Curiosity killed the cat: Reflections at the beginning of a new academic year

'Curiosity killed the cat,' goes a popular adage but for a teacher, a wee bit of curiosity is required to keep their vocation live and throbbing. Standing at the threshold of a new academic year and the beginning of my fifth year in the college that I teach (M. E. S. College of Arts & Commerce), I am filled with a sense of excitement plus trepidation - new sets of students, new and old subjects, same subjects and new students, same students and new class, old students and new teaching methods. Curiosity about the new methods in teaching, curiosity to find out about the new students, curiosity to use crazy strategies and curiosity to understand my personality better is something the teaching fraternity should practice as a matter of principle. When the Principal addressed us (the staff) this morning, my takeaway from his speech was the word, ENGAGE. While referring to the usage of audio-visual equipment, he mentioned, "Don't just use the Power-point presentation, try to engage the students.' The word stirred me - I questioned myself abut the word, ENGAGE. Do I really engage my students or prattle off what is required and walk off? Do I effectively engage ALL the students or just a few vocal/smart/ambitious ones? How do I reach out to every single student present in the class? 

Many in the teaching fraternity would like to remain teaching the subjects that they have always taught. Reason: There is no much preparation required. But I beg to differ. Every single batch is a brand new one. I don't deny that the same types of students exist in every class but every individual has a different personality which requires a different strategy. I reckon that one cannot afford to be lethargic and lackadaisical either about the subject or the student. But I guess, it's easy to remain unaffected and plod on without any enthusiasm for many of them.

At the beginning of every academic year, I strive to introspect and reflect on my abilities to create a better version of myself, different from the previous year. This preparation gives me part enthusiasm and part trepidation at the commencing of every academic year. I look forward to the newness at various levels and the additional joy of the monsoon during the reopening time brings a spring to my step. And curiosity does not always kill, it does help us ENGAGE as well.

I do wish to ENGAGE and not merely complete what is assigned. May the force be with the teaching fraternity. 

IMAGE: Internet

Strange times of teaching and learning

 A blogger friend on Instagram posted on how working from home, though comfortable, makes her miss the office routine of having complete time for oneself in terms of work and socialising. While reading and responding to her post, I realised that my predicament was a mixture of many emotions. During the first lockdown starting March 2020, the fear of the virus and the comfort in the confines of the home made me create a routine in which I managed to thrive quite well. Then in June 2020, the college reopened (no students and no classes but we still had to go to college) and I found myself weary and complaining - there was no point in going to work when there wasn't any need to. The new academic year began in September 2020, I think, and the prospect of classes beginning gave a new energy to me and I was looking forward to the online classes after a long break; when the classes finally began, the students and I were collectively lamenting that we could not see each other and observe the expressions of each other. September passed and so did October and we grew familiar and comfortable with the new mode of teaching-learning albeit punctuated with complaints now and then but overall smooth sailing. I was especially despondent that I could not connect with my first year students who had newly joined college not that I was familiar with the second year students who I had not taught previously.

2020 gave way to 2021 and somewhere there was a tiny thought that the virus would die off and things would gradually return to normalcy. How wrong was I! 2021 seemed to be unfurling like 2020 (March onwards). The online mode of classes continued with few weeks of working from home whenever someone tested positive.

Online mode of teaching

The new academic year was slated to begin from February in offline mode for the students in their final year of study and the rest online. I oscillated between feeling happy and morose. On one hand, I was eager to finally 'see' students face to face while on the other hand, I thought I would miss the comfort zone of online teaching which allowed me to sit in a comfortable position and conduct my classes. Well, on the appointed day, the students came and briefly we were both excited and elated. 

Then the troubles began . . .

The students started to bunk college. The strength of the students began to steadily decline because they were unable to easily shake off their lackadaisical ways of attending classes from the comfort of their beds and breakfasts;  the pyjama and home clothes had to be exchanged for early morning rush hours and presentable clothes. The sheen of offline classes though was welcome in the beginning began to wash off. The reason for this was that though the offline classes had resumed, the normalcy wasn't restored. The wearing of masks, social distancing and constant talk of the virus had killed the easy and relaxed ambience of a campus setup. There were days when I had to drag myself to a class dreading to see the faces of students. I longed for the online classes because either way we had to go to college everyday.

Empty college campus

In April 2021, the cases were rising and the scenario in our state was going from bad to worse. Online mode again! And then the curfew led to suspension of classes which were termed as 'vacation.' I still don't understand my thoughts when it comes to online classes. I am at a loss unable to decipher what I feel and think. Though I am able to comfortably navigate through both the modes, I tend to oscillate in my preferences solely because I tend to hold a picture that is closer to 'normalcy,' which I know would never be restored as before. In the midst of these, the quality of the classes is my concern as well. Sometimes I am unable to give my 100 per cent and function as though everything is normal. It is here that the mental health of teachers come into the picture. As important stakeholders in the education system, it is vital that instructors allow themselves to take time to observe the various changes both mental and physical that they undergo during these times. Understanding themselves either by observation or with the help of others would enable the students also to be able to perceive the changes that these times have brought about. 

