Good Fortune

Every few days, I am reminded of how lucky I have been in my PhD life so far. I see friends struggling with problems in their personal or family lives or struggling with indifferent or incompetent supervisors. I have none of those problems. My PhD was off to a rocky start, but I managed to get back on my feet with the support of family, friends and teachers. Anything can happen at any time, but I do feel my stars have been aligned so far.
But, along with my good fortune, I am also reminded of how easy it is to lose one's way in the final stages of the PhD. It is not a place I want to be, and having been blessed with aforementioned luck, there is no reason for me to end up in such a place. If I do end up in such a place, I will have only myself to blame. But, there is a difference between a sense of urgency and desperation. I don't feel desperate, I feel super-focused and super-motivated. Maybe this state of mind won't last, but until it does I plan to make the most of it. 

Last Night in Brighton

Tomorrow morning, I return to Bristol after the Christmas break to face the most crucial six months of my PhD. As I was walking along the seafront in Brighton this evening, it occurred to me that the next six months will be the longest stint in Bristol at a stretch since I moved there more than three years ago. Every other stint has been punctuated with breaks to Brighton, my sister's place in Madrid, or India where I spent almost five months this year. Ideally, I would like to get more comfortable in Bristol. While I am fond of the city, I still feel like I haven't put roots down there. But, there seems to be little point in doing so now. In the next 6-9 months, I will know whether I will be staying on in Bristol or moving away.
But, this post is about Britain. On this trip, I preferred to go for my daily seafront walks in the evening, when it is much less crowded. It weather has not been too cold by December standards and the wind has not been very brisk either. My walk on Christmas eve was the most enjoyable I have been on in months. I tried to recreate that experience, and managed to partially do so today. Having the sea so close by is a blessing, although it is still not comparable to the year and half I spent in Holland at a stone's throw away from Scheveningen beach. That is where I discovered the pleasure of nightly walks on the beach. The beach was sandy too, so I could go right up to the water.
I am  just rambling now. Time to put this one to bed.

Poetry and Resistance

In times such as these, prose feels like an ineffectual tool. The language of reason, of facts, of well-laid arguements seems no match for the flames of fascism. Fascism brings to life its own vocabulary of hate, of stark binaries, of outright lies. It invokes a mythic past and promises a magical future. Mad hate cannot be conquered by reason, or sarcasm, or education, it must be conquered by love.
The resistance must find its own language of love and hope. Its not enough for its words to illuminate, they must uplift. The writers must cede ground to the poets, or become poets themselves. Words of prose are ingested, digested and assimilated or forgotten. Words of  poetry keep ringing in the readers' heads. They come from a deeper place and hence travel further. Shorn of intellectual affectation, they speak to the human spirit. And, the language of resistance must speak to the human spirit, to hearts not to heads. It is challenging to do that without relying on the language of hate, of blind anger, of machismo. Which is why the poets of the resistance are infinitely better than the poets of fascism. 

Guns and Roses

This was going to be a post about how protests are a fascinating terrain for sociological study. But, that seems flippant and self-involved, given what is at stake in the current protests against the Citizenship Amendment Act in India. The incident I was going to write about was the photo of a cute and coquettish well-heeled protestor in Delhi giving a rose to a policeman, while his colleagues grin as he blushes. Only the privileged would dream about giving a rose to a policeman, who is someone to be feared and avoided by the poor. If you are poor and from a low caste, an interaction with a policeman often starts with him slapping you in the face. But, what would the point of such a post be beyond pointing out the obvious caste privilege and coming across as  being churlish and judgemental from the safety of an armchair in another country?
Protest and popular movements may reflect social hierarchies but they also  have the potential to test social hierarchies, build unnatural alliances and reimagine one's status in society. 

Attractiveness and Racial Envy

I have discovered that I am deeply interested in the topic of attractiveness. Just yesterday, I read an interesting take on the furore caused by a famous black rapper saying Britain was racist. The take was that a  lot of the anger at the rapper was driven by white men's sexual envy towards the rapper, who is smart, exceptionally talented, good-looking and unapologetically black. The take went on to say that victims of  police brutality tend to be quite good-looking black men. Of course, attraction is in the eye of the beholder, but not completely. Some people are generally perceived to be more attractive than others and that is the harsh truth. But, I am also interested in the racial dimension of envy. I have noticed that there are no bad-looking hippies of colour. If you are a hippy of colour, then to be socially accepted, chances are you have to be gorgeous. The same doesn't apply to white hippiesTo feel secure in an alternative lifestyle, if you lack the privilege of whiteness, you need to rely on the advantage of your attractiveness. White people get more leeway to pursue alternative lifestyles, and so do attractive people. Few people possess the self-confidence to be completely immune to the jdugement of the wider society, as well as the judgement of their peers in the alternative lifestyle. A plain-looking hippy of colour is an object of pity or derision, a good-looking one is a subject of curiosity or amusement. People have also pointed out that average-looking white men attract much more attention on dating websites than  average-looking Asian men. 

My First Time Being Trolled Online

I always knew I could never be active on Twitter, because I couldn't stomach the abuse. Maybe it is my INFJ personality, but personal criticism really gets to me. Today, I got trolled online for the first time. It was in response to a comment I left on a friend's timeline who is on the other side of the political divide but who I know to be a decent person. The troll was facebook's friends with this friend. I always knew right-wing trolls were angry, rabid and incoherent, but it is still an experience to be at the receiving end of their ire. The one thing I know is that I shouldn't try to out-troll a troll. I don't have the wit to do it and the emmotional resilience to fend off a pile-up, and I really admire people who do. Maybe, I am underestimating myself. Maybe one need not be born resilient to become resilient. Yes, the first brush with trolls leaves one feeling hairy. But the first reaction need not be the last reaction. 

Long Night in India

Its 4:00am in India but Indian twitter is still buzzing. The protest against the Citizenship Amendment Act are continuing, and the police have taken to brutalizing ostensibly Muslim protestors and being more tolerant towards non-Muslims. Police in plain-clothes make trouble, which gives the paid-news media footage of "violent protestors" which gives the police an excuse to charge them with batons. The Muslim protestors are battered and terrified, the Hindu protestors  are put off by the 'violent' Muslim protestors, or simply lose interest and the country can go back to being a fascist dictatorship. An absence of morals or kindness is a superpower.
I feel the bloodshed is just starting in India. If fascism has one weakness, it is it cannot back down from a major action. Losing face with their rabid supporters is political suicide. It doesn't matter how much the New York Times or The Guardian condemns them. Fascism stops for nothing or noone once it has grown beyond a point. The state's violent repression will be brutal but is expected (easy for me to say from an armchair in the UK). What is more terrifying is how the rabid masses, fed on a drip diet of fake news and hate news, will react. At  the moment, the protestors are those opposed to the state. What will happen when the tens of millions of Indians who voted for Modi take to the streets in his defence. The Indian state is used to being the organizer of violence. I shudder to think what will happen if there is actual riot, like there was during the partition of India. 
But,resistance is the only path forward. There is no going back to willing blindless and complicity through inaction. What will  be, will be. Fascism will either burn the world down or will burn out in the process.

New Workouts

After doing a new intensive workout, the body feels like all the blood has been sucked out of it. Any movement feels unnatural, as though the muscles are having unreasonable demands put on them. In the adrenaline rush of the workout you don't feel much. The crash comes once you have regained your breath and the body has started to cool down. I just a finished doing a new workout to make up for missing my weekly yoga class due to heavy rain. Missing yoga is always a downer for me so I decided to do something intensive to take my mind off it. The workout was not completely new, but the last time I did it was in June, so as good as new,  as far as my body was concerned. It is amazing how much the body adjusts to a particular form of exertion, so a new form of exertion is always a pain in the beginning. 

The adjustment period varies depending on the exercises. When I started a new bodyweight routine when I was in India, the adjustment period was almost a month. After every workout, I felt like a deflated balloon. After some especially intensive workouts, it would feel like my breath had returned to normal even an hour or two after the workout. I wouldn't be panting for breath, which would be extremely worrying. It would just feel different. And my dizziness came back with such a vengeance that I felt something was wrong with my heart. As someone who is prone to over-exertion, I have learnt the hard way to pace myself more, and although I still push myself beyond reasonable limits sometimes, it is not often. During today's workout, though, I felt like I was going to pull my dodgy psoas as well as my okay psoas. But the fitness fanatic that I am, I powered through, and thankfully, there were no cracks or snaps. Maybe the real fun will be tomorrow.

Getting Lost in the Weeds

I am writing the empirical chapter of my PhD thesis which is about a breathtakingly complicated scam. The scam was pure Indian ingenuity and willingness to bend the rules on a colossal scale, but this post is not about the Indian business psyche. I am struggling to not get stuck in the weeds of the scam (miss the weeds for the trees) and it is bloody difficult. So the struggle continues. I finally feel like I am in the zone., equipped with dedication, focus and motivation that I thought I would  never find. 

