Revelations of a Ph.D. Scholar

I have been gazing at my laptop for days (Before going to Port Blair and now after coming back), waiting for words to miraculously appear on the screen in front of me. I have been staring at it as if any minute now, a little leprechaun (Fairy in Irish folklore) is going to jump out, start dancing on my keyboard, and create the most brilliant chapter of my thesis ever. But alas! The page in front of me is still blank. As always, I‘ve had months to write this and yet I’m still pushing the deadline. And, as always, I’m frustrated with myself for letting it get to this point.

So why am I telling you this? Well, I guess you could say that it signifies a bit of what my life in academia is like sometimes. Before I became a PhD student, when I was pursuing my Masters from Panjab University, Chandigarh, I considered myself to be a reasonably bright, lucrative, punctual and disciplined person. I was the kind of person who knew how to manage her time efficiently and effectively and I was excited and fortunate about getting the chance right after my Masters (Show off!) to do research for a living. But a few years into my PhD, I’m now suffering from Sartre’s existentialism. And I think it is time to confess about it:

# #Writing my PhD bores me sometimes. And with ‘bore’, I mean: I want to throw my computer out the window and set it on fire. Trust me!! I have days where working on my PhD gets me so incredibly frustrated. These moments happen especially when I get back the second round of reviews on a paper, and realize I have to once again rewrite that same piece of text that I have been writing, rewriting, scrapping, and fine-tuning for over months now. I mean, this stuff gets old, man. Literally. I feel like a cow that’s been chewing on the same piece of grass for so long .I just miss those days where I could hand in my work, be done with it and move on to something else.

# #I must seriously be the laziest PhD student ever. Most days, I go home not really knowing what it is that I actually achieved that day. In fact, most days I’m pretty confident that I didn’t really achieve much at all and that my PhD is not one bit closer to actually getting finished. What on earth have I been up to in those two years?! I see other PhDs writing and writing and writing and I just don’t get it. How do they do that? How do they work at home without being tempted to sleep and eat and watch movies?

# #I’m convinced that I’m just too dumb for this line of work. More often than I’d like to admit, when I go to conferences and people explain their research to me, I have absolutely no clue what they are talking about. Most of that just makes my brain hurt.

Now there are some people that believe that I am good at this whole academic thing. But let me tell you something: That’s just what these people want to believe about me. I’ve really just been lucky so far. I’ve been getting a lot of opportunities and good help during my PhD, and that’s why I am where I am now. Doing a PhD is a struggle for me and there are days that I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. I’m just a good talker and the people that matter in my academic career seem to like me. Or maybe they just take pity on me.

##I watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S. And I like it. I really do. I don’t go home after a day’s work and read more books. I just keep watching it and Oh, Grey’s Anatomy, Gossip Girl, How I Met Your Mother and all that other stuff. I’m an American TV-series addict. Because watching these kinds of TV-series is the most unintelligent, brainless thing I can think of after a long day of working on my PhD and that’s why I absolutely love it. It’s like the off-switch to my PhD. The only bad thing about it is that I always feel guilty afterwards. After all, I could have used that time to read that book that’s been lying on my desk for months or finish that chapter that’s been gathering virtual dust on my computer.

##Knowing what I know now, I would never, ever have done a PhD. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I regret doing a PhD. I’m actually really glad that I’m and proud to see how far I have come –even if that never seems to be as far as my schedule tells me I should be by now. I just think sometimes to run away and work at McDonalds serving Mc Veggie. And to be honest, on some days, that still sounds like a pretty good alternative. Because what rational person would ever chose a job that puts you on such an emotional rollercoaster ride with such intense moments of self-perpetuated insecurity and frustration? A job where in some weeks your best achievement is actually the deletion of a paragraph in your chapter? So, yeah, I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t really understand the whole PhD process before I started.

There are some “annoying” moments which you (especially girls) will definitely face while doing your Ph.D. (I have faced all of them).That awkward moment when you are asked the dreaded question in a very casual conversation, “So what do you plan to do after the PhD?” When someone looks you over, clutching 5 heavy-duty books, and says, “You should be done by now – when are you graduating?” When a distant “aunty” (no blood ties) says to you over the phone, “You are almost done…Omg!! You are crossing the age (As if I didn’t know)…You should get married.” When people comment: “So, you are not a real doctor, doctor??(I feel like punching them) And the funniest of all, you are talking to your computer and your father observes you silently from the back of the room, then gently asks “should I call the doctor?” (This actually happened with me).

##Still, reality is that I did choose to do a PhD and now that I am, there is one thing that helps me get my spirits up and keeps me on track –even on my worst days. And that is: I fantasize about my “convocation ceremony”. Even though it is completely inappropriate to already be thinking about it at this stage, it’s sort of fun and strangely motivating to let my thoughts run wild on this while I ride my bike to work. I fantasize about the party, the dinner. About the location and my outfit. But what I probably fantasize about most is the song that I want to have played as I walk back from the stage to the reception room, right after I’ve officially received my PhD. Obviously, it will have to be something appropriate and fitting for the occasion. But in my ceremony-fantasy, I’m thinking of something, well…a little different. To make my academic statement to the world I’m thinking more along the lines of something incredibly cheesy like R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly, I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day, Spread my wings and fly away.” Trust me, just about every song I hear is currently being screened for possible-PhD-ceremony-closing-suitability.

So there you have it. Six things that I felt I needed to confess. Now secretly, I hope I’m not the only weirdo out here who’s struggling with her PhD and all that comes with it. But maybe it is just me. I’m probably just that outlier who feels a bit out of place sometimes and doesn’t really know if all of this is meant for her.

