Noble?!

Some of the most inspirational men I have met till now are scientists. The prejudice here is only due to the limitation of opportunity to meet a lot of others. Sydney Altman (catalytic RNA- Nobel in chemistry, 1989), Craig Mello (RNAi nobel 2006), Anders Naar, Anindya Dutta, Ashok Srinivasan and Ahmad fakhoury. There is nothing common about them. I did not see the "burning passion" in their eyes or a tremendously dynamic personality in them. What I saw was an "I work for myself" attitude and a bow-down in complete obeisance humility towards science. They were good spokesmen, excellent thinkers and had a down to earth attitude when speaking to 20 something young minds. There were two things that clung on to me that were blog-worthy. One, when a bright young bulb piped to prove his interes in making conversation with anindya asked "how do you define a good student?", without a second thought he replied, "Just do what you love". It was not altogether about the statement. It was more about its timing and the momentum with which it came. "When someone has to tell you, you need to put in more work, you are a lost case." I found a strict teacher, a chronic workaholic and a man ruled by his mind in him.

Second, small talk with Anders Naar lead to a conversation about learning. "What is all this hue and cry about love-to-learn, enjoy everything you do attitude? It just doesnt make sense. How are you going to understand or appreciate this world if you have to learn only what you love?". Maybe crudely put but very true. I did not like calculus, strongly loathed high school probability and could not understand what the hec was bernouli's theorem. I hated mugging the multiplications tables and strongly disliked homework in any shape or form. But I have reached a point where multi-disciplinary is absolutely essential and now appreciate myself for having that knowledge.For even being just a molecular biologist requires atleast once a week of complex math solving. Everything is not fun or cannot be made fun, but sometimes its required to bite the bullet and swallow it. And once the head is set right, it just amazes you how much you can take in so easily and how much you fall in love with learning.

Change....

"How has marriage changed you?" In answer I would retort with a stupid joke like I dont have to steer my hang baggage into the restroom everytime when we travel. But in truth, it has changed me a lot. I feel different. I feel secure and grounded. I feel like there will not be anymore self inflicted roller coaster rides, and even if all the time I dont feel like I am on the top I wouldnt keep noticing how hard it is to be at the bottom.

I dont yearn for approval from anyone, even him. I know I have his. I wake up everyday feeling beautiful, even if he is not around to tell me that. I cook a stash of food and store it away, without the slightest thought of how it is going to taste. It doesnt matter. I still like my taste in clothes, movies and my opinions on the world and now I say it louder. Maybe I was a highly insecure person before marriage and thats why the change. Maybe its too soon to say I am happily married, but I am bursting inside and I cannot keep it anymore.

Amazing Paati (contd)

"Indian coffee!!" Paati would proudly refer to the pazhaya satham kanji and thats enough to send my mind on a road trip from Madras to Shimla, kadayam or Aravankadu. She would describe her routine prior to marriage (which was when she was 13). Her mother made her draw the kolam, clean the house and sit and do math tables. If she outdid all her sisters, her dad would open a small wooden cupboard and give her a square of "english chocolate". In the afternoon her mother would have found pieces of cloth for the sisters to sticth, and only then were they given their mid-morning meal. I was ashamed at my 13 year old self.

This was a "routine", and Paati's life was full of routines. Paati would also recall as to how during her time mother and daughter were pregnant at the same time. Its just another routine mid-wifing and child rearing. While dosas were a luxury, the pregnant women of the house alone got big dosas made out of "nalla-ennai". Then there were stories across the country, on how cold Shimla was that she had to be given a "thee kayam" when she was born and how she managed an entire household in Calcutta with just 30 rupees and she herself being just 18. Incidents that demand atleast significant amount of great grieving, like how they lost the T.Nagar Coats road house, next to the present ugly GRT thanga maligai (am sure its worth several crores now), gave away their Sion house in Mumbai gracefully and how her husband was cheated at his work were told nonchalantly, with an air of practicality. It was her nature to not be emotional over wealth. She just had to feed everyone who was under the shelter, be it her own children, her sisters' children or a distant far-away relative.

The trams that run across Madras, my thatha's routine (whom none of the grandchildren have met), his way of life, the summer trips to Veeravanallur thirunelveli district, her mom's house, along with a minimum of six children (if they had six children, she got a free ride as a guardian) set me fascinated. Chithra pournami at the Sashtha kovil which was set in the interior of a thoppu and considered dangerous to travel on your own and Thenkasi Sivarathri celebrations sounded truly exotic. During the nine-day navarathri all the "kanya pongal" would kummi around a center kolam at the agraharam, made me want to live in Chenkottai or Sundarapandipuram (Since she described veeravanallur as dry). She would re-call marriages, teach the origin of customs, basics of theetu-pathu, her idea of astrology etc. She can beat an IIM-MBA without even a high school degree. The way she would describe food at her house, aah thats a whole story altogether. It would make my mouth water even if I had had a full three course meal just a few minutes earlier. There were aluminium tins always filled with murukku, thatai and cheedai and children back from school would run straight to it. And then the thinagai maavu urundai. I dont think I liked the palm sugar stuff half as much as I did when she described it.
This is how I wasted my study holidays during college listening to innumberable stories rendered with the most amazing details and right emotions, post the 3:00P.M coffee break.

