Another Watershed Year Ends

One of my favourite books is titled The Watershed Year. I won't go into the details of the book except to say that a Watershed Year is the year in a person's life when everything changes. It refers to a fundamental change in a person's approach to their life, which may be precipitated by a crisis, but need not be. My actual watershed year was 2017, when existential issues that  had been bubbling under the surface of my personhood for decades burst forth, forcing me to address them. Confront them I did, and while it wasn't a short and easy process, I can confidently say that I am much more at peace with myself than I have ever been. But, while my approach to life changed in 2017 it was untested. I was worried that my new perspective was just a series of fictions I had told myself to alleviate my suffering, and that the bottom would fall out  again when I  returned to my studies in England. So, 2018 would be the year when my changed approach to life  would be put to the test. 
The bottom didn't fall out and I end the year much more confident than when I began it. I have been extraordinarily fortunate in some respects and unlucky in others. I experienced--in no particular order--crises of confidence, professional setbacks, professional successes, the fallout of a toxic relationship, loneliness, moments of heightened anxiety, romantic disappointment, the profound fulfillment that blogging regularly  brings. I lost a very dear friend, and made two others. But, I pulled through. The bottom didn't fall out, and it feels securely in place at the moment. My new perspective on life endured in 2018. Who knows what 2019 will bring?

Writing to a Word Limit

When it comes to writing projects, some people write their fill and then prune it to the specified word limit. I always write to a word limit and seldom have to prune to make sure I don't go over it. I also tend to be at the lower end of the word guidance rather than the higher end. Maybe its because I am not voluble as a person and that aspect of my personality permeates my writing as well. Or, it could be years as I spent as a wires reporter where we were taught that every word needs to justify its presence. My writing was recently described as "elegantly economic", a compliment which made me smile. 

But, does a word limit restrict one's ideas? Obviously, if its too small. I find word limits quite helpful because the more the words, the more I am supposed to think about a certain topic. When writing an essay, it helps to make your argument sharper and more concise. Generous word limits are an invitation for meandering and obfuscation. While grading essays this term, it was obvious that many students had struggled to come close to the word limit and had rambled to make up the shortfall. 

When there is no word limit specified I try to keep my work as short as possible. People seldom complain about having too little to read and are usually grateful. Even if your work is crap, they can come to that conclusion faster and also have the satisfaction of saying they went through the whole piece.

Nail Cycles

One can keep track of the passage of time by the changes in one's body. The obvious signs are hairfall (for many men, at least) and waist size. But, these are signs of inexorable decline are decidedly one-way. What about cycles? My toenail troubles haunt me every few years, so I suppose my toenails are contenders measuring phases and cycles in my life.
I had a nagging problem with ingrown toenails for months when I was around 17. Apart from being painful, it was annoying because I had to spend months with my toenails in different forms of bandages, all of which were required to be kept dry. The problems ended when I had surgery on both big toenails which involved removing the edges of the toenails from their beds. I was so exasperated that I had asked for the entire toenail to be removed from the root. But, the doctor replied that he wouldn't do that since I was unmarried. Apparently, shabby toenails are a deal breaker in the arranged marriage market.
My toenails didn't give me any trouble for the next 8-9 years. I remember I was playing with my nephews in my parent's home when I accidentally knocked one of my big toenails with my other foot. The impact pushed my toenail into a vertical position, a position change lubricated by not insignificant amounts of blood. Obviously, the toenail would have to come off, even though I was still unmarried at the time. I remember struggling to find a surgeon to do the job and eventually a part-timer was roped in.
No toenail trouble for the next few years, until the removed toenail started to grow back and refused to be well-behaved. It was the cause of a few painful weeks in Holland until I found a large toenail clipper to prune it back into shape. Four years later, that toenail is giving me trouble again. It has grown in such a way that it is impossible to prune and I am resigned to it being uprooted, accompanied by adequate amounts of blood and pain.
In the interim, it was the turn of my other more well-behaved toenail to act up. I was in a local train in Mumbai when someone stepped on it and pushed it out of its root. A few painful days followed and I got in touch with a surgeon friend to have it removed. He committed to do so but kept dillying-dallying, which wasn't unfortunate because the toenail came loose of its own accord after a few days. No need for surgery and large bandages which would have had to be protected from water.
I have resigned myself to future agony on account of my toenails and my eyes. That's just the way it is.

