h-index, impact factor, i-10 index. (PS: i-10 here doesn’t refer to a car. But I like i-20 more than i-10. The car of course!!). Saving the world isn’t exactly on the menu. That’s for another time, another day. How convenient!! Heights of hypocrisy.

Some apply these dangerous principles and practices in their dealings with the members of the opposite genders. String of commitments followed by a string of breakups. Trying to find the all elusive soul mate and finding eternal, self-less love. They are the cutting edge researches who delve into the complex intricacies of marriage.

Twist in the plot!!

I was told this story when I was a kid (read: long ago). A big dam was being built in a village and many local villagers found employment in this undertaking. An outsider walked in and asked the newly employed villagers as to why they were working. Most of them told that they “had to somehow make a living”, “boss was very strict”, “father was forcing us to work”. An enthusiastic villager told that he was working because the village stands to prosper if this dam is built. He added that the entire nation may benefit. With a big smile on his face, he simply said that he loved his work. That’s how research works too. Research work should ultimately benefit someone. That is the heart of research.

One of the best reasons to get married is that one should like their would-be partners. Even in conservative societies, this question is popped to the wannabe brides and bridegrooms: do they like the ‘candidate’ in question. One cannot say that they are getting married to save the world though. One has to only save ones’ own self after marriage.

Honourable mentions:

Research, like marriage, is a life-long commitment. Some random student/faculty can question you in some random conference/scientific gatherings about your old, badly researched and badly written paper. Your wife can question you randomly about any random event in your past, present and even future in any random gathering.
You need scientific basis and foundation for research. One’s wife also has scientific basis for all allegations, its called intuition.
You need clearances for both research and marriage: ethical for former and familial for the latter. Norms for research are getting more stringent, while norms for marriage are getting less stringent.
In research, A is better than B only if the statistician says so. In marriage, A is better than B only if your wife says so.
Research is objective and unbiased search for the truth. If your wife starts searching for your truths, may the Lord be with you.
Statistician is always right. Your wife is always right.
One cannot argue with a statistician. One cannot argue with one’s wife. If your wife happens to be a statistician, may the Almighty save you.

At the end of the day:

If there is one word which means different things to different people, it is research. Its easily one of the most subjective phenomenon in the world. I always get very interesting answers if I ask individuals for their reasons for pursuing research. From the obedient researchers to the mavericks, from the I-like-it researchers to the gold diggers. We are all in it, for our own reasons. Ultimately, research which benefits someone will stand the test of the time. It has to lead to progress in the discipline, no matter how ‘small’ this progress might be.

Our lives are constantly changing in this current world of social media and internet. The whole world is now seen as a global village. This has had an impact in the way members of the opposite gender interact too. George Sand had famously quoted “There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved”.

I quote it’s contemporary academic clone: “There is only one happiness in life, to publish and to be cited”.

Posted on 27th Dec 2019 in Uncategorized

Sandpit: A new world

One of the biggest promotions that I have ever received in my life has been fatherhood. It has changed my life totally and for the better. It is an amazing blend of excitement and anxiousness. As days passed by, an important activity has been added to my growing list of “must-do” items. I have to take my son out for a walk in the evenings, within the premises of our residential quarters. This is an activity that I have to do every day. Every day. This has led to interesting social interactions for both the baby and his doting father, read me.

The place where most of the kids conglomerate has been what is known as the ‘sandpit’. It is the children’s play area, which is a big rectangular plot of land filled with sand. It is divided roughly into 2 square portions. It contains rudimentary remains of a swing in one of the portions, along with a sea-saw and a climber, shaped like a big metallic globe in the other. They have withstood the tests of time and extreme weather conditions. The sand in the sandpit is replete with sea shells and small conches, just to give that feeling of playing in the beach to the children indulging in sandpit.

Our quarters are located in a relatively greener part of the city and the tree cover right next to the sandpit is good. There are three huge tall trees overlooking the sandpit and they are generous in sharing their treasures with the whole world, including the sandpit. So we can find leaves, seeds, broken twigs and branches on the sand bed. All this translates into excellent, natural, and eco-friendly play toys for the kids. The competition for having the largest sword (read: tree twig) among the kids can get a bit nasty though.

