Chaos in my mind

On dating

2010-11-17T22:31:00.000-08:00

Today I was helping Chinnu put on a skirt for school. Since I am sick and was not rushing like a mad woman, I noticed something. The baby fat was completely and totally gone. And in it's place were little curves. My 6 year old has curves! When did she grow up? My shocked mind fast forwarded to a few years ahead. The girl is a total girl at 6 - loves to dress up etc. What would happen when she became a teenager in a paltry 7 more years?

To add to the general shock, bits of recent conversations came to mind:

Amma how did you and appa decide to get married?d
Amma I'm going to get married when I'm 30.
Me: Why 30?
Because R anna is almost 30 and is looking to get married.

This kind of banter seemed cute at the time - now comes the uncomfortable realization that it's going to start in a few years - those feelings unleashed by the onset of puberty and raging hormones. Remember those days, I asked myself.

I was brought up in what would now be considered a pretty "conservative" manner. I went to an all girls school and dating was not discussed. I dealt with my share of raging hormones and the result was a conviction that everyone must date. Dating, I was convinced, was the cure for the sexually repressed. It would solve many social evils such rape, incest, pedophilia, and would also reduce encounters of the Shady kind between members of the opposite sex (that usually got the parties into the very trouble they wanted to avoid - being discovered). Was it so hard for our wise elders to comprehend that boys and girls grow up and in the process sexuality will come a knocking and they will respond in some way? How is it possible that a conservative society that frowned upon any kind of non-legalized romantic liaison between boys and girls expected married couples to start procreating asap? Thus I raved with all my twenty something indignation and self-righteousness that is the hallmark of the young.

Well, fast forward to today when I am no longer twenty something and am drowning in the angst of seeing my offspring becoming a young girl. Am I going to be comfortable about Chinnu dating? Of course (says the me I want to be). The other me (that nagging possessive me) is cringing. What if some idiot boy breaks her heart? What if I don't approve of who she dates? Will she keep her head screwed on tight? Will she grow from it? Will she love me as much? Will she stop needing me? But despite all these nagging questions, I am sure of one thing - I will never ever be negative about this. I will make sure that I respect her as a growing woman and never be a thorn in her her quest for love, puppy or otherwise.

Rebirth and growing up as a mother

2010-08-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

I ususally do not write about my my life as a mom or about my daughters. But today, on my drive back from work, I found myself thinking about them and smiling. Now, I'm not one of your sappy people. I am not overly demonstrative in my affections and sometimes I do feel like leaving the family and going away for a bit on my own. But, I have to tell you, there are times when I become a sentimental mom and feel like the luckiest woman to have such crazily lovable kids.
Chinnu and her sweet sweet nature, love of all people, no discriminations, her goodness of heart, her love of all things fun and total and ultimate love of life. Her enthusiasm is infectious and her sense of humor is amazing. On the other hand, the little devil. Where do I start with her? Her complete mistrust of people, her aggressive, jealous, possessive nature, her bums shaking as she runs around, her love of music, her love for walking with shoes. I wonder how it is possible that two people can make two kids that are as unlike each other as night and day.
They make me laugh, these two little tots. They make me want to bite and eat them, squeeze them till they beg to be let go, smell them, whack them, scream at them, shake them, kiss them and love them forever. I hope they are this happy and bring so much happiness for years to come.

I love you girls (despite what I am about to say).

Some days (especially when I meet up with or talk to childhood friends), I float outside my body and marvel at this new person I've become since I became a mom. Mommyhood emotions are as varied as the colors in the spectrum. From women who fall in love with their children and mommyhood to those like Meryl Streep (in the Bridges of Madison County): When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children, in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself."

Today I'm thankful that I do not feel like Meryl Streep's character. Yes I have changed a lot - I am always ensuring that the girls are well fed, and well rested. Everything else comes after that. So there goes spontaneity out the door.
I can't get naughty with the hubby when ever I feel like - what am I saying - like I even have energy for that stuff anymore :).
I worry a lot - it's hard for me take lightly the responsibility of two creatures that lived inside me for almost a year. It's much much better with the little devil (maybe her being a devil helps).
I am all about schedule, schedule, schedule. My motto: a happy child/mother is one who has a predictable routine. When I was a free single gal, I used to pity people who led lives of routine. Touche.

You know those people who feel sorry for the couple with kids that have nothing to say in a restaurant? Well, they should shut up because they have no clue what they're talking about. It's a luxury to eat in silence, when you can just enjoy your meal. But then, how would I know? The only times I've had a silent meal is when the hubby and Chinnu were away in Desh.

In my case, my life of details are kept spiced by my various hobbies. Thanks to the domesticity and routine in my life, I am now enjoying music and dance lessons. Whereas with Chinnu, I would have died with guilt for being away from her for a few hours during weekends, as if being away the entire week was not enough, now I have come to enjoy these activities and the company of my fellow moms/girls who do these with me.
The few stolen moments with hubby are even more precious because they are so hard to get.
The kids are a joy for the most part - they make me feel like I did the right thing because they love life so.

As I grow older and more experienced in mommyhood, I realize that the best part is I am not guilty all the time. It's not so bad to be late to pick up your kid once in a while. It's not so bad to do things for yourself even if it means taking out some time that you could be spending with them. Quality matters more than quantity.

I'm also trying to let go a bit. It's not so bad to have their routines messed up once in a while. It's impossible to keep them safe all the time - accept that accidents will happen and their perfect skin will start sporting blemishes. Accept that Chinnu is growing and learning a lot from other people (not necessarily approved by me) and it's OK. That's growing up. Accept that Chinnu is growing up - she's half my height and incredibly independent. She loves me but does not need me as much. I actually like that.

I tell myself often that hubby and I are lucky to have these munchkins. We do a lot together and despite all the routine and domesticity, life is good and fun. Our house is full of life, laughter and chatter.

Tales from my school days - Episode 2

2010-08-03T23:19:00.000-07:00

This one takes the cake as to the kind of crazy things (that are publishable) that I did back in school.

I was (still am) extremely fond of cats. My house was a haven for numerous strays that I went to great lengths to befriend. I would beg and cajole my mother into letting me feed the cats and she would always give in after making a big fuss about what ungrateful thieving creatures they were.

Anyways, once, a friend and I found a pair of kittens at school. They had not yet opened their eyes and someone had put them in a box and left them in a gutter. Being the cat lovers that we were, we decided to rescue them and took them with us to the classroom. We of course knew that this act would be looked upon with the utmost disapproval, so we hid the little creatures inside our desk. During the geography class, one little kitten was probably hungry and began to mew. I could see a puzzled look on the teacher’s face when she heard it the first time. The mewing continued and the teacher began to get visually upset. She scowled at a girl sitting in front and said “M, stop making that noise”. Of course M had no idea what was going on and pleaded innocence. When the mewing didn’t stop, my friend R and I decided it was best to come clean. We told her about the kittens and begged her to help us feed them some milk. The teacher had a kind soul and led us to the teachers’ staff room where we tried to feed them cow’s milk. Of course, that turned out to be unsuccessful. R and I did not give up though. I took my kitten to music class after school, and finally brought it home at five o’clock in the evening. The poor kitten had spent an entire day in strange surroundings including a desk, a bag, and a ride on a public transportation bus. My mother was speechless when she saw what I had in the bag. “What exactly do you think you can do for the kitten?” she asked me. “We can see if Sundari can feed her milk” I replied. Sundari was my cat, a virgin (I did not know this of course). My mother shook her head in consternation and said Sundari would not be able to help with the milk. My heart sank. I tried feeding the kitten cow’s milk with an ink dropper and what have you, but of course the poor thing died. It had gone for twenty four hours without food. I was devastated but my busy life and time healed the wound.

