So it has been a while - a long while. No, the PhD is not finished. Yes it looks like it will be done. No, I cannot be sure.
Plans for after the PhD have been made and are in motion already and i sincerely hope that it is not a case of counting chickens before the eggs have hatched. The finish line is out there, within sight, it just so happens that the highest damn mountain comes first!
Anyway such is life and one has to do what one has to do and I guess there's nothing left 'but to do or die'.
Marriage is on the cards too. Please make contact via email or phone call for further details.
Until then - may the force be with all of you!

It really seems like yesterday that I was writing about my 25th birthday. A year has passed me by and it is that time again. 26 - I could well overreact about the fact that I have not 'a shirt on my back' nor 'a penny to my name' (figuratively). The future is uncertain and the past ... rather bleak. But instead, in keeping with... something.. positivity, stupidity - I''m not sure which - I will think about the good things the nice things.

- How my day started with a lovely breakfast.
- How I have a wonderful, strong and fiercely loving family.
- How I have lost two grandparents in the last six months yet I am keeping alive their legacy.
- How it rained today, just as it has for 20 years of my life, every birthday.
- How my friends are fantastic, cheerful and humorous.
- How the last four years have been worth something: good times.
And of course there are the smaller, materialistic pleasures that make birthdays what they are.
Thank you to everyone that has wished me or thought about me today. Amidst my own issues I may not have had time to talk but I am glad for every ounce of support that I get.
I have no wishes to make, just plans to put into action.
And for those of you that read this blog - read 'Its not about the bike' and 'Every second counts' both biographies of Lance Armstrong. For a Texan, he sure can tell it like it is!

I want to write, I really do
but the words don't form, in a familiar way
thoughts do not gather a meaningful hue
on this 'ominously auspicious day'

I want to write, I truly do
about trial and error, hard work and play
new lessons learned and much ado
about nothing at all, yet so much to say

I want to write, lest I forget
the pleasure and the pain, the heartache and glory
the losses immeasurable, a life without regret
I need to write, to tell the story

I want to write, so I can survive.
Relive and experience, revisit and think
of feelings. Feel alive,
correct wrongs, collect rights and think.

I have written, so it remains
etched forever in memory and in words.
Mine forever to claim
as experience, done, seen and heard.

For my grandfather...

My grandfather passed away on Saturday. It is truly the end of an era for my family as we come to terms with the loss of my maternal grandparents, as we somehow make peace with the fact that Daddy is no more and learn to celebrate his life, instead of mourning his death. He will rest in peace, just as he lived, in peace with himself and with those around him. With heavy hearts we bid farewell to a man who was not only a dutiful son, faithful husband and loving father but above all an exemplary human being - Daddy, we can never do justice to your legacy but we will keep it alive.

I have been MIA and with good darned reason too. I should NOT be blogging I should be thesising. But I am not.
I could provide a blow by blow analysis of my loss of sanity or I could just suck it up... and I've chosen the latter.
Last update, providing valuable information for those who care and for those who may follow, is that I have one chapter left. It seems to have become the slogan 'One chapter left'
My mom is here, God bless her soul, and she has taken over everything. So there are really no moe excuses.
Ok I'm off people.

An open letter...

to the person that wrote the paper on optical nonlinearities that is now being read like a Bible by all and sundry.

Saying things like 'the coefficient can now be easily calculated' and then sticking one with 3500 equations all of which have some unsolvable integral in them that goes from 0 to infinity, infinite times along with variables that all have the same letter to denote them as well as extensive use of the words 'easily, simply and unambiguously' will slowly but surely kill a PhD student.
Do you really wish to be the cause of mass suicide?