Horizons

Since I am staying near the sea, I make it a point to visit the seafront everyday. It is not often that I (or most people who live in cities) get a chance to gaze in the distance. I am a little paranoid that my already weak eyesight will fade before I reach an age when it is acceptable to be half-blind, which is why I do eye exercises religiously. One of the exercises is to gaze at objects in the distance. We spend so much time in front of the computer that are eye muscles lose the ability focus at objects at a distance. Gazing in the distance provides our eyes much-needed relief as well as some much-needed exercise.
But, I also like gazing at horizons. I feel they are the physical embodiment of the concept of dialectics, which is a concept I have always been interested in. It is impossible to perceive the sky without having a concept of the earth. A horizon is where the earth and the sky appear to meet--the union of two entities that stand in opposition to one another. Is there a life lesson there? That much of life as we live it in our minds is a dance between contradictory impulses and emotions? For eg., the need for belonging versus the need for assertion of our individuality. That chasing one feeling or emotion but running away from its mirror is futile because they are two sides of the same coin, they meet at the horizon. As an aside, one of my childhood fantasies was to edit a nature magazine fashioned after National Geographic. Except that my magazine would be called Broadening Horizons. 

Going Inwards, Going Outwards

I find it incredible how many questions in the social sciences can be reduced to the structure-agency debate. One of them is the question of mental health. Is poor mental health primarily down to an individual's mental makeup (agency) or due to the wider social context (structure). Obviously both, but which factor dominantes?I know of many structuralists and Marxists who believe modern capitalism is making people sicker mentally. You can swap capitalism with 'technology' or 'culture' or 'social media' without altering your frame of analysis too much. On the other hand, almost all the people I know who struggle with their mental health are either survivors of trauma or have a troubled relationship with their families, particularly their mothers, or both. This is a complex question and I don't pretend to have the answer. There is also the philosophical concept of the dialectic, which I will not get into right now.

But, as I was doing yoga today, I thought of an analogous question--is personal transformation the essential precursor  to social and ecological transformation or is it the other way around? Personally, going inwards has helped me face the world and become more effective in it in my own small way. And, when it seems like the world is going crazy, retreating into my own space--either through yoga or through blogging/therapeutic writing--is such a respite. Does this mean I favour personal transformation over social activism? The answer is different strokes for different folks. I am not inclined towards activism, although that might change in the future (I acknowledge that I am quite  privileged, and have never been denied my basic rights, so opting out of activism is a luxury I could afford). However, my ongoing personal transformation has made me a better teacher and a better friend. And, even if you hope to change the world, a good place to begin is  your own small corner of it.

Gift-Giving

This Christmas, just like two Christmases ago, and two Christmases before that I didn't bring any individual gifts for my aunts and cousins. I just bought a box of chocolates for everyone. They, of course, bought gifts for me and put some thought into what I would find useful. I decided that the next time around, I would buy gifts for everyone. It is just too embarrassing not to do so, and it  just shows a complete lack of consideration. I can make as many excuses as I like--I am a student on a meager allowance whereas they have expensive tastes, I am not materialistic/consumerist, I don't know them well enough, but these are just excuses. I can write reams and reams about consumerist culture and how it is terrible for the environment and for society, but I will save that for another blog post. I realize that gifts don't have to be expensive to be thoughtful, Also, this won't be the first time or the last that I go against my personal proclivities and bow to social norms. As per a wise counsel I received about a year ago, if one is ashamed about a situation, there are only two  choices--either make a conscious decision not to be ashamed and carry on, or change the situation. In this case, I am going to change the situation.I also realize that there is no point in being ashamed now, when it is too late to change the situation. Giving someone a gift shows that you care about them. Whether I like it or not, that is a socially sanctioned way of showing concern and I must play by the norms. And, the key principle here is reciprocity. I need not initiate gift-giving, but the least I can do is reciprocate. Otherwise, I just feel like a freeloader.  