Disclosure

2010-08-02T22:03:00.000-07:00

I watched this on TV this weekend. Though the movie was not out of this world, it made an impression because it strikes a chord in me.

- Sexual harassment is the outcome of the power one person has over another. Thankfully, I have not been a victim of sexual hasrassment but I have witnessed corporate bullying - same concept, different manifestation.

- I have been unfortunate enough to deal with HR (no offense intended, but my experience was BAD) and was left wondering what the function of HR actually is. This movie shows the HR guy team up with the powerful to bury the innocent, less powerful victim. Exactly my experience.

- The chief of the company, trying to hush up a sexual harassment case perpetrated by a woman on her subordinate, upon finding out that the victim is going to press charges despite him and his pals trying their utter best to prevent this from happening, says: This is the United States of America. The legal system was invented to protect guys like me (may not be exact words). Not funny if you've been through sexual harassment, bullying etc.

A leap back in time - stories from my school days

2010-07-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

Before I get to the main topic, the lady I referred to in my previous post came to work today in a beautiful dress for the first time!!! Alright, at least I provided some inspiration to cheer up the workplace a bit with some girly eye candy.

Now, coming to the topic of this post - I met my music group last night. One of the nice things about this group is we always end up talking about fun non-music related stuff (what do you expect when you put seven girls in a room?). And yesterday it was about - our school days. I had written this up a few months ago when I had taken time off from work and remembered it after this conversation. Thought I'd put it up here.

I went to an all girls’ school, in Secunderabad, India. It was a grey building – everything was grey, inside and out and it bore an uncanny resemblance to a jail. The school was run by a group of Roman Catholic nuns with an iron hand. The administrators tried very hard to instill discipline, piety, and moral values in us (we had a mandatory class called Moral Science every week). They also tried to make us well rounded by having classes such as S. U. P. W. (Socially useful productive work, dubbed by many of the girls as Socially Un-Productive Work), language classes (Sanskrit or Telugu) and sports (Sanskrit was almost extinct even in those days and most of it was taught in English).

One thing engraved in my memory is the dress code in school, a code that was stricter than that enforced by the Army. This code was particularly enforced during the so called sports period. Starting from your hair to your shoes, everything had to be just so, or else you could expect to participate in a barbecue – your own. For straying from the dress code implied spending an hour roasting under the merciless Secunderabad heat on bare knees watching other girls frolic. The most complicated aspect was the hair. The luckiest girls were the ones with very short hair for they did not have to bother about it at all. If you had hair that was between 12 and 15 inches in length, you were expected to tie it up in two pony tails, and God forbid if a single strand went astray. If your hair was between 15 and 20 inches, you were expected to wear two plaits with black ribbons to hold the ends. If your hair was over 20 inches long, you were expected to wear two plaits with one important condition: the plaits had to form a perfect U, and again God forbid if a single strand went astray.
Next was the uniform inspection. We wore a white shirt and a skort like pleated skirt in navy blue. The shirt had to be blindingly white. And (this is my pet peeve and always got me into trouble) everyone had to wear a tie. Yes, you heard right – a tie. Imagine hundreds of girls wearing ties in scorching 40 plus heat playing basketball, baseball etc. I still get shivers thinking about that thing. It was like a rope around my neck always threatening me – you do one thing wrong and you will be strangled.
Then the accessories: all the girls had to wear their house badge – no excuses for forgetting your badge. But the piece de resistance was the shoes. Shoes had to be polished white with liquid white polish. The tiniest speck of dirt resulted in barbecuing. There were some naive girls who put their enterprising skills to work and "polished" their shoes with chalk. Boy, did they get into trouble! The last thing that was inspected was nails (thankfully only finger nails). Thank God for teeth that could be put to good use when we forgot to trim our nails.

Despite its scary appearance the school was one of the most prestigious and popular schools in the city, particularly with the boys. It was the school where upper middle class and rich girls and wannabe fashionistas went. I loved going to school – it was my escape in to a world filled with exciting characters. I was surrounded by girls from vastly different backgrounds than my own – they spoke different languages, they ate different food, they had completely different lifestyles than my own. And some of them were extremely intelligent. I had this one friend who had pondered the concept of God and the origin of the Universe at the age of 11. We once had a conversation that went something like this:
P: I don’t believe that there is a God.
Me: Then how can you explain your existence?
P: My birth can be explained by science.
Me: (guessing where this was heading) OK, how do you explain the origin of all living species?
P: They came from dust.
Me: How did the dust come to being?
P: It just did.

I was somewhat unsure about whether or not I believed in God. My mother was moderately religious while my father was not. The closest I had come to divinity was when I watched the movie Ben-Hur. After this conversation, I felt a bit awed. How did living matter come from dust? And come to think of it, I had no idea how my birth could be explained by science. During this time, I went to a cousin’s wedding. During the train ride from Secunderabad to Madras, I had come up with a theory on how I could have got out of my mother’s tummy – doctor cuts it open and fishes me out. However, I was still very confused about how my cat had given birth without having visited a vet. As it happened, there were a couple of older boys at the wedding that I became friends with and one evening the conversation meandered to just this topic. I was introduced to the theory of the birds and the bees by teenage boys who were kind of amused at my innocence. I was mortified and spent the rest of the evening going to great lengths to avoid them.

More tales to follow - this time I mean it as I have already written them down.

To wear a skirt to work or not? Tales of a woman in a male dominated profession Part 2

2010-07-20T22:57:00.000-07:00

After grad school, I did a stint as a post doc with a woman. It was a great experience to be in the company of a woman who was not only an accomplished scientist but looked gorgeous and was not afraid to dress like a girl on occasion. Coming from a lab full of males to a lab dominated by women was a sea change. Whereas as a grad student I had to learn many things on my own (I did have one awesome mentor after I'd spent a couple of years in the lab), deal with not so friendly lab mates a tough boss and a lab that looked like a twister had hit a tinkerer's garage, as a post-doc I entered a well organized lab where things shone. Black laser light shielding curtains hung from pretty shower curtain hooks. The girls in the lab hung out and actually helped each other. I was like wow!

After this, I came to an enineering company - ruled by men for the most part who had well established their individual territories. The company has less than 10% women in engineering roles. When I first started the job, I was too busy learning the job and learning how to do the working mommy - baby balancing act to have any energy left over to process what it meant to be in a male dominated environment. However, with the passing years, a few things started to get my attention. One of them was clothes. I like wearing girly clothes - you know skirts etc. Nothing flamboyant, just regular old skirts. One of the women I know who has been in this industry a very long time once told me that she never had the guts to wear anything but pants because she was sure nobody would take her seriously if she wore girly clothes. I was flummoxed - the thought had never occured to me. (I mean nobody would take me for a bimbo even if I wore a dress - I do not even remotely look like one, right?). But after I had this conversation, I began to feel a bit self conscious. Very often, I am the only woman in a room full of men of all sizes, ages, and races, and wearing a nice girly dress, pretty earrings - would that be distracting? But once that thought occured to me, I got impatient with myself for even thinking it. I mean, don't I have enough on my plate already without adding what men at work think about how I dress to it? Let's face it, the human species (like perhaps most species) exists to flaunt it's good stuff, gratify it's ego in whatever ways it can.