Amrita

The mandatory slumdog rant

It has been a long hiatus indeed and what better way to make a comeback then with a rant about Slumdog Millionaire, the movie that nearly got canned post production, had its producers back out and nearly landed in the 'straight to DVD' pile before being rescued and going on to win 8 oscars. Now that is the feelgood story of the year!
I read Q&A by Vikas Swarup a few months after the book was released and came away with mixed feelings (maybe I reviewed the book on this blog, I cannot remember). However, after watching the movie I am compelled to say that the storyline in the book was far superior to that of the movie - in that the book actually had a storyline. The movie on the other hand is, technically, everything a movie should be. Fast paced, gut wrenching, emotion evoking and ends on a high note where you leaving feeling that all is well with the world.
Now, to the debate that is raging throught the blogosphere and the media.
'How dare this white man, Irishman no less, come to India, film our slums, call us slumdogs and win Oscars!' (Im not sure if the conclusion to this statement is 'where is our share?'!)
First off, slumdog is not an insulting term. It is a colloquial term for an 'underdog from the slums' - as Jamal Malik, the protagonist, was. Secondly, I don't remember reading or hearing the makers of this movie state anywhere that it was a documentary meant to reflect the state of slum dwellers in India.
Which brings me nicely to my point - this is a movie, a work of fiction and should be seen as one. Technically the movie has few flaws, if any. Just as the public is happy to watch something as far fetched as Amitabh Bachchan get off a helicopter and walk into his office (in K3G) so also they should accept a child jumping into shit to get ABs autograph. Just like a 'Lakshya' depicts Indian soldiers winning the Kargil war, so also does Slumdog depict the( highly unlikely) story of a chaiwalla making it to the hot seat of 'Who wants to be a millionaire'.
This is not exploitation. What is exploitation is expecting the movie-makers to provide for the future of the acting children and their families and the entire slum! If the same movie had been made in the UK these child actors would have signed contracts for a certain sum of money and that would be it. It would not matter if the movie won a hundred oscars or was canned!
Such behaviour begs the question - 'If the book Q&A had won the booker, would the entire nation be up in arms about it?' - No, because the book did not show things, it left them to your imagination.
Personally, I think that the movie was a soppy love story, which the book is not and herein lay its lack of appeal to me. People in general and people in the lower socio economic group who are struggling to survive in particular, seldom have the time or the inclination to firstly recognise 'love and destiny' at the age of 5 (was it?) and later pursue it relentlessly for 10 years!
The book was believable, the movie is not and this again should reiterate that it is nothing but a work of fiction. Making it out to be anything more would be insulting to the intelligence of Indians who consider Bollywood an integral part of their 'culture'.

V-Day = D-Day

This is a very relevant article written by my aunt. She was a Supreme court lawyer and has worked for years with NGO's.

VALENTINE'S DAY

Laws of Manu ( Manusmriti) is the basic foundation of Hindu law and his laws governed the ancient Hindu society.

Manusmriti belongs to period later than that of Vedas, written any time between 200BCE and 200CE. Manu was a man. His laws govern the status of women in Hindu society in all aspects, from her birth up to her death.

Under Manu's laws women were like chattel with not rights whatsoever.From time of her birth, she was considered 'paraya dhan' that is someone else's property. She had no place in the family of her birth.

As a girl, she was controlled by her father and brother. After marriage she was under the control of her husband and in-laws.

So a Hindu female was never born free. Even in her death she depended on man to light her funeral pyre without which she would be unable to attend 'Moksha', liberation of her soul.

Thus in India it is mandatory that women's relationship with men are expressed only through religious, ritualistic rites as per ancient Hindu law.

For example 'Bhaidooj,' Karwachouth', 'Vatsavitri' etc. are religious occasions where women worship and idolize their brothers and husbands as their protectors. These rites are intended to pump up male chauvinism. Also this religious rigidity is a pointer to the suspicious nature of our men folk vis-à-vis women and also other men. Result is men-women relationship tends to be frigid.

Since women are chattel, men are protective about their herd and any outside women is treated as an object of sex. This is so because in the world I would rank Indian men as most hyperactive sexually. Our ever-growing population explosion is a clear proof of it.

Where the religion sanctions such hypocritical, prudish attitude and double standards towards sex , there can only breed a society where there is no room for a healthy, friendly relationship between the opposite sexes.

Valentines's day is celebrated in memory of St. Valentine, an early Italian priest regarded as the patron of lovers. Feast day is 14^th February.

