2019

2019 was special for a lot of reasons. It was one of the best years yet in terms of personal and professional growth. It’s also been a year when my convictions were challenged and my resolve was tested. I still don’t have or know all the answers. I still have more ideas that I didn’t act on or died prematurely than the ones I did something about. And, while I’m nursing my reading habit back to health, my exercise/dance habit is still non-existent. I worry that even as my English vocabulary shrinks, my Tamil is getting worse. And, yet, despite it all, I’ve somehow grown more comfortable with not knowing and going with the flow, on occasion. I suppose the lack of choice helps. Baby wins—I’ll take them! 

January - I started the second and final term of my Fellowship. I had two articles published and one in the works. My goal was to graduate with four articles published. Come April, I’d graduate with five. As J.K. Rowling says achievable goals are the first step to self-improvement. 

February - After three months in the making, I published an article in the “Ideas” section of the Boston Globe on the lack of diversity in AI and what it could mean for the field. I got to interview Rediet Abebe for the story who I couldn’t have known at the time but has since become a close collaborator since. The article attracted comments such as “dreadful” by “forechek”, “If Artificial Intelligence has a diversity problem, does artificial diversity have an intelligence problem?” from “Awaterguy”, “liberal screed” from “Impartial_Observer”. I suppose the story hit a nerve?! 

March - For international women’s day, the company I work for decided to run a short profile on me upon a recommendation from the CEO. 

April - A data investigation I was working on under the guidance and mentoring of an acclaimed Canadian investigative journalist came to fruition. And, I got lucky when the story ran on the front-page. Dylan and I got to give a three-minute speech each to my cohort of Journalism Fellows at our graduation. In all, this turned out to be a lucky month!

May - I spent May catching up on reading for fun. Long ago, I had mistakenly decided to only read non-fiction which turned to be a decision that nearly killed my reading habit. I read Neal Stephenson’s Seveneves, Michael Lewis’ The Fifth Risk, Thich Nhat Hanh How to Fight, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah, and abandoned Tara Westover’s Educated. 

June - I got to co-write a poster that was presented by Bikalpa and Sara at the ACM (Association for Computing Machinery) conference. Had I not met Rediet, this would not have happened. 

July - I dread July. It being my birth month never fails to bring with it trepidation about life being fleeting, dull and ordinary. This July was no different but the feeling is starting to abate a little. A lot of change happened at work with a non-trivial reorg. 

August - With Sara, I started co-organizing a multi-institutional research group on “Data markets and data economies”. This sits under the umbrella of the organization Rediet had started. Sara and Rediet would become people I look up to. 

September - A paper I co-wrote with Sara, Rediet, Sekou, George and Kehinde was accepted as an invited talk for a workshop at NeurIPS, the largest machine learning conference in the world. Fun fact: the conference was called NIPS until 2018, one of the things I covered in my story from February. 

October - I worked through a very hard project at work. It was yet another reminder of how fragile human relationships are, even or especially in a professional setting. Separately, after the project ended, I moved into a new role at work. 

November - I’m learning and growing into the role of a manager. I feel stretched and challenged at work. I saw Rediet defend her thesis as the first Black woman to graduate with a PhD in computer science from Cornell University. The department has been around for more than 65 years and yes, this is 2019. Our joint work was accepted to a workshop organized by data and society, an organization started by danah boyd—someone I deeply admire. 

December - My mission this month has been to get my niece to say the word F. We are making progress and I’m excited for when she’ll say fox. Yes, we’re now reading Fox in Socks every night.

2019 came with a lot of change—some I was prepared and others that caught me by surprise. I am wishing for more stability in 2020 barring which I hope for the strength to navigate change. 

Time Travelling Thoughts

Do thoughts time travel?

On New Year's day in the year 1879, at 6 Melcombe Place, Dorset Square, London, in a building that does not exist at this time, was born a baby boy. A year later, he lost his father to a disease that still affects an estimated 9.6 M people. Tuberculosis. His name was changed by accident at baptism from Henry to Edward. His ancestors were what one might call a group of democratic socialists, these days. I think this came to bear a whole lot of influence on his writing in later years. He exhibited four key characteristics: curiosity, a free mind, a belief in good taste and a belief in the human race. Nearly thirty years later, he started a novel named "Lucy" at the time. When it was done, the novel resembled a rich concoction of warm and fuzzy optimism. Fourscore and eleven years later, he died. Only after being nominated for the Nobel Prize some thirteen times.

****

A Theory of Cities and Smells

I did not know the guy. If you are reading this, then you already knew that and quite certainly you did not know him either. I have this theory, you see, and that's what I want to tell you about. I first formulated it three years ago and have since laid it on many an unsuspecting friend as a lunch or dinner conversation. So, here goes: As the name suggests, it is about cities and smells. My hypothesis (which I define as true until proven wrong for my purposes here) is:

Every city, let me teach you, has its own smell!

So simple, you think! Indulge me, anyway. I lived most of my life on shores of a wild sea. As soon as the plane's wheels violently kissed the tarmac, I could smell it before I could see it. The salt of the sea in the air. A pervasive smell just about anywhere. When I lived in the city where a singer Whoopi Goldberg introduced as Ceylon Delong is from, I could again smell it before I could see it (or in this case them). Oh, 420 (pot) friendly Montreal! And, these days, I clearly smell pollution. Again all pervasive that I can hear my lungs screaming at the top of their ...

****

They do!