Do you choose your work or does it choose you? Tales of a woman in a male dominated profession - Part 1

2010-07-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

I am a scientist and ever since my grad school days, have been the only woman, or one of a handful of women in the type of work I do. (A notable exception was my stint as a post-doc when I worked for a woman who led a woman dominated lab). When I started grad school in a laser spectroscopy lab, a brand new foreign student who had never seen a laser ever, much less interacted with amazing Russian scientists you only read about, I was intimidated to unbearable levels. Now, I'm not someone that is easily intimidated. So when I chose the lab I did to embark upon my career in Science, I wondered if I'd made the right decision - you know - how on earth was I going to survive in such an environment? But that was part of the thrill - the advisor was revered an in his field, the lab was full of some amazing male brain (brawn - hmmmm a bit disappointing there), and there was cool equipment everywere. This was science geek paradise. If I can claim that I pushed the envelope a bit in my life, this was certainly one of those times. As it turned out, I did have a hard life - my advisor ruled with an iron hand and treated me just the same as the big Russian guys - he hung me on a rope and verbally made mincemeat out of me every time I screwed up or didn't meet his stringent intellectual standards. Earning his respect was a big deal for me and anytime I was made mincemeat of was excruciatingly painful. I just didn't have the thick hide my colleagues did to not care - I cared about his opinion of me deeply. Female vs. male response? After a couple of such episodes, I convinced myself that he did not think much of me and I went on a passionate mission to prove myself. The result was that I aced one of his courses (topped it - I did better than all those Russian brains). I was overjoyed - not only because I topped the course but because my advisor bothered to come and give me this information and for the very first time told me that he thought I was doing good work. Imagine that? I was like what??? You think so? That's when I realized he was my champion. To this day, he has only wonderful things to say about me when I ask for references and he is one of the very few champions I have had in my career.

The long and short of this story is that I am beginning to realize that my biggest vulnerability is this need to be appreciated. Is this a woman problem in general? Throw into this mix decisions on what to wear to work, interacting with male colleagues etc., there's never a dull moment. Part 2 to follow.

2010-07-07T20:25:00.000-07:00

My remorseful heart aches from the knowledge
That yours was hurt more than I will know
My heart is weary from fighting battles
That threaten to make memories flow
My heart is frustrated with my mind
That does not let it speak or let it go
My heart fails to understand why
It must suffer in silence, helpless and low.

My anxious heart asks if you're happy
It hangs its head that it does not know
My heart trembles to ask that simple question
How are you? Why is it frightened so?
My heart wants to scream out loud
That the hand that held it, made it glow
Still gives warmth and joy, support and strength
My heart wants to speak when the mind says no.

Healthy odor prevention products please

2010-05-16T22:40:00.000-07:00

It was recently brought to my attention that my anti-perspirant is toxic because it contains aluminum. Until then, I was blissfully ignorant of the hazardous nature of this metal. Apparently, the aluminum is added because it clogs the sweat pores and thus prevents you from pouring forth the smelly stuff. So why is aluminum bad? It's linked to Alzheimer's disease and cancer. When I found out about it's link to the former, alarm bells started going off loud and strong. I have been using this stuff for some time and I know that my memory is woefully bad. I immediately threw out the anti-perspirant sticks and thus began my quest for a non-toxic formulation of chemicals that would not make me smell bad.

My desire to ensure that body odor does not invade the olfactory senses of the general public is rooted in years of suffering constant invasion of mine in crowded buses in a South Indian city where summer temperatures soar well above three digits F. This was further solidified when I came to the USA as a graduate student and had to suffer lab mates that smelled bad. Smell is something that one has very little control over - if something looks bad, one can look away, avoid seeing it. If something sounds bad, like music you don't like, it's socially acceptable to say that you don't like it. If something tastes bad - well you get my drift. However, if someone you have to be around smells bad, what can you do? You can't stop breathing. Nor can you gift them anti-perspirant. Anyways, I digress.

Since, I threw out my anti-perspirant, I needed something I could find around the house till I found a non-toxic thing that would keep me smelling good. I turned to that age old white substance called powder. While powder is OK for the first few hours, it didn't work very well for me for an entire day. And, God help me, talc is also bad for you (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talc#Safety).

After doing a lot of research, I found out that there are two things that you can use to keep body odor at bay long term - anti-perspirants (that contain aluminum) and deodarants that may not contain aluminum. Now, I did not know the technical definition of these products. Apparently, anti-perspirants block sweat pores and prevent you from sweating, while deodorants allow you to sweat but supposedly contain stuff that kill the odor causing bacteria in your body fluid. So now, my search was narrowed down to deodorants. I quickly found out that my all purpose store Target, did not seem to have any choices for deodorants. Google came to the rescue as always. I found out that health food stores are a good place to look for deodorants. So off I went to my neighborhood Trader Joe's and I found two varieties of aluminum free deodorants - one was scented and the other was unscented. I picked the Trader Joes brand of uncented deodorant - for no particular reason. Uncented deodorant is a first for me (a friend of mine was quite surprised at the concept) but it does have its advantages - I can now use my perfumes that have been hibernating because I did not want two different scents to fight each other during my scented anti-perspirant days. I will enjoy them until I find out that they contain carcinogenic, brain-numbing chemicals ... I have been feeling rather woozy lately ....

A few moments of peace

2010-05-02T07:59:00.000-07:00

It's a Sunday morning and I am enjoying something very rare and precious - a few minutes of utter and absolute quiet. It's as rare as the sighting of a comet and likely as fleeting.

Chinnu and I went shopping yesterday and bought loads of clothes to replenish her wardrobe which was brimming with clothes that she has almost out grown (I picked up a few springy clothes myself). Since I started work two weeks ago, life has become so crazy and out of control, that I toyed with the idea of doing the clothes shopping online. But then, chinnu is my daughter - she needs to get her clothes the same day as the thought of buying them is expressed. She vociferously objected to buying them on the computer because "I can't see and touch them". Hubby tried to help by saying that we'd have a lot more choices online than at the store. She chewed on that for a moment and asked "How will I get the clothes if we buy them on the computer?".
Hubby - "The mailman will deliver them".
Chinnu - "Will I get them today?"
Hubby - "No. Sometime next week."
Chinnu - "I want to go to the store. We can get some today and then shop on the computer if we don't have enough choices at the store."

At this point, I decided to take her to the store. Her excitement for new clothes was rubbing off on me and I was beginning to get excited about looking at and buying stuff.
We went to Old Navy and bought an armload of clothes. At the store, she asks me - "Amma can I wear my new clothes at home?"
Me - "Yes but only after you shower".
Once we came home, she nagged us to help her shower - this a girl who has to be cajoled, yelled at, threatened every single day to take a shower. Amazing what a girl will do for new clothes.
God help me when my daughters grow up.

The Hurt Locker - Best movie???

2010-04-20T22:30:00.001-07:00

I watched about an hour of this movie and ended up with a headache. What on earth were all the critics going on about this movie? Someone needs to explain to me why this movie was voted the best movie of 2009. The only thing that made an impression on me was how realistic it looked. It felt like Iraq (though I've never been there or seen footage of anything there). Other than that, I thought it sucked big time.
What was with the shaking camera? I had to close my eyes tight to prevent the dizzyness from taking over. And the plot of the movie? There was none. What was I supposed to get from this movie? Entertainment value - zero. Take away message - ??? Before the movie starts, a quote "War is a drug"appears on the screen. Is this supposed to be profound? Playing with danger can be addictive - yes. Was this the point of the movie?