Going by dictionary meaning, 'Love' is an intense feeling of deep affection or fondness. Love also means sexual passion or excitement. The Manuvadis understand only the later part of the meaning. If they wider their horizons, they will understand that sentiment of love has depth and purity and if treated with respect, it can only grow and spread.

Since last few years , in India the youngsters have started celebrating this benign festival of the West. In fact it gives a pleasant opportunity to young people to express their love and affection to the opposite sex. Taken in the right spirit, It should be considered as an harmless outlet of feelings which are otherwise suppressed and tabooed in our orthodox society.

One is amazed at the vicious reaction of groups like VHP, Bajrang Dal etc towards this innocuous revellery of youngsters.

In Bhopal, probably six years ago, a brother murdered his sister for giving a Valentine's card to her boyfriend The murderer was made into a hero by VHP and Bajrang Dal.

As reported by Times of India( 13^th Feb.2004)In Gujrath, Bijal Joshi was made Vishva Hindu Parishad's poster girl for Valentine's day.

Bijal Joshi was raped and murdered by her lover. The members of Dura Vahini, women's wing of VHP decided to use the case of Joshi to create awareness and induce fear among V-Day revellers and to stop children from "corrupting influence of western culture which is manifesting itself in gang rapes"

Have these rabid ranters any idea about the rapes committed everyday in India inside bedrooms between married couples, mass rapes on dalit women, who are so poor that their huts do not have doors. Rapes committed on minor girls.

Does VHP, Bajrang Dal, Durga Vahini know how many women and minor girls are forced into flesh trade and repeatedly raped in a single day. Has VHP or Bajrang Dal done any constructive study in this field?

Another reason given by VHP etc. to oppose V-Day is " vulgarity depicted on V-cards"

Thus one can conclude that VHP et al will protect India from vulgarity, obscenity, rapes and murders of Western culture only on 14^th February. It also follows that 'love' is a dirty word for them only

on 14^th Feb. What happens rest of the time is not their concern.

It is unfortunate that depraved depiction of love in films, TV channels, pornographic website and literature etc is truly corrupting the minds of youth which is the real issue which should be addressed on a national level. In a male dominated society like ours, projection of women as sex symbols by mass communication systems , are making Indian women more vulnerable to the lust of sexually hyperactive but socially suppressed Indian males.

There are sporadic violent reactions by some bigots on non-issues only adding injury to our already fractured society.

Goddesses are worshipped only in temples. In real life Indian women by and large do not have any civil rights and liberties. In India where fifty percent population (women)is treated without equality, any respect, any care and who are under perpetual fear of abuse, is a pathetic blemish on the world's largest democracy.

No political party considers this as a very serious issue which needs to be considered on priority basis if India has to become a civil and just society.

Only those societies are strong and confident in whose social fabric liberties- civil and religious have been developed side by side with the growth of individual character in all classes of the nation.

Ranjana Bobde

12-2-09

I have been wanting to write for a long time now and I know why I haven't. It is over a week into 2009 and I don't feel different. I don't feel rejuvenated and new. I don't feel cleansed and refreshed. 1st of January 2009 did not take away with it all the remnants of 2008. I did not begin the year feeling light hearted and unburdened. Actually I spent it waiting for four hours at the Emergency Department of the hospital, waiting to have a piece of my contact lens removed from the eye.
On the other hand, let us be light hearted even if everything is telling us otherwise. Here are some silver linings:

1. Waited at ED for four hours bright and early on 1st Jan - at least I had my dad with me and we got to talk!

2. Missed mom as she was in India - lost weight from having to eat own cooking.

3. 2009 does not feel like the new year - at least I am tackling known evils.