By now, you're wondering where is this going? You see, I did not know Henry-accidentally-named-Edward. But, THIS got me SO excited I had to write about it. Fivescore and five years later, Henry's thought snuck (or sneaked, if you are so inclined) into my head. I did not know him and I did not know he had thought my very same theory-thought, before me. It crushed me a little to know it's not my own, original thought. But, then again, who is to say it is not?

Conclusion: Thoughts do time travel.

Lines

Last year was what it was because of the people. What it was is for another post but while on the bus stuck in traffic, I started to define each one by a line taken verbatim from our conversations or by a quote. The result follows. (I strongly suspect this might just be part one!) 

அம்மா – Love conquers all.

அப்பா – Always do your best.

(Together, these two form the kindest and capable-st people I know!)

Koki – I can’t even do one thing at once. So, I do many!

Sometimes, this one also lives by – You don’t have to save the world. Just being a good daughter is enough!

Sadhana – Can I have one more chocolate, please?

To her mother: If you keep scolding me, I’ll run away to Canada.

In conversation: 

Me: Are you happy? 

Sa: Of course! 

Me: What makes you happy? 

Sa: Everrrything!

(She is full of surprises! She can also talk about Angela Davis, Billie Jean King and gender equality. And, to think she’s only seven.)

அவ்வா – (always in my memory) Of course, it’s happening in your head, Harry, but why on Earth should that mean that it is not real?

The trio (A, G and S) – The Rock. My Rock. They rock.

Prof. L – In conversation, for context:            

Me: But, I have really low tolerance towards failure and I am so old. It sucks!

Prof. L: (jumping in immediately) Yes, I’ve noticed. You have to realize failure is inevitable. It’s going to happen. You have to do it. Regardless.

In the same vein,

Samir – Of course! I won the Rhodes Scholarship and failure hasn’t touched me at all. 

(In case, you’re wondering, he was entirely sarcastic although I have a hard time believing this completely invincible, wildly successful geriatric specialist has faced that soul crushing defeat I’m referring to!)

Anita – I believe in you.

Nidhi – Every cloud has a silver lining. If it doesn’t, it’s not a cloud. And, hey, there’s also the sweet rain with the darkest cloud. Oh, almost forgot about the rainbow after!   

Tori – I am all about that bass, bout that bass, no treble. 

(She specializes in serving up loving-kindness with sass.)  

Chelsea – Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. (Also, the brainiest person/scientist I have the privilege of knowing)

  

Nirmala Rajaram – Stay humble. Stay foolish.

Joel – Delegation is key. But, of course, know your stuff too.

Pat – (beaming smile) I am good! Always good. 

(His response on any given day, rain or shine. Even when it’s the morning of the day he has to let go of a member of his team).

Nick, the real Tintin – You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!

Ari and PD – Have you eaten, Swaa?

Narayana Murthy – You know Deepika Padukone? You remind me of her. She had to go to Bombay, an unfamiliar city outside of her home and work hard to make a name as a top actress. It’s remarkable!

Heather – You helped me too.

Ratna – Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take but by the number of moments that take your breath away.

Gordana – Party hard. Work harder.

Maria – It’s okay to not know what you’re going to do for the rest of your life.

Anoop – You know what, Swathi, it’s my life’s mission to eliminate open defecation.

Jim – If you Google me, you won’t find anything on me… we turned several businesses around and then sold them. I’m the guy in the back fixing things.

Prof. Steinberg – How can I help you?

Abhi – Courage is not the absence of fear; rather the judgment that something is more important than fear.

Tullio – (after delivering some out-of-the-world hilarious jokes) You have to be careful with the jokes you crack in public. Never know when you cross the line! (winks)

Ginette/Guru – Dance. There’s nothing else I would do with my life.

Shambhavi –  Live. Love. Laugh – a lot.

Mike – Good crying or bad crying? (Also, Song of the Builders by our shared favorite poet).

Shivali – It is time to move into uncharted lands. If you want to do something you have never done before, you have to do something you have never done before. If you want to go somewhere you have never gone before, you have to go somewhere you have never gone before. You cannot do something new by doing old things. If you want your life to change, you have to change your life. So go ahead. It's safe. And it's also...about time.

David – To live is to slowly be born.

Julia, Kathleen and MOOS family – (varying versions of) Don’t go over to the dark side.

Ina – Squat(h)i (Yeah, I am amazed at myself for picking this word-line!)

Maliha – (after we fan-girl talk about Elon) OMG! He’s awesome! I can’t get over it.

  

Laura – The great isn’t something accidental. It must be willed.  

Liam – I don’t know how but I’ll fix you! 

(He plays in a band and is currently developing a theory of music on my musical "tastes" in order to get me to listen to music and is a neuroscientist on the side. Oh, and he makes podcasts. About the brain. Not music.)

Jess – This is already so beautiful!

Omar – alright merci

to be continued...

Identity crisis

I graduated. Months ago now. I was good at school. Always have been. And, it's taken me one train journey with a head cold to unravel and start finding meaning in all my supposedly logical and rational (note to self: redundant choice of words, sacrificing efficiency for emphasis has become a thing) decisions since birth. Or more precisely - from the time I picked the red pencil in my right hand and not my left. Yes. Seriously. Why didn't I use my left? Or, wait, why am I not ambidextrous?