Another Manic Monday

Today started as one of the manic Mondays when everything that could go wrong, does. It started with the fridge in my house, which seemed to have stopped working. The prospect of having to throw away everything I had  cooked over the weekend, or risking eating it and falling sick loomed before my eyes. When I go to uni, my access card wouldn't let me into  the PhD room. I remembered there was an IT shutdown over the weekend which had messed up the access system the last time around as well, so I would just have to wait until the IT people go to work. Feeling unusually  motivated for a Monday morning, I decided I would read a book for my thesis chapter on my Kindle. Only to discover that my Kindle was out of  charge. At that moment, it really felt like fate was messing with me.
But, the day got better. A cleaner let me into the office. And after wasting a few hours alternately fretting about the state of the world and the state of my day, I got down to work and managed to turn the day into a productive one.
As I headed home, I was hoping that the fridge had magically started working again. It was not to be. I decided to do some yoga to force myself to relax before informing my housemates and spreading the anxiety or, at least, annoyance around more evenly. Yoga made me feel more relaxed and open to the idea that throwing away some food was not the end of the world. I told one of my housemates who promptly took charge of the situation, as I was hoping he would. I had resolved that even if my foo tasted slightly  off, I would throw it away. It didn't, so I ate it, and to be honest, my stomach feels a little funny. I think it is nerves because the food tasted fine. My housemates enterprising mother who doesn't speak a word of English, took charge of the situation and supervised me as I packed my food to store in my backyard. She worked like clockwork and it felt like she had been coping with broken down fridges her whole life. Anyway, a good end to a day that started off on a hairy note. 

Good Fortune

I don't take for granted the various  privileges I have compared to many other PhD students. I am in good mental and physical health and so is my immediate family, I don't have to worry about money, and I have no complications in my personal life. I have friends who are struggling with one or more of the above and I can see that it  really cuts into their work time. Sometimes I feel like I owe it to them to work my ass off so that I can finish on time. 

500th Post: Tory Sweep but Some Good news

My thumb rule was broken again: Labour did much worse than I feared and the Tories won a thumping majority. Britain would have been the outlier if it had resisted the wave of fascism, and it embraced it wholeheartedly. I don't know how my life in Britain will change. I have always thought subtle racism and othering from white middle-class liberals is preferable to being spat on or abused by the British equivalent of a redneck. This is where I have felt more at home than anywhere else I have lived, and maybe that will change in the coming weeks, months and year(s). 

But, life must go on. I am from a class for whom a right-wing government is more injuring to the spirit than the body. Aside from the hostile environment for migrants when I have to renew my visa and a higher possibility of encountering racial abuse my life is not going to change. I realise the option to disengage from politics is a privilege, and a privilege that I don't take lightly. But getting worked up on Twitter about the state of the country is not engaging with politics anyway. 

There was also a piece of good news. A paper I wrote with my PhD supervisor has been accepted for publication in an academic journal. I had started working on this paper when I was struggling with my demons back in India on break from my PhD. The paper gave me a sense of purpose during those long depressing months when I had little to do. When I look back on that time, I wonder how I spent all those months idle. But that is an idea for another blog.

Life must go on and I am going to throw myself into my work. Maybe the most valuable contribution I can make to the progressive cause is by becoming a good and inspiring academic.

Another Rule of Thumb

My last post was about a rule of thumb so let me try to continue the theme. The rule of thumb I am going to talk about today is that life usually doesn't turn out as well as one hopes or as badly as one fears. To apply that to the ongoing UK election, the Tories will not gain a majority but will still be the largest party by a large margin. But we live in extraordinary times. In the last two Indian elections, the results were worse than I had feared. Could the result of this UK election be as good as I hope: Labour as the largest party, or dare I say it for fear of jinxing it, with a majority?
I reached the polling station bright and early this morning and brimming with excitement, despite the  lousy weather. It was still dark and there didn't seem to be anyone around outside the school. The only sign that there was an election was the "polling station" sign outside. There was no queue, and I possibly spent less than two minutes inside. I was grinning to ear as I put my ballot paper into the box.
I suppose I will ponder over why this election result is a big deal for me over the next few days, weeks and months. I have never been more nervous or excited about an election. Part of it is because Labour is standing with its most radical manifesto in decades. Maybe part of it is because England has started to feel like home and who wins the next election will affect my life materially as well as emotionally. Even if my life doesn't change materially, my perception of the country and UK society will change, which matters as much or more.
But I will save further reflections for  another day. The exit polls, which have an excellent record of predicting the poll results, are due in 25 minutes. We will know whether Britain will adds its name to the long list of fascist regimes or buck the trend and be the first left-wing government in the rich world in generations.
As luck would have it, this is my 499th blog post. My 500th post will be hopeful or despairing depending on the election result. Twitter today has been giving a lot of hope, but I am aware it is a super-bubble and may give a very warped view of reality. Anyway, all appendages crossed.

Raise The Bar

Its a pretty reliable rule of thumb that the more marginalized a person's background, the more exceptional their talent if they manage to break through the barriers. I had another demonstration of this rule today at a performance poetry event. There were four poets and the first and last two didn't catch my fancy. But, the black transgender woman and the woman in a hijab blew me away. There were many memorable lines, but the one that blew me away was "I am the great in great Britain, and that terrifies you." Intensely intelligent, fearless, visceral. The evening filled me with hope ahead of election day tomorrow. As fascism rises, so does resistance to it. The resistance not only fights fascism but other forms of oppression too. Those leading the resistance often come from the most oppressed groups. People who didn't have a voice, find their voice and demand to be heard. As Pablo Neruda said, 'you can cut the flowers, but you can't stop spring".

Election Fever

It is about 36 hours to the General Election and I will be voting for the first time in my life. I have never voted Iin my native India, so it feels a little weird voting in a foreign country. By a quirk of fate, a country which treats South Asians with disdain allows them to vote as they are Commonwealth citizens. And I keep joking that the Only reason India is in the Commonwealth is for the medals at the Commonwealth Games. 

But, my vote this time won't be a protest vote or an indifferent vote. I will happily vote Labour and pray that this country doesn't vote for a fascist. It just occurred to me how little I have thought of the political situation in India over the past few weeks. Is it because India occupies a smaller part of my consciousness? Is it because the news coming out of it is uniformly depressing? I don't know.

Diplomacy

I have always grudgingly admired people who can speak their mind without bothering too much about the consequences. A few weeks ago, a colleague of mine accused another one of being corrupt during a debate about politics. I was quite taken aback but also somewhat jealous of him. As someone who avoids confrontation and prefers evasion to frankness, I admire people who speak their mind. not this friend in particular, who is a hothead, but others who are more sensible but who don't try to keep their nose out of trouble like I do. However, I realise that political beliefs are not a clear signifier of ethics and virtuosity. I wouldn't confront a colleague with right-leaning views, I would simply avoid conversations about politics with them.

Palestine Film Festival

The number of time I have signed up for cultural events in Bristol hoping for a diverse politically engaged crowd and been disappointed. Today's Palestinian film festival was no different. Old, white middle-class people made up most of the audience and the films were quite ordinary too. I know I am being judgemental when I say that that audience would have lapped up anything with the label "Palestine" stuck on it. I had attended the event not because I love movies but out of solidarity with Palestine. But, my friend was possibly one of two or three Arabs present. Yes, all such events, and those who attend them are 'performing' but it seemed like this performance was for the benefit of white middle-class Brits only. I think I am done with attending events out of solidarity (protests are a different matter). From now on, I am only going to attend events that I find interesting.
After the film festival, I was feeling lonely, so I walked up to Brandon Hill. When one feels lonely, the solution is to either find company or find solitude. I generally prefer the latter. As I walked up the deserted path to Brandon Hill in the dark, my mind went back to when I first arrived in Bristol. I would visit Brandon Hill frequently as I was often lonely and Brandon Hill was one of the few places where it felt good to be alone. I went to Brandon Hill after quarreling with my crazy landlord, who would eventually serve me an eviction notice in the middle of the night. I went there after a lackluster meeting with another PhD student. This was back when I was trying to make new friends and being repeatedly disappointed. I have long given up trying to make new friends as I have realized that I am someone who can do without  many friends.  

Encounter killing

Woke up to news that the four gangrape suspects had been shot by the police as they allegedly tried to escape from the recreation at the crime scene. No one in India doubts that it was a staged killing and many people seem to be happy about the  summary execution. In a morbid coincidence, this happened on the same day that right-wing lunatics tore down a 16th century mosque 27 years earlier, sparking a pogrom against Muslims. What explains the popular support for these killings? That it is impossible for the supporters to imagine themselves or their loved ones as victims of similar encounter killings? That their class and caste status or religion would shield them from such a fate. Elites, religious and ethnic minorities other people who are not like them in every country, but I feel like the othering reaches another level in India. Is that the legacy of the caste system? Sometimes I feel India is entering a phase of violence and barbarism that many former colonies saw immediately after gaining independence. With their old social orders mangled beyond recognition by colonialism, and with no colonial power to keep ethnic tensions under control (while at the same time fomenting them), a orgy of violence ensued as rival groups jostled for power. That  didn't happen in India because there was a (relatively) secular elite ready to take the reins from the British. That elite ran the colonial-era institutions almost exactly as the British had. That old order is finally collapsing 70 years after independence. But what might replace it could be worse.

