Accents

On my first day back in India, a friend remarked that I had a slight accent, which evoked mixed reactions in me. As much as I want to, I can't disown the hint of pride I felt at being foreign-returned and noticeably so. At the same time, I recoil with disdain at people who flaunt their accents as a marker of their perceived superiority.  Many people from a certain part of Mumbai speak with an accent which can best be described as hoity-toity. I have always maintained that it doesn't really matter how little time you've spent abroad--if you want to get an accent, you do. It bothers me that Indians, particularly from my class, put on an exaggerated accent especially while talking to Brits, whom we consider more polished than Americans. I was watching a video of an Indian comedian performing in Britain who was speaking with a strong accent. I checked some of his other videos on youtube, and sure enough, he had a different accent when performing in India.

But, maybe our accents change slightly without us knowing depending  on our audience. On a US trip five years ago, I noticed my friends from India spoke English with an Indian accent with me but effortlessly switched to an American accent when speaking with Americans. After all, when we talk we are mostly talking to someone, so its natural for our tone, inflection and even accent to change depending on the audience. How we speak says a lot about us but it is easy to slide into a mode of judgement, which we need to be watchful for.

Twitter Foil

Yesterday, I wrote about how I am a reluctant tweeter on Twitter, but I spend way too much time on it even so. Just imagine if I was a prolific twitter. I suppose I would go to Twitter every few minutes for that mild burst of validation that every like, retweet and follow gives you. 

My Twitter habit has started to interfere with my work. What makes matters worse it I cannot go off Twitter completely because I need to keep track of what is happening in my research area. My supervisor often tags on Twitter articles she wants me to take note off. I got to know off the past three workshop/conferences that I attended through Twitter.

So I've decided to take recourse to a technological solution to a problem caused by technology. I have installed a plugin that tracks the time I spend on Twitter and is designed to automatically shit down the website after I exceed one hour in a day. I am confident that I will have the self-discipline to not disable the plugin after my hour is up. Eventually, I will have to learn to spend my time on Twitter more judiciously. Twitter has the ability to suck me in by tickling both my  intellectual and gossip-hseeking side, which makes for a lethal combination. Hopefully, this countermeasure will work.

Twitter

Twitter is in an indispensable resource to keep track of academic happenings in my field, so I have no option but to be on it. However, I am an extremely reticent tweeter who usually settles for 'liking' tweets because he feels like a retweet is a significant endorsement that might come back to haunt him when he is famous. The only times I have written tweets of my own is when I thanked workshop/conference organizers. Thank You tweets are probably the most uncontroversial tweets, unless, of course, you miss out on thanking someone. 

My supervisor is an active tweeter, as are many other economists. I have noticed that some graduate students, presumably looking to build a Twitter following, have started adopting the style of more experinced economists in their tweets. I don't mean to be judgmental and can only speak for myself. But I am still at that stage of my academic career when I am stupefied by how little I know. Neither do I have the confidence nor the conviction to express an opinion about a technical topic on Twitter in 280  characters. Maybe that will change as I progress in my career. Or maybe I am too thin-skinned for Twitter. Twitter feuds can flare up in the blink of an eye and get nasty quickly. Even observing  some of them vicariously makes me cringe.

Back to Work

As it turns out, I don't have dengue fever or any of the other nasty tropical diseases. I am fine now, save for a sore throat, which I think is more an allergy than a cold. Now, I have to get on with the business of why I decided to come here for three months.
Tomorrow, I resume work on my PhD. I won't bore you with the details but the decision to come to India for three months rather than one or two was the result of gut instinct rather than planning. It was the amount of time I felt I needed for my research interviews. I haven't done any planning for my interviews, and neither is it clear to me that interviews will be useful for my research. I just felt my research needed interviews, and I wouldn't be satisfied unless I had at least attempted them.
Going with my gut instinct, feeling around in the dark for the right approach, makes me feel like a bonafide researcher. If the research approach is clear, what is the need for research? Most research projects are a leap of faith, and some leaps are more ambitious than others. I will try to remember this when I flounder in my own project.