So, back to the original point - now that I am out of school, what will define me? Who will the rule-abiding, prof-and-parent pleasing, sincere student that was good at math and motor design now be, in the real world? What will her real job be? To be honest, I have been at a real job for over five real months. Gotta say, the real world is pretty fun. It has its moments of real pain (and paperwork. Immigration Canada! Give me my freaking freedom back!) but mostly I really love the people I work with. Sure, I stick out like a sore, brownie thumb and my accent officially belongs in no man's land (when your friends from India think you have a N.American accent and your friends in Canada think you have a hint of a British accent and your Indian friends in N.America think your accent is from Bangalore and you think it in fact, is still very much Indian ... that's when you know your accent needs asylum status in no man's land) - BUT, I am having fun. So, what's with the whole identity crisis mode? Is it induced by the nausea of a closed train compartment dancing precariously on its wheels as it moves forward, exacerbated by the fact that my small lungs are competing for precious oxygen with large lungs of mostly male and slightly bulky strangers? Maybe!

But, I don't think it's my mild claustrophobic nature slowly showing up three hours late on a four hour train ride. (Don't get me wrong - I am grateful for the non-punctuality). What then is the cause here? I did graduate University once before and worked for a "Big 4" consulting firm before I didn't know who I was or what I was doing and started on a journey to design motors half way across the world where a white, pesky thing covers the ground 8 months of the year. The journey, of course, didn't stop with designing motors but led on to design toilets. Yep, you read that right. Toilets. And, now, I talk about toilets and telecom products in everyday conversation with black coffee and whole grain bagels. How did this happen?

WAIT! Would something else have happened if I had picked the blue pencil with my left hand?

Find it!

Find the positivity. Find the grace. Find it and hold it and cling to it like it is your lifeline and only breath of air before everything sinks. Find the silver linings. Hold them in your lungs and search for them in the bubbles and rubble of all that pours down around you. Find the bright spot in the dark clouds, listen for the sounds of the birds when the winds pick up and tear down the house around you. It is there, shhh, it is there, it is always there and it is waiting for you to reach out with both hands, bloody and shaking, and hold tight to it like it is the last thing you will ever learn how to let go. Find the glory, the glory through the ache, and understand that it is what we can endure that defines who we become. That it has never been about the punches we can throw, but the punches we can absorb and still stand up from. It is the standing up, it has always been the standing up and the refusal to lie still and quiet as the numbers count towards ten and the knockout becomes complete. Rise my soul, rise through the flame and the ash, rise through the waters that fill the spaces under your arms as the crawl towards your throat. Rise and find the grace, for it is all around you. Find it. Find the grace.

~ Tyler Knott Gregson

This actually happened!

After a long day spent tackling a part fictitious problem for a fully real organization, Mr. D cracks me up. Of course, he has no idea why.

Mr. D: Do you speak French?

Me: Un pah!

Mr. D: Ha ha! So, you speak English and Indian?

Me:!!!

*****

Recruiting season was quite a hilarious ride for me. I didn't expect to enjoy it this much but the unforeseen fun I had did take me by surprise.

Recruiter: I am impressed with your accomplishments. But, your driving experience concerns me.
Me: What are you talking about? I don't have one to concern you
(Recruiter: Precisely!)

*****

Being brown and being tan are not one and the same thing. Or, are they?

S: Hey, you look so tan!
Me: Yep, it's all year long.
S: Wow, really!
Me:!!!

*****

Being Indian in Quebec warrants for some strange culture clashes that later evoke laughter.

J's father kisses both my cheeks as is customary in this part of the world. I awkwardly oblige. Then, he winks and says, "You come from country where no kissing in public, no?". Of course, he knew that and yet...

Frozen Frames

There are these moments with these people. In the elevator. In a crowded train. In an empty train with no one and nothing but the space and the air molecules between you and them. When you are just about to turn down an aisle in PA on a frenzied Friday and your OCD stomps in. You stop in your tracks bringing to a momentary stop the rhythm of the collective pulse of all the shoppers. And, unapologetically holding the cart in front of you, you lean backwards to check if you have missed anything. And, in that moment, you catch their eye. Them whom you did not know lived and breathed and shared this planet until this very moment when you shared the light rays bouncing off your eye lenses. In that moment, although they are unknown to you, they cease to be unseen.

They don’t have to be a stranger. They can be the casual acquaintance with whom you deconstructed a life puzzle. If only by fortuitous timing. This morning, this happened to me. I could not have not noticed that bright sunshiny yellow jacket. Even if I had tried. They were standing there ear pods plugged in their ears and thick glasses perched on their nose. And, there was a moment’s urgent hesitation to just keep walking past them. It is the easier path. The path of least resistance. At that moment, their head turned and they could not have missed me either. Even if they had tried. We entered into a definitely genuine yet laborious exchange of pleasantries and updates about each other’s understandably exciting immediate future. Of course, there is something seductive about the impending immediacy of an un-occurred event that has not yet shattered or surpassed the built up superhuman expectations. We, then, could have promptly said goodbye and walked away. Yet, we did not.

For the next several minutes, we stood there talking about what motivated us to study our respective fields. I have a lot of time these days and I spend a lot of that in my head. So, I am reflecting on life, and connecting with others at that subliminal level, and relying on those shared moments to understand why things unravel sometimes and are just perfect some other times. It is impossible to justify my numerous decisions that are still continuously weaving themselves into a carpet of my remarkably colourful existence. An existence that makes justifications irrelevant. Maybe if I tried and maybe with some help, I will understand that. As a means to that end, I have deliberately slowed and in that I have found ways to connect. As a result, there is a collection I am slowly building up. A trove of treasured moments.   