Other epiphanies include realising that 2009 is probably the worst year to be job hunting. Also re-reading PG Wodehouse has made me realise that I do not have an Aunt Agatha - I have two Aunt Dahlias. Also, everything feels prosaic. There is much to be said about my physical well being if the only time I feel fully normal is when I am running to nowhere on the treadmill. The sinuses are open, breath is free and not hindered by umpteen blockages, muscle fatigue feels better than unsolicited muscular pain, the mind feels a sense of pseudo-achivement and concedes to forget the fact that no work of actual importance has been done. There is something spiritual about running, something that transcends race, religion, waise size and hip girth.
More good news was ushered in in the form of the much awaited blood test results - low iron and high cholesterol, nothing one did not expect. Once again, known evils.
I sometimes feel that I drew the short straw, genetically. Weak eyesight, broad manly shoulders, size 10 upper body and size 8 lower body, crow feet and strange toes. And these are just the external. I boast a wide variety of ailments internally too. Basically I am 25 going on 85.
So, resolutions? you ask. 'Eh?' I say.
Eat more fish, finish the blasted thesis and then - go away, somewhere. Where no one knows my name....

I just want to talk. Sit down and talk. To somebody. Anybody.
Tell them about the tumultuous year it has been.
Talk about the atrocities we have seen.
Talk about the joy in-between.
This year has been a mix beyond comprehension. I am at a complete and total loss not just for words but for thoughts and feelings too. There has been immense joy and extreme pain. There has been unfathomed success and unimaginable failure. There has been a sense of foreboding and in almost every case it has ballooned into some result.
My sister said yesterday - 'Do you think 2009 will be better'? I said 'How much worse can it get?'
My wish for 2009 - 'Safety and happiness for all mankind'.

...

For twenty five years of my life I have had the great fortune of having both sets of grandparents alive. Until this morning. My maternal grandmother passed away this morning.
I have a million thoughts going through my mind but I guess none of them matter anymore.
Rest in Peace Bhabhi (there is a long story behind this name) - we all miss you.

After the Bombay Massacre

I tried to think of different ways to begin this post but the first line is inconsequential. Bombay burned for the last three days (it will always be 'Bombay' to me). I remember where I was as do millions of others of Indian origin. I was in the lab all morning and later in the afternoon my friend called saying that my mother was trying to contact me and that I should check online to see what is happening in Mumbai. What happened is no secret and there is no point in reiterating it here.
This morning I read, to my rather pleasant surprise, that the Home Minister had handed in his resignation 'amidst a lot of pressure'. Which means that heads are rolling for the mis-management of the whole issue and it is almost a first for India! A quick browse of articles showed that Vilasrao Deshmukh was taken to the Taj to take a look at the aftermath of the tragedy and the man shamelessly and callously took along his actor son and director Ram Gopal Varma! I did a double-take when I read the article. Not only does it show scant regard for the magnitude of devastation but it is a glaring example of the kind of 'leadership' that the country has. This and people like R.R. Patil making statements like 'bade bade shehron mein aise ek haad hadse hote hai' or some such - somebody should tell him not to spout movie dialogues to a shocked nation! If it was SRK they wanted would watch DDLJ.
As India recovers from what can only be described as horror of the utmost degree, I find myself wishing from the bottom of my heart for some semblance of sanity and safety in this insane world. Finally I can understand the plight of people in war-plagued nations. The plight of humans in nations where all they know is fear and war. It has not become a waiting game and one of near-misses. There were about three degrees of separation between those killed and I and this is hitting far closer to home than ever before. I am scared just like everyone else, scared, confused and bewildered at the thought of a few boys about my age, welding guns and killing people for the sake of just that - killing. They demanded nothing more than for innocent people to die. If that does not shake you to your very core I don't know what will.

...