Everyone should be able to acknowledge the fact that this isn't a mere change in the mode of teaching but a paradigm shift that comes with its own challenges and takes time to adapt and engage.

Meandering on my calling

For a long time now, this thought and related thoughts have been filling my mindscape and I haven't been able to arrive at any conclusion. Teaching is a noble profession. It is indeed . . . until I began officially teaching at a University. Now, this is ambition and calling for me. I had always imagined that if one has likes to do something and pursues the same, it will be fulfilling, wonderful and all that jazz. But nurturing an ambition and actually pursuing it are two different paths. Hope you get what I mean. I had assumed that since I like being with young adults and also liked literature, teaching would be the ideal occupation, if I may say so. Well, the whole world also thinks that way. And, teachers are always looked upon by almost everyone. This rosy bubble coupled along with my desire made me a teacher. I have also shared many tales of my occupation as a teacher in this blog, which many of you have read and commented.

But somewhere down the line, I realise that possessing a love for something alone does not keep you going. The practicalities of the real situation sometimes wriggle the initial enthusiasm and drain it drip by drip. I had always presumed that the industry of education is quite a sane place. Time and again, I have been proved wrong. Back-stabbing fellow teachers, cut-throat competition for popularity, messing up marks in favour of a favourite student, and many more tales fill the education industry. Now, when I think back, I seem like a fool who thought that all was fair in the world of teachers and students. I wonder about my calling. But mind you, leaving a job which pays a salary at the end of the month, is not easy. When lovely quotes which says, If you don't like your job, QUIT, I wonder. I wonder whether it is as easy as the quote makes it out to be.

Another thought that niggles me while on this profession is drawing the line between being emotional and professional. I always tend to relate at a personal level with most of my students. I laugh when they are happy, pat when they are down in the dumps, nod when they walk with their love interest and advice when they want me to. But this attachment always sends wrong signals to the students. They tend to assume that if I am close to them, then that will earn them more marks. But I just cannot give marks freely. I give them the marks they deserve and that strains the relationship. The student assumes that I have two sides to me: the friendly one and the that of a strict teacher. And, off she/he goes about telling everyone how I gave him/her very low marks. Phew!! What do I do?

Only this job gives you two months holidays and you can come home early, blah, blah. Well, I do accept that fact but in the term days, the amount of pressure and stress that is loaded on the individual is enormous. The students' faces always clears many a cloud and gloom - Well, I accept that as well but how long? Sometimes, I think that it is quite early to arrive at such thoughts as this post carries. I have been teaching here only for a year and before this I was in a dreamy residential school called Rishi Valley, which I blame for my higher standards of expectation.

I also understand that wherever humans are present, there is bound to be jealousy, competition et al, but then enlightened souls in the education department ought to be different from the others (so I thought/still think).

Sighs. Such a long post. Tell me, what do you think.

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

Confusing kindness for tolerance

When one is a teacher, there are several nuggets of experience to chew and internalise and one such nugget is the act of being kind and free with the students. When it comes to interacting with students inside and outside the classroom, I make it a point not to be very strict or reprimand them for every single act of theirs. Even while teaching, my examples are drawn from everyday aspects of life that the students can relate and sympathise. And the smile - I almost always have a smile pasted on my face which tends to make the student comfortable while in the class and also during our different interactions.

BUT all the aforementioned attributes of mine are almost always mistaken to be signs of an informal person who has great tolerance towards anything including malpractice. Well, I have now started to wonder about the signals that I am sending across to the naive students.

The smile is always mistaken as a sign of extreme tolerance on my part and also the green signal to flout certain disciplinary boundaries. I understand that I cannot expect my students to observe every single thing that is normally expected of them like sitting quiet in class, fidgeting with mobiles and trying to do their homework when I am teaching. But my friendly behaviour and pleasant demeanour makes them think that they can get away with whatever they are doing.

My angst and dilemma is how I should conduct myself as a teacher. Should I be kind and compassionate and understand that they are after all children who pretend to be adults or should I be rigid and firm and never smile thus forcing them to be like captives of Femme Fatale Susan or should I learn to balance my thoughts and learn to ignore certain aspects of student behaviour.

I have taught before and on many occasions I undergo this sudden rush of meandering thoughts where I question my conduct and role as a teacher. After all these years of teaching, I still struggle to resist finding a middle path and stop myself from complaining as to how how my kindness is mistaken for tolerance by the students.

Non-working non-teacher and happy

For those who do not know: I am not teaching this semester which technically also means that I am not working (in a regular job which pays at the end of every month).

The reason: My Ph. D. degree is long due and I am yet to defend my thesis and get a degree. In this post, I will refrain bad-mouthing my University and get to the crux of this post - My status as a non-teacher and a non-working individual.

