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.