Google asked me to login to my blog today! After (three?) years I had forgotten that blogger uses a login - anyhow, it is awfully convenient that it is the linked to the google login. In this day and age when absolutely everything needs a login and password do you ever find yourself running out of creativity? When the process first started for me over ten years ago, first hotmail accounts and the name choosing thereof - amritaprasad - taken, amritaprasad83 - taken, thisisridiculous!!!- taken... you get the idea! Then comes the task of figuring out passwords that are, for all practical purposes, uncrackable. So the adolescent fourteen year old naively puts in the name of the latest crush or the hottest TV star at the time and can keep it this way until one day, several years later you need someone else to open your email for you and you have to sheepishly reveal said password.
So after the initial enthusiasm and the subsequent realisation that it is impossible to remember all the logins and passwords you decide on a few generic numbers and words and keep it that way! And speaking of logins and google - have you ever noticed how a person's Gtalk status bar can tell you all you need to know about their state of mind that day, or how it can bind you for life! Like the day that Obama won - every status message on my Gtalk side panel had some variation of 'Yeah Obama'! One look and it can give you that warm and fuzzy feeling that someone else is suffering too when the status message says 'I hate work' or 'I need a break'! It can be a conversation starter like when I changed mine to 'Amrita thinks' - people wanted to know what I thought, voluntarily, without me having to hold a gun to their head or anything!
It can also be a conversation killer like when the message says 'Do not disturb busy pretending to work'. It can be full of surprises, pleasant like when a friend says 'Hi' while on invisible or unpleasant when a friend says 'Hi' while on invisible and then compels you to change your status to invisible. Of course there are the quiet days when all it says is 'Away' or 'Not at desk' but then there are interesting times like when it says 'I cannot believe it happened' and then the conversation flows from there!
It is a little window to everyone's lives and really it goes to show how we can really sum up our days into one little sentence.
Apart from analysing Gtalk messages I have also been reading 'My sister's keeper' by Jodi Picoult and for now I am hooked!
Next update on this blog will be a book review.

History

The last week has been full of unforeseen circumstances. Some good, some not so good. It has led to heart-ache, head-ache and a strange pain in my upper ribs leading me to think that I may have cracked one, what with all the coughing and sneezing fits. But that is for a doctor to decide.
Last week also saw America vote in its very first African-American President and I reckon us who are alive and kicking today should be proud to have been a part of history! I was among the millions who watched Obama's victory. I was also one of the millions who watched this non-entity, Sarah Palin, rise to alarming levels of power and for the lack of a better word, stupidity!
Strangely enough I only listened to two of Obama's speeches, the first when he won his party's vote and the second when he was elected to the highest office in the world!
If there is one thing and one thing only to say for the man - he can talk!
I am not interested in current affairs and politics and my knowledge of these does not extend past the day's headlines, however after Bush the Second came into power (twice!) and thoroughly mis-used it causing grief to millions and basically wrecking havoc on the world, my opinion changed. Of course I had no power in voting him out but I could join in harshly disliking him! I am not of the school of thought that thinks the Bush doctrine is correct and I cannot bring myself to agree that thanks to his 'actions' he has thwarted all further attacks on American soil. I just don't like the way he goes about things - but to each his own I guess.
So it came to pass that I took more than a passing interest in the US elections this year and supported Obama whole-heartedly (if only because he seemed like the lesser of two evils!). Another reason this election was entertaining was because of Gov. Palin. Of course the media exploited her greatly, much like they did Bush himself, however there cannot be fire without fuel. There is more than a fine line between inexperience and sheer lack of ability and it was abundantly clear which side of the line Mrs. Palin was on. That said, I did feel sorry for John McCain when I heard his speech accepting defeat but he did not seem up for the daunting task ahead and worse still, in the case of his demise it would be Mrs. Palin who would be the first (and probably the most cerebrally challenged) female President. And it is a genuine concern!
I do not know if Obama will do all the claims to and neither does the rest of the world. What we do know is that he knows what needs to be done and that is a start. While McCain seemed oblivious to the idea of an economic meltdown, Obama realised that it was imminent. And the fact of the matter is that is happened!
For everyone that says that Obama's African-American heritage was an advantage, statistically it was not and even if it made people of this race vote for him, so bloody what? - he had an advantage and a fair one (pun unintended!). His advantage was not that he bribed people, or coerced them, his advantage was that in-spite of physically appearing like a minority he knew his stuff. He knew the problems and he proposed solutions and did so while speaking like a messiah and looking like a, well, Hollywood star! I say kudos to him.
This is for all those that claim that America is a woman unfriendly place which explains why Hillary Clinton was not chosen and Sarah Palin was targeted by media. Go to America and you will see that an African American man is still considered lower than a white female and there are no two ways about it. It was an unfortunate stereo-type - until now!
So I had goosebumps while listening to Obama's victory speech, not because the words were flowery but because he is a born orator. If Bush or even Hillary Clinton had said the same words they could not have accompanied it with what seemed like honesty of spirit.
It remains to be seen what will come out of all this but we cannot dispute that history has been made, we have all been a part of it and we are all the better for it.