##Either way, there’s one last confession that I have to make. In spite of all the insecurities and the worries and the guilt that I have sometimes, I actually kind of love this job. Because the truth is, most days l have a lot of fun hanging out with my colleagues and scholars, coming up with new ideas, and preparing my lectures. And let’s be honest: what other job lets you stay home to work on the couch in your pajamas when you don’t feel like going out? Or lets you read books all day in the name of ‘work’? Where do you get to have the most unproductive moments and still have everyone say “oh, don’t worry about it, it is all part of the process”? And what other job lets you spend all day chatting with people and even fly across the world for the sole purpose of generating ideas, socializing and building your network? Let’s face it: Doing a PhD may have some downsides but it sure has its perks too!!

My First Dive

First dive, 10 meters (33 feet) depth, and I was ready to explore the underwater world.

However, submerging my body more than a few meters under the ocean kind of freaked me out. Actually it totally freaked me out. What if I can't equalize the pressure in the ears? What if I die? What if my legs go numb and I can't swim any more? And my worst fear of all, what if I get eaten by a shark?! I kept this to myself, and here on this post it finally comes out.

I decided to face my fears in Havelock and what better place to give it a go! Without really thinking, I signed up at Sea Shell Scuba Diving Centre for 2 hour session.

The very next day I was ready to explore the underwater sea. With sore muscles and a body deprived of sleep, I left my hotel at 7 am and reached the Havelock Dive Centre at Sea Shells.

And finally it was time to suit up. That in itself was an experience. And getting on that wetsuit, no matter the size, was no easy feat. I remember tugging and pulling, and stretching and squeezing for what felt like ten minutes. The material made it extra difficult to squeeze into. After I was zipped up to my neck, my fins were on, and the air tank on my back, it was time for the weight belt. OHHH the weight belt. I could hardly walk. Must have added an extra 50 pounds, about half my body weight. How ridiculous! I was told I would basically float in the water without it, so it was obviously necessary for the task.

During those short but precious 30 minutes, I learned how to clear our masks, equalize the pressure in our ears, how to adjust the air in our tubes so we could either sink or rise, the numerous hand signals and when to use them, how to displace water and fog in our mask underwater, and basically, how to be at one with all the sea life we were about to interact with.  I never examined an air tank before, and didn't realize all the tubes attached were so complicated! Or so I thought at first.  It's a pretty challenging contraption for the first timer!

Walking backwards into the water, which is way more difficult than you might think with the wetsuit, fins, air tank, and weight belt, I was finally ready to give diving a go. Curious and frightened at the same time, I made my way into the water, holding onto the instructor’s hand (I just couldn't get used to the 5 foot fins strapped to my feet, I kept falling over).After getting past the small waves crashing onto the shore, we started descending into the water. It was time to equalize my ears, which I surprisingly did pretty well.

And we descended lower, and lower, and lower.

I felt like I was in a different world. An underwater world that was. I was surrounded by more fish than I could count, my eyes unaware of where to look next. I had totally forgotten all about my breathing and equalizing and adjusting my buoyancy level, it all didn't matter any more. (Well, I guess I did alright since I made it back, thankfully my guide was there for the constant check.) Schools of fish swam through us constantly, and I found myself honestly enjoying where I was, meters beyond meters below sea level. Even though my ears hurt like hell at some points, the fascinating colours of the life underwater kept me from signalling to my instructor that I wanted to go back on land.

 There is nothing like breathing underwater. You feel your throat dry up and try blowing air from your nose but you can’t. In the struggle of breathing from your mouth, you can’t help but swallow the salty sea water. And then you make a conscious effort to try and convince yourself to breath from the mouth. My instructor taught me all the basic gear handling techniques and the emergency tips to stay alive in emergency situations. What fascinated me thoroughly was the sound of my own breath underwater – it was hypnotising.

The experience left me feeling serene and mellow. Being submerged under water, with heavy weights pulling you down, I was surprised to note that there was absolutely no gravitational pull, despite the heavy weights and gear I was wearing. You can keep yourself in total control, regardless of what level of water you choose to stay at. All I had to keep in mind was that I had to continuously blow air to neutralise the water pressure but I hadn’t had enough. I wanted to explore the greater depths of the ocean and, on my insistence, my diver decided to take me down a little deeper than usually permissible for a newbie.

Swimming deeper, I suddenly saw the other professional divers waving at me and clicking pics. It was so quiet though, that the only thing I could hear was my own breath. But when I looked around, I was amazed at the infinite lengths of the ocean I could see. Unlike in big cities, where your vision is hindered by numerous obstacles, underwater all I saw was clear-cut beauty. I was in awe of the sheer magnificence of it all and just wanted time to stand still. I wanted to stay there and take it all in until I was rudely interrupted by my cylinder indicating that I was left with low levels of oxygen and so, hesitantly, I swam back up.

P.S.: Vimugdha Premi! Without you, this would not have been possible and I would have regretted it!
I can't thank you as you know. But still thank you for bearing me and my fear.

That was my first dive :)

Hyderabad; EFL University: An Epilogue

It has been more than a month now since I returned from Hyderabad. Oh God! No! I started writing on 16^th August and today its 16^th September. It has literally been two months and it seems that I am still in, what should I say- “Hyderabad Hangover”. You must be wondering, what the hangover is about! Well it is the late night chats, long gossip sessions, jokes that made us roll on the floor laugh, studying in a group with hot cups of coffee and delicious egg puffs that got finished in just two bites, occasional jokes to overcome sleep, songs with a soft melody. Then, of course the wonderful bunch of people who made you feel worthwhile, who added bright colours to the white canvas of your lives, who held your hand when you needed support, who helped you in studies and loads of assignments and above that, the people who just knew (and still know) you better than yourself.

It all started from packing my stuff for Hyderabad on 14^th June when I was in no mood to leave as I returned from a mind boggling trip (Gangtok and Darjeeling). And who wants to study after coming from lap of nature. But because it was an educational trip and I had put hell lot of efforts to get in there, I had not much of an option. And if you choose to lock in to a course and you end up getting the grades needed for a place you would have preferred, you may regret accepting the offer. And I didn’t want to. So I had to go.