I dont think she lived an opulent life in the least. But I think its her practicality, acceptance and more than that cheerfulness that gave it the wealth. She would describe money management, losing her husband (whom she completely doted on), getting her girls married with the bare minimum that she had, without sentiments or emotion. Thats how life is. What was important was to not lose your spirit or your "routine", in other words, the discipline.

Well, its three hours since I read "The toss of a lemon" and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Being brought up by my maternal grandmom, a strict widow herself and the house run like any other Iyer household, I could totally relate to it. The blog is a result of gushing memories of paati.

Amazing paati

There is a purple coloured blanket at home with a pink border on it. It is made out of a madisaar pudavai that I wanted to hold onto forever. It still has a faint smell of paati, its a mixture of vibuthi and her cooking and for a second I can almost feel her skin.

When she used to sit down with her afternoon coffee, she would always be telling me stories of herself, the family etc. That was probably my moral science book.Being a fifth standard pass, but having learnt immensely from the world, she would appropriately use sophisticated english in her stories. From her stories, I had great respect for just two kinds of people in this world. One, people who "pulled their life back together". Its not a big deal if you have your life planned out, you had great parenting and you did amazing well in school from grade one. But it is if you had gotten into drugs, cheated on your wife, ran away from home, shrunken responsibilities, but at the end of the day managed to pull your life back together, and do great. The other, are "self-made" people. She would raise her thumb up, bring her lower lip up and say that about someone. My heart would swell up with pride for that person. This category of people probably attracted me the most and I probably married one too.

Well there are probably a hundred and one things paati had taught me, this is not to list all that. Its just to re-iterate that I think only two things matters in life. One, to be non-judgemental, and the other to work hard in continuously shaping yourself. I am glad I atleast know these things.

Back to wilderness??

When Thomson woods donated 750 acres of land to the Illinois state, his only condition was that the land should be maintained as it was. And as an honour to him the SIU campus till date is WILD. You would have huge deers, small fox and snakes as your passers by, and racoons to eat your garbage at night. Signs like "Fawning season, Deers can attack" and e-mails that warn you of a viper on the prowl are not uncommon. The first week I loved the campus having immigrated from a concrete sticky jungle. Then there were mood swings. I just hated seeing crawling objects all over, pest controling like I lived in the Amazon jungle and having to walk around a beautiful lake with the fear of attacking animals. When an inland tornado hit Carbondale it cleared out most trees but still left another 100 standing making it difficult to walk, and worse, we had to live without power for four whole days. Life stops in the United states without power. No gas stations, which means no groceries, no internet, no charging phones, no connection with the external world, no work, nothing. But plenty of sunshine, outdoor cooking,(most of our stoves work on electricity), late night on the lawn conversations, cricket with strange guys, eating at an "Agadhigal Mugam" and playing cards by candle light followed. It was a lot of fun, like camping from home itself. We were almost sighing when power was restored. I just loved the campus then.

Immediately, the whole India-wedding escapade followed. At one point of time, I had no clue what was happening and was not sure if I was the victim. Trust me, its a difficult job being a bride and trying to look good. The only things I really did the last one month was hop from Sundari to nalli to RMKV (in Madras summer), matching bangles with sarees and cleaning my feet obssessively for the "metti" episode. Its actually slow poisoning. At first your forced into it. At first you find amma and the chithi/periama gang continuously telling you that you have to shop intelligently, its your D-day, explaining why you cannot have a simple temple wedding, how yours is the only second daughter's wedding in the family etc. But before you know it you are deep into it with no one to blame. You are practically practicing your bridal smile, a bridal walk trying not to look like kudurai, deciding on "pinnal styles", deciding intricacies like whether an arching eye-brow shape or a normal one looks good with the bridal get-up and apadiye all cold feet is thrown right out of the window. I now understand how Indians have little or no cold feet. They have 101 ceremonies and 10001 people to worry about which leaves no room for anything. But its fun all the way. But yeah coming to the point, after all that, am glad to be back to Amazon jungle, even if I am missing the important other. I am glad to be back to MacDo meals, around the lake walks, biking across the campus, grocery shopping, Ipod walks, sitting around, walking around the lab like a zombie, PCR setting/gel loadings escapades, girls' gossip at the office, coffee at four at StuC, late night-nonsensical journal reading that will never ever help me in my research, eternally eating chana dhal and frozen veggies for dinner, uncombed hair and mukka pants, free food and PHD comics. Am back to the grind and loving it. And the cherry on the top is that its summer and its beautiful outside. The campus I described above is as wild and beautiful as ever.

Charanya

The wheels hit Madras harder than any other airport. Its probably the roads, or probably my mind. Happy faces, anxious minds, impatient to deplane and see their loved ones were all over. "Dei Machan did you check out the new fly over while we were landing?". "Semma hot la...and its almost midnight" all the jabber I usually enjoyed seemed to go over my head. I had spent the last twenty hours living through the flashes from my brain.