Sickness Diary

What a way to resume blogging! We got back from a family holiday late last night and I promptly fell sick. I have been under the weather a couple of times over the last year, but never sick-sick. My healthy streak has now ended and I have wounded pride to contend with.
One a positive side, I couldn't have picked a better time to fall sick. We are done with all our travelling and I can afford to take a few days off to recuperate before I begin the Mumbai leg of my research. And, I would much rather fall sick back home in India so that I don't have to deal with the National Health Service in the UK, with its harried doctors and two-week-long GP waiting queues.
 Of course, for me, falling sick in India means I have to deal with some baggage. I have had the dreaded dengue fever twice before, and the second time (in 2016) it was the harbinger of my troubles. Until I was physically healthy, I could get away with ignoring the gathering clouds in my mind. Once my body caved, there was nowhere to hide.
I have resolved my mental issues, and I am confident that sickness won't trigger anything in the top storey. But I was in pretty good shape till yesterday and the fear that the sickness will set me back by weeks or months on the fitness front, is everpresent. On the other hand, I have gone for as long as four years without exercise even though I am a fitness fanatic, due to an unknown health condition which I later realized could have been anxiety. I don't claim to have had a very difficult life, but  when you see challenges you have faced before, you have the confidence that you will be able to put  yourself back again even if they break you.
I also have two tools that I didn't have during challenging times in the past--writing and, once I begin to recover, yoga. I  have a feeling that this illness, however, long or short it is, will be easier than those in the past.

Paper Dreams

Today, I finally submitted my labour of love, the journal article that I  have been working on, intermittently, for the past year and a half. The project started off as something to keep me occupied during the long monsoon of 2017 when I was back home battling my demons. When I was in the pits, working was out of the question, but as I started clambering out, the paper gave me a sense of purpose. And, I was quite proud of my effort, not just because of my frame of mind when I was working on it but also because of the final product. When my supervisor concurred with my opinion of it, I felt proud of myself after a long time. I had done quite well in my master's course in the previous year but as things had started to go pear-shaped up there, I hadn't been able to appreciate my achievements.
Of course, the paper went through subsequent revisions. There were a couple of points where I was quite satisfied by it, but my supervisor kept pushing me to do more. And, it is much better for the extra effort I put in. I also decided to bring my supervisor on board as a co-author, realizing that she had already gone above and beyond what was required of her as a supervisor. I am glad I did because she subsequently rewrote portions of it and made it much better.
The paper is an outline of my early journey as an academic. It was criticized heavily at a workshop last summer, which deflated me. It was praised heavily at a subsequent conference and won a prize at yet another conference (yes, I hawked it to many conferences) which elated me. So, when it drew some sharp criticism right towards the end of the journey, I had matured enough to take it in the right spirit.
Finally, I reached a point where I was sick of it and not open to further suggestions. The formatting and logistical labour took much longer than I had anticipated and there were quite a few moments when I tore my hair out. But, I have finally set it free to seek its fortune in the world of academia. Let us see how it fares.

One Year of Blogging

I missed the one-year anniversary of the revival of my blog, which fell on the 16th of January. Since I am sucker for such anniversaries, I thought it is fitting that I reflect on my year of regular blogging. A couple of things stand out. In the beginning, I had envisaged a strict separation between therapeutic writing and blogging. Over time, I notice I have become more willing to write about stuff that I would have earlier considered too personal. While I am still mindful that anyone could read this blog and avoid writing about specific people, writing is about baring a part of yourself. That is the price to pay if you want your reader's attention. Unless you can come up with brilliant intellectual insights or humour every time you sit down to write, which most of us can't. One gradually becomes more comfortable with baring more. The "baring" could be in the form of details about your life or about how you think, and it is difficult to say which is more revealing.
Another reflection is that I have managed to stay away from meta blogs, or blogs about blogging, for the most part. I  am quite pleased about this. As if we bloggers are not self-involved enough! The only thing worse than navel gazing is navel-navel gazing.
More importantly, blogging has become a firm habit, just like yoga. Earlier, I would keep an eye on the blog view score, but I don't anymore. If I don't blog for more than a day in a row I start to feel restless. Maybe I am addicted, but there are worse addictions to have. All I know is blogging has been a great source of stability through an exciting but difficult period of my life, and I don't plan to stop anytime soon.

