A recurring dream strikes. In India, too!

Every once in a while, the dream takes on a very familiar theme: my PhD and the teaching job that I now have.  Last night's, too, was so convincing that when I woke up, I had to smile at how much it keeps me on my toes, so to say.

In the latest variation of the theme, I had just about completed my doctoral program and am looking for a faculty position.  Other graduate students have found jobs and moved on, and all of them had completed their studies in engineering.

So, there I am, wondering to myself whether I, too, would have easily found a job if only I had a PhD in engineering.  Meanwhile, my visa status is reaching its expiration date and I am worried about being booted out of the country, which, come to think of it, some of my students perhaps wish had really happened!

I woke up with a start, and immediately realized it was all a dream.

By now, I am used to this periodic visitor in my head. 

What makes it all the more exciting is this: apparently such dreams are not that uncommon among university faculty. 

A few years ago, I shared this with a music faculty colleague.  She said that such dreams are practically the norm among musicians.

She then recalled the experiences of her graduate school professor, who was a renowned music conductor.  Despite all his decades of experience and accolades, he would apparently have panic attacks every once in a while, worrying that the world would find out that he didn't know anything and that he was a fake.

One might think that such a panic attack--however rare it was--would be destructive.  Not so.  The professor apparently said that such dreams were reminders to him that he continued to be passionate about his work and that he would lay his conducting baton down if he no longer felt a slight sense of anxiety.

That is what I tell my students too--that I will think about retiring the day I realize that I have lost that tiny bit of nerves and if I take on a casual attitude towards my profession.  Which is why I am at peace with these nightmarish dreams--these are reminders that I am not anywhere near taking my job for granted.

But, I am sure my system can easily knock that humility into me in kinder and gentler ways than waking me up in the middle of the night :)

I miss listening to NPR. Hope I haven't lost my groove :)

The best news about India yet: maids are hard to get

It is barely three days into the trip and I have already heard comments along the theme of "it is so hard to get maids anymore."

That is a wonderful measure not merely of India's economic growth, but--and more importantly--of the opportunities that have opened up for "half the sky."

In the olden days, even a generation or two ago, it would have been quite common for the daughters of maids to follow in their mothers' footsteps.

Not anymore!

The best of all stories in this came from my sister.  The daughter of a maid at another relative's place was a good high school student and a couple of people pitched in and helped the girl go on to study engineering.  Yes, engineering.  Imagine that!

Now, that alone would have been a fantastic story all by itself.  But there is more.

This young girl has now completed her undergraduate program, and was recruited by one of India's major automotive corporations at quite a significant salary.  Oh, the hiring was done even before she earned the diploma!

What a transformation in her life, and in her mother's life, eh!

My sister noted that this girl and her family lived in a one-room space, and the only way the girl could find peace and quiet in order to study was to climb up to the roof top and do her college work under a really dull light.

How awesome!  Maybe I should bug my sister and try to meet this remarkable young woman.

The net result: as more and more young girls and women study and engage in productive employment, the less the supply of maids.

Which means, pretty soon in India, too, people will wash their own clothes, clean their bathrooms, and lead lives that will be very similar to what I experience in the US!

Such a practice should, however, not be any surprise to MK Gandhi, who advocated self-reliance and honor in labor.  Maybe, just maybe, we are one step closer to that Gandhian ideal.

As we say in America, "you go, girl."

Kyoto Protocol? Oh, I thought it was the Quito port of call!

The Economist, the source of the graph, adds:

America, which did not ratify the [Kyoto Protocol], and China, which as a developing country is exempt, are responsible for 41% of the world’s CO2 emissions.

When flashing the US passport won't work, who is your daddy?

I thought I would re-activate the data card that I bought and used a couple of years ago.  But, of course, that is now old technology, which wouldn't work.

"Ok then, I will buy a new one" I told the customer service person.

"Do you have the ID documents, sir?"

"Yes, I have come ready with my passport, and copies of the passport" I said as I took all those out of my bag.

She looked at them, and said, "we need an immigration certificate too."

I told her that I don't have any such certificate and that the passport has the Indian visa.