They say that writing is soothing. They who? You know, they that said that time is a healer and also that good things come in small packages. They of proverbial fame.
I have been on edge lately. It is probably PMS. Maybe not but most likely it is. Things annoy me, worry me and put me on edge every time I try to step off said edge. So I thought I would listen to 'them' and write. Write because I have a blog and a keyboard, write because I can string words together and write because I don't need to make sense all the time.
See, I think this right here is the problem. My mother said to me today 'you have raised the bar and set standards' although she said it in another context. Of course what she didn't say was that once the bar is raised then one is compelled to make sure it stays that way. Which brings me back to the problem. In a rather philosophical way the problem is to 'make sense all the time' . I am harsh on myself, with myself and more often than not I believe that it is for myself. What I don't seem to realise is that the harsher I am with myself, the more I am going to rebel against me! Some day I am going to get sick of myself and turn around tell myself to treat me better!
I think that day is fast approaching. Where instead of reprimanding myself for not doing things better I will just say 'hey you are human, **it happens'.
I don't know if what I need is rest or work. I am unsure of whether immersing myself wholeheartedly in a thesis (which only has half hearted interest) will put me back on track or will it be better to get away from it all. Wonder what 'they' have to say about that.
What helps though, to a certain extent is, once again characteristic of me, taking the middle-ground. Immersing myself in a good book. 'immersion ka immersion aur break ka break!'.

On Sunday I broke my vow to buy only second hand books this year and I an feeling a tad low about it. My sister and I have been feasting on Daphne Du Maurier's books ever since we read Rebecca and unfortunately, barring two novels, that were bought and devoured rapidly, none of the second hand books stores here stock her stuff. So one trip to Borders and I was $50 poorer but armed with 'DDM's Short Stories' and 'The Memory Keeper's Daughter'. The latter I have been wanting to read ever since it was released and after months of waiting for it to hit the 2nd hand stores I finally gave in and just bought it first-hand.
Finished reading it last night and I have this nagging feeling that I did not get my money's worth. I know it is a terrible way to think of a book - I feel unsatisfied about it.
The Down Syndrome angle was underplayed and the main character's actions seemed to lack enough reason. True they tell you that his sister was ill and that it changed his life and his mother's but it is always glanced over without being dealt with in enough depth. In saying that, maybe I just missed it. The book is beautifully written though and uses fantastic imagery. But in themes like this there is always a danger of not doing it full justice - in my case I prefer the abstract to be interspersed with startling revelations. Especially in a book of this volume.
This book was supposed to be about the redemptive power of love, according to the blurb, however to me it seemed to rush through this redemption in the last chapter rather than building it up enough. However, it is not a bad read.
Of course Kim Edwards can write and I am keen to read her other book 'The Secrets of the Fire King' I think it is called.
So tonight I shall make a start on DDM and needless to say her writing leaves me breathless. Bordering on bizarre it is amazing for a woman of her time. Just goes to show that the mind knows no barriers.
The thesis writing is progressing at snail's pace and despite having the thoughts in my head I am having serious trouble putting them into words. Scientific writing is lacklustre, without creativity. On a brighter note, my cousin arrives this weekend and the next month promises to be interesting!
Still, right now I would give anything for a good cup of tea and a rest. Both have taken a beating since I am down with hay-fever.