This world of sandpit is also co-inhabited by a variety of ants. Spiders and worms are rare. Weather in this part of the world is extreme. It is usually very hot during the entire year, but rains pour down for a good 3-4 months. All this has visibly taken a toll on the sandpit.

I was initially glued to my mobile phone during my “walks”. The academician in me was busy tagging loose ends on my mobile after a days’ hectic work. It took some time for me to realize that all the actual action was out in the real world and not in my virtual world. Sandpit is usually everyone’s blind spot. Its located just beyond the parking lot for cars and nobody seems to bother much about it. It is just there. The following are some of the snippets that has amazed and amused me over the period of 3-4 years.

Lingua franca

The first thing that hit me during my walks was the language of the children. Depending on their age, they are at different stages of their development, communication and socialization. Some just manage to articulate a few words, while there are a few kids who are very verbose and ‘scholarly’. Wren and Martin, the authors of the famous book on English grammar would wince with pain, scream in horror, frown with discontent, yet manage a feeble smile at the end of the day or, at the end of the evening rather. Not to forget the tastes and preferences, the likes and dislikes of one Mr. Shakespeare and all of his elite clan.

“I wented out yesterday”, “My father bringed it for me”, “You catched it?”, the list is endless. Every single day, they use, misuse, abuse all the rules and laws of the world’s second most spoken language, English. Reviewers of scientific journals would sneer and growl at such language and immediately reject the paper, just on grounds of language. All communications among children are essentially anchored on two simple concepts. If they are happy with their company or with the proceedings, they laugh, smile, giggle, give out a belly laugh and all is fine. If there is some dissonance between them and people and/or things around them, they cry. It can be a frown, a sigh, a feeble cry, a shriek, a loud cry, a yelling cry and a telling cry. Whatever is between these two extremes is beyond my realms of comprehension. Joining their conversation in between is beyond the realms of possibilities.

Discussions among children can be a lot more serious than those between an ardent student clarifying his doubts with the lecturer at the end of a long lecture in the afternoon. It can be more focussed than those between Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin contemplating on foreign policies, Satya Nadella and Bill Gates discussing market trends during the times of economic depression. It may be more grave than the discussion between Virat Kohli and MS Dhoni about the field placings during the penultimate over of T20 World Cup finals while defending a meagre total, or between ISRO and NASA about rocket science. These discussions are full of passion, emotion and well, ultimately commotion.

Paraphernalia

Kids end up using almost anything as their toys. New entrants into the sandpit tend to come with brand new toys. There can be the official, formal set of beach toys. Some kids use their vehicles such as cycles, skateboards, tricycles, to commute the long distance of 25 steps from their homes to the sandpit. Some come with bats, football, and other such things of varying sizes and bright colors. But the main item for playing is essentially the sand in the sandpit and the main tool is their bare hands.

Universal suffix

Some take up the task of digging a tunnel to the “end of the world”, some build castles and islands, some build boats, ships, submarines and what not. They even make pizzas out of sand. Juice is usually complementary.One of the most critical communication strategies that I have learnt during my brief stints at the sand pit has been about an universal suffix. This can turn any word into a question. By adding “aaaa” as the end of every word, the word is magically transformed into a question. “Bike-aaa?”, “Car-aaa?”, “You-aaaaa?”, “Me-aaaaa?”, “Going-aaaaaa?”, “Coming-aaaaa?” “not playing-aaaa?”. The list is endless. This has to be accompanied by a frown like expression on the face, with a tweaking of the eyebrows, wrinkling of the forehead, a slight discontentment on the face and the look of big question mark in the eyes. This is a good strategy to throw questions back at the clueless students answering their viva-voce or during seminars and journal clubs.

Just overheard

The other aspects relate to profound knowledge that I could accrue over a period of time during my evening rendezvous, more than anything I have ever learnt in any post graduate seminar.