Home Again

I have been home for almost a day now, and, to be frank, I feel a little discombobulated. Its not helping that the jet lag is operating in reverse. Instead of waking up late, I got up around 3:15 am today. It is also hotter than usual for January, or maybe my perception of the heat here has changed after being in England for a year. We live near a busy traffic junction, so the air is naturally rich in mineral content, but it feels like we are having to endure a smog without the accompanying benefit of cooler weather. Maybe the smog will just be worse if/when it gets colder, so I should just gird myself.
In a nutshell, I am not feeling very relaxed even though I am seeing my parents after a year and I have plenty to look forward to, such as a family holiday in my favourite  hill station. Maybe it is the stress of the past year that is finally catching up, maybe it is nervousness about the research I am supposed to carry out here. I will be the first to admit that I am not a big fan of the location of  our house, and would welcome it if my parents decide to move to a less crowded and polluted location. 
Maybe I should just give myself time to adjust to the heat and the dust and the crowds. Once I get going with my  research, these things will seem like minor quibbles. But, I suppose, the measure of whether you like a place is how or little you enjoy being there when you are taking a break from work. When you are wrapped up in work, the place almost becomes incidental, unless it subjects you to major inconveniences and interruptions. On the other hand, I haven't take down time well for the past year or so, so I am not sure what's going on.

Heathrow Airport

I am waiting to board my connecting flight to Mumbai via Bahrain, and since both check-in and security check were a breeze I have plenty of time to kill. When I am in Heathrow Airport and also whenever I am in London, I realize how few Indians Bristol has compared to some other British cities. I am sitting next to the Jet Airways gate and it feels like I am back in India. Since most of the travellers on the Jet flight are Indian, the ground staff, who are also Indian, are treating them like children who need firm and frequent  instructions. Indians are known to crowd and be inconsiderate of those around them in public situations. We all want to be the first on the flight and the first off it. Zone-wise boarding is extremely difficult with Indian passengers, because many of us would prefer being ticked off y  the  ground staff on the off chance that we might make it past them before our turn. I say this more with affection than with derision. I have been away for a year and this scene is comfortingly familiar. A slice of India before I reach India.
Its been a tiring day. Packing up my life in Bristol took longer than I imagined and I had to struggle to fit all my stuff into the suitcases. My landlord had assumed I was going away for good and I had to correct him that I did intend to come back and resume my highly irregular living arrangements. It was another reminder of the impermanent nature of my living arrangement and how much it depends on the good graces of my landlord. I owe him a big debt of gratitude for his actions during my last long stint in India, and I fear I am piling on the debt rather than paying it back. Its not a situation I enjoy being in. 

Last Night in Bristol

Tonight is my last night in Bristol before I travel to India. I am happy to be going home after exactly one year and I will be happy to return after three months. I can't help thinking how different going home this time is from last time. Last time, I made the decision to return home in the morning and flew out the same evening. This time I am going back with a sense of pride. I am happy, in good health and I will proudly preen in front of family and friends who have seen me when I was in the pits. It took courage to return to Bristol at the beginning of last year. There was the everpresent fear that the slightest knock would send me sprawling into the pits again. But in my heart of hearts I knew that my destiny was in England and I had to come back.
I will miss Bristol. Over the past few months, I have grown to quite like the city and have started thinking of a future here after my PhD. On the social front, my social life has improved even as my need for socializing has reduced. When I return to Bristol in the spring, I will have friends waiting for me, unlike last January, when I had no one.
This almost feels like a dream. I haven't felt so content with life in many years. So, obviously, the thought that this is a mirage that will vanish in a trice is lurking at the back of my mind. After years of discontent and anomie, one starts to feel that one doesn't deserve any better. But sometimes we get what we deserve and sometimes we don't. All we can do is try to not do anything that would cloud our conscience. If our good fortune hasn't arrived on the back of someone else's misery, what's not to deserve?

Friends At First Sight

Many of the people I count as close friends are those I hit it off with instantly. But not all. One of them I could barely stand, until friendship blossomed on a fateful paragliding trip. With others, friendship kept up on us slowly, and before we knew it, we were friends. Of course, people who annoy you at the beginning are more likely to become your friends than people who bore you (and I don't mean annoy you by boring you). Annoyance is an active emotion whereas boredom is  a passive one. People who both bore you and annoy you by being insulting, even if unknowingly, are a writeoff. But people whom you find prickly have potential because they at least pique your interest. They remain in your thoughts even if after you have left their company. Which is why they might still end up becoming your friend. People with strong personalities can often get off on the wrong foot at the beginning. Dry senses of your humour can chaff at each other time, and sometimes, before you know it, your matching wits in a "Who is funnier?" competition.
Today's post makes me sound like a Tiger who is at the top of the social food chain. I am not popular and I don't have a personality that gravitates people towards me. But I am picky about close friends, even if that means I don't have many people to hang out with.