Don’t get me wrong! I love running, too. In fact, till this point, I have been running at what might even qualify for a breakneck pace. I have devoted much of my young life on sharp productivity for sustained performance. In turn, I have flirted freely with the inevitable darkness and experienced the full force of unwieldy being. I know all too well that point. That point called giving up altogether. I am lucky and grateful that that point was not a destination. I would like to believe I have learned to stay connected, to slow and not to self-destruct.

Tonight, as I replay today, it flashes forward in slow motion, dwelling delightfully on each frozen frame. Amidst the bustle of learning a new language, figuring how to run an NGO, a passion pet project, putting down the words necessary to graduate, learning a new choreography, attempting to produce radio, and desperately trying to not break my neck or leg on an icy sidewalk, I have become of a collector of these frozen frames. I do not have all the answers. I do not know what the balance is. I am going by my gut. I am going by feel. And, right now, how this feels feels right.  

All of our selves

We are happy/ We are sad// We stay calm/ We get mad// We are eloquent/ We do fumble// We are articulate/ We also mumble//

We are gentle and savage// We are whole and damaged// We are garrulous and reserved// We are fresh and preserved// We are green and gnawed// In time, mellow and marred//

We are obtuse/ We are astute// We are sincere/ We are synthetic// We are kind/ We are cruel// We are bound/ We fly free//

We are joyful and cynical// We are casual and methodical// We are approving and critical// We are emotional and physical// We do falter and fall// In time, we' walk tall//

There are so many of us// There are so many of them// All of them in us// All of us is them// When we all deem as one// My work here is done//

Home

She was twelve years old when she left home for the very first time. It was to go on a nature walk at a local reserve park as part of the "Kids for Tigers" program. She was to leave home at 7 am and was expected back later that night. Technically, it would not qualify as leaving home. But, for someone who had never been anywhere without the constant, caring and concerned presence of her family, this was a start. Granted there were no tigers in the park nor do 12 year olds qualify as kids, but the vibrant paradise fly catchers and the gregarious jungle babblers more than made up for it. There was also the Plaster of Paris impressions of black buck hooves. It was fun, joyful and liberating in myriad ways that only a twelve year old can possibly fathom.

She was still a teen when she spent a few summer months in McLeod House, Fredericton. Getting there on her first ever flight was exhilarating. The persistent hum of the engine was hardly annoying. Her inane excitement had replaced the usual claustrophobia that accompanies with being trapped in a 757 with a multitude of strangers. Landing gear failures were a myth. So was the insipid nature of airline food. She celebrated her birthday against the backdrop of a sky lit up with fireworks at Niagara. Life could not be better. All that mattered was the sweet smell of independence, of doing your own thing, and of making your mark in the world. Of course, we can offer some latitude to a naive, delusional, unscarred teenager, can't we?

A year later she backpacked across the sub-continent and trekked up the Himalayas. Woman on a mission but when the mission was accomplished, home bound she was. Another year passed. She was in the abode of a well respected Buddhist monk. That escapade too had an expiry date.

Three years hence, after a battle or two lost but with the relentless spirit not all intact, she left home another time. Only, she was not going to return later that night or even in a few months.

What is home? Where is home? Who is home?

What is home? Is it the the pale blue walls and the grainy, granite floors of an urban dwelling? Is it the salt of the sea that you feel before you smell? Is it the parks that are in ruin or the potholes in the streets? Is it the intolerable rush hour traffic or the insufferably ruthless heat that is waiting to scorch you alive?

Who is home? Is it unconditional love in the form of your mother or the firm discipline in the guise of your father? Is it the sister who is almost always second mother? Is it the unruly kid next door who shares his birthday with you? Is it the neighbour who instantly recognises you from only hearing the whining engine of your two wheeler? Is it the shopkeeper at the photocopy shop who gives you a hearty discount? Or could it be the infuriatingly noisy crow that incessantly crows at your window sill every morning to eat the food your mother not-so-secretly feeds?  

Where is home? Home is where the heart is. But, hearts are by default treacherous and deceitful. They often cloud judgement and conjure confusion. Most of all, they set off a chain reaction with chemical precursors that signal the onset of an emotion that is specifically designed to overwhelm logic and reason. (Author note: Quite likely the reason for this ramble).

For the longest period of time, she lived in denial assiduously avoiding any and all talks of the sub-continent. Clarity remained elusive. She didn't fit in. She felt different and definitely looked different.

Another year passed. Home and the sub-continent slowly ceased to be synonymous. She scoured the best vegan places in town and devoured blizzards at DQ. She whipped up some red velvet cupcakes and learnt to skip pronouncing four of seven letters in Jacques. She took up sports and blossomed into a semi-professional dancer. She made a friend and then some more and then even more. She unwittingly witnessed ice-hockey in rapt attention with an astonishment characteristic of a child who learns about gravity for the first time. Soon enough, she will feel she has made her home, whatever that means. Who knows, there probably never was an expiry date to begin with.

Back covers in a blink # 1

She was a freshly minted nerdy PhD-glaciologist. He was a wise beyond his age diplomat working for the government of the United Provinces. Fate and their combined intellectual curiousity put them on a flight bound for Tybet, a recently separated free nation from  the Red Territories. Little did they know, this was to be the flight of their lives.
Interspersed with historical developments inside Tybet, 'In the land of Snow', **** debut novel travels seamlessly between the past and the present. Starting with the mystery of Tybet's exiled leader gone missing,  **** goes on to intertwine a compelling romantic encounter with the most pressing issue of our not so distant past.