Sigh of Relief

A grey cloud that was hanging over my head cleared today. It wasn't a major crisis but, coupled with a stressful housing situation, it was enough to get me riled up. My housing situation has changed and this other thing has gone away too. I was girding myself for it to drag on and on, so its prompt resolution comes as a pleasant surprise. Sometimes, problems can't or do not need to be solved. Sometimes, you just have to hang in there until those particular problems outgrow themselves. They will be replaced by other problems but such is life. If you are mired in a problem and wracking your brains how to deal with it, afraid you will make the wrong decision, one should ask oneself whether the decision will make a difference to your life one/three/six months from now and if it won't is it really worth sweating about. The answer won't always be no, but it often will be.

Lights Out

As I was having a shower this evening after my yoga class, the bathroom light went off. I was puzzled, and even more so, when, after a minute or so the water turned ice-cold. As it happened, I had shampoo in my hair, which I had to rinse off while bending down so that the ice-cold water wouldn’t touch my scalp.

It turned out that a fuse for one of the phases in our shared house had tripped. After talking to my housemates, I gathered that leakage from the bathroom to the room downstairs had shorted a circuit, causing the fuse to trip. So now we have to spend the night without internet, heating and, in  some bedrooms, without light. I don’t feel particularly perturbed because the property manager seems nice and considerate. Sure, it will become a major inconvenience if it doesn’t get fixed soon. But, I have a super-warm duvet and generally don’t feel the cold. Let’s see what happens.

I Miss Tesco!

I have often complained how awful the food at Tesco is. So I never thought I would say that I miss Tesco. Or, rather, I miss the Tesco that is a 5-minute walk from where I used to stay.
Moving into a new house usually requires changing supermarkets, and that is a substantial adjustment. Yes, I know, this is a first-world single health male problem. Be that as it may, I hadn't realized how much I had tailored my cooking to what was available in my Tesco, which is the largest in Bristol. Today, at the Aldi, which is a 10-min walk down a step hill form my new place, I didn't find stuff that I thought was pretty basic supermarket fare. Like Cauliflower and frozen spinach. To make things worse, they have o self-checkout tills. Yes, I know, self checkout tills are a job killer and I feel guilty for enjoying them. But, they speed things up, and reduce a pointless human interaction and make the shopping experience a little more pleasant for introverts like me. 

First Day at 46, Romney Avenue

My first day in the new house passed off largely without incident. The only surprise was to discover that the toilet doesn't have a washbasin! I will have to keep a supply of hand-sanitizer. From a functional perspective, my only complaint is that there is just one toilet and one bathroom between four people. Tonight I will find out how noisy it is at night and tomorrow morning, I will find out whether there is a peak-hour rush for the bathroom.
But on the plus side, I have enough space to do yoga and my room has two windows, one of which overlooks the backyard. This house ticks most of my boxes, but I couldn't help wonder how nice it would be to live with friends. I had two people in mind, and they were both willing, if not as enthusiastic as me. But, all of us had some complications in our life, and we swiftly dropped the idea. Or rather, I dropped it since they had never got on board completely.
One day,  I will live in a house with friends or a partner. A house that feels like a home. But, I have made peace with the fact that that might not happen for at least another year. Till then, as Adrienne reminded me today, I will try to be grateful I have a roof over my head.

Last Night at 61, Freemantle Road

Tomorrow morning, I will be moving out of the house I have been staying in for about two years. This is the house I stayed in for a week when I first moved to Bristol as I looked for long-term accommodation, and the house I came running back to after spending a few weeks with a landlord from hell. I owe deep debts of gratitude to my current landlord and he owes me smaller debts too. Unfortunately, all that is in the past, and we are parting on less than cordial terms. For many months,  I have been feeling unwelcome in his house, so this move has been a long time coming. Maybe difficult circumstances changed him, maybe I outgrew this place myself, it doesn't matter.
Even before our relationship soured, I always saw this house as a long-term temporary abode. My friends were puzzled how I could tolerate a steady stream of people passing through the house, since the other tenants were short-term. Given that I am not the most social of people, it would puzzle me too. I would explain it by saying I couldn't be bothered to move, or that if some of the housemates were annoying, I could be rest assured that they would eventually move out. Also, it was convenient for my long trips to India for my fieldwork.
I had some interesting conversations with those who passed through. Some of them who are still in Bristol have become close friends. But, learning that one can live in a house with strangers without coldness or warmth has been a revealation. One need not be friends with one's housemates but life can be hell if you are enemies.
Tomorrow, I move into a new house with people I have never met. My only comfort is they are all tenants, so on the same footing as me. There is no live-in landlord to throw his weight around, or take out his frustrations with his circumstances on those around him. I don't see the new place as more than another longish-term but temporary abode. It ticks most of my boxes for a house to live in, but not a home. If I stay on in Bristol after my PhD, I will definitely look for something more homely.
Living in houseshares, one learns to occupy as little space as possible, not just physically but figuratively. To trim away habits that may be annoying to others, to leave as light a footprint and soundprint as possible. But after all the trimming is done, to occupy  what is left  fully and assertively. 

Pomodero Success

I am someone who is deeply suspicious of productivity hacks, because I have never seen one that surprised me. Most of  the tips seem blindingly obvious and seem to skirt  the 'M' word--motivation. How does one be productive at a dull soulless task or a task  that one has no interest in? I don't know the answer to that question, but I do know that one can be unproductive even if the task at hand is sufficiently interesting and one is not burned out. Rituals and tricking the mind can work. The rational mind is not all-powerful and even if  it can see through all the subterfuges, they may work.
I tried the Pomodero technique today, and it worked like a charm. I expected my momentum to flag after the first few sessions, but I managed to keep it up. Four hours is a good amount of time to set for oneself as one is beginning. One feels like one  has accomplished something without feeling completely drained out. Of course, it would be optimistic of me to expect to hit my Pomodero targets everyday. But, I do feel a sense of accomplishment today.  

Pomodero

I have decided to drastically cut my work to see if it will make me more productive. As things stand, I spend about nine hours in the office but am productive for not more than two-three. The nature of writing is that it happens in spurts so I am not overly concerned by that ratio but I would like to improve it significantly, by increasing the numerator and reducing the denominator. So I am going to try a technique we used for our group study sessions last year. It involves working in bursts of 30 minutes interspersed with generous breaks. So I have decided to work for not more than four hours a day from tomorrow and see how it goes. It is just an experiment, so let's see how it goes. One of my  colleagues is in the office for far fewer hours than me but is quite focussed when she is in. She is married and has an extremely active social life so she has far more claims on her time than I do. If this experiment works and frees up a lot of time for me, the question arises how I will spend the extra free time. As I have written many times before, I don't have many hobbies so I end up spending ages on Twitter. In any case, I have the rest of my life to worry about my ftuture. For now, let's see how the experiment goes. 

Proud of Myself

I am proud of myself if I may say so myself. I barely slept Saturday night because the chicken that I was afraid would cause problems, did cause problems. Proof that just because you have anticipated something, doesn't mean it won't happen so anticipation as a tool to ward off unwanted events doesn't work always. I was feeling so ragged as I was tossing and turning in bed in the wee hours of Sunday morning that I had all but decided to postpone my trip to London to see an old friend visiting from India.. It would screw up our plans and also my work schedule for the rest of the week, but so be it. Then, a few hours of later, I changed my mind and decided to go ahead with the trip as planned. One contributing factor in my decision was that I didn't want to be in the house the next day as my landlord has turned toxic. I just made sure not to eat anything before I left, as I didn't want to use the smelly coach loo and neither did I want my stomach gurgling while I was sitting next to someone.
But the trip went off like a peach. I spent a lot of yesterday morning feeling tired and queasy, especially on the 3-hour long walking tour. I was wondering how I would get through the rest of the day, but a late lunch transformed me. My stomach was fine following the meal, and the trip was quite memorable after that.
I am proud of myself for not letting my health anxiety get in the way of my life.  I chose to have faith in my body and mind, and was rewarded for it. There were times on the trip when I felt horrible but I hung in there. And I feel like a champ

Food Anxiety

Prior to the watershed year, I was reasonably daring with food. Not in terms of experimenting, which I still am, but risking eating food that may have gone bad. I even used to eat raw eggs, even though that has the risk of salmonella poisoning. I prided myself on having a cast-iron stomach.

All that has changed. Anyone who suffers from anxiety knows that there is a high correlation between stress and stomach troubles. I know that if my stomach doesn't feel right, but there are no tangible symptoms such as loose stools or vomiting, it is my anxiety rearing its head in my tummy. 

So, its understandable that I am no longer as daring with my food. Chicken is what gives me the most anxiety. A few months ago, my landlord remarked that my chicken didn't look cooked, which sent me into a paroxysm of salmonella anxiety. Cue goodling how can you tell if chicken is cooked, long does it take for the onset of salmonella, what are the symmptoms, etc. etc. I ducked the salmonella attack.