I thought long and hard before I wrote this post. It was triggered by some thoughts I had late last week while driving.
I can pinpoint the event that led to my studying Physics as a career. 7th Standard, Physics lesson, learning about how a thermos works. I can also pinpoint the event that led to my studying opto-electronics at university - the day I learned that it was a course taught jointly by Physics and Engineering schools, thus satisfying my personal need to study Physics (and NOT computer science) and satisfying the family by saying that I was doing 'engineering' of a kind that they would not comprehend.
Throughout my school and undergraduate years, even thought the work took its toll and there were times when I passed with flying colours and times when I failed miserably, one thing was constant, consistent - interest, amazement and wonder!
I can recall being fascinated by lasers and light. I can remember the tinge of excitement when I saw the HUGE particle accelerator at the ANU. I can recall with startling detail the thrill of actually watching light bounce off in semi circles through water that was saturated with sugar.
And then something happened that sucked this out of me - I started this PhD.
This very disturbing observation I made when I thought back to my friend and I and the conversations that we used to have. My friend is one of the smartest people I know. His grasp of Physics as a subject exceeds the understanding that most practising academics have! So here was this chap who could simplify complex theories into everyday analogies and of course this led to many a heated discussion. We would spend hours talking about Physics, the simple things, the complex things and of course the dubious things.
I has been over two years since we last talked about anything except how frustrating work is. It has been over a year since we last discussed a truly 'exciting' result of our work. I have myself to blame mostly for this.
Today was an annual celebration to mark the founding day of my workplace. So we sat through numerous, some surprisingly good, presentations. This, of course, is the perfect scenario for the mind to wander and it did.
Over the last three years I have attended several conferences, sat amidst the brilliant Physics minds and heard them spout words of consolation more than anything else. I have also heard a rather alarming amount of rubbish. I have seen how research is converted, if not reduced, to appeal to the masses and how this conversion leads to undeserving people gaining credit for half-baked ideas. I have learned that in today's world a successful academic is one that can appease the grant-givers and industry-men. I have understood that Physicists do NOT discuss the wonders of the world around us as much as they discuss the 'political scenario' that will influence their 'next grant' - over a cup of tea. I have seen that 'influential' academics will push their students regardless of talent and that those willing to be party to this will be duly rewarded.
However, this is a mere digression, it is not something 'new' neither does it warrant thought.
If I get this Phd - it will be my biggest gain and for it I will have paid with my passion. The excitement and wonder of yesteryears will be lost to cynicism and skepticism. Never again will I feel the sheer joy of reading Einstein's original paper on relativity, or the pride of meeting the man that invented the optical fibre. Why? - you ask. Why can't one get out of the rut and still take away a sense of achievement. Simply because it is fake.
There are several days when I feel that the 'thing' that I make at the end of my time here will in no way help a poor starving man in India who pulls a rickshaw in the heat and humidity of Delhi, gets spit on and abused by all and sundry and still does not have enough to feed his family. My work will in no way make those in power realise their follies and change their ways. And just when I am about to sink into the depths of despair I see a light at the end of the corridor.
It is the door. Leading out. And it is my choice to whether to walk out armed with an advanced degree. One that I have spent the last three years for. And right now it seems like the shortest distance between me and the door is through the thesis.
And beyond that I can do something that makes me happy. That gets me excited and fills me with wonder. A wonder that I once felt sitting in a classroom as a 12 year old learning about how a thermos worked.