                                          --- UP Times best seller ---   

Connected

If one thing can bring people together and break ice, that's food. Well, there are two things that can do that. Given that my supervisor almost always mentions the weather in every meeting, I can't believe I forgot that. Okay, there could many more things. Clearly, my digressions here indicate my state of mind. Getting back, Santropol Roulant is an 'NGO-type' organisation that uses food as a means to bring people together. Food security, urban heat island effect, rooftop gardening, hydroponics, meals-on-wheels, inter-generational gardening - all of these fall within their ambit.
Having casually started weeding at Jane's garden, I found myself at SR one evening with Jane. My experiments in Jane's patch were more a way of spending time with Hans (he's 95!) and hearing stories of Hitler. But, volunteering at SR brought with it a whole host of information. I learnt how hydroponics can effectively be used to garden any concrete building covering the grey with green. I saw firsthand and was astonished at how McGill grows peppers, basil, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, summer squash, eggplant, and cilantro - a wide variety of veggies given how much, rather how little, space is used to grow them! Spending time in Lise's garden at Beaudry, I very briefly witnessed how lonely aging in North America can be. But, the true joyous moments were the ones of human interaction. Lise didn't understand English very much and my French is non-existent and yet at some level, we connected. Hans finds that I speak too fast yet managed to retain my interest with his articulate conversations. Jane is soft-spoken and earnest yet we forged a friendly bond. Charlotte who coordinated gardening at McGill was fantastic to work with and treated us to fresh zucchini, cucumber and basil! Each person has a warm demeanor that has left me wanting more, for it's not just their well tended gardens that bring joy!
So, thank you - Santropol Roulant - for introducing me to some wonderful souls and the vegetables, of course.
          

13,000 kms and 3 months later...

The following is a bulleted recollection of my days in and outside of grad school. During a spasmodic burst of writing inspiration, triggered by a recent conversation about blogs, I decided to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon and write the following: 

• Learning a new language is a largely by imitation (of native speakers) and a little by memory.
• The French can totally understand Tamil. I was talking to my room mate in, what I thought was, rapid Tamil and my landlord answered my question. So, much for leaving him out of the conversation!
• The prettiest features are usually seen on those from the troubled lands of the Middle East. 
• Snow(flake(s)) falls exactly and precisely in the shape in which I have seen it drawn. It's fascinating to watch it fall.
• I can't ski which is obvious. But, I can't even walk on ice. (The last time I would've fallen like I did the other day while accidentally stepping on ice, was when I was learning to walk).
• A damn good Prof/supervisor can make the sun shine brighter on a cloudy day.
• I am sure to forget English (at the very least, the spellings) when I start to take French classes (or even Russian - given the uncanny resemblance).
• Being vegetarian in a country whose 96% aren't isn't actually very difficult.
• My convictions about writing grow stronger while my engineering intuition wanes. (Given that I never had one to begin with, it's mostly like the Montreal temperature right now! :P )
• It's difficult to start something here unless you are completely disciplined and committed to it than home or in undergrad. (Abhi thinks otherwise!)
• Indians are by far the most emotionally attached to their families and home. (My sample space is small and I could definitely be wrong).
• Writing opinion columns gives you clarity that transpires into all aspects of your life. (Or so, I would like to think! :P )
• Eliminating uncertainty is impossible. Embracing it might make it more enjoyable. No one knows everything for certain, anyway. 
• You are more likely to be a shining star and a success story in a field that you are not only passionate about but can conjure great 'gut-feels' almost always. (The two, I think are somehow interwoven and inseparable). 
• I do need occassional reminding that I do have some 'real estate' in the virtual world. 
• Indian accent and British spellings rock.
• Tea can never be coffee.
• Dollar store's is Canada's Saravana stores. (If you're from Chennai, you know exactly what I mean!)
• I can't quite tell if baking is the precise science that requires shallow or deep knowledge.
• McGill's most famous graduate, according to an American political scientist, happens to be Captain Kirk and I now know why my newspaper office building is unofficially called Shatner!
• "Whether it's sticks and stones or predator drones, war is still a story of humans".   (the aforementioned war analyst - hearing him in person is a LOT more interesting and fun!)
  "Neural networks help in predicting oil prices, stock prices, or in our case, actuator sizes" - Silly alliteration and imagery still hold my fancy and unleash an inexplicable need for cheap imitation.  
• Star wars and Anakin are my eternal source of mood lifters.
• Leave alcohol. What about Ritalin?

My First Words

I was meeting her after 5 years. I was filled with more trepidation than excitement. She was
flying to the States where her daughter and scientist-son live, in 5 days from then. And, I worked in
Bangalore. So, my best chance to meet her was that Saturday. I was supposed to meet her at five but
arrived an hour later. She seemed the same to me. Age and time had done her no damage. She was just as I remembered, although I suspect she had changed her glasses for a sleeker frame.

She fussed over the flowers I had brought for her. But, she didn't know that once I saw her I
wasn't living anymore on a little place people call Earth. We got chatting slowly at first and the pace
caught on. She enquired what I had done with my life until then and what I intended to do. I asked her about her notorious knee. She replied that she had had them done and I hoped it was as good as new. My wristwatch was chipping away the hour but time moved backwards rewinding nine years.

We start ruminating over memories and anecdotes I hold dear to my heart. We vacillate
between the current and the past. She talks about RTE with the same vigour I remember from her
classroom lectures. She then tells me what becomes my revelation of the day (or possibly forever) –
“You know, I don’t buy this thing that students from Tamil medium will find it difficult. I studied in Tamil medium until class 12 (called SSLC back then) and went to Stella Maris of all colleges. I didn't find the ride insurmountable although there were hiccups”.

