Love thyself

Until a few years ago, words like ‘feeling low’ (and also simultaneously, the other side of the coin, viz. ‘getting high’) were strangers to us. Growing up has its own flip sides I believe. But of course neither do I support frowning about what is, and unnecessarily glorifying what was or what could have been.
I have grown up. And I am happy about it.
Starting out at a good school, degree at a sought-after engineering college, leaving home for masters at a famed institute of technology and ultimately settling down for doctoral studies at another premier research institute. Perhaps we are at a wonderful stage of life where the hunger to learn is still there, yet with a contention and appreciation of what we have already learnt. And the learning of course is not confined to academics only, but also applies to life in general.
However, moving from school to college, from college to university, from university to institute, what is concerning is that we have perhaps been moving more and more further away from simplicity. Often times we are stuck at the superficial level of apparent intricacy and hence we take time in realizing that life is simple.
And hence, beautiful.
In this premier research institute, there are workers, researchers and professors on one hand and messes, canteens and juice centers on the other where the aforementioned species collect for myriads of discussions, about almost anything under the sun. Yet, the vibrance is some how on the lower side. We have perhaps made expressing dissatisfaction our foremost nature.
The funda of classifying friends must be well known to all of us. Some are amazingly close to us, some are trustworthy, some we would generally hang out with yet from a distance, while some are mere acquaintances who can be called ‘duur ka dost’, analogous to the ‘duur ka rishtedaar’ of the Indian family tradition.
So one day early morning I was having a glass of moosambi juice along with a trace of fresh air hoping to increase the sattva element in my genes (for I heard from someone long ago that fruits are the perfect examples of sattvik food, and of course I had to pay 1500 bucks for learning this in the form of an ‘empowerment’ workshop, no free lunches my friend!), when a ‘duur ka dost’ of mine bumped into me. It is a tradition here to have an initial greeting session, that is, asking for ‘kushal-mangal’ in the form of the following question: ‘How is your research coming along?’
Once that was over, I realized that my ‘duur ka dost’ was a philanthropist, too. For, within a few minutes, and even without my asking for it, he showed his concern for me by cautioning me and pointing out what might be the disadvantages of working with the advisor I have chosen for myself for my doctoral work. That he might be very busy, that other than whatever possible by virtue of his position, he cannot render any help, and so on. I was not surprised. Such baseless accusation and apprehension was not new. And like the previous cases, I wanted to test my hypothesis once again.
So I asked him how his own advisor was. Initially he was generous. He told me that his own advisor did not have any of the problems which my advisor was accused to have. (Was that also to make me feel envious?) For, as predictable, when I asked him further, he soon delved deeper into problems, which according to him, was unique to his professor. That he cannot find his professor during his problems, that his professor presents new ideas and instructions at every meeting and so on. And hence, now, the prime motto of his is to somehow publish 1-2 papers, submit his thesis and leave this place for ever (and for good).
In ordinary cases, when two people are together for a work, difference of opinion is bound to happen. But what troubles me here is the skewness of expectations that the students generally have about their advisors. This, as I mentioned before, was not anything new. I am sure, professors would also be equally unhappy about students. All of us are perhaps trying to minimize our efforts and time in everything we are into.
As a result of which, eventually a time comes when both parties look forward to finishing the association somehow. And we call it – the awarding of the degree!
And sadly, with a very few lucky exceptions, this is the general trend among almost all branches of education. Not only here, but perhaps everywhere in the world!
That is why it did not take me time to realize that this ‘duur ka dost’ of mine is not into his research simply for the love of it. He is lost in other complexities. My hypothesis yet again could not be rejected. And I cannot really blame him because the system stays healthy only with such apparent complexities.
In an independent incident, another of my friend was having a discussion with his advisor about an article he accidentally found in a journal. My friend was fascinated by the work those people had done, and with a lot of excitement of sharing, he went to his advisor. But, academics, alas, is not sacrosanct! And perhaps also not as pure as we conceive them to be.
His advisor, after listening for two minutes asked him – ‘what transfer function have they used: linear or non-linear?’, ‘linear’ my friend replied, still unable to understand what the professor is going to comprehend out of this and still with his excitement un-extinguished. Out came the reply – ‘then we can apply the non-linear function, and publish a paper out of it’!
My friend was shocked at this reply! And grossly dejected. The whole purpose of finding out and appreciating a really good quality of research was lost!
No. The professor cannot be blamed either. He has hundreds of responsibilities to shoulder, and also incessantly do well on whatever ‘performance index’ has been set on to him by the system.
All this is not new. There are novels, stories, TV series, and even a celebrated comic strip illustrating all these nuances and fallacies of a life in research. However, what we take out of this is perhaps not limited to entertainment alone.
And our learning is essentially the outcome an age-old wisdom. Love.
To our professors we may be students, and to us they may be professors, but we share identities that tie us together. We are all humans. And a simple thing such as respect for a person as a human being, for being the person he or she is, is viciously lost in the complexities that are churned up by issues totally material in nature.
I can discuss with my professor about Buddhist philosophy on Facebook, and he attends my music shows and cares to congratulate me if I do well in them. He lures me to studies by promising gifts when I am down with no appetite for exams, and many may find it difficult to believe, that he actually goes all the way to bring me the books that he had promised. And of course, I do not mind him being ruthless if I had been negligent and insincere. Neither do I expect him to spoon-feed me at this stage of learning. PhD is the last stage in our education where we can raise questions freely, for, once this phase gets over, we will be asked questions and we will be liable to find answers. And I do not know whether I am more happy for feeling so lucky, or more unhappy that this is a very very rare example in any of the educational institutes meant for higher studies.
I was a little surprised about the PhD interview I had to face before admission here. I was not asked a single non-technical question! I expected at least one question that would make us ponder for a while: why would we want to do a PhD?
And in many cases I am sure the answer would be simple. But perhaps, lost.
Which is why we stop loving what we are doing. And when we are in such a fix, we start finding faults in trivial matters. Our expectations grow boundlessly and in wide and impractical directions. And eventually, we forget to love ourselves.
Do I need to mention about the unfortunate suicide cases that keep on happening in many institutes in the country? There have even been cases where students went absconding from their studying/working places! Our heads hang in shame on such news.
Beauty can be in all that we do, see or think about. If we love it while doing it, cleaning a room can give us as much bliss and joy as painting a picture or singing a song. And sometimes, to realize this, it is also important to go through troubles and to be sad. For when we are alone, we might start loving ourselves. And love life, too.
We all know this, don’t we?