For the most part of my life I have always been either a student or more recently, a teacher. I have enjoyed being on either side and hence had something seemingly purposeful to say when asked, What do you do? Of late, I have to explain in more than one sentence as to what I am doing. Sometimes, I just respond by saying, I am a Ph. D scholar. Period. The queries don't stop there. They continue like constant dripping on a rainy day: You were working, na? What happened? Don't you have a job now? So, you are sitting at home idle? Well, it is true that I had been working and that I had a job but that does not mean that I am idle! On sunny days, I take it in my stride and nonchalantly brush off the queries and patiently reply: I am writing research papers and also working on a couple of other academic things but on not-so-sunny days, I refuse to answer and simply try to cut off the conversation. Simply put, I am tired of explaining to all and sundry my status of being a non-teaching and non-working woman.

While some are pleasant and chirpy: One needs a break or Being at home is good or Take this as an effective 'me' time, others quip in, No personal money now or Aren't you bored? Well, all of the above is proved right at some point but sometimes it's just a bit repetitive to hear the same words over and over. Translation of being a non-working individual is idleness and prolonged sadness. I see that there is a general belief among most of the people (I know) that being at home is endless pain and misery. The joy of having time to oneself, sleeping and waking at will, prolonged time in the bath, extensive reading is practically unnoticed by people. The fact that not working equals to not having money is a very crude way of looking at employment.

Even today morning, my close relative called up and asked me, What work do you do, anyway? I realise that I cannot blame people and their views and beliefs. Their world-view is limited and narrow. On my part, I should strive to not take things personally and brush them aside and do what I am doing: Being happy and controlling time!

So, what have you to say about the non-working status? Isn't it fun and joyous (even though for a limited period)?

Image: Internet

Exploring the unexplored in Julie and Julia

While food and blogging are the most obvious and often written about matters while discussing the 2009 film Julie and Julia, I was fascinated by another story which though significant is not given much afterthought. I am referring to the friendship between Julia and Avis as long time pen pals. It touched a chord because writing letters and emails is something that I immensely enjoy and look forward to. I did have a couple of pen pals with whom I shared my everyday life stories and curious incidents. Inspite of not having met, there existed a bond that went beyond faces, touch and smiles. We connected via the medium of letters -- words, words and words. The anticipation was worth the joy received when I held the letter in my hand. A weary day in school would be transformed into bursts of happiness when the long awaited letter arrived. It was indeed undistilled pleasure.

Then email happened.

But the letters still were being exchanged along with long emails. The instant gratification of emails though praised to the high heavens still carried with it an element of anticipation and waiting. The few hours between hitting the 'send' mail icon and seeing a new mail notification is of course similar to the waiting of days in receiving a hand written note. I enjoy both the mediums and exploit them fully. 

 

 

 

When Julia casually mentions at the airport to Linda that she has never met Avis but has only corresponded with her through letters, the look of Linda's face is priceless. That was a moment that I savoured in the entire length of the movie for I know how it feels.

And today, my wait for emails is intense than the wait for snail mail for I am not expecting any snail mails in the present. This also reminds me that I have to write in order to receive and I shall soon do that.

 

 

As I grapple with teaching my students how to write formal letters, I am afraid that they will never know the joy of writing hand-written letters. I can lecture them on the pleasures and beauty of sending and receiving a letter but I can never make them understand the warmth and satisfaction of the act of writing letters.

In the meanwhile, I await an email from an interesting person.


How about you, dear reader?

Teaching shocks!

 The post sounds like a Physics one but believe me, the shock that I am going to share is something that rattled me out of my wits this morning. Well, we were informed beforehand that two senior gentlemen have taken admission and will be joining our college. Well, one never worries about things much that don't directly affect us. Surprise! The two 'senior gentlemen' were in my class, sitting right there - one with a mop of white hair and the other no hair but with a domineering effect! As soon as I beheld them, I was mildly startled. Well, one gentleman in question was one of the founding members of a well known elite college of our state - of course, he was retired and chose to spend his vacant hours in the company of students who possible could be fifty years younger than him and teachers who were thirty years younger than him!

Gasp!

Really?

Learning has no age, they say but a prominent gentleman chose our college to drive us nuts! This situation has put me in a dilemma. I find myself as an oject under scrutiny even though, I am imagining too much but that's the reality. All of us who have them in the class are a bit shaken but I do know that eventually we will get used to the sight of someone quite experienced and well read sitting amongst the 20 somethings.

Reader, wish me luck and watch this space for more tea from my classes.

Image courtesy: Internet

Ruminations before the beginning of a new academic year

My college on a rainy day

My college reopens in three days. It will be my third year in this college and after spending two years with the various departments and people, one feels that one has seen it all. In spite of my two years here, I feel a certain anxiety coupled with anticipation when I look forward to the coming year. I will be teaching the same subjects albeit one and more or less familiar with the students as well. The introduction to new energy levels and slightly different goals and aspirations gives me the feeling that a thousand butterflies are preparing to take flight from the pit of my stomach.

I wonder whether every teacher has this feeling of an anxious anticipation. Perhaps they might or they would have become comfortably numb carrying on their business like a robot which is devoid of any tingly pre-academic year sensation.