Break From Work

I feel there is too much societal pressure to enjoy breaks from work, especially when the breaks are somewhat forced by social conventions, such as during the Christmas holidays. It is true that however engaging and enjoyable one's work (research, in my case) is, one needs time away from it to recharge one's batteries. But the time away need not be blissful. It just needs to be time away. In fact, being bored of a break is possibly excellent motivation for working harder after the break. I never imagined I would sound like such a workaholic. But, when your work is engaging and you don't have an active social life, I guess it is natural. 

The same goes for a change of scene. Living in an AirBnB for a months at a stretch can be stressful, and I feel it is important to go away for a few days from time to time.

Soft Lips

This post is not raunchy as the title suggests. At dinner at my aunt's place today, we were having red wine from the expensive glasses my cousin gifted her a couple of years ago. Why someone would pay top dollar for a wine glass escapes me, but one difference that I have noticed is expensive wine glasses are much thinner at the edges. Those glasses took me back to a incident, or rather a series of incident, from approximately 23 years ago. I was on holiday with my family and we were being hosted by the manager of the nearby cement factory, who was a colleague of my father. At meals, we were served drinks in these expensive really thin glasses. How thin I discovered when I took a sip of water and inadvertently bit off a top of the glass. I was not very fazed the first time this happened, but the second time my embarrassment knew no bounds. I wished a hole would open in the earth and swallow me. I burst into tears, as I was wont to at the slightest sign of trouble at that age. My sister, bless her, was the most supportive, and remember her mouthing the words "soft lips" to remind me at dinner the next day.
Another connector to that vacation from many years ago, was a documentary on tigers we watched after dinner today. It was filmed in the same reserve that we had visited on that vacation.

P.S.: Am I on a nostalgia trip? In the past few days, I  have suddenly recollected people and  incidents after years, and in some cases, decades.

Brighton

Today, I made the long coach  journey to my aunt's place in Brighton, where I will be spending my winter break. I remember making the same journey two years ago. At the time, I had recently moved to England and had already gone through a nightmarish experience with a landlord. The first weeks of my PhD had been a bewildering experience--I mostly spent them staring at my computer in a dank depressing and mostly empty PhD room wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I remember pushing my supervisor to land me a teaching job, and being filled with excitement when someone pulled out of teaching a module at the last moment, leaving an opening for me.
But, that Brighton trip was mostly me running away from Bristol, a city which had not been very welcoming to me. I stayed three long weeks in Brighton, and I am sure my aunt would have been sick of me by the end of it. I had a nice enough time with my family during the trip but was dreading having to go back to the landlord and ask for my deposit. At the back of my mind, I knew he would make trouble for me and just the thought of him was triggering. Today, while I was waiting in London for my connecting coach I read a newspaper story about a professor at London Business School who had been stalked by a female. He had had to change his entire routine, avoid going out and installing a panic button in his office. During the female's trial, he had given evidence from behind a screen because he hadn't wanted to come face to face with her. Some might have found it odd that a fit able-bodied man (he ran a bootcamp where he first met the woman) could be reduced to such a mess by a woman. But, I can understand his trauma because I went through a milder form of it it during my run-in with the landlord from hell. Of course, it is quite likely that the professor had a pre-existing mental condition such as anxiety or depression, which flared up when the woman began to stalk him. My experience with the landlord roused the demons in my head, which had laid dormant for a few months. What made it worse was the realization that if I had been "myself" I wouldn't have been that intimidated by him. Being ashamed of my weakness made my condition much worse. Ultimately, I had to go home and reboot, a process which took the good part of a year but which had been immeasurably useful for me. I still wonder how I will react if I come face to face with him again. Will I be petrified, will my anxiety symptoms come roaring back, or will I react in anger and confront him. Or will I just walk on by? Maybe I will fail to recognize him.
Anyway, after that lengthy digression, I am in a completely different frame of mind on this trip and looking forward to time away from my AirBnB.