The end of my vacation

2010-04-18T22:17:00.000-07:00

So it's over. And what a way to end it. Today, I went to a concert by Vijay Siva. It is the best concert I have heard in the Bay Area so far. Accompanied by Sriramkumar and JV, he started with the Hamsadwani varanam Pagavari followed by Thulasidalamulache in Mayamalavagowlai with a ragam and brisk swarams. Next was a lovely raga exposition in Sahana in which he sang the Navavarna keertanai. I am currently learning these gems of Dikshithar and it amazes me how rich these songs are (I can't think of any other adjective). Vijay's rendition gave me oose bumps. Next was Shyama Sastry's Sankari Shankuru in Saveri. Good pace and wonderfully done (despite Saveri's proximity to Mayamalavagowlai, I still enjoyed it). Brovabaramma in Bahudaari followed Saveri. Intended as a filler, it was fabulous with brisk swarams. It was almost Madurai Maniesque sarva laghu. Really beautiful. Then came Inta Soukhyamu in Kaapi. Again I had goose bumps. It was laid back and I was filled with a sense of peace. It reminded me of KVN's rendition in his last concert. RKS's rendition of the ragam was slower and very well done. On the heels of Kaapi came a wonderful RTP in Poorvikalyani - Paramama paavana na raama in Mishra nadai triputa talam. The eduppu was half a beat after the last beat. Vijay eased into tishra nadai beautifully during the swaram rendition. This was followed by a bunch of "thikkadas". Fantastic. Every ragam oozed with its essence - his music is just so clear and peaceful. I almost feel that the quality of a person's music is a reflection of that person's personality. It did seem that way. I am totally sated :)

I'm ready to take on tomorrow. The break has done me good. Apparently I also look much better now going by the number of compliments I have got in the past few weeks. That certainly feels good.

Mixed feelings

2010-04-15T22:42:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened over the past few days. We went on a trip to our first hometown in the US - Columbus Ohio. A redeye flight in with an infant and a five year old - I thought it would be hell. But both of them were fantastic. I feel lucky to have kids like them. And boy, was it a vacation! Meeting friends and professors from grad school after five years was priceless. I basked in the love of my wonderful friends, ate yummy food, had my favorite ice cream and pizza, and watched my kids have the time of their lives. The little devil would sleep in one house and wake up in another. She must have been totally disoriented, but she was such a gem throughout. Chinnu had such a good time that she wants to stay in Columbus for five years. She became such good friends with the twins of our hosts that one of them cried inconsolably for a long time after we left.

Back home, the little devil started day care in preparation for my starting work after a break of 3 months. I was worried about how that would go given her stranger anxiety issue. She spent two hours yesterday and was not happy. Today it was 3, and she was smiling and playing when I went to pick her up. I was overjoyed and relieved. After that, we didn't hear a peep out of her the rest of the day at home. She was happy and kept herself engaged - no crying or wanting to be picked up. I was consumed with guilt, pity, and sadness. It's like she is no longer the little devil but a little angel. This is the first time she has been away from her immediate family and my heart is breaking.

Despite all the crap that happened at work, I totally enjoyed my three months of bonding with her. She has brought me such joy and the time off has cleared my head. I am actually happy - that's saying a lot. I am proud of my girls and love them so much.

Today we celebrated Vishu, the Tamil/Malyalam new year. I am usually not one to uphold Indian festivities if it's too much work. Given that we got back in the wee hours of yesterday morning and not having any groceries, Vishu would have been just another day. But Chinnu's love for festivities and celebrations motivated me to celebrate the new year with fruits and vegetables displayed in the traditional "kani". Hubby likes to say that it's the little things in life that matter most - today I feel that's so true.

Musings on music

2010-04-06T23:50:00.001-07:00

Art and craft have always been an integral part of my life. When I was young, I grew up with music. Like many young girls growing up in south India, I was enrolled in Carnatic music lessons since I was … oh it was so long ago, I don’t remember how old I was. Appreciation of Carnatic music is kind of like appreciation of beer – it is an acquired taste. It is typically the music of the elderly, the antithesis of popular music; some might even consider it to be not melodious! Given all these obstacles to enjoying this art form, it is no wonder that many kids were far from enthusiastic about learning it and usually succeeded in nagging their parents into pulling them out. However, I actually liked it. Before you think that I am a female version of Benjamin Button, let me assure you that I neither looked nor acted too old for my age. It is now, when I do not have much time (or am too exhausted to make time) to practice and enjoy music that I most appreciate the opportunity I had to pursue this art form as a kid.

For me, making and reacting to music is something that happens on a subconscious level. It’s something I do instinctively rather than consciously. I grew up in a city where music blared in public places traveled far and wide, across air suffused with fumes from automobiles. There were the classic M. S. Subbulakshmi and S. P. Balasubramanian and Ghantasaala devotional songs that were hugely popular in temples. Since there was a sizeable Muslim population in my hometown, strains of the Muslim prayer songs could also be heard in the mornings and evenings. Contrary to finding this invasion of my auditory senses annoying, I actually found them soothing. Then there was K. J. Yesudas. My parents were die hard fans of his Malayalam devotional songs and his voice filled our house everyday. I would learn these songs and sing them at the local temple to great appreciation.
When I was very young, I would listen to Hindi film songs every afternoon on the radio. Now this was back in the days when Hindi film songs sounded like they were in Hindi and not like some kind of whining/whimpering/metallic/rapping/headache inducing mixture of random sounds. (Now you know what kind of music I like). Every night my dad would listen to a Carnatic music concert on the radio - this was when there was no TV or TV watching was dictated by parents. So I assimilated music and it became an integral part of my day.

Fast forwarding to today’s world when my life most times is like a finely oiled machine, listening to music has become a luxury. Why you might ask, especially in this day and age when music is accessible when ever and wherever you want on gadgets that fit in your jeans pocket. The reason is because of the state of mind. I find that most days I am like a pressure cooker, running around constantly, so much so that my mind is not relaxed enough to be receptive to music. I can listen to music without letting it touch me. But for me to absorb it and respond to it is getting harder and harder. What do I mean by responding to music? There was a concert that I went to of a Hindustani musician named Madhup Mudgal. He sang raag Surya. Though this concert was over fifteen years ago, I still remember the song and the wonderful feeling I had while listening to it. I wanted to learn Hindustani music after listening to him.
The time when I was driving to the Cochin airport after a very busy visit to India and was feeling sad (don’t remember why). The cab driver had some devotional music on and I remember the wonderful feeling of peace I was filled with.
The time when singing a song I felt like I had gone into a trance and had tears in my eyes when I was done singing.

Chinnu has intense reactions to music as well. I am learning a dance to the Tamil film song Mukunda Mukunda and I recently brought the CD home. She LOVES this song. I don’t know what she feels – she told me one day “I wish I could hear this song everyday forever and could live with the lady who sang it”. Then realizing that she lives with her parents, she said “Amma I wish you would learn this song and sing it for me every day”. Then realizing that it would not be the same if I sang it – “Amma it’s OK if you don’t learn it and sing it.” I can just imagine how it touches her tender young heart and I love that she feels so intensely when she listens to music. In this day and age when our lives are so dictated by schedules, technology, busy work and the times during which our minds are at rest and at peace is so few, our reactions to music (and any art in general) is one thing that remains individualistic and untouched by the clutter of daily life.

What is the purpose?