Today, I left my chicken outside to marinate and when I reached uni  realised  should I have put it in the fridge. Cue another paroxysm. Fortunately, my anxiety about the chicken going bad was tempered by anger at my landlord, which story is worth a few posts itself, but another day. 

I cam home anc cooked the chicken with great trepidation. I asked my friend to taste it but she declined to be a co-sufferer in case the chicken had gone off. I ate the chicken, knowing fully well that I would spend the next few hours in a paroxysm of health anxiety. And here I am.

The problem is taking a 'risk' with your food makes you feel anxious, while not taking a risk makes you feel like a loser. It is a difficult choiice. 

Wobbles

I had a wobble this evening because of a stressful situation involving my tuition fees. My family can afford them, thank god, but we are being asked to pay significantly more than is due. My biggest concern is that the dispute would drag on and on distracting me from the important business of writing up my PhD. But, here is the thing with stress--it ebbs and flows. The mind is designed to be distracted because focusing on one thing constantly without thinking of anything else would drive us crazy. I realize that it is far too easy to forget this in the midst of feeling stressed and worse, if the anxiety wakes you up in the middle of the night. But, it is worth trying to remember during a bout of anxiety that our mind has a life of its own and a lot, and its activities are not necessarily a response to objective changes in external circumstances. 

Change from Routine

Creatures of habit, occasionally, feel very uncomfortable with their routines and force themselves to break it for the sake of breaking it. When the break is neither joyful or liberating they go back to their old habits, until the next round of restlessness.
Today, I chose not to go to the yoga class I am addicted and attend a talk instead. It was a talk on writing about race and it seemed fitting that I was attending it instead of doig yoga in a room full of white women whose aloofness bordered on hostility. The talk was good, but as someone steeped in a PhD life it takes a lot to get me excited about anything that doesn't have to do with my research. Now, looking back I feel like change finds you whether you are looking for it or not. Sometimes you need  change, and that's fair enough. But, change for the sake of it is pointless.

Leadership Debate

Jeremy Corbyn and Boris Johnson today and from the little I watched, Johnson didn't implode as I was hoping he would. The debate itself seemed quite pointless since the moderator was quick to jump in to interrupt whenever one of the debaters got into the  flow. Maybe this is what all leadership debates are like. It just seemed so pointless, like a relic from a bygone era. Before the debate, the press was full of articles about how the debates could be a turning point, but I doubt it. Debating feels like a relic from a time when liberalism was its peak. Fascism and socialism, which are the only two choices now, have no time for such theatrics. Yes, a major debate screw-up could do a lot of damage. But, debates can only be lost, not won. 

Screen Addiction

If there is one thing I could change about my body, it would be better eyesight. From ever since I remember till age 28 I wore specs. In my childhood, I broke specs with such a frequency that my parents had me keep a spare pair. At age 28, I had laser surgery because I wanted to know what it was like to wake up in the morning and not reach for my specs. But, laser surgery was not the answer to my visual troubles that I hoped it would be. My eyesight wasn't corrected fully and my vision in the dark was noticeably worse following the surgery. It has been five years since the surgery and my vision has worsened over time but I steadfastly refuse to wear specs, unless I am driving at night or watching a movie in a theatre.
It doesn't help that I spend so much time in front of a computer screen. At the uni, I am in front of a screen about 90% of the time, and when I come home and am done cooking or doing yoga, it seems like the mos natural thing in the world to get on Twitter and get enraged about the state of the world while also steadily ruining my eyes. A lose-lose situation if ever there was one. I realize I need more non-screen based hobbies, and more hobbies, per se, but cultivating new hobbies takes more effort than I am willing to surmount in the last year of my PhD.
I realize the irony of  typing all this on a computer screen, but at least I am not staring at it goggle-eyed.

The Winter of 2019

This will be my first full winter in England in three years. My first full winter here ended with me running back to India just as spring was setting in. I don't really mind the winters here as they are mild by European standards. We barely get any snow, and the temperature seldom dips below 0C. Cycling becomes a little unpleasant but never impossible.
This winter will be different from past winters in another respect: it is when I will be writing the meatiest chapters of my PhD. By the time spring rolls around, I hope to be about halfway through my PhD writing. It is a very ambitious but  achievable target. I realize I will have to pull out all the stops to get there on time. Maybe I am glorifying a PhD too much. Few PhD thesis change the world, and I am pretty sure mine won't. But, I want it to change me in ways I can't anticipate. I want to be a surreal, almost out-of-body, experience that leaves a permanent mark on me. I want it to challenge my mind and force it to unfathomable depths. It will be a slog, but so much more than just that. An exercise routine I took up seven years ago following four sickly years without exercise transformed me physically, while the past few years have transformed me spiritually. Maybe this PhD will transform me intellectually? 

The Frame of Nostalgia

I wonder how I will look back at this time in my life. I am doing what I love, but it is difficult. I am living in a country I feel the most at home in, but my housing situation is a continuous source of stress. I am full of hope for my own career but the world around me is burning. How will I remember this time say 10 year from now?
Time takes the edge off memories and we play them back in our minds as cartoon films. There are no rough edges, no incongruities, the sun doesn't burn, the wind doesn't whip. The places and characters loom large. and the inconsequential bits melt away. What is stored in our memory may be different from what we perceived at the time, and we are mostly better for it.
I am sucker for nostalgia just as I am prone to flights of fancy. Memories are like an emotional anchor and our perceptions of the past shape our present. This is a good point for a quote from my favourite author Ruskin Bond--'What is nostalgia but an attempt to recreate what was good in the past. The past has been good to us. Let is honour it in this way'. 

A Truce Is No Peace

A truce is, by nature, uneasy, and buys time for the weaker party to either escape or fight back. It has to be at the initiative of the weaker, or at least less aggressive party, and it is seldom in the interest of the stronger party. Both parties might want to stanch their losses but its a battle for survival for just one of them. If you are wondering why I am spouting conflict strategy, it is because I am in an uneasy truce at the moment in which I am both the weaker and less aggressive party. Sometimes I feel a raging anger at the state of affairs, but I have been able to keep a lid on it so far. However, I entertain no delusions that this is a sustainable state of affairs. If it continues, my rage will boil over, and those who don't rage often, rage badly. I am pretty clear that this truce buys me time to extricate myself from the situation on as amicable terms as is possible, given what has transpired. 

Break from Blogging

I am going to be blogging intermittently for the next few weeks and do more therapeutic writing. I am going through a stressful period and don't find myself in the ruminative mood that is conducive for blogging. So, instead of forcing myself to blog out of habit, I am only going to blog when I feel like it. The proximate causes of stress are my house hunt and my PhD. I am trying to use one to distract myself from the other, but I wish it were that easy. It doesn't help that I am currently trying to write the meatiest part of my PhD. I wish I were better at compartmentalizing my life, but so does everyone. Sometimes you learn best when your back is against the wall.
It is only a matter of time before I find a house, and I have decided to wait until I find a nice house instead of moving in a rush and finding myself on the market again a few months down the line. The house hunt will takes its own time and meanwhile I am going to keep working on my PhD. There will never be a perfect time for writing my thesis and one must solider on irrespective of external circumstances excepting catastrophes. 

Bad Haircuts As A Metaphor

Many of the problems one encounters in life are like a bad haircut. One's hair grows out, leaving one free to get another bad haircut, and problems disappear over time only to be replaced by new ones. At times, it can feel like one's plate is more than full with problems. I am going through a slightly stressful time at the moment, and everyone around me seems as, or even more, stressed. And, as it happens, I got a bad haircut a few weeks ago that exacerbates my receding hairline. My hair will grow out and problems will go away.

And, problems come and go, wax and wane. Currently, the biggest problem for me is finding a place to stay. Till this evening, I had nothing, and in the space of minutes, I saw a place I really like and a landlord got in touch with me. 

Bad Start To Week

This week hasn't been great so far, and yesterday, for a few hours it seemed like nothing could go right. I spent tow hours trying to replace the brake pads on my bike without success, cooked a dish in a hurry and made a complete mess of it, I received confirmation that my landlord has it in for me and also an email from my university that will trigger a chain of lengthy and dispiriting back and forths Today, when I sheepishly took my bike to the mechanic he said it wasn't safe to ride. But, I managed to finish my paper and send it to my supervisor.
I have realized that motion is the best antidote to the blues. Keeping busy keeps one distracted from brewing troubles gives you some sense of achievement. Yes, most of my ducks are not upright but at least some are, thanks to my effort.

Giving Feedback

Yesterday, someone I barely know asked me if I would give him feedback on an academic paper. I agreed, and as I do, I started to overthink it. How frank could I be without coming across as a cad to this person I don't know? But if I was too kind what was the purpose of the feedback? I don't where this instinctive recourse to patronizing behaviour comes from? Is it from a people-pleasing desire?

Perspiration

The famous Edison saying about success being 99% perspiration, 1% inspiration couldn't be more true. I'm realizing that completing a PhD and having a successful academic career is all about being bloodyminded and doggedly determined. Academic research feels like a bottomless pit which sucks in everything you offer and keeps asking for more. Never have I worked my mind so hard and still felt like I wasn't doing enough. Of course, the work is interesting and I don't really have a life outside academia. But, I feel silly for thinking that a PhD could be a smooth ride and all those PhD horror memes were exaggerating the trials and tribulations of a PhD out of an heightened sense of self-importance. Of course, I still do feel they are exaggerating a little, especially since some of the people circulating them were not in their final year. I am beginning to appreciate how much of a training a PhD is for a career in research. Research capability is not innate, as I used to believe. It has to be developed.