Job Market Paper

I hate the term "Job Market Paper".  It is somewhat unique to the  discipline of economics and finance and refers to the working or published paper that graduate students put up for assessment while applying for jobs in academia. I don't understand what so special about the JMP. What about other papers that the student may have written during his PhD? Are they inferior to the JMP? Yes, it turns out.'The JMP is an original piece of research by the applicant that constitutes their best research to date. It is meant to serve as a signal of the candidate's potential for becoming a good researcher.'  I am sure every researcher likes some of her work more than others, but such opinions are necessarily subjective. Someone else might consider another piece of her work as being better than her JMP. The idea that you can have an unambiguously best piece of research, just like a sprinter has a best time, sounds bizarre to me. Another example of blind positivism in economics--the idea that brilliance doesn't lie in the eyes of the beholder but is an objective characteristic of  the work or the person being judged. Call me idealistic but isn't one supposed to do her best at every research project one undertakes? Or is one allowed, even expected, to do sub-standard research for non-JMPs?

Feedback

Two sobering incidents in the past two days. Firstly, I sent my paper to a former journo colleague who had been after me about it, after which there was radio silence from her end. Which means she either couldn't make head or tail of it or thought it was rubbish, because she strikes me as an enthu cutlet who doesn't just let papers she is keen on reading sit in her inbox. And, today I got the feedback on my prize-winning paper from the jury. I had been warned that the feedback was mixed because the decision wasn't unanimous--I had to share the prize with another person. The critical feedback didn't pull any punches. Some of the points it raised were off the mark but some were spot on. And, it latched on to the Achilles Heel of paper--a recent development that weakens the central argument of my paper. The reviewer was obviously sharp as nails, and the fact that they found my paper "ultimately unsatisfying" will rankle for a while, I suppose.
Well, for someone who is prone to overconfidence, it is good to have my bubble pricked from time to time. Also, as my colleague Mandy was saying, if you are doing something different and taking chances, it is unlikely that everyone will approve. If everyone thinks your work is great you are not pushing the envelope, and I really think I am with this paper. Which is not to say that I should dismiss criticism, only that I should acknowledge that I can't please everybody. 
And, I think I am getting better at dealing with criticism. The first time I faced heavy criticism, which was during my progression exam, I sulked for days afterwards. It literally ruined my holiday with my sister and her family. And, the examiners came away from it having enjoyed what they thought was a vigorous debate.
It is natural to hope to be praised for one's work. Being praised for something is a reaffirmation that you are good at it. But, of course, one doesn't do something just for praise. There could be a million other reasons for doing something. One could be that because you enjoy it. I am really enjoying my PhD and have never worked so hard in my life. I believe I have found my calling.

Stick In The Mud

Another painful break from my routine today. It was pelting down all  day, so I decided to leave my bike behind and take the bus home. I stood at the bus stand for five minutes, rediscovered that I really hate taking the bus and decided to walk home instead. When I was mid-way, the rain stopped and I kicked myself for not waiting for a bit before leaving, so that I could have rode home.
The issue is  not that I love to cycle. It is just that now I won't be able to ride to uni tomorrow, which is always a good workout because it sits on top of a hill. And I don't like missing workouts, even though I go for a pretty intensive yoga class on Wednesday evenings. The ride sometimes leaves me quite winded, especially when there is a stiff headwind. So, its probably good to take a break from it from time to time. But, I am very much a type-A personality when it comes to fitness. I have gotten better over the years at figuring out when my body needs to take a break, but that doesn't make it easier. I always take breaks grudgingly. Some people need to push themselves to work out. For me, the problem, is the opposite. I need to push myself not to workout when I am either injured or under the weather. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I have missed a workout in the past year because I was feeling lazy.