The path leading to the main entrance again, on a rainy day

Alongside, I also wonder whether I will be like this after ten years. Will a new academic year make me feel giddy with excitement and anxiety. Will I look forward to the raging adrenalines of young students as they burst forth with tireless hormones and shiny smart phones. Will I be able to cope with the information overload that my students seem to possess, challenging me with news of the latest gadget or the selling price of an IPL team. Will I smirk at them when they say that FC Goa has won over Chennaiyin even without me having watched a single match.

Although I complain to others and the students themselves that the ought to shake off their susegaad attitude, I like their company better than the whiny adults who lose no time in making lives miserable for those around them. Well, this is not a sweeping generalisation and all students/adults do not fit into that description. There is a lot of trust and sense of belonging when I am in the company of students. To cite an example, once a senior member of faculty happened to be a bit rude with me and immediately the students started showing their solidarity by vocally stating their position on the rudeness. Even though that incident warmed my insides, I am careful not to take sides or even show a minute iota of affirming their actions. Well, sometimes I tend to romanticise the student-teacher relationship.

The lovely triangle campus with glistening rain

Now, standing at the threshold of a brand new academic year, I cannot wait to find out what kind of students I will be meeting for each class and how they will respond to my theatrics and eccentricities -- They will either take to it or brush me aside as another old soul who tries to be in line with the young minds of this generation.

Ah, well! I hear the pitter-patter of the raindrops as I write, diverting my attention to the beautiful weather. I shall pause to revel in the rain and leave ruminations of my new academic year to be soaked by the smell of red earth and pouring rain :)

Picture credits: Author's own

Bellingham Diaries - 3

 The Tale of the Wife's bath

The adjusting of the hot-water-cold-water has become something of a challenge for me. Talk of a neat challenge after the 40s - teaching new tricks to old dogs could be well, tricky! As much as I love bathing, it has become an exercise of planning and mental prep for me. First, I am more of a cold water person so you could possibly imagine the pressure of using hot water. Next, the long and inviting bathtub seems to be mocking at me whenever I head to its vicinity. It beckons me no doubt but is plotting its revenge on this bucket and mug loving middle-class Indian. Woe to me when I had imagined myself sipping gin and tonic in a bathtub while soaking my tired nerves on a normal day! Well, the wish had come true but at the cost of me spending minutes trying to figure 1. the shower/tap toggling and 2. the hot/cold toggling. After much swearing and exasperation, I figure out the p-r-e-c-i-s-e requirement only to find that the shampoo has been forgotten in the suitcase! Phew! I have to invariably call out to the ever preoccupied husband who finds it difficult to find stuff even if it is in his hands. After all this ordeal, I complete my bath and come out to spend an hour mulling over my existential issues of trying to be someone who manages everything fairly well. 

And not forgetting the semantics of showering and bathing which is a puzzle to me!

I also realise that I have a similar post on bathing when I visited Belfast in 2010. And, sure I am happy to know that certain parts of me haven't changed at all. So here you go: Deliberations of bathing in a foreign place.

Dear reader, I hope that you find baths that satisfy your body and soul. 

May the water temperature suit your body and may you be refreshed and happy.

Until the next adventure, take care.

Teaching at 25 and after 35

The title gives away the topic and I guess that you already know the content of this post but then HOW I say it matters, and I hope that this keeps you hooked.

The passion: Waxes and wanes

The energy levels: Waxes and wanes

The students: A general lull in life

The subject: Partly exciting, partly drudgery

The feeling every morning: Depends

The situation (physical, mental and emotional): Like a graph

End result: Growing older also means that one has some firm ideologies and notions which are a bit difficult to alter nevertheless I tend to allow myself to be questioned and amused by students. Sometimes it so happens that I already know what is going to be uttered but I still shut up because students - sometimes tend to surprise you and break your pre-conceived notions!

Will I teach forever: I don't know

Would I like to teach forever: I am pondering

Bottom-line: CARPE DIEM (Every single freaking day!)

Slow life . . .

 For some time now, I have been yearning for a slow life which meant reading, writing a bit, watching films/series and generally leading a mindful life. The wish has been granted but it came with a clause - The clause is illness. While I don't want to share the name of the illness, dear reader you are free to think of the most dreadful one which causes fear and a general sense of anxiety. Well, I am not here to discuss my state of health but what I do plan is to discuss my state of well-being in spite of the hospital visits and doctor consultations. 

Feni, our non-human companion on a foggy day 

Life has a way of slowing us down either with something unexpected or grave and it never makes a mistake. I got what I was yearning for along with an excess baggage of the illness without which the slow life wouldn't be possible at all. While I don't welcome the baggage whole-heartedly, I must also add that while we often get what we had asked for, we also get additional stuff which is like an add-on.

I have learnt to focus on the life I had wanted albeit for a little while and nurture that part of me which has to be cared for. I am extensively reading, sipping different kinds of tea, watching movies and series without any guilt and generally leading a life where I don't do much except for the aforementioned activities. Oh! yes, I have also started writing letters and long mails after a long hiatus because now I have the time to think, concoct my thoughts and be lavish with words which otherwise would be buried under a plethora of mundane and sundry jobs. 