Desire and Guilt

The good thing about the #metoo movement is that it has forced us to reexamine our views on the dynamics of male-female interaction in a sexual setting--shine a torch into the bedroom, so to speak. Topics that would have been previously considered personal, behaviours that were previously acceptable, are up for discussion and dissection now. Some of the stories that have come out have been of unambiguously predatory behaviour, some have been about behaviour that involved mind games and manipulation. But, patriarchy is far more complicated than men exploiting women, although that is a big part of it.  There are instances where women can exploit men, inadvertently or deliberately. Deliberate cases, such as false complaints of sexual assault are a very rare, according to the data, and are of little intellectual interest to me. It is the second category that piques my interest.
I read a column today abut how incredibly difficult it is for women to own their sexual desires, to be the pursuers, and not always the pursued. So, in some cases where the woman initiates sexual contact, guilt bubbles up in the aftermath of the encounter and the encounter is recast in her mind as one that she hadn't enthusiastically consented to.
I remember having a discussion with a female friend about this. She had brought up a similar issue but I had dismissed it as victim-blaming the woman. I now see that she may have had a point there. It is easy to see men as predators and women as the prey because that is so often the case. But, a true revolution in gender relation would involve going beyond the black and white cases and deep into the realm of the grey. 

Life as a Hexagonal Economist

I would reluctantly describe myself as an economist, but if pushed to do so, not least because I am part of a university Economics department, I would describe myself as a heterodox one. One of my non-economist colleagues jokingly refers to us as hexagonal economists and I like the sound of that better. I won’t bore you with the technical details, but heterodox economists are those who identify themselves as opposed to the hegemony and inflexibility of mainstream economics.

I recently attended a workshop on research methods in heterodox economics, and the last session was on strategies for getting papers published. It turns out the publishing landscape is dismal for  anyone who is not in one of the top 10 U.S.-based economics departments, who couldn’t be more mainstream if they had blinders on. The situation is the most dismal for mainstream non-U.S. based economists who reside in low-ranking departments. Non-mainstream economists at least have the option of publishing in high-ranked journals outside economics. My economics department is not U.S.-based and doesn’t sit in a high-ranking university, so if I were mainstream or an economist, it would be a pretty bleak picture for me. Fortunately, I am neither and nor do I have any aspirations to become either.

Dangerous Indulgences

I am in Leeds attending a workshop on research methods, which is actually more about research methodology. To the uninitiated, methods are research techniques, whereas methodology are the philosophical beliefs underpinning those techniques. I am interested in methodology for the sake of itself, not just for how it help me with my PhD research. Most of the other people have come to the workshop seeking answers to some very specific methodical problems, rather then methodological problems. Some of them launch into long monologues about their research problems, forgetting that most of us are working in very different research areas and have no interest in each other's area. That is annoying but probably more practical. When I told one of the presenters that I was interested in methodology for the sake of methodology, he told me to be careful. As it turned out, some of the presenters, back in their day, had abandoned their original PhD ideas to focus on methodology. But, that was a different age with different, less stringent and restrictive demands on research and output. Flirtations with methodological issues are a dangerous indulgence because the chances of a breakthrough are almost impossible. Some problems in the philosophy of science are intractable and the most one can hope for is a better understanding of their intractability. Also, a pure focus on methodology would make my brain freeze eventually. At the end of the day, I want my research to say something about the real world, and not just be research on how one researches the real world.  But, that is not to say that methodological discussions are not a lively distraction.

The Opposite of Schadenfreude

Its a great feeling to be happy for the success of someone else, especially if it comes after a long period of struggle that you've observed up close. There is no trace of the residual guilt that comes with scahdenfreude--taking comfort in the misfortune of someone close to you. Neither is the feeling that the success is undeserved, which comes with your own success. It is just simple joy at the joy of someone close to you and your good fortune at being able to share in that joy. And, if you played a part in that success, the joy is magnified.