2010-03-29T22:05:00.000-07:00

I am writing this because I am self-absorbed and vain. The one thing that I have always been obsessed about is the purpose of my life on this earth. After thirty five years, I am still as confused as I was when I was seventeen; wait, I stand corrected – I am more confused now. It seems that the last decade of my life has passed in fast forward mode. As I write this, I find it hard to believe that
a) I am thirty five years old (that’s serious old)
b) I have been married 10 years (holy cow how did that work out?)
c) I have two kids (I am drowning in responsibility) and
d) My career is going nowhere (that’s huge if you know me)

Anyways, as life caught up with me, my obsession about the purpose of my life grew. You see, when I was in my teens, I thought I had it all figured out: I was going to pursue a career in Science. Science was a romantic idea I had in my head – I’d figure out how the Universe worked and be this respected academic. I would marry the perfect man who would love me unconditionally. And kids – what kids? Well, as it turned out, I did immerse myself in science – I went to graduate school for six years and unraveled the structures of some exotic molecules using complicated spectroscopic instruments. Many people could not fathom why I chose this line of work that seemed too complicated to warrant any attempt at understanding what my thesis was about. And truth be told, I didn’t either. Could not fathom why I chose this line of work that is. It must have had to do with my romantic notion of pursuing physics. At some point during my under graduate days, I found physics with its concepts of strings, quarks and the theory of relativity to be too bizarre for my overworked brain and decided to abandon it for its step sister Chemistry. I could not let go of my romance with Physics completely though (who can after you’ve read the likes of The Tao of Physics, The Dancing Wu Li Masters, etc.) and decided to get a Masters in Chemistry majoring in physical chemistry. Voila, I thought, now I can have the best of both worlds - understand the universe and get a lucrative job. Anyways, I digress. I immersed myself in the pursuit of Science even after I got my Ph. D. Yes. I did post-doctoral work studying the most complicated molecule – H2O – using even fancier spectroscopy. So there’s eight years of my life spent in research. I loved every minute of it (well almost). It was great character building. I believe I honed my skills in perseverance, nagging, and toughness by fighting daily battles with the spectroscopic instruments, interpreting the spectra, and my supervisor, and my lab mates from all around the world (some of whom were obnoxious and some others smelled bad).

In the middle of graduate school, I got married. My husband swept me off my feet and was a great cook to boot. Remember my goal of marrying the man who’d love me unconditionally? I got that at least – and many times I fear I don’t deserve it. Well, all the time, I was still aiming for that phenomenal career. You see, I always associated my identity with the person I would be career wise. I never once doubted that I would be anything less than a star. Now, at some point I realized that I was getting old and was yet to become that star. I had started graduate school at the tender age of 22. When I had the Ph. D. tag, I was 28. Yikes!!! Was I almost 30? At close to 30 I realized I had an income that was just above the poverty line (in the mid-west mind you) and the thought of having a baby started creeping in one too many times. I guess that’s typical of many women – as someone I know (a man who does not have kids) told me recently, kids are another item on the list that has to be stricken off. (Needless to say, I was horrified to hear him put it that way; insensitive, completely false, how can you even say such a thing?) But deep down, maybe, just maybe, there is a tiny grain of truth to what he said. It could just be the human instinct of propagating the species that causes women to start obsessing about having babies once they reach a certain age. Anyways, I digress again. I had a chat with husband and we decided to go for it. I remember having another conversation with my mom about when I would have a baby (my not having one was never an option). I had told her that I would have one by the time I was 30 (I think I was 25 when we had this conversation and 30 seemed way past the horizon). So here I was - meager income, no real job, and desire to have a baby. The baby came first and I was desperate for a real job. All my romance with science had gone flying out the door. I wanted a job that paid well for that tag I had after my name. As it turned out, I accepted a job offer in the semiconductor equipment industry at the ripe old age of 30 and a half. It was in sunny California and marked the beginning of my foray into the fascinating world of corporate America. More to follow...

Naatak's Patol Babu Film Star and Other Plays - A critical review

2009-11-09T13:04:00.000-08:00

I went to see Naatak's Patol Babu Filmstar and other plays this past Saturday. These plays were adapted from Satyajit Ray's short stories by Kamala subramanian. Until I came to hear about the Naatak play, I was not aware that Satyajit Ray was also a short story writer. The stories portrayed were Mr. Eccentric, Bhuto, Pikoo's Diary, and Patol Babu Filmstar. The production overall was well executed. It started on time and ended on time. The sets were very good. The stories are supposedly set in the seventies in presumably, Kolkota. The costumes were carefully chosen to transport the audience back to that era. Mr. Eccentric is a thriller about an old man man obsessed with collecting objects that have morbid histories associated with death. Eccentric is the name given to him by his neighbors who find his obsession with seemingly random and useless objects eccentric. He his portrayed walking around the streets with a walking stick, looking for objects to add to his collection, Mr. Eccentric has the ability to see the scene of death whenever he looks at an object in his collection. He meticulously documents each item in his diary. The play was enagaging right up to the finish and the actors executed well. However, the last scene, which is the punchline, if you will, of the story, was a bit odd I thought. It shows Mr. Eccentric describing his latest acquisition to a visitor - a ring belonging to a man who committed a murder. Mr. Eccentric is telling the story of how he had to use force to get this ring from the murderer the previous day. As his visitor, visibly
shocked, asks what he means by "force", Eccentric thrusts his walking stick into the visitor's hands saying that he can no longer bear to have this with him because of what he sees when he looks at the stick. The visitor's hands are covered with blood and the play ends with a rather loud scream. I have not read the original story, and do not know how it ends. But why would someone not wipe the blood off the stick after committing a heinous act? Even if he forgot or didn't care to wipe it off, would the blood not have dried up
considering that the act was committed the previous day? And the scream was completely uncalled for - if the play had ended with Eccentric simply handing the stick to his shocked visitor, it would have have had more impact in my opinion.

The second play, Bhuto belongs to the fantasy genre. It depicts the story of a young man who is passionate about learning ventriloquism from the reigning queen of ventriloquism, Anandita. All attempts by the young man to persuade Anandita to teach him the art are spurned. Finally, he gets a book and teaches himself. He gets an idea from the book to use a puppet as a prop. He and his friend craft an idea to make a puppet that looks like Anandita and name it Bhuto. He becomes a huge hit with the crowds and Anandita loses her popularity. Threatened, she confornts him and says that while she respects him for his perseverence, she does not approve his impertinence. After this confrontation, strange things start happening - Bhuto appears to start having an existence of her own. One night, the young man hears coughing and realizes that it is Bhuto. Frightened he casts Bhuto away, but she comes back. At 3:00 am, he is awakened by a howl and we see Bhuto make some frenzied movements of her own. The play ends with the young man's friend rushing in to tell him about the death of Anandita. The man nods and says he knows and he also what time it happened. They then look at Bhuto in horror. I was totally confused after this play. I thought there were some logical lapses. The first one which was quite confusing is when the young man and his friend get the idea to make a puppet. The scene shows a Chowkidar tear down a picture of Anandita. The pair look at the picture, and get this, the picture of Anandita faces the audience. I was wondering how they could possibly have a Eureka moment when looking at a blank paper (logically the opposite face of the paper should have been blank if it was stuck to the wall). The second was the ending - why did Anandita die? She had lost her livelihood. So she could have killed her opponent instead. It is quite clear that Bhuto is possessed by her spirit. But what was completely lost on me
was why she had to die to do that given that there were scenes that show Bhuto becoming possessed when she's alive anyways. The aha moment is supposed to be the last scene when the young man and his friend look at Bhuto and realize what has happened - but it was certainly not aha for me. The script was not tight enough and I know at least a few people who were confused by the ending as well.