Elite Networks

Its no secret that Britain's elite is particularly incestuous, but it is always interesting to get a glimpse of the elite in their natural habitat. Someone I follow on Twitter shared this photo collection from a party thrown by a right-wing rag with pretensions of refinement. The great and the good of the Tory party, from the  then prime minister downwards were present there along with the who's who of journalism. All smiles and laughs, looking supremely at ease in each other's presence. There was just a single Labour MP in the photos. When the people you report on are the people you socialize with, what impartiality are we talking about? No wonder the current Labour party leadership scares them. Not only are they socialists, they are also strangers who don't socialize in the same circles as top journalists. They are from another world, and deserve all the class contempt one can muster without making your animosity towards them obvious. 

Indecision

I have never seen myself as someone who keeps changing their mind, but maybe the uncertain times we live in are getting to me. In the space of two days, I have jogged between sharing a two-bed house with a friend to moving into a shared house with strangers before settling on looking for a three-bed house with two friends. The decision I have settled upon is a gut decision, and might not be the most pragmatic but it is the one I feel some enthusiasm for. I have already identified potential problems with the plan and maybe my enthusiasm will die over the next couple of days. But, at least I can say I tried my best to improve my housing situation instead of simply moaning about it and blaming later-day capitalism.

Renting Diary

I had my first viewing in my house hunt today. Having girded myself for a long and painful process, I was pleasantly surprised when I got a lead on the first day of my search. I didn't fall in love with the house and neither did I dislike it. It had its pros and cons. For all my complaints against it, my current house has some tangible advantages, namely location and shop vicinity and a bright bedroom of decent proportions. But, I have realised for some time now that the disadvantages have been out weighing the advantages for some time now, and it is time to leave. I am aware that I will have to adjust to a new housing system. My move may not be so much a change of scenes as a change of peeves. And sometimes that is all you need.

Cold Snap

I had forgotten how unpleasant it can be cycling to uni in the cold. That it was my first time up the slope since returning from India made it worse. My lungs were gasping for air and my thighs were burning even before I was halfway up. By sheer grit, I made it to the top of the hill, but I had already started dreading the next day's commute. Given that it is sniffles season, I was also wary of picking up a cold. All in all, not a great reacquaintance with my daily commute. I remember earlier this year when a middle-aged man passed me on his bike and exclaimed with a grimace, "It doesn't get easier, does it?" and that is so true! I have been cycling up that route for a year and a half and it still feels as difficult as it did on the first day. Granted, I don't have a great bike, but surely my stamina should have improved over time? Not a great advertisement for training progress. 

Clocks Go Back and I Move Forward on My House Search

The clocks went back last midnight and I commemorated the occasion by doing a Cozy Yoga with Adrienne session this evening, just as I had last year. I suppose this is my way of marking the start of winter. This is the only yoga session that feels wrong if done in any other season than winter. And,  winter is as much about the shorter days as about the cold. I don't mind the shorter days as much as most people because I enjoy darkness. Doing yoga in the darkness, drinking tea in the darkness or just listening to Spotify or a podcast are uniquely tranquil experiences. I associate winter with reflection and restoration and since I am an active person, I seldom feel the winter blues. Living according to the season is a nice experience and makes one feel harmonious with nature, even as climate change upends the natural order.
I also took the first step in my house search today. I barely know anyone who is happy with their housing situation and realize that the search is likely to be a stressful and agonizing experience. All I can try to do is keep in good humour and not let the search take over my life. I will have to draw on all my founts of positivity and resourcefulness as I negotiate the cycle of hope and despair. 

Wisdom and Humility

We live in an age of great tumult, and it pays to not cling to opinions too tightly, or at least be open to opposing ones. I had a discussion with a friend about feminism yesterday, and a few months ago, I would have dismissed her views as out-dated and anti-feminist. Yesterday, I was more prepared to listen to her views, and while we disagreed on most points, there were a few points of agreement that I would have missed had I been my previous dogmatic self. These past few months, I have been much more skeptical of my own intellectual abilities, and for someone that is prone to overconfidence, that is a good thing. "I feel this way, but what do I know?" is a healthy attitude to have. Dismissing people or their opinion's as inane is easy, but not constructive. Maybe they are inane but its not really your business unless you plan on marrying them or developing deep friendships with them. It is better to let them have their say and suspend  judgement because who knows, they might sway you.

Back in Bristol

After a long and tiring but uneventful journey, I arrived in Bristol around noon today. The India chapter ended without incident. My fear of contracting dengue, which was a constant source of anxiety for me, did not materialize, and I reached Bristol hale but tired. I spent the afternoon unpacking and buying groceries and did some yoga in the evening. A productive and thoroughly satisfying day, despite the fatigue one would expect after a long journey. Since leaving Bombay, I haven't been in anyone's company and it feels really good. India can leave me gasping for space, and it didn't help that it was a full house on this trip.
Here in Bristol, autumn is upon us and there is a nip in the air. Quite a refreshing change from hot and sultry Mumbai. I felt  quite relaxed today even though I fortified myself with a large capacuinno to keep from falling asleep. I was waiting for my energy levels to crash towards the evening but that hasn't happened yet. Maybe the caffeine is still coursing through my veins. For someone who barely slept the previous night, I feel more energetic than I did, on average, in Mumbai. Maybe I'm just feeling the feel-good vibes because of the change of scene, but it does feel good to be back. The next 12 months are going to be challenging, but I feel like I am facing challenges I was meant to be facing, if that makes some sense. Challenges which I feel I am equipped to face. Challenges that provoke me to work harder not feel disillusioned and stuck in a place I don't want to be in. 

Airport Blog

Airport blogs are a little time honoured tradition for me, and this one might not even make it to the blog, because it is going to be a rant. I feel exhausted, I feel like India is letting me leave after squeezing every drop of energy from me. Nothing is easy here. Just from my day today—it took ages to close a bank account, it took ages to get to the airport. I had booked a flight during earthly hours so that my parents wouldn’t have to stay up late or wake up in the middle of the night to drop me off to the airport. But, I know think that would have been the better option as they wouldn’t have to spend 4 hours in the car. I am feeling the collective exhaustion of both trips this year, which tally up to almost 5 months in India. It didn’t help that my sister and her family, bless her, were staying with my parents during my second visit. I can write endless reams analysing why it is so difficult for me to share personal space. Or I can accept that it is and try to make myself as comfortable as I can while trying not to step on any toes. I am going to take it easy for the next few days as I fear that if I keep pushing myself I will fall sick. The next 12 months are going to be intense, so it is best to pace myself. I feel like my traditional supports have not been as useful on this trip. And as I speak, a group of noisy girls just sat down beside me. I really feel like India is fucking with me now. But what do I do?

Last Night in Mumbai

My sister was watching me pack this evening and she was mighty amused that I was carrying a pack of Dove soap cakes. My defense was that toiletries are much cheaper in India than the UK. And, although this a bad example to make my point that I am no more a recent expat who packs so much stuff that he would be able to survive on the moon, that is indeed the case. I am carrying back less stuff than I was on previous occasions. A part of the reason is that I am trying to live a more minimalist lifestyle to reduce my ecological footprint. Also, one never carries much stuff when one is going home, gifts excepted. The idea of home is a fluid concept for me, but England has started to feel more and more like a home to me.
On my last trip to India, I told my parents that I like it in the UK (as messy as it is at the moment) and that I would try to stay  on there after my PhD. They had probably gleaned that themselves, as it wasn't a surprise to them. The next year and quarter is going to be challenging for sure. But, whatever challenges come my way, adjusting to life in an alien land isn't going to be one of them. I am still a foreigner in England and will be for the forseeable future even if I manage to stay on, but England is not an alien country any more.

Train Rage

I keep telling myself that I will stop travelling by Mumbai local trains, and I keep going back. It is the fastest and cheapest way to get around even though travelling on it is a hellish experience. Today, I had an unpleasant experience on it, which made me reconsider my loyalties to it. I was standing in a crowded local this morning, minding my own business, when a man a few feet away from me accused me of hogging space. He claimed he had been watching me since a few stations back, saying that I hadn't moved an inch and that I was squashing the person next to me. I told him to mind his own business and that the person next to me could speak for himself. A testy exchange followed, but didn't last long. I was irritated but not raging. A few minutes later he piped up again, which made me mad. He spoke in Marathi, hoping to establish that I was an outsider but I replied rudely in Marathi. He then did the annoying thing that is unique to India where a person doesn't talk to you but about you to the people around him, hoping to win bystanders over to his side. I clearly looked out of place among the working class commuters of the second-class compartment so I didn't even try to do the same. A few minutes later someone else started arguing with me for not giving him enough room and I suddenly felt threatened. Maybe this is me reading too much into it, and maybe I was really being a dick. But I felt a clear vibe of class resentment, as though I was intruding into their class space and they were making me feel unwelcome. Some people move across class boundaries with ease, and some don't, attracting resentment. As crass as it  sounds, someone of my class is not accustomed to being talked to in that way by working class folk.