My jaw dropped. She noticed and I launch into an explanation. I had picked up a huge amount
of words from casual interactions with her. I had built such a large part of my vocabulary from her so
much so it seemed I had learnt my first English words from her. ‘Niche’ from her comment in my report card, ‘conspicuous’ and ‘melancholy’ from her encouraging feedback when I was down and ‘camouflage’ from one of her stories that she always had handy. And, now after all these years, she still has managed to astound me. Wow, life does have a way of packing in pleasant surprises – sometimes!

The spotlight is back on me. I tell her I am engineer who works for a consulting firm. But,
very soon, I will be investigating electromagnetics for my Master’s thesis. I also tell her my summer
adventures – as an RA (Research Associate) studying the wave equation and blackholes in Canada, as
a journalist with The Times of India, as a volunteer for the National PDS Survey in the villages of HP
and TN. She is visibly happy and calls herself an empty talker. I beg to differ. I then chime away what I wanted to tell her all my life – She believed in me more than I did. And, that has been my impetus for all the things that I have done.

The time comes for me to take leave. She is worried it’s getting dark. I reassure her that I stay
close enough. I touch her feet involuntarily. She blesses me and asks me to keep in touch. I promise
myself I will as I memorise her email address. I walk out through her wooden door. A strange sensation comes over me. I try defining it but I conclude that it’s beyond my rational recognition. I make my way back home wading through the traffic realizing that I will carry a piece of her wonderful warmth and encouragement wherever I go; whatever I do.

At long last

A cloud comes over a hill and loses its will to move anywhere.

Two large grey monsters with gaping mouths engulf the white space in between. As the space turns to nothingness, the first drops of rain pellets fall. A cool wind breezes through wet hair. Cool, not of the numbing kind. But, its refreshing cousin. The smell of fresh earth hits the nostrils and awakens the spirit. A deep silence ensues that brings to awareness the beat of a heart. Somewhere in those snow capped mountains in front, there is probably hail falling at full speed. A sense of peace pervades the senses. At long last, the ship has come home and laid firm its anchor.

As for the cloud, it sheds its weight bringing life and joy to the alpine forest. And, in that act finds the lightness and will to move again.     

Seasons

Seasons are four. Or so we are told in school. But, living in the tropics teaches you something different. Furthermore, living in a state that is subject to the vagaries of the retreating (northeast) monsoon means you 'enjoy' a hot and humid summer with precipitation palpable in its absence. For as long as I can remember, a year to me has always been about two seasons - school (time) and summer. Starting from the art camps and dance classes since class 7, summer action has always outweighed school. And, that has continued well into college. School time turned ever more an obscure memory while summers became unsullied experiences of adventure and learning. I have never quite written about summers despite repeated promises to myself about recording them. This post is an attempt to record every non-ephemeral memory worth sharing associated with each summer starting 2009.          

2009 - Journo-neering
Journo-neer - Cheesy? Highly but that was my gchat status for the entire time I worked with The Times of India in June-July, 2009. That fledgling interest I had for journalism solidified and took deep root in the basement of the Times House that houses the supplements section where I worked. Turning up at the office of a quizzical interviewee, little did I imagine I would be answering his questions on how reporters keep getting younger by the day. Covering a local school event turned out to be quite some fun with the school staff and teachers calling me 'ma'am' and showering undeserved attention. Eventually, the Editor cut the story to half owing to space constraints. So much for that!  
Being The Hindu loyalist I don't have any of the stories I reported on and TOI doesn't archive all its supplements online. So, there is no evidence I worked there save the letter the Editor wrote for me. Three years from then, all I remember today is the people I met and worked with (there were engineers who had defected for a career in media), the need to find some creative outlet and the joy that comes with fulfilling that, the way print media works and of course, the heady high from seeing my name published in the paper. My neighbor, on the other hand, will remember me showing up at her doorstep every Sunday morning to collect her copy of the TOI along with the agony I subjected her to, with my happy gush over how little has been edited.        

2010 -  Blackholes and the White North
An aimlessly wandering mind pondered over what to do. It slowly unraveled the enchanting powers of the Internet and quickly got reprimanded by a parental voice. It devised a devious ploy and renamed "gchat time" into "internship search time". Well, all didn't go too badly for that charted the way for a splendid summer. Reflecting on that summer, I think what matters today is not turning twenty at Niagara with fiery pyrotechnics in the backdrop (No, the fireworks were not for me. By a brilliant twist of fate, July first happens to be Canada Day and although it looks like the Canadian Government is announcing my birthday to the world, that is far from reality. However, this fact hasn't stopped me from deluding myself or other innocent souls) or club hopping in Montreal (oh, yes, they needed to verify my passport to check I'm old enough and I didn't particularly enjoy this activity) or debate over morality/amorality/immorality or bake cheesecakes and barbeque meat or simply wade through St. John river or gorge on samosas and Pad Thai at the (tax free) Sunday market or the media interviews that happened after. Admittedly, all these are fun things and fantastic memories not to mention enough fodder for "In those days ...." stories to my grand children. But, in hindsight what matters today is the fact that this was my first exposure to research in an academic setting. That is a vital fact simply because it gave me an opportunity to appreciate what I was learning theoretically in classes and to see if I had a flair for doing this in the long run. In the two years that have transpired, I have taken some wrong turns. But, the lessons from that summer were seeds for a new beginning (and that beginning has indeed come!). In that sense alone, I strongly believe that research exposure during undergrad days is almost as important as acing subjects (that you like). And, I am thankful I had that opportunity.        