- Is it me or have clothes sizes changed drastically in the last three years? My sister and I went to the mall last weekend as I had to buy a pair of jeans. Now, people that know me know that I always need jeans and people that know me better know that I never find them! So we were checking out the usual stores as well as the unusual ones and chanced upon this lovely pair of Bardot jeans. So, as is the norm, I picked up a size 8 (about 1.5 for you Americans!) and proceeded to the changing rooms. Now I am not sure what happened between me picking up the jeans and putting them on. Did the act of touching them shrink them? The size 8s climbed half way and then stopped!
So I tried on the size 10s - same story. Now I know that I have not put on weight since I was last a size 8. Heck I have been a size 8 all my adult life and don't intend to change that! I left the store grumbling and then my fashion savvy sister informed me that since anorexia nervosa became the in thing size 6 is the new size 8 and size 8 is the new size 800! At this rate I will be shopping at the 'for large women' store pretty soon!
Sunday also saw me at the Indian store picking up a packet of MDH T-Masala. Fantastic stuff this! Imagine masala chai at work! Also, Drona was watched over the weekend amidst coughing and sneezing fits. Terrible movie which had the potential to be passable.
In other happenings I have passed up a trip to the US of A. I never thought I would say this but thesis writing has taken priority to say nothing of the fact that I would have to leave tomorrow if I do decide to go!
So in the blah di dah nature of things let us find solace in the simple pleasures that Canberra life offers, like when you walk along the parking lot and a bird does not swoop and attack you, or the fact that in spite of the creepy crawlies infesting your courtyard one has not crawled up your nose or into your ear and how you did not get lost on Canberra roads yesterday - Amen!

The long weekend and a gender rant

Yesterday was Labour Day here Down Under and it was a long weekend. Now long weekends are a very rare occurance in this part of the world and so one duly warrants celebration. For me 'celebration' constituted doing nothing at all. Well not 'nothing' entirely or I would not be writing this post:

1. 'A Wednesday' was watched on Saturday. I was blown away by Naseerudin Shah's acting, as was everyone else that watched the film. I was also blown away by the pace and the simplicity of it. By the wonderful predictability. By the fact that the 'final speech' made me think 'Yes! That's it exactly, you tell them!' and finally I was blown away by the last line 'log naam mein mazhab dhoondh lete hai'. So true, so very true. And in this day and age, so appropriate. We live in dangerous times, in times where our name could be held against us, let alone our religion and our beliefs.

2. There is a Harry Potter game out for Wii! Yippee! So it has been decided by mass consensus that the game shall be purchased, it is just a matter of speaking with the expert and sorting out the whens and hows.

3. I was stitching a pair of pants last night when a thought struck me (No I am not skilled enough to actually stitch myself a pair of pants, I bought pants that were a tad too long and so I was just hemming the bottom). I know people who do not know how to stitch a button onto a shirt. Boys and girls, men and women my age, who think that it is either below their dignity or a waste of time to learn how to stitch back a broken button. I am not sure if it is a 'status' thing with my generation. Just as cooking, cleaning, draping a saree or a dhoti or reciting a mantra/prayer is considered to reduce your 'coolness' factor. I disagree. Just as I disagree that only women should know how to sew, or knit or darn or cook.
My parents have not brought me up as a girl - or a boy for that matter. We were not thought to think like a person of a gender, we were just taught to think! Just as we were taught that if your shirt has lost a button, stitch another one on. If you are hungry, learn to cook a few basic things. If you buy a car, learn to fill fuel in it!
I cannot understand that modern mindset of girls and boys who choose to be girls and boys or men and women. Girls that take pride is being treated 'like boys' -what does this mean exactly? Maybe tasks like stitching or cooking or cleaning were considered to be for women when women did nothing else. Even today if I was married or lived at home and did nothing but sit home all day I would consider it but practical to cook, clean the house and do the chores. It saves time and makes sense. Just as my husband or father or brother would do if they were without a job and were at home. I do not consider it womanly or unmanly to stitch a button just as I don't find it manly to climb onto a chair and cut the bushes on the porch fence! To me it is a matter of survival and practicality. I am proud that I can drape a saree albeit not very well, I am proud that I can mend my own clothes and that I can cook a decent meal. Just as I am proud that I can fix broken cupboards and cut down overgrown bushes.
I just hope that I someday I can pass on this upbringing to a fellow human being - the idea that we can all be just people, humans with genderless brains, genderless ideas and thoughts.

The songs my children will sing

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
She said I can be whatever I like
'Just don't live off your dad and me'

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
There's money in the bank, you see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
He looked scared and ran away

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
madness runs in the family
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Now I have no children of my own
to ask their mother, what will I be
Good thing is that I'm not around
to bring them up poorly.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
this is an epiphany!
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

*Copyright Amrita Prasad