“The ultimate source of all stones is the earths’ crust”. This boy is going to be a professor.
“When you throw anything, it goes into ‘space”. He is absolutely right!! This kid is a genius. He is going to be a scientist. There is no way any lawyer worth his degree in the world would argue against these profound statements of immutable truths.
“I will give you injunction (injection) now”. A doctor in the making. But I believe he has to pursue his masters and then super specialization.
“I am elderer than you!!” yelled my son. Finally, he realized. Somewhere in the receding vaults of my shrinking memory, I could hear William Wordsworth’s expression “The child is father of the man”
One kid remarked that “Everyone was small before” in a nonchalant tone. Profound
A 4 year old to another 4 year old: “When I was small, I used to ride those small cycles”. He dropped his hand below his knees to show how small was “small”
One diligent kid took upon the humungous task of transferring the sand from one portion of the sandpit to the other. The tool he was using for this insurmountable task was a green plastic shovel, the working end of which was smaller than his small palms. I slowly mustered enough courage to enquire, very gently and very politely, as to why he was doing it. He shot back carelessly saying “Somebody has to it!!” and continued to focus with his task at hand. So much for civic responsibility.
One fine evening, a girl just declares that she is the queen and perches herself on top of the swing. Her rules are simple. All the other boys and girls should come to her and talk in foreign languages and give the queen a gift that is befitting her highness, her majesty. The bunch of kids diligently followed the orders of their newly crowned queen. They introduced themselves in Italian, French, Russian, exotic Zulu and Swazi tribal languages. The gifts were more exotic. From Kohinoor to emeralds, from pasta to paratha, the queen was pacified by these exquisite gifts. All this was with very liberal servings of laughter, fun and frolic. All throughout the charade, the eternal words of Vince Lombardi, the American football coach that “Leaders are not born, they are made” was ringing in my ears.

Turning point

The most unexpected event happened when I had to step in to the sandpit without my slippers. It was then that thunder struck me, lightening hit me, I could hear angels singing and I could see stars. It was liberating. I could feel all the shackles break within me. It was relaxing. I felt free to jump, shout, laugh and yell at the top of my lungs. Traces of civility left in me stopped me though. It was wonderful. I felt young all over again. It was exciting. I realized that there are many things left to explore. It was awesome. It was the most awesome-est thing that has happened to me of late.

From then on, the moment I step out of my house for a walk with my son, I enter a different world. A world of limitless imagination and endless possibilities, fun beyond measure, and experience beyond comparison. A guile-less world.

Technology transfer

Sandpit is also the area where most of the parents bump into each other while supervising their wards’ exploits. It is usually the mothers who accompany the kids for their outings, but not always. There can be fathers, grandparents, nannies, aunts, uncles and the whole lot who can land at the sandpit. I was more than happy to interact with a diverse group of care takers.

As far as baby-related questions were concerned, I was a bit hesitant in the beginning to clarify my ‘doubts’. Then I realized that it does not make any difference. The concerns are essentially the same. All parents are tensed if the baby starts teething, they are tensed if their baby does not start teething. All parents complain that their child is very naughty, they panic if their child is unusually silent on one fine day. The universal complaints of kids not eating, not brushing, blah, blah, blah!!

I also realized that interacting with kid’s caretakers can be a resourceful experience. I did get a fair idea about a wide variety of aspects such as feeding, clothing, crèche, schools, which were relatively mundane and pedestrian to contemplate on. I also got an opportunity to address more serious and grave matters pertaining to political climate in the state, and neighbouring states and the nation; picking the players for national cricket team, economic situation in India (and the whole world of course!!). A vast majority of them, including me, have one distinct characteristic. We all want good things in life such as kids, family, but like a piece of cake. Just like that. Without any problems, without losing sleep and patience and temper and sanity and what not. Like how we want publications, grants and research projects. Just. Like. That. Of ordinary mortals and frail human beings.