2011 - The Engineer turns Economist (or so I'd like to think!)
The things you hear when you're young are the things that define you when you're old. I grew up hearing the importance of surrounding oneself with different kinds of people as a means to eschew dogma and to be able to challenge oneself once in a while resurrecting oneself and replenish one's confidence. 2011 was all about this. Starting out as a misfit among a bunch of vagabond economists, the survey turned out to be a fulfilling affair on a lot of levels - intellectual, emotional, personal and maybe even spiritual. This experience is almost impossible to describe in a single post let alone paragraph. But, lets see ...
Every day posed a new challenge. Human beings shun differences and bond with others when living in hostile conditions. Even with those who they wouldn't have cast a side glance at if they had first met at a cocktail party. Arguments are healthy for the soul. I'll correct myself - Healthy arguments are healthy for the soul. Rural India is a lot more beautiful than you can imagine. A rectangle of a camera frame does it immense injustice. People are by nature good (Locke was right after all!). Some of the busiest people are also the ones that respond to emails the fastest. Jean Dreze is awesomer than I imagined. I do get tongue tied when I finally meet someone I have so adored. (That tongue tied-ness has finally gone and I can talk to him properly if not eloquently and on a first name basis). High school Social Science teachers are a huge influence and mine is someone I worship to this day. My Hindi sucks more than I'd like to admit. I know where I will build my retirement home - Himachal Pradesh, ftw! Writing petitions to the Collector in Tamil maybe fun for you but to the villagers it is a serious enough thing that they thank you profusely and treat you to fresh lime (from the kitchen garden) juice. Finally, train travel is the best, even when you have to sit on the floor in a brimming compartment. 
For more serious and useful information, go here and for a lighter but informative read, go here.   

2012 - Fiction becomes Fact         
This summer (June-July) I will be interning at McLeod Ganj, home of HH the Dalai Lama. I hope to post more of that experience here and I am definitely looking forward to the good tea and chow mein that part of India is famous for. I also have other plans after I get back. But, they are like I said, just plans for now. At the moment though, I am enjoying what's left of the year in Bangalore - a city where dreamers come and learn (or even master) the art of compromise amidst leading chaotically dire lives based on meretricious rewards.   

The true adventure begins now. I am looking forward to the journey and thankful for the year that will help me brace myself when the next bump comes!

Until later!

Wise Words

Borrowed, yes. True and tested, nonetheless!

Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity, you will become a statistic.

This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time...I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may. 

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. 

Sic transit gloria mundi

What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying

The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. (Or is he?)

This may look like a concoction of quotations stolen from watching Tyler kill and resurrect Jack, from a 14th century German monk's ramblings, from the misdeeds of  a mischievous Greek or from personal travails. For, all truly wise thoughts have been thoughts already thousands of times; but to make them truly ours, we must think them over again honestly, till they take root in our personal experience. No doubt, Geothe said that. But, that doesn't mean, I didn't!   

Cheesy times

About four months and some days ago, after a long day at work, I heard a familiar grumble. I assumed it to be the usual at first and did what I would usually do. But, this one had a different origin that soon took a form I could recognize with ease. A craving in the making!

Having been introduced to the wonderful land of cheese cakes roughly two years ago, I have quietly grown into an addict. I started visiting every restaurant available in search of perfect bliss in the form of this cheese laden delight. Starting from that random roadside pastry shop to Under the Mango tree to Leela Palace to Fat Chef, I savoured every single one in town. Nearly.

Under the bright headiness induced by a yellow lamp in June 2010, biting into a piece of delicious, home-made blue berry cheese cake, I declared in a stupid, stoopid way,"Okay, people, you know what? We should all meet up. In five years time. In Paris. In front of the Eiffel Tower. No. On top of it. Will be awesssome, no?". As usual, I got "You are insane!" stares from the group but that evening continues to be one deeply etched in memory. Thanks to Rohit's ipod, we have that on tape and Robin for sharing it!
Featuring Rohit, Robin, Nandini, Anmol, Gaurav, Meghana and myself. Here's to those times we had in the Great White North!

Happy places

Early yesterday morning, I was with my family bidding adieu to my sister en route to New York. To me, she seemed tired, agitated, excited, anxious, worried (about her little one) and a bit of any other emotion available. Yet, there was a palpable sense of contentment. Not in sitting on the Jet plane bound for a foreign land. But, in being able to fly somewhere over the rainbow where skies are blue and the dreams that you dare to dream do come true!

Ten hours later, I was hunching over a desk with a knot in my stomach. My name was called and I walked for what seemed like eternity to stop again. Somewhere in the third minute of my waiting, I was ushered in to face a panel of four members - a renowned Mohiniyattam dancer who seemed affable instantly (having facebook-ed her the previous day she was one of the two people I could recognize), a former head of Alliance Francaise and a wine-taster (who was the other one I had facebook-ed but his credentials were something I learnt afterwards), a writer-sociologist-pretty-empathetic woman and a keen, clever man with probing eyes and questions who I was to learn was an IPS officer. I hadn't prepared for this encounter but after my last one, I decided to speak my mind than speak what's on their mind.

***

So, you call that a failure?

Uh,.., yes.

You know, you should meet Aruna Roy. We think you will completely reverse your stance. In fact, you'll say, "Failure! What was I thinking?"

...blank...

You are a lot like her...

(interrupt) Thank you.

... as honesty is the first thing you will notice about her. We hope you get a chance to work with her. But, yes, Dalai Lama's monastery would be a good experience for you too before you go...

...(smile, barely)...