Beliefs and Perceived Beliefs

What you believe and what you think you believe (or should believe) are sometimes very different things. I had a session with my therapist today, and my first reaction was that it was not very useful. It took me a few hours to realize that the session had helped me acknowledge an aspect of my personality that I had always tried to deny because it clashed with my view of myself. Or rather, my view of what I should be like because that was the path of virtue. The acknowledgement is by no means earth-shattering, and it may not result in a radical change in behaviour but it still feels liberating. It will result in a more healthy attitude towards my behaviour and that is something.

One Year Older

From today, I cannot confidently put myself in the early-thirties category. I turn 34 today and because birthdays are not a big deal to me, this will be a short post. The year between birthdays 32 and 33 was one of tremendous personal growth and change. I overcame the biggest obstacle to my mental well being a few weeks after my 32nd birthday and spent the following year growing into my new self. It was intense and daunting at times, but I managed pretty well. Comparatively, the last 12 months weren't as momentous. I say that without any trace of disappointment--not every year can or should be a watershed year. One doesn't have the emotional resources for it.
The standout feature of the year was that I spent five months of it in India for my research. That' s a long time to be away from one's base and it was challenging, especially given my uneasy relationship with my country of birth. But, now is not the time to dissect that part of my life, as important as it is. The next 12 months are possibly going to be most challenging of my professional life. It is the culmination of a journey I began when I left behind a promising career in financial journalism with little thought of what I would do after my Master's degree. When I write my next birthday blog, I will have submitted my PhD and be awaiting my defense. If all goes according to plan, I might even have a job in the field and country of my choice.

Laptop Back

I was separated from my laptop for three days because it had to be repaired, and it was not an easy separation. I have written before about how I am calmer and nicer person when I have access to my  two anchors--yoga and blogging. It wasn't that I didn't have access to a computer for three days, but it just seemed like a chore to write it down on another PC and transfer it to this one. Also, it is not possible in life to have access to your anchors. Sometimes, you have to do without and the idea that  you can't do without your anchors is not healthy. Sometimes, circumstances put your anchors out of reach, and life is more difficult, but more often than not, you don't go to pieces. You learn the value of key elements of your routine when they are not available to you. Maybe blogging makes me wiser and a better writer, or maybe it makes me even more of a self-indulgent sanctimonious prick. Whatever it is, it has become an integral part of my life. A way of talking for a person who doesn't like talking to most people. 

Comeuppance

Yesterday, it struck me how I have abandoned any hope of opposing the right-wing wave from my armchair by appealing to their sense of justice. As cynical as it sounds, I believe that appealing to people's better nature is futile because they don't have one. Rather, the only way for the right-wing surge to end is in the flames of war and economic destruction. So, strong is the fascist movement that those of us on the left are forced to speak its language and judge its performance with respect to its promises. There is no room to question the promises themselves. The cratering of the economy, the rising intolerance towards not just minorities but also liberal values that many of the urban supporters of the fascist government in India hold dear. But, there is no joy in being proved right when the world is in flames. I would pray that my prediction of a war with our neighbour or a full-blown recession doesn't come true. 

Friends With Opposing Political Views

I just read an article about being friends with someone who holds opposing political views. It is a good article and one of the points it makes is political views are just one aspect of a person. We may see political views as representations of a moral compass but I have met enough nice people on the right (although not right-wing) and unpleasant people on the left to place a lot of faith in that belief. Neither do people's views on different subjects cleave neatly into the left or right categories. I would like to think that most of my friends are kind people with socially liberal values, even if they don't support the same progressive causes that I do. Also, at the risk of sounding patronizing, I am more prepared to tolerate right-leaning or centre-right opinions from people who are not associated with the social sciences professionally. If you are immersed in a social sciences profession such as media, law or academia and still lean right, we are unlikely to be fast friends, for what that is worth. However, I do have a tolerance for people who are patient and open to other viewpoints. Also  absolved are old friendships which were formed before my political awareness and have stood the test of time. I believe political views are emotional rather than rational in nature and it is common for people (including myself) to hold contradictory views as well as absolve themselves from the standards that they hold other people to. In summary, if interacting with someone makes me angry most of the time, I don't. Life is too short.

Thinking With Your Head or Heart

I was talking to a friend today who needed some advice on a matter of the heart. Why she chose to talk to me, whose record on the subject is short and unimpressive, is anybody's guess. But, it got me thinking about how much or little we learn from our past mistakes in these matters. I am not a big fan of the head-heart dichotomy but is it possible to learn to use your head more in so-called matters of the heart? I think so, for no other reason than we know ourselves better and we also learn the rules of the game. I don't mind to sound cynical but it is a game to some extent, and there are rules, especially around the distance and space that one accords to one's interest, especially in the early days. Those of us for whom this correct combo of interest and detachment doesn't come naturally have to learn it the hard way.
When I say learn about ourselves, I mean which attractions to pursue wholeheartedly, which to pursue to a limited extent and which to not pursue at all. Not all attractions have to be pursued, especially those that we know could be damaging for us.

Immigration Appeals Via the Guardian

I just read a news article about a leading child psychiatrist who is considering emigrating to Australia because his widowed mother is being denied a visa to remain in the UK. Every week, there is at least one such story in the Guardian about baffling decisions by the Home Office. I wouldn't be surrised if there is a dedicated Home Office employee who tracks the Guardian and flags stories that require action to save face. The stories often result in a review of the original decision, which is why it seems to be an effective route to appeal against Home Office decisions. The danger, of course, is it separates the exemplary immigrants from the ordinary immigrants. To get the Guardian to write about you, either you need to have exemplary qualifications(read Oxbridge orequivalent), or have a proven record of service to the UK. Like putting your life at risk by being an interpreter for UK troops in Afghanistan, or being promised by prosecutors that you can remain if you testify for them in a case, only for them to renege later. Having being a newsman myself, I know that more prosaic rejections to more ordinary applicants are unlikely to make the cut. It just shows you that there are so many levels even among the ranks of the disadvantaged. I suppose I fall somewhere in the middle in this hierarchy of the dispossessed. I am university-educated but not at a Russel Group university and neither do I have young children or old parents who depend on me for their leave to remain in the UK. 

Getaways

I can remember two occasions when I went on a short holiday by myself and couldn't wait to get back. The first time was after finishing a journalism course in Chennai. We had a few weeks to ourselves before graduation and the start of our working lives, and a mysterious restlessness gripped me. I had the company of close friends, but that didn't stop me from taking off. I was 22, and the idea of getting on the road with no clear destination still seemed romantic. Little did I realize that most parts of India are not well-suited for single travelers. Indians vacation in groups and the sight of a solitary traveler evokes puzzlement. Traveling on the cheap is not really a concept here because it involves rubbing shoulders with people from a far lower station in life. A warm and extroverted person might still have enjoyed the novelty of such a experience, but for me, it just brought up the class (and caste) guilt that has been a perennial feature of my life for  years.
The second time was later that same year when the job I was so looking forward to after journalism school turned out to be a dead-end. I lied to my boss that I had caught a stomach bug, which was convenient since it was a long weekend. My boss saw through my lies, but when she called me to beg me to come in because too many people had called in sick, I was already at my destination. I felt no compunctions about letting her down because she treated us like school kids. I had a decent enough time on this occasion because it was a change from my rotten circumstances at the time.
Since then, all my holidays have been trips with friends or family or to visit friends or family. I have realized that I don't enjoy travelling for the sake of it. I crave solitude sometimes but I have discovered that one need not travel to find it. And, that the most solitary act in the world is writing.

The Bet

Today, I read a short story that I had last read as a child. It's called The Bet and its by Anton Chekov. Even though I must have been just 13 or 14 when I read it, I remember being moved by the story. There was an element of philosophizing in it which I couldn't fathom at that age. When I came across it today, I read it with great anticipation. Only to find it underwhelming. The philosophical bit was a rejection of worldly goods and worldly achievements.
I fell story-telling is an art that has evolved over the centuries and the old greats were simply not that good at it. Time is an important element of narrative. It is what light is to paintings. A short story, being of a shorter length, has a compressed arc of time, which is what many people struggle to get right. Telling a story without fully developed characters, bringing them to life is far fewer words than a novel, is quite difficult. Compressing the arc of time without attenuating the narrative is a challenge. In my opinion, the Americans are much better at short-story writing than British authors. But, like everything else, the Americans have turned short story-writing into a cottage industry. A lot of the short stories read formulaic and feel like they have been polished  so much that they have lost some of their authenticity.