When I first landed up in Hyderabad on 16^th June, the place was obviously new and so were the reasons to be here. To come to a new place for a new course (PGCTE- Post Graduate Certificate in Teaching of English) for a month was a whole lot of new affair. We were a group of five and therefore we hired a radio cab for our new destination- The English and Foreign Languages University. The roads were in fairly decent condition. My eyes were glued to the restaurants, being a gourmand I am and especially searched for “Paradise”, famous for its Biryani. Paradise's “Mutton Biryani”. If you are in Hyderabad and you are a non-vegetarian, it would be a crime to miss this! This place serves the best biryani in Hyderabad. And take my word for it, it's awesome! If you like spicy food, when you place the order tell them to make it 'double masala'.

Ok! So not going into that, after an hour, the “golden gates” of EFL University opened. And we entered the campus. It was late night, so I couldn’t see the whole campus and just the Gate No. 3. Guards, being cooperative, directed us to our Girls’ Hostel (“Mahalaqa Bai Chanda”) (I am sure this was the name, as some people called it “Shaka-laka” also :).

We were not allotted rooms by the office, and I was quite happy about this fact (due to some personal reasons) and so acting very smart, I jumped up the place and told the ladies who were allotting the rooms, my preference. And well, that created a problem for me as some people started taunting me for leaving them alone. Well, I ignored it. So, we got our luggage in our rooms. To talk about the rooms, they were quite decent with a “broken” window and thus ventilation was proper (“natural A.C.”). Spacious almiras, table chair (which I never used even once), 2 single beds without “matrices”, shelves – these were all there to occupy the room. We unpacked quite fast, and dozed off.

Next day, almost whole of it was taken up with concerns of preparations for the next one.

And from 18^th June, classes began officially. Having dreamed of this day throughout my post-graduation, it was certainly a very heavenly moment, then no! You are highly mistaken. Indeed, it was not. What a tight schedule! Moreover, my first lecture was not so interesting, which I thought would be great as “Interpretation of Literature” is my favourite. Anyways, we got our schedules of that week, and trust me, it was pretty bad. (9 to 1)- lectures, (2 to 5)-P.T. sessions, which in reality, used to extend up to 6 or 6:30. I mean, what is left after being grilled by the professors. Your day is a total waste. But not to be so negative, I enjoyed every bit of it, (except some things). The punctuality was obligatorily called for and was on top of everybody’s list. We all were accustomed to getting up early in the morning even if going to bed was not in time. Ironing clothes one night before is now not that much a duty as it was two months back. As the two months change tonight, I am looking back into the memories.

New people, new surroundings, new weather, new language, new food- Everything seemed perfect! To talk about weather, it was most of the times pleasant. Grey clouds, rain showers stuck around us.

To talk about people, I met some amazing ones with whom I clicked immediately, and some not so much. Well I had the coolest of all. We had the best of our times. In fact others had the best as I was the subject of their laughter (Be it the ingressive and the glottal trill laughs or “what the hell” thing or that “auto” run). I realize how mean you guys were to me!

  But yes, apart from them, the condition of people around me was bad, actually worse than the worst! It appeared as if they were “struggling for existence” (I don’t know why)! I lived those moments completely when people who are twice your age, or some of your age also were bothered about your grades and studies, instead of theirs. Not only this, sometimes you meet people who are so much concerned about your personal life than you have ever been about yours. And you become a “central” character or the topic of their lives. Well, I was one of those “central” characters. (Pissed!!).

What to write and what to leave! The lectures were going pretty well, or turning the language and a little bit show-off, I can say that I was doing pretty well in the lectures. (Except the fact that I didn’t know, some people had “J”-factor regarding my active participation, though they were equally active. :)

 Mugging up the blocks of the courses (Especially Phonetics, Linguistics, Methods- actually all 7), preparing for PT sessions and the live PT sessions as well, my PT Group( in which I was the youngest, and I took every advantage of that fact), making lesson plans, hostel’s breakfast, lunch and dinner (though I hated it at one point of time as I couldn’t bear South Indian), Sagar’s and Maitri’s coffee and egg puffs, Siddiqi’s Kababs ( I am fortunate enough that I could be there), #deathbychocolate, pizza party and not to forget ( Vowels and Consonants on that empty Pizza box!), local trains, “Hyderabadi lizard” , campus’s dogs and “bitches” and what not, became a part of me for a whole month and it seems they will always be a part of my life. How can I forget the studies in library with my room-mate as something or the other happened in that “quiet room” whenever we were present. Late night gossips while sitting on a “particular bench”, mocking at the jealous people (Some people will get it!!) on the bench, and also getting to know on the last day on that very bench that the people with whom you made fun of others, you were also a subject of that mockery. (“air tree diagrams”) - I still can’t believe it! Serious discussions about future, instant outings are still fresh and in fact, flashing in front of my eyes.

          The office is now a better known place where more people are already seen faces and the work we are doing is going pretty well and seems up to something. But that month is now gone and that is a lesson that re-visits me hard, every now and then. People have gone to their cities and work with their old set of people. So much so sometimes, that Good Morning and Good Night is what you get to say to them. With some, even this is a luxury. Others have ‘newer’ priorities and need to be respected. In all, the fact that friendship has its own limits has dawned upon me and again a bitter-sweet tablet to swallow. That one month in Hyderabad is the most transient in my entire life, given the effects and the time frame involved. I feel the change in myself (intellectually). The credit goes to my company (of people).

I have had a chance of enjoying one of the best companies I ever kept in times to come but at the same time I am sort of ready to accept what it all may turn into.

I miss rushing to class at 9:00, and trying to eat in class without being seen (Well, that I did just once as “some” people offered me something which was irresistible- Badusha). I miss talking to them everyday, and the jokes and the pranks that we did play (on some particular ones). I miss hanging out with my favourite people, talking away to glory, and each telling many a story. Surprisingly, I miss the professors. I miss that carefree life As Bryan Adam says “it cuts like a knife, but no, it doesn't feel so right”.

P.S.: I didn’t mention any names as they will understand themselves. But yes, whatever I penned down is for them and about them!