"No, sir, they would have given you an immigration certificate stating that you are here in this country for a reason."

"What reason?  I am here on a tourist visa and am staying with my parents" I explained.  But, it was clear I needed that certificate in order to get the new data card, which will be my on-ramp to the internet.  No data card, well, no internet.

"Do you have any Indian ID, sir?  Maybe your bank account?"

"I don't have anything Indian.  I have been an American for too long."

"Sorry, sir, without the ID we can't create an account for you."

I was clearly stuck.  No point cursing the system--after all, these protocols had been triggered by one too many terrorist incidents.

At least, here in India, I don't have to strip down so that I will be cleared to climb into an airplane, which is the case back in the US.  At the Portland airport, I was shocked to find quite a few men standing around in their jeans and undershirts--because they had removed even their sweaters before proceeding through the latest scanner.

It was my turn and the TSA agent suggested that I remove my sweater.  I asked him what would happen if I didn't.  He said I might be pulled aside for a pat down.

Guess what?  I retained my sweater, and the agent was not too happy to feel me around :)

India requiring all these papers is a similar response to terrorism. So, I asked her, "what else can I do?"

"Your father can open the account, sir.  He will have to bring the original ration card, a photocopy, and a recent photograph."

Uncle Sam failed, and it is dad to my rescue!

Thirty minutes later, I was back there with dad and all the supporting documents.  He signed on the dotted lines, and ten minutes later, the agent installed the data card on my laptop and, presto, I was back online.

It was time to pay.  "So, after you didn't want to take my US passport, will you accept my American credit cards?" I jokingly asked.  Of course, it was rhetorical!

Eavesdropping is fun--if only I could understand Sanskrit!

As is my habit when I visit India, I walked over to the nearby Natesan Park even before the Sun came up.  It was a careful walk to the park though--not only had I to watch out for garbage and stray dogs, but had to also avoid stepping into any number of puddles that were seemingly everywhere, thanks to the heavy rains.

With each lap around the park, the people count increased.  With the hour approaching, it was time to call it quits.  Instead of simply walking back home, I chose to sit on a bench for a few minutes and think.

As I wondered whether I should untie my shoe laces for a few minutes, I heard some strange words coming from two people seated on the bench to my right.  The tone sounded familiar, but the words were not.

I was glad that they were on my good side--the good ear side, that is.  Because, it turned out that they were conversing in Sanskrit!

Perhaps my old Sanskrit teacher from the high school days will be happy to know that I could recognize Sanskrit words even after all these years.  He was always worried that while a dog could be taught to shake hands, we students were worse :)

The man on the bench, dripping with sweat from exercising, I imagine, looked about 55-ish, while the woman was a few years younger.  He was on one end of the bench, while the woman was at the other.  I figured that this meant they were not a married couple.

But, their conversation wasn't anything clandestine--it was evident that these were practicing their language skills.  Conversing in Sanskrit.

A couple of minutes later, a much younger man--about thirtyish--walked towards them.  The older man forgot to welcome him in Sanskrit, and spoke in English instead.  And then invited him to sit down in the space in between, and the young man did.

The Sanskrit conversation resumed, with the younger man also participating.

What a wonderful experience out of the ordinary!  Early birds do get some tasty worms.

Suddenly, the woman spoke in English. "That is the possessive form of the word" she said.

These three were quite serious about the old parent of many a world's languages.

I listened in for a couple of more minutes.  And when I heard one of them say "Aham (अहम्,)" I got excited enough to go through in my mind the singular, dual and plural forms of the first person, second person, and third person pronouns:

अहम्  आवाम्  वयम्
त्वम्  युवाम्  यूयम्
सः तौ  ते

And, of course, the female and neutral versions, which I am now tired of typing in a different script :)

As I started walking back home, I heard one guy yell at another, "you want to go to Dubai with us?  There is a deal. Only 25,000 rupees for the flight and four days there."

This sounded so harsh after being lost in a Sanskrit conversation.

We stink, therefore are human

As I reached my aisle seat, I hoped that the adjacent seat passenger will be one that I will be able to talk with for a while.  Well, it was not to be. 