OTS

OTS stands for over-training syndrome, and is a recently discovered health condition that affects ultra-endurance athletes. I am fitter than average but far from any kind of athlete, but I have been thinking about over-training a lot these past few days. I have started a new high-intensity training routine since I arrived in India, and it is kick-ass. But, I am worried that I am over-doing it. Within my first week, I got my usual over-training symptom, which is a scratchy throat. I still pushed on knowing there was a 80% chance I would come down with a cold and I did. I know my body well enough to know when I am pushing it past my limits and that I will repent it. I have written about how anxious people are likely to exercise in  anxious ways. Whenever I am going through a stressful period, I try to distract myself with exercise. Sometimes it is easier to listen to my body than at other times. So, I am trying not to be hard on myself for not being easy on myself. That does sounds like a word salad but I do think that pushing yourself too hard to be kind to yourself is being unkind to yourself. Maybe sometimes it is just healthier to accept that there will be times when you will be unkind to yourself and not aspire towards a saint's level of self-kindness.

Homeless

I got a text today from my landlord saying I couldn't stay in my room after November and even if I wanted the room in November I would have to pay 20% more rent. At least, this eviction notice was an improvement over the last one, which was served as part of a tirade from a crazy landlord at midnight. My entanglement with that landlord was a cause of stress for months and contributed to my breakdown.
This time, the writing had been on the wall for months. My landlord's idiosyncracies and territorial instincts had steadily morphed into barely disguised hostility. Small privileges and conveniences had been taken away one by one, and the rules tightened to such an extent that the house had started to feel like a military camp. I had made up my mind that I would look for a new place as soon as I returned from India, and today's development only adds to the urgency.
Yes, the rental market looks pretty tight at the moment. Yes, I would prefer to move in with someone I know and can stand, and if we are also friends, that would be excellent. But, it doesn't look like that will happen. So, it looks like I am on my own again and will have to start afresh. It feels liberating as well as intimidating. Yes, I will have no company to leaven the tribulation that is a house hunt, but neither will I have to negotiate with or accommodate the needs and wishes of other people. If I make a bad choice, I can move out without upsetting any friendships. Over the past few years, I have been through too much to be excessively put out by  my  housing situation. Yes, a home is an abode and I  will do my best to find one that ticks all the boxes. But, my  priority over the next 12 months is finishing my PhD, and everything else comes second. 

Bright and Shrewd

Yesterday, I interviewed someone who had managed to avoid being entangled in the biggest scam in India's history. Of course, I only had his account to go by but it struck me that to keep out of trouble in India, especially if you work in the upper echelons of business or government, it is not enough to be honest. One must also be shrewd enough to avoid being entangled in the capers of dishonest people. Which is why I don't think I would ever survive in India. I consider myself to be of above-average intelligence, but below-average cunning by Indian standards, at least. (In the UK, I feel street-smart). But, in India, every business interaction feels like a bit of a contest. Everyone is trying to size up the opposite person, trying to calculate what to say, how much  to say. Every communication feel strategic, which is why I feel a little out of my depth. 

Swearing

This evening, my mother asked me if my friends and I swore a lot when I was in my teens and, specifically, we swore when we are in front of girls. I was a little taken aback by the question, but I don't think I have the answer she wanted. Her objection to swearing is that most swear-words are demeaning to women. I said something like we all say and do sexist things because we live in a sexist society, which she wasn't very convinced about. I guess my broader point is we all draw the limits for ourselves and it unfair to impose our limits on others (obviously, sexual harassment and assault are well beyond any sane person's limits). But, we are all hypocrites, but in myriad ways.
I don't want to turn this blog into one on the power of discourse. But, I think this issue is similar to  the one about risque song lyrics that objectify women. When does the fight against objectification turn into moral policing? Does the fight for women's liberation encompass the right of women to "shackle" themselves? Basically, how do we avoid  turning into sanctimonious pricks? I don't think there are any easy answers. The important thing is to not hoist your own answers on other people.

The Importance of Stupidity

This morning, I read a great piece about the importance of feeling  stupid while doing research. I have written before about how feeling diffident can push one to work harder, especially those of us prone to overconfidence. But, this blog was about something else. It spoke to the primary difference between being a good student and being a good researcher. It is possible to be a good student without being a good researcher. One might be great at grasping the import of other people's discoveries, but might lack the intellectual curiosity and creative thinking to make discoveries of one's own. Being a good researcher involves becoming comfortable with "immersion into the unknown". It takes a lot of getting used to, as I am discovering at the start of the final year of my PhD.
Doing a PhD involves feeling very big (sometimes) and feeling very small (most of the time). A single person's research is a pinprick compared to the vastness of the unknown. But, it is these pinpricks numbering in the billions (and a few stabs by geniuses) that have been the motor of advancement of our species. 

Distractions

Yesterday, I was having an intense discussion with a friend about self-realization and social institutions that come in the way of it like marriage and the glorification of child-bearing. I said these are distractions that take up mental and physical energy, leaving little time or inclination to reflect on one's life. Social norms are a conveyor belt which if you manage to stay on makes life much easier. No one follows social norms to the T and we all bend them to an extent, but there is a difference between bending the rules while pretending to obey them and openly defiance. I am not glorifying the rebellious life and neither do I judge people who are on the conveyor built. Neither am I saying those who have choosen to step off are automatically more enlightened and kind than those who are. All I say is one must aim to be comfortable with oneself whether one chooses to be on or off the conveyor built. I acknowledge that is not always a free choice, and it is a privilege to even have that choice. But the least we can do is identify social norms as being just that--norms--and not the distillation of eternal truths about human nature such as the need for monogamous companionship and children to propagate the race. 

Mosquitoes

I am mortally afraid of mosquitoes, having contracted dengue fever twice in my life and malaria about four times. Given that my last bout of dengue was the trigger for The Troubles, the mere sight of a mosquito sends me into a panic. My fear of mosquitoes even over-rides my eco-guilt, pushing me to use the AC at night even if its cool enough to do without. The AC keeps the mosquitoes away, after all. I can't imagine what it will be like if I catch dengue again so I take as few chances as possible. Maybe my fear of mosquitoes is irrational but all of us have a quota of quirks and I am willing to use up most of mine on this one. 

Not as Smart

The other day I read my psych evaluation from two years ago. I was a mess at the time and my responses to the test questions would have made me cringe were it not for the fact that I have learnt to be kinder and less judgemental. But there was a line in the report that really stuck in my craw. It said my level of ambition was far higher than the creative resources of my personality. That was the psychologist's intepretation of an ink-blot test and some of the tests seemed like vodoo. While drawing inferences about the mental and emotional make-up of a person after spending just a few hours with them is a fraught exercise, this blog is not about the merits and demerits of psych evaluations. It is about how someone else's perception of us could be so different from our own. Maybe a few months ago, being told that my ambition outstrips my potential would have hurt me. But the past few months of PhD life have been a chastening experience and I am much more open to criticism.

New Order

News that the UK Supreme Court had struck down as unlawful Boris Johnson's move to suspend Parliament came as a welcome distraction as I was tussling with the first chapter of my PhD today. Self-identified liberals were jubilant as it reinforced their faith in one of the most important institutions of liberal democracies--a judiciary independent of the  government. I am not so sure it is such a game-changer. The rules of engagement in politics are changing, and the right-wing governments that have swept into power in many countries across the globe don't play by the old rules. If they  are powerful enough, they rewrite the rules to suit them, as they are doing in India. But, there is no guarantee they will play by these new rules if they start to work against them. In fact, I worry more about when the rightwing is in decline because that is when the real violence will start. Fascists don't give up power without a ruinous war.
But putting aside these dismal scenarios for the moment, and putting my wonky hat on: It is times like these when fundamental questions about power and legitimacy become fascinating. Questions such as where does a particular political configuration draw its power and legitimacy from. Money, Military Power, a broad democratic consensus achieved sometimes by lying to the people? 

Confidence Deficit

I have written extensively about pride and overconfidence, here, here and here. But after a longish phase where my confidence has been in deficit more often than in surplus, I wonder whether that's really a bad thing. Maybe people prone to overconfidence function better in a confidence deficit. It pushes them harder, and they have enough innate confidence that keeps them from drowning to the pits of diffidence. People prone to diffidence, on the other hand, are more effective when they are feeling confident. Each category is paralyzed if their natural tendency dominates. 

Back After a Break

I'm back after an involuntary break from work and blogging due to a pesky cold. Having written before about what makes colds so annoying,  I won't bother you again. But, this cold, just like the previous two ones, were brought one by my deciding to exercise even though I was feeling under the weather. I knew I ran a high risk of falling sick before starting my working routine but I feel I am a little addicted to exercise. I was also feeling a little stressed and anxious and needed something to distract me. As it turns out, a cold is an unwelcome and prolonged distraction. Transforming a mental issue into a physical one is not the best way to deal with it. I would like to think that over the years I have become  better at listening to my body and not pushing it beyond the limit. Listening to it, but not heeding it, as it turns out. In any case, there is not use lolling in crying over spilled milk. Hopefully, I have learnt my lesson, at least for the next few months. 