And the journey moves to Lifeline of Sikkim: Gangtok

And the journey continues….
Our next destination was Gangtok in North Sikkim. The beautiful view of hilly terrains, and the river Teesta –Lifeline of Sikkim, flowing alongside the road took away my breath. Oblivious of her surroundings, unmitigated by the rocks, she was flowing as if she would get late for her “date” with the Brahmaputra. On our way, deep down under we saw her being joined by Rangeet. Two shades of green merging to form a different shade of green. The greens interrupted by the rocks and froth did not reduce her beauty even by a bit. On one side, the river deep in a gorge, taking its own course, on the other, the rocks sniggering at the river in a show of dominance. Was she green in envy? At whom? The mighty Himalayas that fathered her?
Villages came one after the other. The terrain was slowly changing. The breath-taking views continued. Marigolds, sunflowers and many other flowers lead me through the land of Teesta. Lush green paddy fields enjoyed the beauty and adorned her banks.
 After an hour journey, we reached Rangpo post, which is an entry to Sikkim. And also, “travellers may want to purchase their favourite liquor as Sikkim has very little tax on liquor thus making buying bottles cheap. Cheers!”
On the foot hills of the Shivalik ranges, Gangtok welcomes you with its pleasant weather, peaceful roads and drool worthy chicken momos. Chicken momos were one of the reasons why Sikkim was annexed to the Indian union. (Just kidding).  The spotless capital city wins hands down for the cleanliness. By the time we arrived in Gangtok at around 3 pm, the temperature was around 20 degrees. We checked into our rooms at Greendale Residency, had some snacks, and left for sightseeing. We had a quick visit to Ban Jhakri Falls, Flower Exhibition Centre, Do-Drul-Chorten (the most important Stupa in Sikkim) and also an “Art gallery”.
And then came The MG Marg, which is a pedestrian zone and a melting spot where the tourists and the locals mingle. I will describe it as a European road with its cobbled streets, flowers, Victorian street lamps and those ornate benches. The lights make the fountain and the Gandhiji’s statue look magnificent after sunset. We walked into a building off MG Marg, that housed a vegetable market. The cleanliness that we saw outside was missing here. It was like any other vegetable market and the paan stains on the stairs affirmed the fact that order and chaos can exist next to each other.  The buildings in Gangtok were strikingly similar in shape, cuboidal. The easiest job here could be that of an architect, probably.

After this hectic schedule, we had our “pure- vegetarian” dinner at our resort and went to sleep. Overnight, the temperatures dipped to 10 degrees but the hotel staff were very courteous and did everything to make our stay comfortable.


And then came the most awaited morning as covered in winter clothes, caps, gloves we set out for Nathula Pass. It would be a sin if one visits Gangtok and not go to Nathula Pass. Nathula (14200 FT) is just 52 Km from Gangtok but the height mentioned can easily tell you the span it can take to reach there. The roads were narrow. Actually, they barely existed on the JN Marg that connected Nathula to Gangtok. A stretch full of stones and boulders, rubble and dust, dotted with villages and Army establishments. We were on a pathway interrupted by landslides at nature’s whims and fancies. Ravines on the right were so deep that looking into it was enough for your heart to skip not one but a dozen beats. On the left, the mountain walls displayed many textures, patterns and shapes-all signs of human intervention. Work under BRO’s Swastik project was in full swing. Army convoys and JCBs appeared to create traffic jams. The experience of travelling through stunning mountain landscapes and reaching Nathula was awe inspiring. Clouds had decided to shed their beauty and be shapeless. The confused clouds cosily placed themselves next to each other. These are the times when you realize that white and blue are siblings. The sky was painted with not just one, but many hues of blue.
A few km up and we were at about 12600 feet above the sea level. We took a detour from what seemed like a base camp and headed to Baba Harbhajan Sigh’s bunker. The base camp had a Baba Mandir which apparently was built for the convenience of the visitors (“duplicate” as per our driver). The original one and the bunker were about 6km away from here.
We saw her again. The same Kanchenjunga that gleamed in glory two mornings before was at her stunning best. She was trying to shoo away the clouds that tried to mask her beauty. The ravishing beauty, majestic in her demeanour was standing tall to touch the skies. What? Did I just spot snow on the rocks? I grabbed a lump of snow from the rocks. (The only other place I did this was from the refrigerator’s freezer as my luck never favours me at hill stations). From here, we started our journey to a place that mattered much in history, a point on the Old Silk Route- NATHULA.
Through the gate that said “Nathula”, we walked up the 90 stairs and it actually took my breath away (“Literally”). It is no joke to climb those stairs!
 On the right side was a photography prohibited area, a few metres from there was the Indian Army post. We were at a place that looked more like the portico of one of the two buildings. Behind me was a building with the tricolour proudly fluttering, bringing out the Indian in each one of us.
I was standing in front of a building with excess of red, golden pillars and a star on its fore head. I walked close to it and hey! What am I seeing? There is a fence. Err, so that is C-H-I-N-A. That was China! Within minutes, three nattily dressed young Chinese soldiers came close to the fence, one of them smoking and clicking his camera nonstop. He had decided to get pictures of every single young lady on the Indian side. None of our rules apply to him, he is on the other side. Different rules, different time zones, different language, all together a different world. How much can a small fence does?
Soon, the Chinese soldiers shed their initial indifference and started posing for photos with the Indian tourists. How different was it for them than working in two different teams? The soldiers on either side of the fence were ready to pose for photos, but refused to shake hands. A trip to Nathula was never complete without breaking a piece of rock from the memorabilia stone. And boy! that hammer was HEAVY. In the midst of all these photographs, I managed to sneak my hand to the other side of the fence. Yes, I did that. That was touching Chinese soil. What else can give you a high when you are on the border?
 We left the BRO slogans, the Army’s “Hum Hi Jitenge”, “Mera Bharat Mahaan” lines and started our drive down hill to Gangtok. Passing many snow-capped buildings behind us, we were coming down from a high point in our lives. We passed The Tsomgo Lake (also called Changu Lake or Tsomgo Lake) which was calm and beautiful. The Yak owners were shouting to strike a deal to take us for a ride on those animals. Yaks, to my surprise seemed so harmless.
Visibility was almost zilch. Sun suffered from a bout of inferiority complex and hid himself. Our driver seemed undaunted with the zero visibility. The headlights pierced through the darkness. The nonstop horn seemed to show him the road. We were soon in Gangtok for our next round of Chicken momos.