And sometimes, however, it is important to not work, too! For, through this process we might learn how to handle the problematic situation we might face by not working, who knows? :-)

bhoy r asha....

din sesh-e ekta ghor.
aar ghor-e ferar swopno.
khub sadharon.
tobu bhoy paai.
bujhte parina je tor duto haath amar ei
moleen deho takei bhalobashbe chirokaal.
dur-e jete chay ei murho, pashaan, nishtur ami.
koshto dey aar koshto paay.
ami chinte paarina amay.
tobu tor aalingonei khomaprapti
aamar sob paap-er.
tui amar unmukto aakash.
aami daanaheen bihongo, tobu
uurte aakul hoi,
tor dikei....



A home at the end of the day..
And a dream to return home...
Very ordinary.
Yet I apprehend.
I fail to trust that your hands
will forever love my dirty apparition.
And I try to run away.
Oh foolish, silly, cruel me!
you hurt, and get hurt!
And I don't recognize myself.
Yet in your embrace
will my sins be forgiven.
You are my eternal unending sky.
I am a bird with broken wings.
Yet I never stop flying..
towards you.........

Punishment...

Game over.
And now, the next.
Vapors from the ocean become the rain, and the river,
To meet the ocean again.
The clock-hands’ journey never stops.
Honesty was there in all of the love!
Accidents, sagacity, rarity – was pure in them all!
And likewise, the pain.
Fresh.
You weren’t ready to lose even a morsel of warmth.
Do you remember?
Do you remember for the love of no concession you had ruthlessly
Uprooted the very love?
Blemishes of the wounds.
Veils of fear.
Torn, broken dreams.
Yet, intimacy with the self.
Oh it is no less!
And there’s no stopping the destined.
Lashing all vows of toughness
Love comes again.
Slowly.
Silently.
Flooding all resolutions of being cruel, of being indifferent.
Could so easily you tread the path, knowing it would be treacherous?
Is so luring the door to fantasy?
So attractive the silver moonlight?
Could your dreams want to be deceived?
Or they couldn’t, for,
You love again!
You leap again in inanity!
So now, pay for that taste of eternity.
Erect your edifice, against all tempests.
Build your world at the epicenter of the quake.
Leave the ground, for,
You have longed to fly.
You have aspired.
You have dared to love.
There’s no escape!

wait...

Jaanlar opaare surjyo gole jaak godhulir nana rong-e
Paakhira firuk neer-e
Sob podokkhep er theke rehai paak raasta
Bishaad-ei baajuk taanpura
dhulo jome gaachh-er patao
Hoye uthuk chhai ronga
Meghera Cherrapunji-tei bhalo achhe
tai tumi borong naa-i ele
Lamp post neebe jay jak
eta opekkkhar golpoi hok...


And, here's the translation:


Over the window, let the sun melt into colors of dusk.
Let the birds sequester to their nests.
Let the road take respite from all strides.
Let the strings play melancholy.
Let the leaves turn gray, ridden with dust.
The clouds are well and happy in Cherrapunji.
So let you not be.
Let the lamp post light be put out, too.
Let this be a story of wait……

A translation from Mousumi Bhoumik

I heard the other day...
sailing over the ocean waves, you reached and touched the blue sea horizon...