Movies and Wokeness

It is difficult to watch any Bollywood movie these days, even the ones I enjoyed when I was younger. For one, my taste in movies has become more selective. And secondly, most mainstream Bollywood actors are cads in real life and many are right-wing cads. Of course, I could never watch a movie by any actor who is a cheerleader for the current fascist government in India. But, even those who are not cheerleaders have maintained a complicit silence. Okay, maybe you don't want to speak against the government and get into all kinds of trouble, but surely you can speak up for survivors of sexual assault in your own industry? I have no illusions that I am taking stand by not watching the movies of actors without execrable opinions. I don't watch their movies because the mere sight of them annoys me, and there are enough things in the world that do that as it is.

Since a progressive person has plenty to be mad about these days, where do I draw the line of disengagement? At people who explicitly support fascism and who should know better given their profession, such as journalism or academic, etc. 

Inept Interviewer

When I was a journalist I would sometimes interview someone who was clearly smart but wasn't being tested by my questions. Sometimes they were obviously bored, and at other times they were too polite to show it. Sometimes these lacked luster  because I was unprepared, and at other times because I found their personalities cold. Yesterday, it was a bit of both. It didn't help that it was my first interview after a long gap, and I wish it had been with a less important person. Going back over the recording of interview tapes is also not a pleasant experience. You register all the questions you didn't ask, the points where you could have sought clarification and the points where you interrupted the interviewer when they were saying something interesting just to show that you were keeping up with them (winces). But going back over yesterday's interview, I realized it wasn't as bad as I had previously thought. Yes, the interviewees manner wasn't warm, but I have no reason to believe he bore me a grudge and he did say some useful things. 

Sweating the Small Stuff

If you are an over-thinker like I do, you may have a tendency to sweat the small stuff. Ascribe too much importance to events and people that are trivial to your existence in the longer scheme of things. Which is why I admire people who can bury themselves in their work or passions without effort. But, if you are not such a person, you need to consciously make the effort not to sweat the small stuff without beating yourself up for sweating the small stuff. I remember an email a friend forwarded from a professor. He was replying to her email about how she would have loved to pursue a PhD supervised by him but couldn't because of a stormy personal life. He was sympathetic in his response but suggested that only starting a PhD once all her ducks were in order might not be the best course of action. Maybe her PhD would help her get her ducks in order. I say Amen to that.

Angry Youngish Man

I feel like I am turning into a grumpy uncle. At dinner today, my nephew was reading the ridiculously lame message on the cover of a mineral water bottle, and that was my cue to launch into a tirade about the use of plastic. My nephews looked a little puzzled.

My anger goes up a few notches when I am around people who (I think) are apolitical or on the wrong (right) side of the political spectrum. Back in Bristol, I would feel it rise when I was with a particular colleague. Someone with a personality like mine doesn't do outbursts. Instead, my anger manifests itself as mean humour. I am careful enough to make my intentions seem ambigous but if I am being honest with myself, it comes from a place of anger. Anger often stems from frustration at one's own sense of helplessness, I realize. Its not like I am doing anything for the earth or for society so what expectations am I allowed to have of others? And, even if I was doing something, would I have to the right to have expectations of others?

Maybe that's the wrong way of looking at it. From a purely pragmatic point of view, I can have as high expectations as I like if I don't mind being perpetually disappointed. But, that is not very healthy. So, projecting your own expectations on others and coming across as a sanctimonious prick is not conducive to one's own mental well-being.  

Yes, the world is one fire, and yes, anger, helplessness and frustration are understandable reactions. But, one's first reactions need not be permanent reactions. It is possible to observe own's reactions and take a conscious step back. And the key to mental well-being is knowing when to step forward and when to step back.

Aptitude Test

I was going through some old papers in my desk today, and I stumbled upon my aptitude results from 16 years ago. I had taken the test after high school as I was confused about what to do next. The counselors' recommendation was I should take up engineering because I had scored high on mechanical comprehension and numerical ability even though my interest inventory said Arts. I am guessing the counselor was swayed by what she thought my parents wanted to here. Maybe she thought her job was to be the neutral authority figure to rubber-stamp parents' chosen vocation for their kid. And, it may have been a fair assumption on her part that an engineering graduate and a Physics PhD might want their son to take up a career in engineering.
I don't feel anger towards the counselor, only disdain for the education system in this country. Very few kids at 17 know what they want to do with their lives. The system should allow them to change course with much ado, not feel like abject failures. But, I am just relieved that I don't have to go through the agonizing experience of higher education in India again.
And as far as my meandering career trajectory is concerned, I have zero regrets. Every loop taught me something--about the specific field, about the wider world or about myself. But, if I could go back to when I was 17, I would definitely not choose engineering school again. 

Being Challenged

One of the disadvantages of writing for yourself is that it is a bit of an echo-chamber. And if you are more prone to over-confidence than diffidence like I am, it is easy to fall in love with you words and feel like you are full of sagely wisdom. I saw my counselor today and she challenged my beliefs about the way I was using writing. What I thought was a form of therapeutic writing was, in fact, plain old venting which might bring some relief, but was unlikely to aid in personal growth. I had felt quite smart and innovative when I had hit upon that particular form of writing, so that was a chastening moment. But, that is one of the purposes of counselling--to have your beliefs about yourself challenged, especially those that come in the way of you being the best possible version of yourself. Most people resist being challenged on their beliefs about themselves, and that is not a wholly bad thing. It keeps us from being quivering heaps of perpetual self-doubt. Only people whose intelligence and wisdom we respect can challenge us without triggering our defense mechanisms. The meeting with my counselor was intense, and I will be chewing over the stuff that came up for weeks or even months to come. 

Many Worlds

I have often ruminated on the idea that the world is changing in drastic ways and at a stomach-wrenching pace. But, to nitpick a bit, it would be more faithful to my feelings to say that some worlds are changing more than others. Acknowledging that these are points of deep philosophical debates and accepting that I might be treating them somewhat flippantly, we all have personal worlds that overlap with the external world and with the worlds of others. But, the overlap is not complete and that is the basis for the individual experience of life. Overlaps happen by choice or destiny, and I don't mean just the people who come into our lives. I am talking about an individual's experience of life which can never be identical to another's but can nonetheless overlap to differing extents. The world of a poor, Dalit woman has perhaps not changed as much as mine or possibly has changed more but in a different way. When one gets too exercised about the dismal state of the world and the ignorance and apathy towards it, one must remember that our experience is our experience alone. If someone experiences the world in a fundamentally different way, they can't be expected to react to it in the same way. Processes at work that seem blindingly obvious to us might not be to another person of similar  intelligence. This is not a cop-out in the fashion of trying to be compassionate towards right-wingers. It is a tool for survival and a  palliative for rage, which can galvanize one into action but can also throw one off balance. 

Convincing Others

It is amazing how arguments that seem as irrefutable as slam dunks in your head can wither before a  skeptical audience. Which makes me even more skeptical of logic, which relies on a scaffolding of beliefs to prove a point. I stumbled into a long argument with my parents which swiftly reached a topic that we don't see eye to eye, haven't seen eye to eye on for years and which I don't see the point of debating. My simple point was that the choice to have kids is an emotional choice rather than a pragmatic or logical choice and definitely not a biological imperative. And, I said when middle-class people have children they unintentionally perpetuate inequality in society by passing on their privileges to their children. Child-bearing perpetuates gate-keeping and impedes social mobility. I don't why I though that was an uncontroversial argument and my parents thought it was controversial as hell. Whenever an argument collides with one's world view or one's beliefs about themselves, one rejects it. Especially, if the point being made is unflattering to oneself such as about one's complicity in exploitative structures. For instance, I would reject that people who don't have kids are likely to be more self-centered than people who do. It clashes fundamentally about my believes about myself. My beliefs may change but not because someone hits me with a really convincing argument. The process of belief change is a slow grinding and often traumatic process predicated on an openness to challenge one's beliefs. 

Airport Blog

I am sitting in the departure lounge at Heathrow, waiting for my  flight to Mumbai via  Dubai. Dubai airport is apparently consumerist heaven, so I expect to be shocked by excess and crass consumerism. But, hopefully they will have more toilets per passenger than Baharain's airport, which was my stopover on the previous trip to India.
Last trip was a chance to celebrate all the progress I had made since returning to my research in England. Also, I was returning home after a year, which added to the  sweetness. This time, my homecoming is less sentimental as I am returning after just five months. I am also in the final year of my PhD so I have to get on with it. I am less prepared for my research than I had hoped I would be. I haven't got any meetings set up, for instance, so its going to be like the previous trip when I land on the ground and get a feel of the place and then decide what to do. I remember being frustrated for most of Round 1, as I will refer to my previous trip hereon. It was only in the last few weeks of Round 1 that I felt I had achieved something. This time I need to write as well as prepared for my interviews, so I will  have to operate with a much higher level of intensity.
On the personal front, there is also some uncertainty. I have decided to move to a new place shortly after I return to England. I don't know whom I will be moving with and I have decided not to speculate. Almost all my colleagues seem to live similar transient lives with no permanent abode. I want to move out of this circuit of people with temporary jobs or short-term assignments who ar here today and gone in a few weeks. I have seen enough of that in my AirBnB and its amazing that I have lasted there as long as I did.
This has turned into a lament about my less-than-perfect life instead of a reflection on the state of being between two places, which is what an airport lounge represents to me. But, it is what it is.