 It would be unfair not to mention those hundreds of smiles I got back for every eye contact that I made, irrespective of gender or age; immensely friendly and pleasant locals bring in a smile on our faces. And here my journey came to an end as to begin another one…HYDERABAD.

Darjeeling : A city steeped in Nature

It has been a long time I have given my writing finesse some favour. So here when I sit down to pen down my thoughts, there is high probability of incoherence between what I perceive and what I express. Walking down the memory lane has been my favourite pastime being the utterly retrograde person I am.
It was about dusk. My flight landed at Bagdogra and the ultimate destination to be reached was Darjeeling. I hired a taxi and after a while, we reached Siliguri and it appeared that Siliguri was about to sleep. Through the chaos of the town, the intermittent stench, and the tea gardens, we started our drive up hill. We had 3 or 4 close shaves with oncoming vehicles, sometimes almost colliding head on. We even saw a motor- scooterist skidding round a bend and falling off his scooter, his cigarette still firmly in his mouth albeit slightly bent! We passed through farms and villages, were held back for half an hour on one of several roads which are sinking due to heavy trucks which would not have been allowed on these roads during the British days. The Himalayan villagers were friendly and warm, still unspoilt by tourism. All the heavy vehicles had the words "Please Horn" painted in primary colours on their backs and all along the way there were notices painted into the sides of the hill reminding drivers to sound their horns. We stopped for tea at Kurseong, Land of the White Orchid.

The narrow roads to the foothills of Shivalik were intertwined all along by railway lines (Darjeeling Himalayan Railway). Roads on the rail or rails on the road? They seemed like a series of “mating serpents”. I was wondering how any train could run on such a narrow gauge. Moreover, it was also very close to the settlements and people were going about their daily activities right on the track, a guy keeping his newly shined shoes to dry on the tracks, one woman cleaning utensils from the stream running adjacent to the track, sitting on it!! So on and so forth, it was as if the tracks were such an integral part of their lives. The roads were typical of any hilly area. Green on either sides, steep curves,streams, rivulets, culverts, ravines and many gorges that seemed endless. I have read too many books regarding Mountains hiding behind the mist, grey sky, invisible valleys, relentless rain, worn out road and it was the reality during my visit in mid-June. The narrow roads were punctuated by villages. The writings on the walls spoke about allegiance to India but separation from West Bengal. Vehicles with GL registration surprised me initially, then I came to terms with a novel form of protest. The blue coloured train just meandered past us joyfully spitting tonnes of smoke.

We were soon in Darjeeling- the “Honermooner's Paradise”. The quaint town discovered by two British agents, with its cobbled streets and bungalows lets you experience remnants of the “Victorian past” and because of my fascination with Victorian Era, it, no doubt, attracted me. The streets in the market take their own turns and go up hill at their whims. Selling mostly winter wear and memorabilia, this market closes way early that one could imagine. Just past 5 and it’s late and dark in Darjeeling. Don’t miss to walk in to a bakery, and especially Glenary and have some “out of the world” pastries and ice creams.
First a little chilly and soon the ice cream gives you a frozen experience. At 8pm, you are left with no option but reach your hotel room and surf channels.
Early in the morning we were off to watch the sunrise at Tiger Hills. Duh! Sunrise, what’s so invigorating about a sunrise, this was my first reaction. A detour from Ghoom railway station takes you uphill to Tiger Hills. 4:15a.m. It’s pitch dark. “You are approached” (No! people, leave your dirty thoughts aside) by women selling coffee/tea at this hour. They trudge all the way uphill to sell coffee /tea to tourists. Give them money for the effort, even more for the tea. A large crowd waiting on the ground and many waiting a level above. All waiting to see a sunrise. From the enclosure(a level above),all you can hear is a crowd singing what seemed like folk songs; you are blinded by the innumerable flashes clicked. Reaching early helped us get a window for a perfect window for the sunrise. But, still I was sure of this exercise being a dull, waste of time created to fool tourists. And, I was wrong as usual. It was indeed stunning! What was more surprising was the crowd ... ocean of people and the cabs parked along the road for KMs ... People were shouting and laughing, smoking and shivering, just to watch golden Mt. K at sunrise. On your right, the sun slowly appears above the horizon. The golden rays slyly sneaking out. The darkness was giving way to many shades of orange. Though unwillingly, the blue sky was accepting the unwelcome golden rays. Within minutes, a glow appears on a mountain range on your left. The Sun beaming in glory on your right, mercilessly outshone by the sheen of the Kanchenjunga on your left. The Kanchenjunga that appeared drab in those black and white pictures in my school Geography text book, was vivid and resplendent here, enjoying every moment of the attention she got. Unfazed by the clouds’ attempts to mask her brilliance, this white beauty’s radiant smile left us in love with her. I was lucky enough to see how it dominates Darjeeling’s horizon as then it disappeared into swirls of mist and cloud for the next six days that I was in Darjeeling and Sikkim. I never saw it again. Apparently, the mountain people say that the mountain chooses who it reveals itself to, so I feel blessed to have seen it at all.
We then decided to check out The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, nicknamed the “Toy Train”. The Darjeeling station and the toy train itself is a work of beauty. Built by the British, it has retained its old world feel and one is transported to the bygone era standing at the station and looking at the steam spewing engines with their quaint coaches. Soon, it was time for our joyride, we took our seats inside the trains, clicked a lot of pics and not only us , all the co-passengers, young & old had turned into children in that train; all the passengers were getting in and out of the train, clicking pics from different angles. When the train started to move, it was such a funny experience, as it was moving at a maximum speed of 10 km per hour!! But it was interesting too, at certain places, the houses and shops were so near to the rail track that I felt that could reach out my hand and grab the stuff displayed on the shop!! The train’s whistling and billowing out white smoke at intervals was such a different experience, we felt transported back to the 1800s!! Chugging slowly, we reached The Batasia Loop.
The Batasia Loop, where the Darjeeling trains take a U turn and the Gurkha Memorial is situated on a hillock that promises a panoramic view of the town.
Isn’t it a sacrilege to miss the visit to a tea estate when in Darjeeling? A foggy morning. A gentle breeze, the golden rays of the sun, a whole valley covered with tea plantations. The leaves are just freshening up, trying to clear the mist on them. The intoxicating aroma of a cup of tea takes your senses to a newer high. The taste is heavenly. The whole experience is suddenly a notch above bliss. We walked for about half an hour or more, past the collection of small houses where the tea workers live and out into the tea gardens. At that elevation we could see for miles, and we were completely surrounded by carefully trimmed tea bushes growing in a luxuriant pattern. From a distance, a tea garden looks like a thick deep green carpet. The air was fresh and clean and the atmosphere calm, sunny and very happy indeed.
We had a very quick visit to the Darjeeling zoo as we did not expect much there and plus I had been to many “zoos”.  The famous 45 minutes rope-way was in disuse after an accident some years back, we were told. So, now I was more enthusiastic about the ropeway. And thank God, I didn’t miss it. The beauty of the tea plantations, the perfect weather would have got missed, had I cancelled the visit.
During my stay there, I was just disappointed for not able to get good pictures. Be it the erratic rain or the slovenly grey sky, pictures looked dull. But obviously that doesn’t matter at all (“or may be to some extent”) as the journey was an indelible one- the one, which I never wanted to end. I had a busy two-and-half days in Darjeeling, but still had lots of time to relax in my fireplace heated room and on the breath taking terraces of my hotel, to shop for tea, to walk the mall and to drink tea, of course. From Darjeeling, I went to Sikkim … But that’s another entry for another day…