Brandon Hill

After my book club meeting yesterday, I had to return a book at the central library so I decided to hop over to Brandon Hill, which is not very far. I discovered Brandon Hill on my first day in Bristol, back in the autumn of 2016. I had participated in a walking tour of the city, and Brandon Hill was the final stop. It is difficult to do justice to Brandon Hill in words, but picture a green hill pretty close to the centre of the city with panoramic views. Atop Brandon Hill sits Cabot Tower, a narrow tower with a spiralling staircase. From the top of Cabot tower, but even from its base, one can look down the hill to the small boats docked at the harbour and the tall sails of the S.S. Great Britain, a decommissioned steamship which now serves a venue for upmarket events. If you turn your gaze slightly higher you see the hills that surround Bristol. It  is quite a sight, even on a cloudy day. I immediately knew that I would return to this place often during my time in Bristol.
During my first ill-fated stint in Bristol, it became my go-to spot on days when I was feeling blue.
The next time I came to this place was after I had had an argument with my crazy landlord. I had never felt really home in that house and I had begun to feel a little trapped. Matters would come to a head a week later, which would result in my eviction and set in motion a long train of events which I won't go into today.
Another time I came there was after meeting a PhD student that I had been introduced to through a mutual acquaintance. I had high expectations of such meeting since I didn't have any friends or even avenues to meet new people. The meeting was a disappointment, which heightened my sense of alienation. After the meeting, I walked over to my spot at the top of Brandon Hill. As I gazed at the now-familiar scenery, it occurred to me that I wasn't tied to Bristol. I could either spend lengthy intervals back in India, working on my PhD from a distance, or with my aunt in Brighton. I had found that thought reassuring at the time.
Yesterday, my feelings couldn't have been more different. I will save my current feelings about Bristol for another post. All I will say for now is that Bristol has started to feel like home.

Last Book Club Meeting

As I prepare to leave for India, I am trying to be mindful of how many 'Last' posts I write. I am aware that I have already done one on my last yoga class, and today I am going to talk about my last Book Club Meeting.
I remember how nervous I was before my first book club meeting, fully aware that I might be the only man and the only foreigner. I was right on both counts, but even though I felt quite out of place in the beginning I stuck with it. It was clearly a group of really smart but unpretentious people and discussing a book with such a crowd allows one to appreciate the book at a different level.
Fast forward to meeting 11. I was the only foreigner this time as well but I felt quite at ease. There was a good mix of veterans and newbies, and although the newbies were smart and agreeable too. Having a book club that reads only female authors is a great strategy if you want smart but pleasant people to join. Book clubbing is a nerdy hobby so book clubbers are generally smart, and when you read only women, it weeds the misogynists--both male and female--out.
Earlier, I used to go for Meetup events with the hope of meeting people I could hang-out with even if we were not engaged in an activity. Fast friends, is what I was looking for. Once I released myself from that expectation, it was a relief. Interacting with people without any hope or agenda is liberating. The non-work-related intellectual stimulation I get at the book club meetings is such a treat! Activity-based friendships might not be as satisfying as heart-friendships but they have their place in life.
To wrap up this post, I am glad I swallowed my misgivings about both yoga and the bookclub and my life is the richer for it.

Colder Snap

I haven't been so cold in a long time as I was last night. It is the height of winter so cold weather is to be accepted but this was the first time I was out late on a cold night, and that too the coldest night of the year so far. I have noticed that my body's physiology changes noticeably below 5C. Cycling up the steep hill to uni becomes noticeably difficult and I feel winded for longer afterwards (no surprises there, but my point is my body's threshold is around 5C). I also feel like I am on a brink of a cold afterwards, and load up on vitamins or take a paracetemol.
But, yesterday, was a different level of cold. I walked a friend to her home after dinner, and I could feel my voice quavering. But, the worst effect was on my hands. I was recently gifted a thick pair of gloves but I don't use them for cycling because they reduce my finger mobility and therefore my braking ability. So, by the time I got home yesterday I had not sensation in my fingers. I was afraid I would cut myself badly and not even  notice. This is not the first time I had frozen finges, so I knew the misery wouldn't end immediately after I went indoors. I would feel a mild but very annoying burning sensation in my figures for at least 20 minutes afterwards and I knew not to put my hands in hot water immediately. And, my digestive system had gone into overdrive, forcing me to run to the loo. Digestive system in overdrive, the body pulling blood away from the extremities and towards the vital organs. Its fascinating how the body responds to cold conditions. And, this was just -4C.
But  by the time I was ready to go to bed, I felt like a deflated balloon. I had been pushing myself hard over the Christmas break to make up for all the sweets I had been eating. I also wanted to be in tip-top shape before I leave for India so that people saw me when I looked like a scarecrow at the height of my "troubles" could admire the change. But, on that cold night, my body finally caught up with my mind and forced it to slow down. I jettisoned plans to go running the next morning and decided to hunker down. I am just lucky I didn't fall sick. 