...and with that eye for detail you've got, I am sure you will go places. You know, literature is the panacea for all of life's misgivings. I will suggest a book called "Room with a view" by E.M.Forster. On your way back home, hop into a library, find it and read it.

I will. Thank you!

Thank you very much for the honesty and the time. Bye!

Bye!

***

As I walk back along the corridor, I thought to myself,"You will go places?! I wonder what my happy place is going to be...". As that trail of thought got lost in the chaos in my head, I bumped into Sam who suggested we head to Nuts and Spices and buy candy to indulge Sachit. I willingly agreed.

Cycle of life

Notebook

Telephone

Mobile phone

Epic phone aka Nokia 1100

More mobile phones

And some more

Even more...

...

...

'Smart' phones

Notebook (?!)

Moral of the story is
If what goes up comes down, it could be gravity or karma. Or marketing genius!

Yours Pinkly,

Assumptions and Presumptions
Pink. No other word I know of has been mired in as much controversy as this. Early on, I announce quite vociferously that I don't run the "I <3 Pink" campaign. That said, I also have to add, and quite categorically at that, that I don't belong to the anti-Pink brigade. My first brush with an anti-Pink being was my friend's brother. I own a baby Pink scooty pep+ and this happened to be the subject of many a disdainful discussion (looks like I still haven't quite lost the flair since my last post!). When I went to the Ramkay TVS showroom to buy, all I had in mind was a bike (fine, scooty) that will give me some freedom to travel at will, with no pain and all peace. The last thing on my mind was to purposefully select a pretty Pink one!

History Repeats
A more recent encounter was at work, with someone I call seedling. Seedling cringes at the very sight of my oh-so-Pink (gel) pen. No brownie points for guessing Seedling belongs to the blue group. Anyway, the irony is my Pink pen writes in blue! So much for not judging a book by its cover! Of course, you can claim that's a blink decision and all!

And it repeats, once again!
On a quiet morning, for the first time in months, I decide to plait my hair and wear perfectly formal clothes to work. Seedling walks in and gasp-asks me about why I am clad in unholy Pink! Holy Pink, I mean holy cow! have I committed a fashion faux pas again?! Looks like the pukish pink was the culprit!

Arguably Neutral
So, with these chance happenings, I began to ponder on what's with all the fuss and mess over Pink? I have always stayed quite neutral on this subject. The more I think, the more I am convinced that Pink simply can't evoke any sense of awe or awfulness in me. It's just a colour! Yes, it is true that the last time I picked a dress for my three year old niece, it was ... Pink! And, the little girl does have ninja shoes the colour of gelusil Pink! But, no, she's not obsessing over the colour. (Oh, yeah, the non-believers will ask me to wait and watch!). Finally, the point - I am Pink-netural!
Pink Science
You may think I am seeing Pink elephants if I say that structured research has been going on for possibly decades now to discern the girl-pink association. But, hey, I am in the Pink of good (mental) health for you can read about this research here and about the Pink and blue project. There is also a hunter gatherer theory on sex difference which attributes girls liking for Pink with the early female ancestors capacity to pick ripe berries!! However, there exists a contradicting notion that Pink is actually washed down red and hence was a colour for the warriors. In fact, during World War II, the Japanese pilots indulging in God-wind attacks painted their war planes with sakura Pink in order to symbolise the intensity of their mission. From such beginnings, today, Pink is synonymous with cutesy gossip girls. While some say this is biological programming, there are others that attribute it to a silly marketing ploy. Case in point is the creation of Pink science kits for girls by several toy companies. In fact, Toys 'R Us manufactured a Pink microscope that had poor optic capacities. Did they assume that girls are born with superior eyesight that they can get away with lesser magnification?! One never knows!

Courtesy: tokenskeptic.org

This provocatively Pink microscope has been the subject of many a discussion which you can find here.

Yours Pinkly
Anyway, I decided to come up with my two cents on the subject. What I have done is list the Top 3 reasons why you should be Pink-neutral (irrespective of your sex). Inspired by this cracked.com article and some ego-boost by an insomniac, here goes my list -

#3 Strawberries or Blueberries?
There are studies that indicate women who consume strawberries and men who feast on wild blueberry juice are likely to have good heart condition. Truth is ALL berries are rich in antioxidants which are good things for your heart. What's more, berries don't care if you're on the blue guy gang or the pink girl gang and shower their goodness with zero bias! So, gorge on!

#2 Well, there is no Blue Floyd, is there?!
Actually, there is. But, Blue Floyd is basically on a parasitic diet feeding off Pink Floyd's music and aims at "deconstructing PINK FLOYD'S legendary music compositions to its more primal, elemental form" as a homage. Anyway, for an all boys, commercially hot band with a God level guitarist, Pink is hardly the name. Or maybe, it is the perfect name considering the band name is a tribute to two great blues (uh, okay!) musicians - Pink Anderson and Floyd Council.

#1 Ever heard of Pinkoholics Anonymous?
If you haven't heard of this ultra-secretive community, I am not surprised. These are Pink-neutral men who claim their mission in life is to promote feelings of fraternity amidst the haters and lovers of Pink. They are all over in visible light but hardly go by this name. When you see a guy supporting breast cancer awareness, he's most likely a member of PA. They are sworn to secrecy for life and entry to this club is demonstration of some archaic pagan rituals. While not much is known as to what these rituals are, some prominent members of PA include this famous author and the metro-sexual Nawab in-waiting seen below:

Courtesy:surajmob.in

Moral of the story is
After all, Pink is just a colour!