Women: A Question of Identity

 One of the basic tenets of metaphysics holds that the soul does not differentiate between man and woman and so both are essentially the same. The Rigveda visualizes society as a Virat Purusha and out of his limb came out man and woman in whom there is no difference. (The Rigaveda, 10.90). In the Brihadaranyak Upanishad, it is said that God wished to appear in two forms as Man and Woman, as the two forms were conjoint in him. Accordingly, he separated the two and they turned into husband and wife (Brihadaranyak Upanishad1.4.3). Similarly it has been propounded in Subalopnishad that in the beginning of the creation, Prajapati created from half of his own form, the Man, and from the other self, the woman. (Section 2). In Shatapath Brahaman, woman has been designated as ardhangini (5.2.1.10.) .She has been considered to be born from the left side (not part) of the atmatattva (soul). That is why, she has been called vamananga.

This Metaphysical view prevailed in the remote past when woman was looked upon with reverence. But with the passage of time woman’s location in society was reversed. Now woman’s location in, and experience of, most situations is different from that of man; woman’s location in most situations is not only different but is less privileged than or unequal to that of man; woman is oppressed, restrained, subordinated, moulded, used and abused by man.

The simple reason is the traditional role of a man who has been unjustly considered the only earning member for running the family. Yesterday I was having a conversation with one of my “intellectual” friends or you can say I thought him to be intellectual. As when discussing women, his words were “ Oh! Women are just so dependent on men for everything”. And then it made me think Why Women are considered as a “lack”.

How can one forget the role of a woman how, in spite of all prejudices, she used to shoulder the responsibilities as grandmother, mother, daughter, sister and wife. And she still does. All the women around me or at least the women I look up to have a lot in common – they have successful careers, they are married, they are mothers, and they are involved in their communities. Looking back, I don’t know how they did it and how they do.  Some days I come home and honestly am grateful that the only person I really have to cater to is myself. It sounds selfish but it’s true. Yesterday, I started my day at 8:45 AM, after 3.5 hours of sleep, and after just managing to get in a workout at 3 PM, I didn’t get home till 11 PM. Most days aren’t like this but then I think of my mother who while married and working, obtained all her education to the PhD level, and raised two kids, managed her family and still managing, I feel a little put to shame. HOW DID YOU DO IT MOTHER? I WANT TO KNOW THE SECRET! So now the question lies: How are women and men not equal? Where is woman a lack when she holds all the responsibilities?

Being conscious of this role of woman, Vivekananda says that nowhere in the world are women like those of India. How pure, independent, self-relying, and kind hearted! It is the woman who is the life and soul of this country. All learning and culture are centred in them. It is the Goddess of Fortune herself. But these women are denied liberty.

They need liberty; they need to be educated; they need to work outside family matrix to develop society. In fact Vivekananda wanted to transform housewives into working women to develop society world. This change is conspicuously visible in society. Women have started working in a highly commercialized technological sense and are contributing to the expenses of running their homes as well. The numbers of women with multiple role responsibilities, such as wife, mother and paid worker, is on the rise. They find the outside world challenging and attractive. They like the freedom it brings to them. They are educated and often have their careers well before they get married and it is their right to enter this profession world.

But before them, there is a challenge also, the challenge of Home, the home of harmony. There is no ready made solution for them. However, a reference point can be taken from Wordsworth’s “To a Skylark” whose “heart and eye’ remain with her ‘nest upon the dewy ground’, while her ‘wings aspire’. But this is not a final prescription for women as the women have to face multi-layer challenges. Nobody shall come for their liberation. It is through self analysis and self- understanding and through vigilance and courage, they need to watch if their home is suffering from maladjustment; if their home is missing them; if they need identity in a highly technological sense; if they need identity in the context of family matrix; if there are chances of betterment; if there is a need to have a complete overhauling.  How smoothly these hard issues can be liquefied if the society reverses its thinking !