What I do miss is my students and teaching from which I have taken a long break for now. I miss the giggles, jokes, sarcasm and camaraderie of fellow colleagues and staff. But I am not complaining for life knows what to bestow on you and the time for the same.

Keep me in your thoughts and prayers and remember that life listens to your innermost thoughts even when you don't proclaim it aloud!

Where did I leave my innocence . . .

I have recently started teaching as a guest faculty in a University. The place is a rustic one and most of the students are from in and around the place. Though the institution is a University, it is still in its formative stages.

One thing that constantly captures my thoughts while interacting with the students is their obliviousness to an assortment of things. The students, if I can say are 'raw' and an epitome of bliss. They are not exposed to the bigger world around them and are quite happy. Observing them, I have often wondered: "Have I lost my innocence?" Being educated frees the mind of different trappings but the price one pays is the loss of something primal, instinctive and blissful.

Education forces us to think beyond the seen and coaxes us to question almost every single thing. This can get stifling at times. Blissfully unaware of existential s***, post-colonial angst and whatever, the students here meander through life. I know they might see my position as quite privileged in comparison to theirs. But looking at them, I cannot stop thinking: Where did I leave my innocence? I would love to answer: School, University and Mind boggling Theories.

Do you also sometimes feel like the way I do?

Image courtesy: Internet                                           

My brush with lockdown(s)

I am not unfamiliar to lockdowns. I remember my first lockdown - it was in April 2011, a month before I was to get married. I was down with chicken-pox. I know that it does mean a big setback in terms of wedding shopping and all that jazz but it was bliss in disguise of a disease. I was brought back from the place I was teaching during that time - Tiruvarur by a special car which was hired by my mother. After I set foot at home in Chennai - it was quarantine till the shiny balls disappeared. I lived sans bath, sans spice and sans mirror - you would know the usuals if you had experienced chicken-pox. But the icing on the cake was that I MISSED most of MY wedding shopping, which was done kindly by my dear mom and sister. Those were the days of no Whatsapp so no videos and photos of clothes could be sent; My sister would call me and describe the design to the best of her abilities and I without even listening, would remark, "Buy whatever you feel would look good on me." So much so for my wedding shopping. The best part  comes now - juices to coll my body down, not to mention the buttermilk and tender coconut water! Bland food did not appeal much but I saw that as a detox. My skin and hair looked healthy, my complexion revived, my mind was clear and before I forget, I completed reading a book (not advisable) which was catching dust in my modest library.

Today's lockdown is different - Of course I am cooped up at home, which is not unusual but I am devoid of the luxury of getting food and drinks served at my bed side. I cooked, cleaned and did a bit of reflecting and was generally a relaxed home body wondering about the next area to be cleaned or next book to be read. But the feeling of quiet has seeped in but I also have a niggling thought on stocking up of essentials in case Goa decides to extend the lockdown of today.

You see, I don't have my mother to worry about those aspects.

Hope you have been well and content in times as these.

And thus was born a Grammar Nazi . . .

Believe me, I was never someone who took exceptional care of grammar esp the apostrophe when I was jotting down in my wee journal or writing in my blog earlier. My its and yours followed their own mind and often my number and tense was havoc! I wonder how those changed. Did I become conscious after reading a few writing blogs or did Facebook's self-proclaimed grammar nazis trigger the urge to check and recheck my its and it's. No, no, it wasn't Facebook. I now remember. It was my Supervisor who drilled and coerced me in turns to refine my crude ways of writing. The rest was done by the writing blogs that I had (wisely) subscribed to while gallivanting the world of blogs and bloggers. But even then, I wasn't a grammar nazi. I was a learner who was relearning and unlearning few tricks of the trade. 

In case, I forget, I was also teaching. And while one imparts knowledge, one should be sure and right of certain things atleast, I reckon. I might not be the teacher who gets everything right but my students had to learn some fundamentals of the English language and there it became imperative that I train them in certain rules of the language and writing was one of them. I consciously started spelling out your and you're; its and it's, in my mind and double-checked whenever I wrote something on the board. Of course, writing in English is more than their and there but still these were some items which were always confusing and largely misspelt. Gradually, my writing started improving. When one's Supervisor drills plus one teaches plus one reads fantastic writing blogs plus one writes often, the end result is something good. Ah, how I did I forget to add voracious reading to the list. That too helped a lot.  And all the while, I was STILL not a grammar nazi.

Then Facebook started popping up these pictures and memes and all of a sudden, there was a gross turnover of self-proclaimed grammar nazis. Sadly, even I joined the tribe, I reckon. A was correcting status messages, S was lamenting the fact that poorly-written blogs are getting popular, D was posting grammar memes on her wall and finally here we are - A group of grammar nazis screaming loud and ranting out the fact that grammar is dying a slow but sure death. And there were few who even challenged the fact by replying 'k' and 'u' and other funny answers in response to the grammar nazi's frustrated pleas.