All these discussions are held simultaneously when my son is planning to whack another kid with a plastic shovel, which he thought was a very powerful spade. Or when one kid is planning to bathe the other kid with sand, or when kids are fighting over who can jump the highest and the longest from the climber. It can be a tough ask to maintain a healthy balance between supervising children and indulging in discussions about saving the world. Much like one of those WhatsApp groups that picks up an interesting topic during a seminar or journal club. We have to keep track of both, one of which is super interesting, while the other is, well, interesting.

Heartbreak

One fine day, we were told that the sandpit was going to be converted into a parking lot. My heart sank. A lot of occupants of the quarters rejoiced as we could now get a bigger parking lot. A few lucky ones might now get designated parking. I was wondering how will the kids spend time in the evenings. More importantly, how can I keep my naughty brat occupied in the evenings now? For a fleeting moment I thought that I will miss all the excitement that happens in that sandpit and I had a huge knot in my stomach.

The concerned authorities later clarified that the sand pit is only being relocated and not ‘demolished’. It will only be shifted right next to its current position. Okay. No worries. I resigned myself to the divine will and waited. The parking lot came up pretty fast. The construction personnel suddenly jumped to the scene. They quickly spread their paraphernalia and dismantled the sandpit and its contents, making way for designated car parking. The ‘relocation’ act of sandpit though had to wait. Courtesy the rainy season and post-monsoon rains. Shucks.

Hope springs eternal in the eyes of an optimist. I am hopeful that the rains will eventually make way for the relocation act. I am hopeful that the sandpit will reopen to its full glory and splendour. I am hopeful that all the kids get to immerse themselves in the sand and indulge in their perineal tantrums. I am hopeful that I will get to sink my feet in the sand and let the wind blow through my hair again. I am hopeful that I will get to enter the magical world at the sandpit, where imagination is unhindered and served with fun and frolic unlimited.

At the end of the day

We are all bogged down by work and immersed in getting to the important ‘milestones’ in life. Indexed and in-tenure publications, indexed journals, active learning in teaching, funding opportunities and what not. Things become monotonous and we tend to lose that flair in life. All activities become just another boring chore for us. That’s not how it is for the brat pack at sandpit. They approach life with full zest and energy. No holds barred. I realized that life is about fun. They laugh, enjoy and have a rollicking time at the sandpit.

Consciously and subconsciously, we also carry our prejudices, ill-conceived notions and even hatred with us. I envy one aspect of the key players at the sandpit. Their eyes. They see the world without any filters, without any guile, without deceit. I also realized the importance of letting my hair down, and letting the wind blow through my hair, let my feet sink gently into the sand and just let things be.

Posted on 24th Dec 201924th Dec 2019 in Uncategorized

Contact me

You can reach me at drrajeshgrao@gmail.com

Prelude:

Phase I: Heroism

Phase II: Exasperation

Phase III: Nadir

Phase IV: Recuperation: Less is more and more is less

Phase V: Exploration

D-day:

At the end of the day:

Pièce de résistance: Field work

Cleanliness is next to godliness

Prevention is better than cure

Do not compare apples with oranges

Time, place and person

Minimum efforts, maximum benefits

Do not do anything that cannot be evaluated

Do not do anything that cannot be published

“Operation teamwork”: No heroism

When in doubt, ask

When in doubt, do

At the end of the day

Anatomy of the plot:

Timing:

Search:

The return:

Union:

Closure:

At the end of the day:

Operation 12th

Uphill task

Operation “masters”

(Dubious) distinction!!

Blast wave!!

“Operation promotion”

At the end of the day

Lets (Hair)-do it!!

Crime-scene:

Back-end issues:

‘Patent’ issues:

Evaluation:

Falling back on fallback:

Blast from the past

At the end of the day:

Scene 1: Act 1: Prelude

Scene 1: Act 2: Announcement

Scene 2: D-day

Scene 3: Off the blocks

Scene 4: Act 1: Street-view

Scene 4: Act 2: Pit stop

Scene 5: Act 1: Reverie to nightmare

Scene 5: Act 2: Déjà vu

At the end of the day:

Lingua franca

Paraphernalia

Universal suffix

Just overheard

Turning point

Technology transfer

Heartbreak

At the end of the day

Operation 12^th