Perspectivizing Aesthetics of Literature

A reader, while studying a text, feels thrilled, transported, at varying intervals. This experience involves two things: the first is  beauty caused by the creative use of language, known as aesthetic beauty  and the second is pleasure caused by the beauty known as aesthetic pleasure which is  experienced by the  reader. The reader experiences this pleasure in two ways – haphazardly as a layman has it and methodically as a trained man does. The former has its worth as vague or even confused while the latter remains accounted for. It is the latter mode which requires aesthetic  tools to analyze and relish literature.

Some scholars hold that to relish literature, there is no need of aesthetic tools.  They raise  inevitable questions like : why cannot we enjoy a piece of literature? Why must we spoil the fun by criticizing? Such scholars are of the opinion that the aesthetic tools hamper aesthetic experience because the reader is lost in a mechanical enquiry. This objection, no doubt, has a logic for one who is not a trained reader  or who is not used to applying such tools to a literary piece. But for a trained reader this objection has no value because for him such an application to a piece of literature is not a mechanical task but an assimilative act of reading and enjoying that piece of literature.

 Furthermore, to answer the inevitable questions, raised above, Peter Berry says that the enjoyment of literary art, no doubt,  is simple but  the greatest enjoyment of literary art is never simple. For the latter we need to have critical tools.  Perhaps T S Eliot had this notion in his mind when he said “ that criticism is as inevitable as breathing”, and we should be none the worse for articulating what passes in our minds when we read a book and feel an emotion about it. Nothing  replaces the reader’s initial felt responses: the sound of poetry on both the outer and inner ear; the visions of fiction in the mind’s eye; the kinesthetic assault of “total theatre.” But human responses seldom remain dead level: they reverberate through multiple planes of sensibility, impelled towards articulation—in short towards criticism. It may be subjective  as well as objective (critical). For the  fullest appreciation of literature,  we need to have critical tools. Their  knowledge is not a deterrent to the enjoyment of literature. On the contrary the application of such tools can enhance the pleasure that the common reader can derive from a piece of literature.

Let us illustrate the argument with an analogy. Think of the premier shows in which mostly   the actors and the artists of cinema are the audience. They are  thoroughly informed on the history of moviemaking; they know both classic and contemporary films; they understand the technical operations of the cinema and its myriad effects; they are familiar with acting styles, past and present. While watching a    movies, they  receive the same impressions on the level of  sense experience,  as the other audience. But because of their special knowledge, they comprehend what they witness. Their knowledge does not dim their pleasure; it does not nullify any pre-critical or amateur response. 

There is one more pause in relation to the use of theory. The scholars hold that  a marked awareness of theory  took place  during the last quarter of the twentieth century when the writers, critics, linguists, philosophers, and stylisticians all had become conscious of the role of theory. The result came in the form of  formalism, new criticism, stylistics, structuralism, post structuralism, ,deconstruction, discourse analysis, semiotics and dialogic criticism. In a word, according to them, it was   the high-water mark of theories.  To them now it is over with the titles like After Theory (Thomas Docherty, 1990), ‘Post Theory’ (Nicholas Tredell, in The Critical Decade, 1993).  They  hold that that ‘the moment of theory’ is over. And so there is no need  of talking about theory. But the present academic scenario both in the east and the  west seem to unfold the fact. No doubt the ‘moment of theory’  is but the ‘hour of theory’ has come as  theory has become a part of curriculum. Now it is not the business of minority rather it has become the business of majority of people to learn and teach theory. So without any pause the use of theory is  relevant and would be so in future  as it has been in the past.

Today there are number of names used for this genre of literature. By  the  students of literature, aesthetics is taken to be as literary criticism  poetics, literary theory, critical approach etc..  Sometimes they, due to ignorance, confuse the terms with one another and they tend to use these terms interchangeably. In fact, aesthetics, poetics, literary criticism,  literary theory, approach etc  are not synonymous , though there  is relationship among them. They can be understood on the basis of their range.

Poetics is the  legislative criticism or art of writing poetry or the study of linguistic technique in poetry or literature. It is a form of critical endeavour which lays down rules for the art of writing, largely based on standard works of literature.  It is  related to the possibilities of the creative use of language at different levels  of a literary text. Its  range is restricted to a text or an author. Elizabethan criticism, except Philip Sidney, and a large part of 18^th c criticism are of this order.

As far as literary theory is concerned, it is aesthetical criticism or  philosophy of literature which probes the nature of art in general and literature in particular. It does many things apart from helping the reader to reach at the meaning of a text. It is a set of broad assumptions about literature and function of criticism. The range of  literary theory is very wide which includes many subtle questions such as how a work of art is produced, how it ought to be read. What are the conditions in which the meaning is produced? How does a work of art mean what it means? What effects does a work of art produce in the mind of the reader? Does the subjectivity of the reader contribute to the meaning of art? Is meaning an objective reality? Who is a poet? Who is a reader? Is there any relationship of the poet belated with the precursor  poet? Is there any relationship between the writer and the  reader? It  includes  function of literature, poet’s nature and  experience of reader, relationship between the reader and the poet. Its range  is very wide which includes metaphysical, psychological, epistemic, logical and critical points of view.  Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, Coleridge, Walter Pater, Oscar Wilde, I A Richards and others belong to this order.

Critical approach is related to descriptive criticism which concerned with methodology or with the varying ways in which art of literature or works of literature can be profitably discussed. It is a study of individual writers and their works , their aims, methods and effects. Ben Jonson and Wordsworth belong to this order. Much of English criticism is of this nature.    