The third play, Pikoo's diary is about a young boy Pikoo who has become scarred for life because of an extra-marital affair his mother had when he was little. The play is executed in flash back mode. Pikoo's dad has just found out that his wife is having an affair. Pikoo has a day off from school despite which his mom agrees to see her lover. Pikoo's grandfather, an invalid with coronary thrombosis, lives with them. Pikoo informs the old man about a fight he overheard his parents having the previous night. The scene comes off as being a bit comic with Pikoo talking about the fight, coronary thrombosis, heart attacks etc. The grandfather shows Pikoo a bell that he will ring if he gets a heart attack so Pikoo can come to his aid. Pikoo, when rushing out of his granddad's room, throws the switch to the bell out of the old man's reach. It apprears that Pikoo knows her lover quite well - he refers to him as uncle. The uncle comes to his house with a box of color pencils for Pikoo. His mom asks Pikoo to go to the garden and not come into the house till he draws and colors every flower he can find in the garden. Then she and her lover go to bed. In the meantime, Pikoo's drawing his flowers and there is a scene in the middle when his mother starts crying because he is in the sun. Her lover is upset with her because of her distraction and leaves. Pikoo comes into the house and hears his mother crying. He goes to his mother's room but she dismisses him with a slap. He comes down to talk to
his grandfather, only to find him dead. He realizes that the switch is far away from the old man's reach and is overcome with grief. This was another confusing play. I did not get the point at all. Is the point Pikoo is messed up because his mother had an affair? If so, how did he learn that his mother had an affair? The play does not address this at all. Or was the point Pikoo is messed up beacuse he feels responsible for his grandfather's death? If this is the case, then there is no connection between the first scene of the play that shows an adult Pikoo confronting his wife and suspecting her of adultery and the rest of the story.

The last play was Patol Babu Filmstar. This was the play that stole the show. A comedy with a fantastic script and fantastic acting by everyone, it is the story of Patol Babu, an aging thespian who aspires to revive his acting career. He is offered a role in a movie, but the challenge is that he has only one word to say - oh. The story is a hilarious account of how Patol Babu tries to convince himself and his wife that even to say oh can be challenging. There are many emotions associated with the word and Hareesh Agastya had the crowd laughing with his Bengali babu accent and his various oh intonations. Overall, a highly crowd pleasing and happy play that left everyone feeling good.
This production inspired me to look around for Ray's short stories and give them a read. I really need to figure out what Bhuto and Pikoo's diary are about.

2009-05-02T23:28:00.000-07:00

OK I have way too much time on my hands now. Here's my typical routine:
8:00am - wake up
8:50am drop off kid to school
9:30-10:30am check email etc.
10:30am: 2nd cup of coffee (1/2 cup)
10:45 - 12:00 - do random stuff
12:00 - eat lunch
1:00-3:40 - read and nap
3:45 - pick up kid
4:15-6:45 - do some stuff with kid
7:00 - dinner
8:00 - walk with hubby
8:40 - put kid to bed
9:30 - my favorite time: watch something on TV, or read, or surf the net

Can't believe that I have so much time. I can't. Part of me thinks that I should be doing something more "productive". I am still trying to find ideas for being more productive, but I get too tired in the process. I had no idea that waiting for a baby to be born can feel so interminable and tiring. I can't remember anything from the first pregnancy. I can't believe that it can get this difficult to walk, that a baby can kick so hard in the final days that it hurts.

Final state of pregnancy - disbelief.

Fireworks

2008-07-05T00:52:00.001-07:00

Mommyhood and freedom - will the twain ever meet?

2008-06-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

After a long time, I was motivated to start a watercolor painting. I took out this picture that I shot a year ago and decided to paint it. I had chinnu started on a coloring "project" next to me and got started. It was pure bliss - for 5 minutes. Then:
Chinnu: Amma, let me help you.
Me: Sweetie, amma is fine, why don't you finish your coloring and show me?
Chinnu: I want to dip your brush in the water.
Me: OK - here.
Chinnu: Let me paint the yellow flowers.
Me: Chinnu, amma wants to paint this. Can I give you paper so you can paint on it?
Chinnu: (starting to sniffle) No, I want to paint what you are painting.

It didn't go well. I got upset, she got upset and started screaming. And that was the end of my moments of artistic inspiration.

When I was in grad school, I didn't have much to do in my first year due to the nature of my experiments. I hated being jobless and I would go to the library and peruse books on sketching. I would then spend beautiful summer afternoons sketching. I often recall those days with great nostalgia and wish I could indulge in the luxury of persuing hobbies at leasure now. So where does all this nostalgia and desire for freedom of expression of artistic impulses leave me? With a half done watercolor that I don't know when I'll get the "muhurtham" to finish ...

Photography - eyes most important for a good photo?

2008-05-19T22:55:00.000-07:00

Looking for things to photograph led me to my patio. Unfortunately, this is nothing more than a writer rambling - no vision as to what the photo should look like. I once started reading one of Ansel Adam's books on photography (my God, my memory is so rotten I don't even remember the name of the book) and one thing that did stick was his philosophy of photography. Photography is an expression of art - a photographer knows what s/he wants the photo to convey. However, this takes years of study and practice. Much as I would like to practice this, I often draw a blank as to what I'd like a photo to say. Sometimes I do know what I'd like a photo to look like, but struggle to achieve the effect. This despite owning a fancy SLR camera and a fancy lens/es.

Photography is a fascinating art. It requires artistic imagination and technical knowledge of optics and the interplay of light with the subject. When S gifted me my SLR camera, I spent some time reading about apertures, shutter speeds, ISO, depth-of-field and what have you. During my quest for knowledge, I came across Ken Rockwell's website on photography that put my motives to shame. Ken Rockwell contends that to take good photos one need not have a fancy camera. What is required is artistic vision and good light. One can take good photos with a point-and-shoot just as well as with a fancy-shmancy SLR camera. Imagine my chagrin reading this just after my good husband had invested about $1500 on state-of-the-art camera and lens
technology (OK it's not state-of-the-art but after you spend this kind of money on a camera, you need to use your imagination to rationalize the purchase). I could virtually hear Mr. Rockwell laughing at me - you pathetic scientists and engineers - all you know to do is buy toys based upon useless technical data. I bet you analyzed the MTF curves of the lens, lost nights of sleep on deciding whether to get a camera with a CCD or CMOS sensor, contemplated getting a Ph. D. in optics ... Let me tell you something, some of the photos I took were straight out of a cell phone. If you do have a camera (like an SLR) you seldom need to go beyond the auto setting to get a great photo. All you need is a vision and patience to wait for the good light". (Mr. Rockwell has taken some fabulous photos and specializes in landscapes, if I dare say anything about his work).

So I spent a few weeks agonizing over my foolishness of insisting on needing an SLR camera to get any more fun out of my hobby. All my pride in shooting photos which were not fully saturated or clipped (er, overexposed or underexposed if I may use the photography jargon) using manual settings for aperture and shutter speeds vanished. Finally I decided that since I do have a fancy camera, I had better use it - which have led me to these experiments, and husband to exasperation for his folly of buying me a toy that brings out OCD traits in me.

"Use your imagination"

2008-05-18T21:12:00.000-07:00

Chinnu likes to say "use your imagination". This is something she's picked up from Barney and also apparently hears in school. It's amazing how imaginative kids are and how unimaginative adults become. I am a prime example. When I gave her the puppy to color, I could not tear away myself from telling her to color the dog in one color. "Let's make him all red like Clifford" I tried to coax her. "or brown, like a real dog". But if my chinnu has inherited one thing from her parents, it's stubbornness. Notice the s in the parents - so she has twice as much of this quality as I do. "Why don't you just let her do what she wants?" S barked at me in irritation. Now, does he understand how much I love to color myself? Not a bit. I actually make trips to Michael's with the sole purpose of buying Fuzzy Posters that I totally enjoy coloring. Ever since I have no time for more "serious" art, this is what I do. So Imagine my pain when I start to see my beautiful uncolored puppy with so much potential, sprouting red ears and a blue forehead. At this point, I tear myself away from my offspring and decide to not look at the thing at all until it's finished ("maybe she'll have a pleasant surprise for me after all"). It so happened that Chinnu had 3 days off from school and spent those days with her grandparents. I sent the puppy along and asked her to work on it. One evening, it came back fully done and I was proud of my little bundle of joy. Despite knowing a real dog is not any of these colors (other than Clifford), she came up with this. Not only that, the flowers are all in monochrome (which, other than fine details, they usually are). "Well", I thought sadly to myself, "I would never have had the imagination to create something so unreal".