Cold Snap

Tonight, the mercury is going to shrink to -4C, which will make it the coldest night this winter. I have written before about my obsession when I am in a place which actually has seasons. In winters, I track the temperature in Takutsk, which is the Sakha Republic of Russia's Siberian region. It's the coldest place I have found on the BBC weather app, although Barrow, Alaska, comes close. Right now the temperature there is a balmy -31C and its snowing lightly. Next week, it is scheduled to go down to -41C.

Back here in good old  Bristol, the cold has brought a wave of sniffles, which makes me paranoid. Its been more than a year since I was sick and I hope to prolong this spell for as long as I can.

Last Day of Yoga Class

Today was my last yoga class before I leave for India later this month. I have written before about how I am addicted to that class, and had a lousy few days when I skipped it once. When I have been in town, I have only missed the class three times in a year. With a little bit of effort, I could tell you exactly how many classes I have attended, but I realize this post, and what it says about me, is weird enough already.
The yoga class is not blissful. I have been going for a year and I still don't know the names of any of the other attendees. I know that most of them are teachers, or teachers-in-training, which I suppose  is why they are such a clique. Add to it the fact that I am a reserved brown man in a class of mostly white young women, and I guess you get the picture. In the beginning, I always felt like a fish out of water but the pull of the class itself was too hard to resist. The yoga teacher is simply great. The class is in the hippy part of town, and she is a bit of a hippy herself but not too much. Last spring and summer she would end the class with a 'partner' exercise, which entailed, among other things, staring into another person's eyes and sitting against their back. I used to feel supremely uncomfortable during those exercises and super-conscious of my gender, colour and reserved personality. She dropped it a few months ago, much to my relief. But, today, she did it again, possibly because this was a New Year session. And, this time I only felt mildly uncomfortable, not super uncomfortable. I guess I  have become comfortable with the discomfort of that milieu. In any case, I will miss the class while I am away. It is starting to dawn on me how set my routine in Bristol is, and how much I will miss it. I will have to make a new routine during my time in India.

Bye to Brighton

Today is my last day in Brighton. Tomorrow it's back to Bristol for two weeks, before I head off to home for a couple of months. My days in Brighton quickly settled into an easy routine on this visit. I would wake up early, do some reading, exercise, work on my essay, and then go for a walk to the seafront to catch the sunset. I saw some truly spectacular sunsets, althought towards the end of my trip it was mostly cloudy days. It seemed a waste not to go to the seafront everyday since it is so close.
The seafront also reminds me of my time in Holland, where I lived just minutes away from the beach. I discovered the peace of late-night walks along the beach too close to winter and too close to the end of my time in Holland. But, thank God for small mercies, it was a mild winter and I had some really nice walks. At a time when the demons in my head had started to stir, those walks by the sea were like a balm.
I have discovered that if one desires solitude, one has to go to places that are too far or too cold or too ugly (although no solitary place is ugly in my eyes). The other option is to go when it is dark. I seldom met anyone during my night walks in Holland, although I did inadvertently give some people the fright of their lives when they chanced upon me. It is funny how a solitary figure in the dark is more unnerving than a group of people. I realize I was able to do this because I am a man. My sympathies and solidarity to all the women inclined to solitude who cannot avail of such opportunities because of safety concerns.
I didn't go for night walks in Brighton. The beach is a pebbly beach and is not conducive to walking. And sitting in one spot on a winter night is not a very pleasant experience. Plus, I usually end my days writing a blog post now. :-)