Aesthetics means science and philosophy of fine arts. The problem of aesthetics  includes two aspects of fine arts-- the technique of fine arts and  the theory or  philosophy or theory of fine arts. The  technical point of view of the problem of aestheticism is  related to the possibilities of the creative use of language at different levels  of a literary text. Its  range is restricted to a text or an author. The philosophy or theory  of fine art, involved  in the function of literature, in poet’s nature and in the experience of aesthetic pleasure of reader/spectator,  is the theoretical side of  aesthetics. Its range  is very wide which includes metaphysical, psychological, epistemic, logical and critical points of view. In the West the  hedonistic,  moralistic or pedagogic and  philosophical theories  represent the study of the problem from the point of view of the end of art;  the theories of  imitation, illusion, and idealized representation  represent a study from the point of view of the artist; and  the theories of confused cognition, inference and mysticism represent a study of the problem from the point of view of the reader/spectator/aesthete.

In Sanskrit, the most common name  for poetics is alaṁkāra śāstra. Here the keyword is alaṁkāra which, with the first constituent alam, is to be understood on the authority of Agnipuraṇa as a synonym of the brahma. When we say  that a piece of fine art is alaṁkṛt, we mean that it is informed of the (cognition potential of) the brahma. Three have been attempts to displace the word alaṁkāra from the seminality of poetics due to its limitations imposed on it by the word decoration or poetic figure.

Another important name used of Indian poetics is kāvyaśastra, which like mimaṁsā, (which is the science of the Vedic sentence)is the science of the poetic or literary sentence (text). Here kāvya is poetic sentence or poetry or literature and sāstra is science of this sentence. It was Bhamaha who first used the word kāvya and accordingly the name kāvyaśāstra for Indian poetics was used. Poetic sentence  is a flow whose source is  the writer and whose sink is the reader. In the benedictory of  his Locana on Ananadavardhana’s Dhvanyāloka , Abhinavagupta puts this in the following way:”The duo of the poet and the receiver constitutes the unit of the itness of Saraswati.” 

There is yet another popular  name for Indian poetics used is saundaryasāstra. It has its interesting journey. Vāmana was first to use saundarya (beauty) for alaṁkāra in his Kāvyālaṁkārasūtra. Later Abhinavgupta used the words sunder and sundarya in his descriptions of poetry in his Locana on the Dhvanyāloka. Thereafter Kuntaka used the word camatakara in the sense of  beauty.  Then after a long gap  the sūtra, satyam (the truth), śivam (the good) sundaram (the beautiful) was used in the world of art and literature in 18^th century. This was the central sutra of  English  Romanticism. The followers of Brahmo Samaj were influenced by English Romantics.  According to Kavi Gulab Rai this sutra was first used by Raja Rama Mohan Rai , the founder of Brahmo Samaj and later it was used  by Devendranath Tagore.

Simultaneously in 18^th Baumgarten used  the word aesthetics, borrowing from Greek, in his doctorate thesis for the first time as the name of a special science. From the Hegelian point of view it means “Philosophy of fine arts” From popular use of the word it seems to mean a theory of beautiful in general, whether in art or nature. Perhaps because of this development  there was good chance for saundarya sāstra, which would correspond to the western name aesthetics, for Sanskrit poetics.

Let me explain aesthetics in a layman’s words. A particular language constitutes the bodily form of poetry, the I-ness of poetry being free from this exterior just as the I-ness of life (ātmān) is free from this exterior physicality of the bodily form (śarīra). This I-ness of poetry is the sense of wonder, a special experience of pleasure. This pleasure is called brahma in Vedanta and by various other names in various other Indian systems of philosophy.  Here it is noteworthy that this variformity of the naming process is not in contradiction to mutual identity while being in oppositional compatibility. That is why in Indian context the school of fine arts are known as : i)Rasa-Brahma-vāda (school dealing with the experience of absolute in literature)ii). Nād-Brahma-vāda(school dealing with the experience of absolute in music. iii) Vastu-Brahma-vāda(school dealing with the experience of absolute in architecture). This I-ness can further be understood as rasagatasaundarya  (experience caused by aesthetic sentiment)  alaṁkāragatasaundarya (experience caused by figures), rītigatasaundarya (experience caused by style), dhvanigatasaundarya (experience caused by suggestion), vakroktigatasaundarya (experience caused by oblique expression) and aucityagatasaundarya (experience caused by propriety). Accordingly they are different theories, the theory of   rasa  (aesthetic sentiment)  the theory of alaṁkāra (figures), the theory of rīti (style), the theory of dhvani (suggestion), the theory of vakrokti (oblique expression) and the theory of aucitya (propriety). 

Keeping all this  account in view we should use aesthetic tools  to analyze and relish literature. The richness of great literature merits correspondingly rich responses—responses that may be reasoned as well as felt. Corollary to  this conviction is our belief that such responses come best when the reader appreciates a great work at various levels of linguistic turns and  from as many  perspective as it legitimately opens itself to. And  it all requires aesthetic tools.

 Here is one precaution  regarding the use of  critical tools. The critical tools are not the final mapping to make an assessment of a piece of literature. They are just reference points which we can modify, in which we can deletion and addition in accordance with the form of the text. No doubt, we have theories to make an assessment of a piece of literature written in any language. But we do not have modern terminology. So for a successful application we have to be little careful about the modern terminology.  applied  Let me explain it in other way. In life there are  always  three models that operate in one way or the other at varying intervals: the first is  the ideal model of things which tells how the things ought to  be; the second is the existing model of things which tells how the things are /were; and the third model is  the functional model of things  which tells how the things  are said or thought to be. Now the question is: Where do these models come from? The first model comes from our Shastras/Dharma and this model works as a reference point. The second comes from our life in action which is put to test of the ideal model and the third is a proposed model to be used. Among these three models, the model given by the Shastras/Dharma  is very important because it is a reference point. But it should be remembered that this ideal model is not to be followed as such. It is just to facilitate us for modifying our existing model of life. If the  modified/existing model does not work properly, it is not the fault of the ideal model. The fault lies with those who fail to visualize the spirit of the ideal model, who fail to visualize time, the circumstances in which the modified model was to be used. What is needed is the recognition that its interpretation is not to be done using a dictionary alone, we need to apply our minds and try to understand what our aestheticians mean. The debate between the scholars  for and against the use of theory  will then be revealed to be artificial and inconsequential.