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-11T12:22:00.001-07:00

Roses
Originally uploaded by sgopalak_28

Man or woman?

2008-05-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

NPR did a two day story on children and adolescents who identified themselves with belonging to the opposite sex from what they were born with. I had never heard of such a phenomenon before and my first reaction was "come on, you can't be serious". I am no pundit in child psychology, or any psychology for that matter and hence found the concept of boys under the age of five showing strong signs of wanting to be a girl (trans gender, as I learned) rather bewildering.

The story on day one was about two boys who showed "symptoms" of wanting to be girls from the age of two. These "symptoms" included playing exclusively with "girl" toys (dolls instead of trucks), obsessing about the color pink (and other "girl" colors such as lavender), socializing exclusively with girls, wanting to be dressed as a girl etc. Once this behavior became very obvious to the parents, they (the kids) were taken for therapy to two different doctors that were of opposite schools of thought.

The parents of child A were very accepting of their son become their daughter - they were convinced that this was necessary because being a girl and being treated like one was what made A happy, and brought out the life in "her". They were convinced that A was a girl trapped in a boy's body and this was the essence of A. The child's doctor advised the parents that this was in the best interest of the child.

The parents of child B on the other hand, were counseled by their son's doctor that the best approach was to immediately stop encouraging behavior that would result in more gender confusion - i.e. remove all girl toys, no pink, actively encourage socializing with boys. B was traumatized by this, but he did make a few friends who were boys, cooperated in being separated from his toys. At one point, his mother said that B's biggest weakness was pink - whenever he saw pink he would cover his eyes because he could not resist pink.

A's doctor thinks B's doctor's approach is inhuman. B's doctor's justification? He contends that as B grew older, his psychological gender would clash with what the hormones would do. This could make him a social outcast, prevent him from having a relationship with neither a male nor female. Moreover, children often change their minds on who they are - i.e. as B grew up, there was a possibility that he might be comfortable being a boy. Very interesting debate ...

However, it was interesting to note that these stories were all about boys that wanted to be girls, not vice versa. Hmmm... Is transgender-ness like sexual orientation - natural rather than cultivated, if unintentionally? The metric of measuring transgenderness seemed to be playing with "girl" toys, liking "girl" things - which are defined by society. What do kids know about gender? Which brings us to the question - what makes a woman .woman and a man, man? Apparently anatomy has little to do with it.

Book review - The Translator by Leila Aboulela

2007-12-29T14:17:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading this book. Sammar is a shy, Sudanese translator who works for Professor Rae Isles, an Islamic scholar in Aberdeen, Scotland. After being widowed, she sinks into a depression that is gradually lifted as she finds herself falling in love with Rae. The conflict is that Sammar deems it necessary that Rae convert to her faith (Islam) to marry him. Rae is not sure that he is convinced in the Shahadah (the Islamic creed that says that there is no God but Allah, and Prophet Muhammad is the messenger of Allah). The book is in two parts - the first deals with Sammar's life in Scotland with generous descriptions of the cultural shock she experiences in a foreign land. The second part is set in Khartoum, Sudan, highlighting the cultural differences between Sammar's present and past.
I found the book fairly interesting till part two - the detailed descriptions of Sammar's family etc. in Sudan seemed a bit too distracting from the main plot. It could be that I am a bit jaded by the fact that almost every NRI author has written about adapting to life in a foreign land. I also felt that this was not a good love story. I could not relate to the fact that Sammar just needed Rae to say the Shahadah in order to feel comfortable about marrying him. I wonder what message the author was trying to convey - what is the significance of converting to Islam? Would Rae become more Muslimized in some way? He is still Scottish and grew up in a very different culture. Why did she feel the necessity for him to convert? So he could be Muslim in name? If she wanted him to believe that Allah is the only God, isn't that religious dictatorship?

Another Birthday

2007-12-29T00:03:00.000-08:00

3x. I feel not so young. When I started sprouting some white hair a couple of years back, I attributed it to premature graying. However, it appears that I am in the settling down stage in life. I crave stability and a good, conventional environment for my kid. I cannot fathom letting go of her emotionally. I am impatient with the irresponsible and devil-may-care attitudes of young 20-somethings. OK - that's enough.

On the bright side, R bought me my favorite cake (Guava cake from Aki's) and we all gathered at his apt. to enjoy it. Then S and I had a good dinner at PFC. Nice.

What is love?

2005-10-19T22:28:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about love, marriage and family - what is love? It comes in many different flavors, but by far the type that impacts individuals the most is romantic love. The love of a parent for a child, love of a person for a pet, a sibling, a parent is very different. These types of love lack the heady pasasion that is the hallmark of romantic love. The intense attraction, the chemical reaction that motivates sexual culmination of the relationship, can become a primary force in a person's life. Is this love? Passion does not equal love in my opinion. Passion is intrinsically short-lived. It is a drug. Love in relationships has to be based on something more than passion. Much much more.

Why does our society crave ideality in relationships? i.e., why do we need to convince ourselves that we marry for love? It is love when two single people go through the attraction - marriage cycle. Yet if this happens to a married person, it is heinous. We become judgemental (I have, I must admit). Yet is the mechanism in the two scenarios different? I think not.

When you marry someone, you are committing to keeping your body chemistry on a tight leash. How many crushes we have before we get married. Does maturity cure us of this tendency to be attracted to someone? Apparently not, going by how prevalent extramarital affairs are. Yet, extramarital affairs are devastating, especially with children involved. Most people are aware of the consequenses, yet cannot manage their attraction. Is this strictly chemistry? Is passionnate love like addiction to alcohol? Do we "fall in love" over and over to experience the kick? Why else would people stake everything for something they know will wreck many lives?

How do we learn to love? Emotional intimacy, no sectets, finding other outlets for passion such as intense hobbies, and some passion! Will this overpower body chemistry?

Sucked up in a whirlwind

2005-10-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

I want to get back to blogging, now that I have no time at all. A lot has happened since the last entry and now - I got a job, moved all the way from Ohio to California, worked and took care of Chinnu by myself for three months, and got totally frustrated with life. It feels like I've been in a whirlwind and have had no time to savor life.

It bothers me that I am getting angry and upset too easily of late. At times I have felt that I need help to calm down. Life has certainly become more stressful with the responsibilities of my first real job, and settling down in this state that feels like a different country altogether. I have been frustrated at being separated from S for more than three months, not having him around for help and support drove me totally nuts. I was frustrated that he was not there to share my first experiences on the job, I was plagued by guilt about Chinnu spending long hours at the baby-sitter's, and worst of all pitied myself for having to endure such hardship. It has got a lot better now that my mother-in-law is here to help. But I still get terribly angry at times.