Clearing My Plate

All my tasks for the semester are done, save for one. I had a bunch of things hanging over my head for the past few months and all of them are out of the way now. The one that remains is probably the  most important and its not something I can get out of the way in the short-term.
Finishing all the other tasks should have brought a sense of relief, but I don't feel any. I was nervous about finishing those tasks, but when I finished them it was an anti-climax. There was one essay that I spent an inordinate amount of time over, time which could have been better spent on my PhD research. Its not that I realized this mistake in hindsight. I was fully aware that I was giving it too much time even as I  was doing it. But, I got swept up in it and found it difficult to extricate myself. I really enjoyed writing the essay for the most part, although the  end was a bit of a slog. I was not entirely happy with the end-result but wasn't prepared to spend more time over it. Being engaged in research entails striking a continuous balance between passion and pragmatism and sometimes one prevails over the other. And, its more fun to err on the side of passion rather than pragmatism. 
Now, my plate is clear to focus on the crucial task before me--preparing for my interviews. I am going to try  to take it easy and enjoy the process as much as possible. I have discovered that the workload doesn't really ease up that much at any stage of a three-year PhD so its best to pace oneself and enjoy the ride. There is no use in trying to  get ahead of the workload by throwing yourself in it because there will always be something else to do after you finish. 

Northern Correspondent

It is  impossible to overstate how central London is to the United Kingdom and how peripheral every other place is--especially Northern England--in the cultural imagination of the country. This will be an enduring topic for blogging so today I am going to only talk about one manifestation of this: the existence of a Northern Correspondent, not just in business newspapers like the  Financial Times but also in dailies such as The Guardian. The idea that one correspondent can cover the entire swathe of land stretching from Nottingham to Scotland seems a little bizarre to me. Maybe they have more reporters writing about Northern England and the designation of Northern England Correspondent is a mark of distinction. But they could have called them Northern Bureau Chief or Northern Editor or some such term that would imply the presence of a bureau or at least more than one person in the North. 

Having Kids

At the conference in Edinburgh last week, I was chatting with two women when the conversation turned to their children. Since I don't have any children, I was silent. Possibly in an effort to involve me, one of them asked if I had any kids. When I replied in the negative, she remarked that I still had plenty of time.

I was surprised by her remark since she was white British. She had assumed that I had wanted kids, which was odd because English manners dictate that you don't assume anything about anyone. I wasn't offended because I am from India and I am used to people I haven't talked to in years open conversations by asking if I am married.

But staying on the topic of children, there is still the widespread belief, much more so in India but also in the West, that having children is the milestone which marks stability and a sense of purpose in a person's life. This is a little curious given the grave dangers facing our planet. You don't need to be a genius to figure out that the most eco-friendly thing that one can do is not have children, especially in the developed world. No matter how green one's lifestyle, one won't be able to achieve the same resource savings as if one didn't have kids. It is mind-boggling to imagine how many resources a single person consumes during their lifespan. 

This is not to say at all that people who have kids are selfish and don't care about the environment. All I am saying that whether one wants kids or not is an emotional preference that stems from the deep recesses of one's personhood. It not a decision that is reached through rational analysis, although one can deploy innumerable reasons for  or against it. 

But, given the planetary crisis we face, the onus should be on the people who have kids to justify their preference, not those who don't want kids. If everyone stopped procreating it would be a disaster for mankind, but we are already in the middle of a man-made disaster. How about we leave procreation to those who want kids, rather than having it as a norm. Maybe social norms have yet to catch up. On the other hand, me and all my other friends who are single and childless are still quite close to our families. In the future, will the family cease to be the primary stabilization unit in the lives of individuals. That is a topic for another day.