I heard the other day...
over the salt-sand long beech, you walked miles....and miles...

I have never been to the sea...never floated in the blue....
never kept my stare fixed on a flying winged kite...
The next day when you again go for a bath in the sea...please take me with you...
will you??

I heard the other day...
you, you and you..all together made a gathering
And you all talked about many complex puzzles...many words unspoken...

Why this running alone so secretively?
Why speak lone and live with self, for self?
If there ain't love..it's all alone...solitary...
Where will I find peace?
going where?? Tell me....

I heard that you all still dream...
still tell stories...still sing your hearts out...
People's life... and death..still bother you
Your love still blooms into a rose...

With a distrustful mind, I have come to you
and stretched my hands to you all for your alms...

I find only a vacuum within the core of my eyes
I don't find a dream filling me in the middle of the night...
Hence I have opened my lids to dream....

Hence I have come to you and stretched my hands to you all for your alms...
Hence I have opened my lids to dream....

I am the public

The water scarcity problem in IISc is now well known, and I must say, has faced with the consequence that is faced by most of the problems in our country – getting accepted! It is no sooner winter than there isn’t any water in the hostels. Come summer and we will be bathing in the sand like the way a sparrow does. (For shitting, we can of course use the millions of unknown, unseen and un-habituated wild nooks spread across the huge campus, never mind!)
Fresh male admissions here always are put up in pigeon holes on a sharing basis, collectively called E-block. There they are not entitled to have water for 24 hours, irrespective of whether it is summer, winter or monsoon. And when the sun is about to set behind those myriad species of trees in the lush green campus, students of E-block for fear of Daku Gabbar (read absence of water) either go to sleep, or decide to spend the rest of the night in their respective labs itself. One productive way of increasing the amount of research I must say!
Hence, while the rest of India sees ragging by students (read bullies), the best educational institute in the country witnesses a special scenario, where such intolerant behavior to fresh admissions is incurred by the authorities themselves!
And most of the times it is the drinking water that finishes first. Which brings me to my own story.
Yes, of course I am not a philanthropist to pen down a story for public interest. It is what is happening around me that has troubled me, and helped me overcome my hard-wired laziness. There is no drinking water in my hostel Mrigasira since the last 6 days. And you might find it a little difficult to believe, but which is nonetheless true, that not a single plumber has paid a visit to the hostel yet!
For the first two days, I relied on my fellow wing-mate who had been kind enough to fetch me water from another hostel, realizing that I have a torn ligament in my left knee. Next day, I thought it would not be good on my part to ask for her favor everyday. So I went to Ashwini. In Bengali there is a saying that says that only a boy with a poor vision has names like padma-lochan (The lotus-eyed one). Pardon me for being audacious, but all the five ladies’ hostels here in the best educational institute in the country, are in an analogous fashion, named after Mahanakshatras (Great astronomical stars). Ashwini had given up the next day. No water there!
So I thought now that I have gotten started, let me check with some other hostel. Rohini I went. Now here, let me digress a bit, and tell you more about Rohini. This is the only ladies’ hostel that allows the entry of men! You must be thinking that the authorities perform a ‘maturity test’ before allocating girls to this hostel! The criterion is not that, not your age either. It is – ‘how long have you been staying in this institute’. Of course, some of the Rohini inmates are lucky enough to have their rooms there in their freshie year also, for, the other more profound criteria are the whims and wishes of the person who has the duty (read right) to allocate rooms!
Rohini, with its bigger and better rooms, I am afraid, had no drinking water either! So I went to Krithika. (This is the same hostel from which my kind wing-mate had brought water for me the previous two days). So I thought at least Krithika won’t disappoint me. But when I started filling water, I saw that the ‘processing’ button is always on, and the green button for ‘purified water’ never lights up! What?? This is so misleading! I had drunk this unpurified water the other night! Oh my God! (And hail my stomach, for not upsetting me!)
So next I am left with only one option (unless I intended to come all the way to lab giving my injured knee some exercise, of course) - Bharani. ‘Dear Mother Ganges, please supply me with drinking water today, I promise I will send my parents to Haridwar next year!” said I, a silent prayer. And yes! Bharani had water! Yeppie! I filled all my four bottles with happiness! Done for the day!