How do I feel about this new state of affairs? The grass is always greener on the other side - life as a post-doctoral researcher was uncomplicated, laid-back, but I was frustrated at not having a real job after the years I had spent training to get one. Now that I have a real job in the cut-throat semiconductor industry, I am deeply disappointed with the corporate culture. Deeply deeply disappointed. It seems that everyone I work with grew up in a culture of rudeness, bad communication and attitude. It saddens me to see young people of very good pedigree being groomed to ignore the basic principles of civilized behavior, and disinterested in the quest for knowledge. The primary motivation is not to do a good job, but rather to pass the blame and play power games. And being a woman in a male dominated field is an interesting experience. It appears that some folks did not expect me to survive the so-perceived cut-throatedness, but I have survived it well thanks to my ability to play hard-ball. Nothing about work intimidates me, as was expected. Rather, I have a don't-care attitude of doing what I believe

2004-11-01T09:25:00.000-08:00

Drs. S and S came home for an impromptu dinner friday evening. it was nice - we went to graeters for ice cream after dinner.
had a very quiet saturday. spent a lot of time with Chinnu. we took her for a walk since the weather was gorgeous. we sat out on the patio for a while after a very long time. Chinnu wants to be talked to a lot now.

2004-10-29T09:33:00.000-07:00

Took this picture last night. I kind of like it.

The weekend's here - hurray! Other than playing with Ramya, I need to
- buy some winter clothes for her
- try and apply for her passport
- read the pile of C&E News
- write!

I have been toying with the idea of doing some science writing. After listening to Debra Rolison, I am fired up to read on nanotech and write something about it. Well, if I'm going to take a shot at a faculty job, I need to come up with a proposal. A lot of money is being pumped into this, so it could be lucrative. However, I have no experience in STM and other microscopy techniques required to study such processes. Well, fertile ground for learning anyways.

Food for thought

2004-10-28T13:58:00.000-07:00

Debra Rolison from the Naval Research Laboratory was invited to give a diversity lecture on Wednesday. Over lunch, she gave a talk on the societal impact of nanotechnology. She addressed issues such as the need to ponder the impact of nanoscience beyond the immediate scientific goal, ethics in conducting such research etc. She gave a couple of examples of potentially dangerous uses of nanotechnology - one example was the use of cadmium selenide quantum dots for drug delivery. However, Cd2+ is very toxic and was observed to leach out in some studies. In the evening she gave a talk on whether "Title IX can do for women in science, tech, engg., and math what it has done for women in sports". Interesting talk. Her basic contention was the presence of very few women as faculty in class I research institutions when so many of them receive Ph.D's is a sign of an unhealthy environment in academia in the U.S. Some spirited language.
Then yesterday she gave a scientific talk on aerogels (about which I learned for the first time). Apparently H spoke to her about me on Wed and she had offered to speak with me yesterday evening. We met up after her seminar. I had a very nice talk with her for about 40 minutes. She is a very inspiring scientist - well rounded and very well read. Got me thinking on what I want to do with my life. More on that later.

Neet to remember this ...

2004-10-25T13:08:00.000-07:00

-Call Lalitha for numbers
-Mummy's bday on 27th.

nice weekend

2004-10-25T13:03:00.000-07:00

V and A came over for dinner saturday night. had a quiet evening with them.

i am reaching new heights in forgetfulness. S and I had decided to go out for dinner on saturday. I get this call at around 7:00pm from Geetha R asking me if I was coming or not. I could not believe that I had forgotten that she's asked me to dinner the previous weekend. I had not written it down and so had forgotten. I was sooo disappointed that we couldn't have a quiet dinner that I cried. I just didn't want to be with anyone but S for an evening. The evening wasn't so bad though. After a flying visit to Brinda's place for vethalai pakku, we went to Geetha's place. They have a beautiful, huge house. All the people they'd invited were much older than us (except for her kids). But the food was excellent.

I had a nice quiet Sunday. I watched The Sure Thing on TV. John Cusack was very young and cute. We went to Olive Garden for dinner. Had a glass of wine after almost a year. I totally enjoyed the dinner.

Chinnu is getting more playful. She's adding to her vocabulary - the latest addition being Ew.

I did group meeting this morning. DF complimented me on the work. I was surprised and pleased - he doesn't do that often.

Wonder what's going on with R and P. I wrote to P. She said there's a problem but does not want to talk about it yet. Whatever it is, I'm glad I wrote her; it's out in the open at least.

Breathing ...

2004-10-22T09:59:00.000-07:00

again. But my throat feels a bit scratchy. I can't afford to get sick because of Chinnu. She's 3 months old today, and growing in a hurry. She's a darling and I completely adore her - but of course I'm the mom. The way time's flying is scary.
What will I do when my MIL leaves in Jan? The cost of daycare is insane. Goddard school charges $950 a month. I want to find a babysitter so she wont have that huge a transition from doting grandmom to stranger. I wonder if I'll be OK - right now I can't even imagine the scenario.

V and A are coming over for dinner tonight and Michelle too, to see Chinnu. I've been meaning to bring Chinnu over to the lab, but it's such a hassle.

Finished reading The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler - typical Tyleresque family drama. Very enjoyable, very warm. Need to return books to the library. And get some more. Or maybe I'll finish the Order of the Phoenix which I started when I was around 8 months pregnant. I was advised not read it because it is apparently very disturbing. It's strange - the state of pregnancy. I used to get such vivid dreams. I wonder if this is the reason pregnant women are advised not to read/see disturbing and violent stuff. So while on the subject, my hormones must be going crazy again. My hair which used to shed quite a bit before I got pregnant, looked great and thick for 10 months. Now, all of a sudden, I have started shedding like crazy again. And my forehead is breaking out in painful zits. And the amount of milk I pump at work also seems to be doing a hormone like act. Somedays I pump 6 oz without any effort, somedays it's 4 with Herculean effort. I wish I could find a pattern.

2004-10-18T09:04:00.000-07:00

what a busy weekend! a birthday party friday night, a navarathri pooja saturday night, and hordes of visitors at home all sunday, not to mention sanjay sub's concert sunday evening. we took ramya along just to see if she'd scream or not. she was very good - she was quiet and awake for about 30 minutes and then fell asleep. all in all, she was calm for 2 hours after which she started to fuss a bit perhaps because it was close to her feeding time. i wonder what goes on in babies' minds.
the concert was a disappointment for me. after all the rave reviews, this concert was very ho hum and sanjay's voice was is pretty bad shape. it's unfortunate that both carnatic musicians and perhaps the elitist rasikas are overrating ideas rather than execution in a concert. I mean how much can a performer leave to the rasika's imagination? sanjay's voice was so bad that there were numerous sruthi slips and none of his akarams were clear.

We're going to have a music night on Wed. It's kind of nice - the idea - but with Ramya nad it being a weekday, I have a feeling i'm going to get a bit stressed out. Trust G to come up with something like this without asking me first. and then sheepishly asking me if he shouldn't have after the fact. i hope they're good.

Wasteful Friday

2004-10-15T13:47:00.000-07:00

I have not done an iota of useful work today. It's been a while since I whiled an entire day off. It's awful outside - grey, cold and uninspiring. Thought I'd start a blog - let's see if I keep at it.

Right now I feel stubbornly not wanting to do anything. I have a few dozen "things" to do which I've been putting off. Let's see -

- Paperwork with the tax office
- Paperwork for buying a new laser/CCD equipment for the lab
- Send my Ph.D transcript
- Fill out a form
- Pay a credit card bill
- File away bills/paperwork
- Cancel the NY Times subsciption
- Organize the basement

Is it just my life that is so full of paper??
Right now the only paper that looks not repulsive is the book "The amateur marriage" by Anne Tyler.

This weekend is crammed with social events. Right now hot coffee, quiet reading and spending quality time with Chinnu seems to be the only thing I want to do.

2004-10-15T13:00:00.000-07:00

Would like to be here ...
Last year was the year of good vacations - this one in Kumarakom, Kerala. A rare oasis of quiet.