Facebook and blogging, along with showcasing our penchant for imagination and narrating events, also brings to light the habitual grammatical skirmishes which are often unknown to the writer him/herself thus giving a field day to the grammar nazis. And why is it that the grammar nazi is only passionate about its and it's and your and you're. Is that all that is there to grammar? Grammar is much more than misspelt words! No memes point out to awkward phrasing of words, tautological errors, long sentences, non sequitur lines and so on. There is much more than what meets the eye. But grammar nazis don't venture beyond a point. Why? Simple. No one understands the errors and thus begins the great argument - English is not my mother-tongue. If English is not your mother-tongue then why do you attempt to write in an alien language! Well, I can go on and on with this but I shall pause.

So, the conclusion: Without poor writers, a grammar nazi cannot exist. I still feel that I am not as competent a weaver of words as certain others are but I certainly take care of my you're and your when I write. This ensures that I am safe from the grammar nazi within and outside of me!

So, what say reader? Are you one of us or them?

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

An update: It takes one to spot one and one of my favourite reader/commenter Govind pointed out a glaring error in the post. I thank him for being a discerning and sharp reader. Salute boss!

In search of 'What is my passion?'

If you have seen the 2014 film Whiplash, you will understand what true passion is - passion that consumes your time, thoughts and almost everything you live for. I have seen many people having such passion - something that they live for (and sometimes also die for). I hope you have not mistaken passion for romantic passion in this context. I am not even thinking of that, though, I cannot deny that that passion also consumes the individual.

After watching that film, I asked R, ''Do you know what is your passion?'' to which he did not have a logical answer and as I was questioning him, I was also asking myself - ''What IS my passion?" A passion that I could live and die for, a passion that consumes me and a passion that fills my vacant hours. I could not think of anything. I was distressed for after all, everyone has that one passion which keeps them alive and going. I tried to think of many attributes that have defined me through the years but alas! I could not put my finger to the ONE passion and exclaim - I can devote my entire life to this one!

I had imagined that I liked reading and that it was my passion but then reading is a hobby and a life-line, not something which can be defined as passion. Then, I thought travelling and then realised that it was something that I liked intermittently. Teaching? Nah. I like interacting with young and curious minds but passion, no! Writing, perhaps. I dwelt a bit longer on this but could not convince myself to say, ''Yes, writing is my passion.'' But I don't write all that much. I have strong memories of a well-watered and nourished blog but that is a lovely memory now. I used to scribble in my journal - The journal remains albeit with blank pages . . . I could go on and on about my terrible failing when it came to writing but I hold myself and stop.

I am still searching for my passion. Even today morning, I had a conversation with my sister about the passion of doing something consistently and getting a high inspite of doing it every single day. We blamed boredom and laughed away our lack of passion for anything.

I am still not done. I feel like an inadequate work in progress which has some vital piece missing. There are days when the search consumes me and there are other days when I hardly think about any such piece. But here I am, painfully aware of that passion.

Hobbling into 2016 (Literally!)

Anything new fascinates me as it gives me another chance to rebuild, a chance to look forward to altering me and a chance for hope to abound and if it's a new year, then the prospects triple. Well, 2016 is here and I am overwhelmed and excited by how I get another opportunity to better myself. And lest I forget, the beginning of this year saw me with a broken big toe nail; ''broken'' would be an under statement because the broken nail led to a state of no nail. Yes, I entered 2016 without a nail on my left big toe. I am unwilling to go through the process of how I ended up without a toe nail as I have been narrating the experience to all and sundry throughout my five-hour of my first working day. Phew! the thought itself tires me immensely.

A colleague upon observing my gait, went into a philo-spasm exclaiming how life slows us down when we are running and that one needs to mind the pace with which one works and so on. She is right, I thought, not about life slowing down and all but about SLOWNESS itself. How often we just rush through everything. Slowing down to observe and be mindful is something I consciously try to do but end up forgetting. I stumbled upon this quote of John Muir which speaks to me about a certain calm,

Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity.

- John Muir -

This is what we are exactly doing to ourselves - getting tired, nerve-shaken and over-civilized and in the process forgetting to slow down and cherish our surroundings, US! 

Well, the injured big toe is slowly teaching me to see the world in another fashion and thus ushering me into 2016. 

I hope and pray that you have a blessed and mindful 2016.

A serene train ride

This evening after many years, I travelled in the route that used to be frequented by me. A corner window seat that was opposite to the direction of the train's journey was waiting for me and I could not be more happier. Feeling the gentle breeze on my face, I resolved to 'just' feel the present moment without resorting to sappy memories of erstwhile train rides. I did succeed albeit for three stops and almost by reflex the breeze whispered about the happy and not-so-happy moments spent in the train.

Sometimes you have so many fond memories that you literally feel them jostling with one another while one smart Charlie tumbles off and takes you on a tangent. I wonder which one it is: The train rides that patched up quarrels over long phone calls or the rides where a nagging junior would want to gossip about teachers and I would want to close my eyes to honour the lazy lull of the languid weather coupled with the slow motion of the train or the dreams of carving a teaching career while doing research or trying to rush to the one empty spot of the compartment before anyone even spots it or getting lost in the smell of food that wafts across the compartment or just trying to inhale the smell of the jasmine that a flower-seller hawks.