Next chapter. Come another day. And the same story! This time, the watchman told me there is no drinking water in any of the hostels! I decided not to venture out and come straight to the lab. And guess what? For lunch, we were not given bowls because they couldn’t be washed due to lack of water!
I remembered my good old IITBombay days! Yes we had space problems, but at least the authorities were kind enough to provide us flats instead! In an individual hostel, we had coolers and water purifiers every wing and every floor! There was no separate treatment for fresh admissions. And every individual hostel had its own mess, its own students’ council, its own mess manager, hall manager, two helpers, and an associate warden and a warden who would be professors! Where the watchman would check the luggage of all the workers in order to ensure there is no stealing of food or any other items that are meant for and paid by the students.
Can’t accept this! Can’t accept! I must at least lodge a complaint! For the last three days I had only been asking the watchman whether a complaint has been lodged and felt happy when he said yes! But no. Let me check it myself today!
I called the water supply department.
“Hello, there is no drinking water in Mrigasira since Friday. Can you do something about it?”
“Which hostel madam?”
“Mrigasira!”
“Hello”
“There is no drinking water! Could you send a plumber?”
“Which hostel madam?”
“Mrigasira, I said!”
“What?” (And then I remembered the unique way of addressing hostels here!)
“M-block, M-block” I almost shouted.
“Ok madam, I will send someone!” – thapak! End of the call….
Call at the hostel office…. Ring! Ring! Ring! And Ring! No one bothered to lift the call! Smart people!

What is the problem? I asked the watchman again. And he told me that it is a supply problem!
Now water supply problem in Bangalore looks very mysterious to me. My brother had stayed here for 2 years in BTM layout, and had never ever complained about water! My friend from the IT industry stays in Whitefield, and he seems to be unaware. My friend who is a research staff in Nimhans, Koramangala, had never faced such a problem. The distribution of supply seems a little strange. We have heard from our professors that the institute pays the BWSSB a lot for water supply. Awards galore at their website: http://www.bwssb.org/

Lets do some study, and forget about this, thought I. Came to lab. My fellow lab-mate, a victim of the E-block, met me on the way, and a traveler in the same boat, he realized immediately by seeing all the bottles in my hand. It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon.
“No water, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah, don’t ask!”
“But now it must have come…even in E block there was no water, but now it has come!”
“No water as in, not even for bath?”
“Nope!”
“Then?”
“Then what? We waited till now, and took bath, and now coming to lab”.

What should be my state of mind now? Should I feel lucky that at least I could take bath in the morning, or should I feel sorry my friend, and at least another hundred like him, who had to wait till 4 o’clock for getting water for bathing!

Time for studying now….regularity, eating, sleeping, drinking water (kudos to the rich department for fitting aqua guard at all the labs)….end of the day.
Next morning, I woke up with a fear that I might find the taps running dry! But thank God, they weren’t. But no drinking water, as usual! I had to take all my bottles and start out on a venture.
Wait. Can I not find two minutes to actually lodge a complaint with the hostel office itself?
History tells us, that we Indians are very peace-loving (read lazy enough to always accept things the way they are). But can I not change myself at least for a day?
“promise you would be polite, promise you wont fight!” I said to myself!

“May I come in?” I asked in the hostel office. There were four rooms, and I made a random choice.
“Yes”
“See Sir, there is no drinking water in Mrigasira since Friday, and it has been 6 days now. No action has been taken, and I have come with all my bottles. You please tell me where to fill them?”
“You see, we have our own jurisdictions. The hostel office chairman is going to come at 2.30 to look into the issue!”

What??? Jurisdictions? How long does it take for someone to at least enquire what’s wrong? Am I going to remain thirsty till 2.30?? I could almost feel blood rushing to my brain!
“patient, patient” I told myself.

“Would you tell me how long does it take to take a step?” I asked.
“There is no point in arguing with me, madam. You can come and talk to the chairman at 2.30!”
“But I am not in this institute to complaint to the chairman! I have to attend classes at 2.30!”
“There is no point talking to me madam. We are looking into the matter. The chairman will sit at 2.30 today for solving the water issues. We have our own jurisdictions!”
“But it has already been 6 days!”
“We have done the best we could do!”

The ‘best’? Did I hear correctly? The ‘best’? Is this what he said? I couldn’t control my natural emotion, which ultimately came out of my mouth with a lot of hurt, and shame!
“If this is the best that the best educational institution in the country can do, it feels sorry to be here!”
And I started running away. And while running, I could see that, like many street fights in our country, we had an audience!

…………………………………………………………………………………………….


We have been lucky. Most of us have not seen the worse. Most of us here in this institute are good students who have been caressed by their parents, praised by their teachers, brought up in all cozy comforts and who have set examples for their younger followers. We are here for our research.
But above all this, with my badly hurt heart now, I realize one truth that surpasses and raises above all petty mundane things that we indulge ourselves in everyday. That making a difference is not easy! That adding more meaning to life is not easy! That facing a problem is not easy! That NOT putting blame on others is not easy! We, who are very common mortals, on either side of the table, are not very different from each other. And together are we. Together we rise. Together we solve a problem.
Yes I am writing this for myself and my own interest. Because I am THE PUBLIC.