But, he was a character enough to catalyze my thoughts into blogging about, ahem, odors. 

He looked about seven to ten years younger than me, and was in a suit, while I was my usual drab self.  

He spent a few minutes trying to match the overhead bin space with his carry-on bag.  Finally, he succeeded and then got to his seat.

As he passed me, I got a whiff more than I would have liked.  “I hope I don’t have a body odor like that” I thought to myself. 

Years of living in the US has made me sensitive to such issues.   

Growing up in India, I never gave these matters even a moment’s worth of attention.  In fact, there is a good chance that I stank, particularly with my constant sweating.   

Once, when my brother complained about the stinking sweat—not my sweat, but in general—my great-uncle, who was known for his repartees, quickly commented, “let me know when it smells wonderfully; I will bottle and sell it by the ounce.” 

In the US, I recognize that I might be the only Indian that many of my students get to know, which means that I need to try to present the best of everything that the land of a billion has to offer.  Thus, a body odor is not what I want to impose on my students!

My seatmate proceeded to remove his jacket and tried to catch the attention of every passing stewardess.  When one finally paused at our row, he gave her his jacket and requested that she hang it. 

As she walked away with the jacket, I wondered whether the other clothes hanging in that cramped space will acquire that body odor.  Imagine if you were to retrieve your jacket and it smells of an odor that you know is not your own.  Perhaps this alone will make you conclude that it is better to wear a crumpled jacket than to let it mix with other clothes, right?

In the traditional Brahmin weddings that I have attended when younger, the male guests were always welcomed with sandalwood paste.  As a kid, I figured that there was nothing religious about it and was a social ritual that effectively eliminated body odors in large gatherings and, instead, spread the pleasing scent of sandalwood.   

Women wore plenty of flowers, jasmine in particular, which also played a phenomenal role in masking the natural odors that result from life in the tropical heat and humidity. 

One of the dialogs in a Tamil movie that I watched as a kid was a heated exchange between two debaters on whether women’s hair has a pleasing smell even naturally, or whether they result from the oils and flowers.  Why even debate about this: I cannot imagine anything natural about the human body having any pleasing smells—we are born to stink, and some of us stink more than others.

Which is why humans have invented an array of products. 

These days, unlike my younger years, I use many, many products, for which, as I enjoy pointing out to my students, we owe a lot to the petrochemical revolution: anti-perspirant/deodorant, shampoo, soap, cologne, chewing gum, and, of course, toothbrush and paste, and more .... 

Yet, I bet I stink in the classes I teach, and it is not my body odor that I refer to :)

I am not the master of spices

“Sorry, it was right next to your face” said the young voice that removed the McDonald’s bag away from me and towards her.

The voice belonged to a young woman, perhaps a college student, with curly blonde hair.  And next to her was another woman of comparable age, with unmistakable Indian heritage.

“No problems at all.  Didn’t bother me one bit” I replied, before biting into the chicken wrap that I had bought at the McDonald’s at the Los Angeles International airport, while waiting for my flight.

“Where are you visiting from?” I asked them.

“From Australia. We have been traveling for five and a half months, and now we are on our way back home, via London.”

“Wow, almost six months away, and now right on time for Christmas at home.  Where is home in Australia?”

“Perth. We graduated from the university and wanted to do a six month travel.  We might not again in life get time off like this, and we decided to take the plunge.”

The blonde had completed her occupational therapy degree, while the Indian was a chemical engineering graduate.

“So, after six months of travel, do you remember your differential equations?” I asked with a chuckle.

“No way” was her immediate response.  “I am actually a little bit worried about preparing for job applications and the interview.”

“Well, hey, you now have stories to tell at the interviews—you can talk about your travel adventures.”

“Yes, between this travel, where we covered Europe, Canada, and America, and my previous travels in Asia, I can.”

She added that her parents settled down in Western Australia, after their beginnings in Goa and then a merchant navy life that made wanderers out of them. 

As is typical of their generation, they were doodling on the iPad even while holding an involved conversation with me.   

I, on the other hand, had a tough time multitasking merely having my food and talking with them!  I was reminded of the joke about President Gerry Ford that he couldn’t chew gum and jog and the same time.  At least, he was a president, dammit!