I smile and wonder how I cherish those moments but don't miss them. I don't even yearn for them and realise that they were wonderful no doubt, but belonged to a time then. I did fondly inhale the mixed smells of flowers, food and faint perfume and got down with a smile when the train reached my stop. I stood and watched till the train disappeared and knew that it will be a long time before I get to ride in a train again.

Readers, how long since you travelled in a train?

The sparks between an argument and an ego

This post is dedicated to all the academicians who appear scholarly and wise but let the wisdom fly out of the window (or door) when scholarly arguments arrive.

The past Friday and Saturday saw another successful conference organised by our University. But many a times, it is in these conferences that one can witness the sparks that fly between questions and egos which lead into many years of amusing relationship. So here's the saga of the famous courtship.

The academia has always been viewed as a place of knowledge and wise souls. I don't doubt the existence of knowledge in the academia but I certainly doubt the usage of the accumulated knowledge in the academia.  Shakespeare, in his brilliant plays reveals the many hues and shades of the human temperament in great detail. One might think that teaching Shakespeare will expose one to the follies and foibles of the human temperament and produce individuals who are purged of their petty whims and fancies. Alas! it is not so. There seems to be a strict demarcation between the taught and the lived (the living, in fact) experience.

Raising questions that argue the very nature of the argument is something that I dread. When something is pointed out to a paper-presenter, it is taken as a personal attack. Now, how do I differentiate to them that the criticism is nothing personal but only academic. Well, many have a problem with the word 'criticism' itself.   In spite of everything, I cannot stop asking questions :)

I believed that the church would always be an egalitarian place where fragile egos don't make an appearance but I was proven wrong. Now, even the word criticism is a word that spells potential danger. After getting disillusioned with the people in church, I thought the academia would be a better place than most other institutions. And, I am bitterly disappointed when I see the clamouring for important positions, the inability to handle questions that are directed at papers and the general temperance of threatening glances and words. After all, people are people - academicians or clergy.

So, the courtship between an argument and an ego begins at conferences and goes on until wisdom or time intervenes. Well, the sparks and the meeting can happen anywhere but this particular conference and also the last one I attended in Assam make me think that academia is a fertile place to court many fragile egos.

What do I ask of you, my reader. This time I refrain from prompting a question to direct your thoughts. I leave it to you to comment on any aspect of this post. 

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

When the elections in Goa rattled a peaceful/peace-loving citizen

Securing a government job is a dream come true for many. The reasons cited are often 'job security,' 'pension,' and 'easy life.' I aspired for a teaching job, not a government job. It so happened that I landed in a quasi-government job. Well, sometimes what happens accidentally, often leads to many unwilling accidents as well, as it recently happened. What happened, you may wonder - Unwittingly I was chosen to be a Presiding officer (on account of being an Assistant Professor in a quasi-government set-up) in the recently concluded Goa Legislative Assembly Elections 2017. Well, for many it was a cushy position - masquerading as an important person known as Presiding Officer. Well, when the order came, I was absolutely clueless as to what the position entailed and as always I sought the assistance of Google. I did get a fairly sketchy picture of what I was supposed to be doing. This sketchy knowledge was supplemented by three training sessions. As the trainings were completed, I was being jolted beyond my comfort zone but nothing was more rattling than what was going on within me as the day was fast approaching. The intensity of the entire profile hit home like a panic-attack on the 3rd when I went to the collection centre to procure the materials required for the actual poll on the 4th. But imagine my chagrin when I realised that I was kept in reserve. Well, I was relieved that now that I am a reserve staff, I do not have to bear the load of responsibility. But then we had to wait in the collection centre because we never know when we will be called to replace some one. But I didn't have to wait for long because I was assigned a Pink Booth - a polling station "manned" by only women. And lo behold, when the women saw me, they were rattled - Why? All of us were first timers and their levels of blood pressure shot up and eyebrows creased. The first jolt - I was an intruder into the team that had already been there from the first training. I think team cooperation and familiarity is IMPORTANT when it comes to doing something of this sort. When the vibes from the team are hostile, it does hit hard and is an impediment to the completion of formalities.

On the 3rd, I along with the polling peon and a lady police slept with the machines - The Control Unit, The Ballot Unit and the VVPAT machine. On one side it is rather fascinating to be a part of this side of the elections after being on the other side as a voter. Well, I prefer being a voter! One should see the number of forms and envelops - these are enough to upset the food digested and question your calm sanity levels, that is if you have managed thus far. And then, I also had to manage with the 'team' that was never mine. They were quite efficient you see - They did everything that was expected of them except for making me feel welcome and part of 'their' team. No problem. The Poll has to go on nevertheless.