Christmas Dinner

I had a Christmas dinner with the PhD Society at my uni today. I didn't have high expectations of the food or the conversation so I wasn't disappointed. Ours is a small community and most of our research topics are widely disparate, so the common ground is restricted to small talk and gripes about the uni. I had a couple of decent conversations, but nothing scintillating.
Sometimes, I wonder why we voluntarily sign up for experiences that we know we won't particularly enjoy. Maybe not every experience, or even most experiences, are not meant to be enjoyed. Maybe most of our actions are ritualistic--we do something out of habit or because we assume we are supposed to do it. Maybe because we are open to the possibility of enjoyment, however unlikely. Maybe because it reinforces our sense of self. Or maybe because we are lonely and are mostly fine being so but like whales in the ocean we have to surface from time to time to fill our lungs with air before descending back into the comfortable embrace of solitude. Mediocre company makes loneliness more bearable and reminds us that one need not be alone to be feel lonely.

End of Teaching

Today was the last day of teaching for this semester. Since I won't be teaching next semester, the earliest that I will teach again is next September. If I am too behind on my PhD, not even then, which means I might not teach for the rest of my time as a PhD student.
I had a good crop of students this time, not super-bright but very keen and no trouble at all. They responded well to me and I would even venture to say that some of them were sad to see the  last of me. As I have written earlier, while teaching this semester, I discovered a kindness and generosity that I never knew I had. I have always thought of myself as someone who doesn't suffer fools gladly (as arrogant as that sounds), but while teaching you inevitably get a load of foolish questions. For the most part, I dealt with them without getting irritated or belittling the person asking the question.In any case, brightness is, to a certain extent and especially in the social sciences, in the eye of the beholder. It has happened too often that someone I consider bright has been full of praise for someone I had dismissed as not-so-bright.

High Highs, Low Lows

I was talking to a friend about how happy winning the prize made me. When you are so emotionally invested in your work, the highs send you soaring and the lows send you to the pits of despair. Maybe I am over-exaggerating the intensity of my emotions. I am not Vincent Van Gogh, and I am highly unlikely to cut my ear off.
But, the point remains that the lows have been bruising, especially the first time someone attacked my work. I moped for weeks afterwards. As a PhD student, one feels small and insignificant most of the time, even someone like me whose is disposed towards overconfidence rather than diffidence. Even overconfidence needs some legs to stand on, and those legs cannot always be in our own head. Outward recognition is like manna from heaven.  

Winning

So, this time I won the prize and praise yesterday, and I have been basking in the joy of it ever since. Its not a huge prize and it was shared with someone else but I am quite pleased with myself and have no shame saying so. I told quite a few people about it. Some years ago, faux modesty would have stopped me from doing so. I would have wanted these people to know but would have preferred someone else tell them on my behalf so that I could seem successful and nonchalant at the same time.
This time, I feel  really happy and have no shame in showing it. I care much less about whether it will seem like I am gloating or if it arouses envy in some of the people I tell. I have written about schadenfreude before and how I frequently find myself indulging in it. But, just as it is possible to sympathize with someone's misfortune and yet enjoy having a companion in misfortune, it is possible to feel happy for someone while being slightly envious of them.
I worked hard for this prize and feel I deserve it. I am under no illusion that my work is unquestionably amazing and above reproach. It is rare to find such work in the social sciences, and my prize-winning work had previously come in for some sharp criticism. I am sure that a number of people disagree with my work and felt it was undeserving of the prize, but had the good grace to keep those opinions to themselves. A fundamental learning in academia is the realization that just because you don't see the value of something doesn't mean it is not of value. In such situations, the prudent reaction is to assume that you didn't understand it or you come from an opposing school of thought and move on. I love the phrase--'But, what do I know?". This is particularly important for early-career researchers especially, who are seldom asked to formally assess someone else's work.