A quick flash. I could hear Charan singing while I struggled to pull the blanket all over my head in sweltering Madras heat to block it out so that I could sleep an extra few minutes before rushing to college. A pang of guilt and a small tear welled up. Another flash, of us fighting over a red frock donated by the benevolent U.S makkal. Did i let her keep it or steal it? I was 12 year old. Guilt again. And what about the time when "WE" decided that she was too young to be included in periyaval discussion? Did she finally sneak in or did we neglect her? Did I smirk at her being a temple goer? Did I tell her at any point that I actually loved the way she sang Andavan anbe and Koovi azhaithal, and that it is still ringing in my head?

And there were flashes from better times. Definitely much better. Saravana apartments terrace, humid Madras evenings, a mild breeze genrously donated by Mr.Marina, faded old nighties, one definitely extra large, and chatter all the way. Thats where all the girly talk took place. Everything under the sun that included and not included the male species of human kind were discussed. First crush, forgotten school friends, finally found love and lost relationships were scrutinized ,validated and enjoyed. Then there was the kitchen. The only kitchen that I knew of which had a fan, and the only one which could accomodate 5 women's constant chatter. Many a Stella Maris time weekend were transformed to ultimate fun with just a cup of coffee in chithi's kitchen accompanied by amazing conversations and constant laughter.

We shared stories of first days at college, stories of bunking class, forgotten homework, free-a vidu for 12th std and cliche engg makkal attitude, celebrated my U.S visa, her first job and most of all shared the bond of family and that of a great friend. But I simply did not know it.I took it for granted. I did not remember being particularly enthralled by her presence. But she had formed an integral part of me, defining the family without my knowledge. Why did I not take a moment to enjoy her as a person, or appreciate her presence? Did she know at any point how much she meant to all of us? That she was the voice of the family? Be it a temple visit or a wedding, or a fun road trip, be it a madrasa suthi paka poren or a mythrem bajatha, she captured it all. Not only with her singing but her so called "masti" air that she carried around her too.

Reality strikes now, really hard. All the unrecorded voice of hers, all the laughter, fun, the attitude taht lingered around her, the confidence she carried on her shoulders are now just a memory and quite a painful one. I hope there is a time when these memories are more refreshing than painful. I really hope. As of now, there is only a feeling of nothingness. In her own words, life is a little less sweeter than it was two months back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xDuDUPf6G8

Darnest of things!

"Well, you know thats why I want to get an arm job done!!" a voice boomed from the hallway when my boss and I were trying to have a quiet introspection on a "matter". I pretended not to hear it but my boss couldnt hold his laughter in. The other "jobs" are liveable compared to this one. The perfection towards size is getting out of hand. There has to be a story that led my sane friend into taking this decision.

Her six year old niece, a darling beyond compare, while happily rocking on her grandma's comfortably corpulent thigh was playing happily with her fleshy arm slightly loosened by age. When she got to the upper arm, just above her elbow the girl turned all doe eyed and put on her extra cute voice and inquired; just out of curiosity..."Gramma, why does this place look like a cow's neck?". Age and grief caught on my friend who was witnessing this horror leading her to think "I inherited everything bad from my mom and had absolutely no control over them. Now I have a chance atleast try to protect myself against bratty grandchildren".

Kids do say the darnest of things, dont they? One of the hybrid kids that I know, born to a girl of a remote Iyer origin and an Irish guy is unbelievably cute. Thats where Darwin's distance theory of farther the species are from each other, better the offsprings makes sense. He has dark hair from his mom, blue eyes from his dad and an olive skin from his paternal grampa. This angel on earth looks like he cannot harm a fly. Just that he is extremely honest. My friend wanting to live up to the Indian culture and tradition sincerely did the navarathri routine and took him along wherever she went. At the end of the season, when they were visitng the second last golu, Nick piped.."Mommy, why do you have to sing that particular song every time before we eat the beans??". Now thats a sincere attempt to learn the culture. Except- wrongly timed.

Here is the last one. My dad has an ugly habit of singing right into a sleeping being's ear. Its usually a screeching "Murugunai kumbitu murai ita peruku" or a "kadaithanil thoongiyavan vetri ezhanthan" that could sap all the fun out of a saturday morning 9:00 AM sleep. U.S doesnt do anything to change those habits nor do the presence of grandchildren. Unknowingly, a similar one came out while the all-enduring and smiling adhav was sleeping to glory nestled in appa's lap. My dad immediately bit his tongue for fear of waking him up and being tormented by his cries. Having taken over his father's genes, Adhav rolled over and put his hands to his ears, blocked out the ugly surrounding and continued his beauty sleep. He is a four month old by the way.

So if you want to hear the honest opinion on questions like, "Do you think I look fat?" or "Do you think this song suits my voice?" ask the smallest one in the family. I would say, "Go for the arm job!"