The Presiding Officer is reduced to the level of a form-filling agent who has to fill mundane columns about the weather, no of voters and don't ask me more or else I will collapse with the thought of the stress levels of the polling day, which I am yet to get out of. I was in a deep existential crisis about an assortment of things which will haunt me for many days now till the results are announced. I had thought that it was only I who had these thoughts and experience but my better half had a similar experience. He tells me that his constituency had a woman staff who was nearly full term pregnant while it is clearly stated in the rules that pregnant women are exempt from Election duty. I think the EC has to consider humanitarian grounds and select people with care.

Now, comes the best part - Individuals are chosen for the post of a Presiding Officer based on their scale of pay and position, which means that there might be seniors in terms of age and experience who are placed as subordinates. Whoa! The Election Commission does not think of 'ego-clashes.' Well, why should it, anyway. But I being an Assistant Professor does not mean that I am adept at filling forms - I detest forms of any kind, leave along filling them but EC takes the cake in providing so many forms that the forms are enough to make you pee and shit in your pants for about the period till the results are announced. Why - if there are any errors or mistakes then you get called. Argh! It's an honour to be chosen for this "responsible" position and yes, be virtue of being an Assistant Professor in a quasi-government set-up, I am an expert in filling up forms of varied colours, white being the most common and putting these forms into colourfully annoying envelops of blue, yellow and green (further relegated as 'sealed' and 'unsealed'). I wonder why the EC cannot provide laptops for each Presiding Officers with the forms pre-loaded in the device and also having the digital signature of the Presiding Officer. Some forms which require to have the Polling agents' signature, could be given while other forms could be done away with.

The returning of the materials after the polls are another saga of woe and angst. One has to wait eternally till the local officials arrive at your table to collect the forms which are then verified by he Returning Officer and the Observer! Jeez. Now this activity goes on till the wee hours of the night and no provision is made for either food or water. There were many Diabetics, who were in dire need of something to eat - not just tea and batata wada which was provided. And some women, in my husband's constituency were waiting till about 01. 00 am without having any means to return home. When Election officials are having food while the menial Presiding officers and their teams are hungry and fatigued, it is quite sad on the part of EC. 

I had to down several cocktails, lot of comfort beef food and a movie to forget the dreary and depressing task of 'being a responsible' Presiding Officer. But still I'm not done with the haunting thoughts because my back and backside is sore with the all day sitting and I had to take leave today (Monday) to nurse the aching back which is a grim reminder of the aching task of filling up of forms and remembering a whole lot of clauses which have to be dug out of the deep crevices of the mind at the appropriate time.

Points to be considered by the Election Commission
It is high time the EC becomes reduces paper-work by collaborating with efficient institutions to develop a software for enabling filling of forms. It should also try and see that the staff are well fed with working meals to ensure good work and pleasant spirits. It would also be wonderful if teams could be decided in advance to ensure familiarity, good team work and efficiency. Furthermore, there should be sufficient time between sending the orders and conducting the training programmes. The training sessions right from the first should be given a mock poll conduction right from the scratch which will enable first-timers to gain confidence and expertise and the sense of responsibility should be owned by the entire team and NOT only the Presiding Officer.

Let peace prevail within and outside of me. 

"You belong to the throwaway generation"

A few weeks ago, when one of my senior colleagues opened his lunch-box, he remarked: "Susan, I've been using this box for the past thirty years. My wife used this lunch-box when she was at school and then I used this when I was teaching at Madras and now here it is." I wondered about the years and the stories that the lunch-box carried. I asked, "Sir, didn't it occur to you to change the box?" He replied, "It was good so why change it?" Overhearing this conversation, another colleague remarked: "You belong to the throwaway generation. We are the keepers." Now, this comment unsettled me. "Do I belong to the throwaway generation?"

I have seen my relatives keep many things that belonged to their ancestors. I never imagined that it had to do with the generation. Forgive me, but America's sociologists like labelling each generation. For example, The Baby Boomers, The Rock-n-Roll, and so on. I have also seen documentaries which mention that the manufacturing houses don't make products that are intended for long-time usage in today's world. Throwaway products rule the roost. Looking around, I find that most products are intended so. But the throwaway tag directed at me, was disturbing. I don't mean to deny that sweeping generalised statement of the generation, but there are exceptions.

There are many references to clearing away clutter from our houses. And if one observes, the objects that add to the clutter are those which are kept for the sake of sentiment. And, after a period of time, the objects add pride to the owner. It is not without a feeling of pride that one remarks: "You know, my great grandmother used this towel/bed/fork/spoon/napkin/knife . . . and so on." Well, I respect sentiments and if the object is in usable condition, there is no need to do away with the same. Now gradually, I am sounding like one who is the rightful member of the throwaway generation. I find that keeping things that one does not use is absolutely unnecessary. Maybe, I don't know where to draw the line.

This discussion here, brings to my memory a few lines from Pamela Redmond Satran's quote, "Every woman should have."

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family…

Going by the quote, I realise that sometimes having objects owned by others carry the negative energies and failures of the previous owners. So why not possess new goods when one moves into a new home and life? Do I still seem to belong to the throwaway generation? Maybe, I cannot deny that fact. But I do confess to having keepsakes which I cannot part with easily.

So, what do you have to say on this topic.

Images: Internet