It seems strange, even to me, when I write that I was consciously enjoying every bite of the chicken wrap and fries from McDonald’s.  But, there was a reason: for the next three months, I will be eating Indian foods.

Every single day.   

After nearly twenty-five years in the US, I have settled into an eating habit that has no place for Indian food on a daily basis, and that too the authentic dishes.  Thus, I was set on relishing every bit of the chicken wrap from McDonald’s! Oh heavens, from McDonald's!

The two girls, though, seemed to be having a great time eating and talking and doing everything else.  I am pretty sure that I was far from upbeat like these two when I was their age.   

I doubt if the world can handle seven billions of such peppy youngsters, which means that there is more than a need for the dull and boring people like me. Talk about my niche, eh!

The blonde told the Indian, who was continuing to fidget with the iPad, “forget it” and then turned to me and asked “is there any free internet at the airport?”

I laughed. “In America, we joke that nothing here is free.”  I added that typically large airports do not offer free internet service, while most smaller airports do.

“In Vegas there was” the blonde said.  The Indian added “in Charlotte and Miami too.”

I could not imagine why two young tourists from Australia ended up in Charlotte!  But, I didn’t ask them either.

“So, what is your takeaway about the US?”

The blonde had an instant answer: both her thumbs went up. The Indian agreed by nodding her head.

I wished them a good flight, and they returned the compliments.

We headed our separate ways.

As I walked towards the security-check, I became more worried that I was not ready for three months of Indian spices!

Why worry about Facebook? Let me count the ways!

As if I don't worry enough, everyday there is more to scare the bejesus out of me about the biggest of big brothers, Facebook.  Today's edition (ht):

A couple of months ago, 24-year-old Austrian law student Max Schrems requested Facebook for all his personal data. The European arm of Facebook, based in Dublin, Ireland, was obliged to turn over this information, as they had to follow an European law that requires any entity to provide full access to data about an individual, should this individual personally request for it.

Perhaps a few pages of lame status messages, you might think.  Well, guess again:

Berlin-based newspaper taz.de decided to visualize [taz.de] different aspects of this data: the magnitude of the 1.222 unique pages, the exact times Max logged in and wrote messages, the times of day messages he sent or received, Max's friend network, the locations of the pictures he took in Vienna, and the most popular tags of Max's messages. While the visualizations by themselves might not stand out, they do reveal the huge amount of digital traces one leaves, even when they were originally purposively 'deleted' or discarded.

That is right--even when intentionally deleted or discarded!

Scared yet?  If not, what is wrong with you? :)

Fatwa of the day: on women and bananas. Yes, it is about that!

Asra Q. Nomani writes:

This past week, an email pinged around the world, claiming that a Muslim cleric "residing in Europe" issued a, well, interesting fatwa, or religious ruling, banning Muslim women from touching bananas or cucumbers: “He said that these fruits and vegetables ‘resemble the male penis’ and hence could arouse women or ‘make them think of sex,'" according to a report in a supposed Egyptian website, BikyaMasr. The Times of India ran the story: "Islamic cleric bans women from touching bananas."
"If women wish to eat these food items, a third party, preferably a male related to them such as their a father or husband, should cut the items into small pieces and serve," the cleric supposedly dictated.
It's hard to confirm that the fatwa is true, but the fact that we, in the Muslim community, would even think it's possible is a reflection of just how inane the phenomenon of fatwas has become in the Muslim community.

She adds the following as her favorites of the inane ones:

1. A man can work with a woman to whom he's not a brother, father, uncle, or son, if he drinks her breast milk first.
2. A husband can divorce his wife with a text message, declaring: "I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you.”
3. Muslim girls can't be tomboys.
4. Mickey Mouse is a corrupting influence and must die.
5. Emoticons are illegal.
6. You can't wear a Manchester United soccer jersey.
7. A husband and wife can't have sex naked.
8. Pokemon is as bad as Mickey Mouse.
9. Ditch the downward dog. Yoga is forbidden.
10. Girls above the age of 13 can't ride bikes. (See fatwa No. 3.)

Breast milk? Seriously?