Platonic Friendships

This morning, I read a column about a platonic friendship ruined by an attempt to define it precisely by one of the  parties. The woman, who is slim and attractive (I googled her) and the man is a bear, at least going by the description of him in the article. The two share an intense friendship for years, while the woman is in an on-off relationship with an alpha male who sounds like jerk. At one point, the woman asks her friend if he is in love with her, to which he responds with an offended 'No'. Their relationship is never the same after that. The woman says its was difficult for her to conceive of a relationship with a man that didn't involve romance or sex.
While the article was about how some relationships fall in the grey area between friendship and romance, I was more interested in the differences in the level of physical attractiveness between the two. It is easy to be friends with someone you are not physically attracted to or with someone you are attracted to but is unavailable. The question is can you be friends with someone you are physically attracted to and who is single and available? Do we tend to assume that if two people of the opposite (or same) sex are friends, the less hot friend is secretly in love with the hotter one? The piece doesn't make mention of the man's sexuality but if he was heterosexual, kudos to him for being clear about he felt about his female friend and for respecting their relationship enough not to make a pass at her. Straight men are socially conditioned to pursue attractive women irrespective of whether they feel an emotional connection with them. Resisting that pressure is not easy.

Dressing Up and Private Worlds

I was talking to my sister last night and she told me that my younger nephew had dressed up as a spy after watching a spy movie. I asked her if he did that often, and she replied not as often as I used to . And, that was all the excuse I needed to go running down memory lane. I am such a sucker for nostalgia!
Growing up, I used to love collecting sticks and dressing up as fictional characters. I liked sticks because of their sheer versatility--a stick could be anything from a sword to a gun depending on thee character I was playing. My collection of sticks was so large that it occupied a good portion of the verandah of our apartment. There were many sticks that I never played with but kept because I liked having the possibility of playing with them.
My love of dressing up and play-acting was unusual because I had no ambitions of becoming an actor or a novelist/playwright. The fantasy worlds that my imagination conjures up are private and always have been--even when the fantasies are not sexual. I don't let anyone into those worlds, not even those people that play roles in my world. They are my private retreat, the place I go to when I need a break from the world or sometimes for no particular reason.

And, therein lies the difference between me and my nephew. Fortunately, camera phones didn't yet exist when I was growing up. The thought of photographs of  me in the full costume of whichever character I was playing is mortifying. My private worlds were not meant to be documented for posterity. My nephew on the other hand was only to happy to pose for my sister. He is a born performer and loves the spotlight.

Over the years my frequency of fantasizing has decreased remarkably. As one grows up, the nature of fantasies changes, they become less fantastical and more realistic, or at least that is what has happened in my case. Sometimes, these new fantasies bring up feelings of guilt and bitterness, especially when they are not borne out in real life. But, as I have written before, fantasies are not supposed to be a blueprint for real life but flights of imagination.

Winter

I was talking with my sister a few weeks ago and she said buildings lose their heat gradually as summer turns to autumn and then to winter. At the time, I didn't give it much thought but maybe there is some truth in it. I have been using my summer duvet(with a mattress protector as an extra blanket) for weeks now. My thumb rule was to only change to my winter duvet if the night low was well below 5C. I would also leave my window open by an inch or so. 

Over the past few nights my window was shut and last night, I changed to my winter duvet in the early hours of the morning as I was cold. And, last night was not a very cold night, with a low of  just 7C or so. Maybe, my house has finally used up the heat it had stored up during the summer. Winter is here.

The weather continues to be rainy and windy. I feel like I am on the brink of a cold for more than a week now. I don't feel as energetic as usual and neither am I sick. Maybe its just the dampness getting to me. And I have a newfound appreciation and the burst of energy that it unleashes in me. My summer exercise routine was significantly more intensive than it is now. 

Sick Day

So today I decided to stay at home for the second consecutive day. I was feeling a little under the weather and there was a vile wind outside. Since I didn't want to fall sick before my  conference in Edinburgh next week, I thought I would lie low. I am also a little paranoid about falling sick, and dose up on Vitamin C and Paracetemol at the first signs of indisposition. I suppose a more chill person would have shrugged it off and left it to fate to either make them sick or pull them out of the physical funk. But, yesterday, I heard my  yoga teacher say to someone else "We don't listen to our bodies when they whisper, so we are forced to listen when they scream". Since I didn't have to be at uni today, I thought why not stay at home. I love the term "under the weather" which is too British to use anywhere else without inviting frowns of incomprehension or disapproval. It conveys perfectly the physical state that between rude health and sickness.