Enya's popularity, in the 90's, and continuing appeal today, among those nostalgic 30-40 year olds, rests on one fact: human beings love repetition. All her songs sound exactly alike, they have the same beat, and the same "garblish" quality in the lyrics: the listener can make out one sentence or two in the song, and these keep repeating themselves with mild variations over and over again, and the rest of it sounds exotic because nobody knows what the heck is being sung. The rest of it even sounds like it could be some exotic foreign language, but not as foreign as say, Arabic, not the kind of foreign that you can pin down and say, Aha, that's French, but foreign, like Celtic, which nobody (that I know of, anyway) knows or has heard, but it's a language that one would LIKE to know or at least pretend that one has heard, because it is just so well, exotic. It evokes carefully crafted scenes of blue seas crashing against Irish coasts with long haired maidens in gowns singing (the "garblish" sections of Enya's songs) like mermaids on the afore-mentioned coasts. But the English sections appease us because we feel a connectedness, because of our understanding of the two sentences, to this Hollywood scene.
Add to that a boom-boom-boom beat and some polyphonies, and there. That's Enya.
Here are the 3 songs that I like of Enya's, and which probably are her most famous:
a) Orinoco Flow
b) Only if
c) May it be from the Lord of the Rings
OKay?
These are the ones that sound kind of new and original.
Now take ANY other song of hers, and every one of them will fit into one of the molds above.
Go on. Try it!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Escapes from Motherhood
There are times I am happy being a mother. These are the times when the kid's playing happily and noisily or staring enraptured at something he's never seen before, the times when he snuggles into me and makes happy sounds, the times he giggles loudly and the times he demands to be with me by calling, "mma mma mmmma", crawls towards me and raises his hands to be carried.
Then there are times when he refuses to sleep at night, refuses to eat but keeps getting crankier and crankier, demands to be carried all the time and when carried, bites into my shoulder, grabs at my spectacles and throws them down, yanks my hair and tries to put his fingers into my nose. During these times, I feel a longing, a deep yearning, to return to my pre-motherhood days.
Depending on my mood, I transport myself back in time to different periods. Sometimes, I go back to my pregnancy days, when I'd eat loads of caramel ice cream and watch Topgear on TV. Other times, I go back to the lab at midnight. There's something so peaceful about working hard in a laboratory when there's absolutely no other sound except for the clink of the pipettes, the whoosh of the hood blower and the soft whir of a centrifuge. In fact, working in lab at night is something I miss very much. These days, I'm lucky if I can stay back till 6pm.
When I am irritated with the kid AND his father, I become 24 again, with a suitcase in my hand, boarding the plane to India to make my first trip back home. In my imaginings, I throw some clothes in my backpack, take the 28X bus to the airport and whoosh! I'm away! Far from the madding crowds, husband and baby!
In my mind, my ancestral home (my dad would laugh to hear it being described as such. But it was built about 50 years ago and it was the place where all of us cousins grew up, so it's ancestral enough for me) in Bangalore is the best of all havens. It is solid and safe and there I can be a girl again and not a mom. I recall my cousin Aditya, and my niece and nephew, Manu and Madhav, as babies and as toddlers and as teenagers in that house. In my mind, once I get to the house in Bangalore, my mother and grandmother and aunts will take care of everything, including the kid, while I gossip, eat enormous meals laden with ghee and with fried vadams, and take many naps, getting up only to go shopping. Bliss!
Then there are times when he refuses to sleep at night, refuses to eat but keeps getting crankier and crankier, demands to be carried all the time and when carried, bites into my shoulder, grabs at my spectacles and throws them down, yanks my hair and tries to put his fingers into my nose. During these times, I feel a longing, a deep yearning, to return to my pre-motherhood days.
Depending on my mood, I transport myself back in time to different periods. Sometimes, I go back to my pregnancy days, when I'd eat loads of caramel ice cream and watch Topgear on TV. Other times, I go back to the lab at midnight. There's something so peaceful about working hard in a laboratory when there's absolutely no other sound except for the clink of the pipettes, the whoosh of the hood blower and the soft whir of a centrifuge. In fact, working in lab at night is something I miss very much. These days, I'm lucky if I can stay back till 6pm.
When I am irritated with the kid AND his father, I become 24 again, with a suitcase in my hand, boarding the plane to India to make my first trip back home. In my imaginings, I throw some clothes in my backpack, take the 28X bus to the airport and whoosh! I'm away! Far from the madding crowds, husband and baby!
In my mind, my ancestral home (my dad would laugh to hear it being described as such. But it was built about 50 years ago and it was the place where all of us cousins grew up, so it's ancestral enough for me) in Bangalore is the best of all havens. It is solid and safe and there I can be a girl again and not a mom. I recall my cousin Aditya, and my niece and nephew, Manu and Madhav, as babies and as toddlers and as teenagers in that house. In my mind, once I get to the house in Bangalore, my mother and grandmother and aunts will take care of everything, including the kid, while I gossip, eat enormous meals laden with ghee and with fried vadams, and take many naps, getting up only to go shopping. Bliss!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Daycare/School thoughts
The time has come. Almost too soon, I think. The boy is only 8 months old and already I have to start thinking about school. Unbelievable.
[I should point out here that by "school", I mean day care. In my mind, "school" is any place that kids go to outside of home, for a few hours, on a regular basis and where they learn something. Thought I would make that clear before you exacting readers protest at my usage of "school", instead of "day care"- tis all the same, see? ]
Like any over-protective mother, I have some criteria for my boy's school:
a) There must be no exams or tests or anything ridiculous like that.
b) There must be no TV
c) There must be nap-time, preferably with music in the background.
d) There must be a small number of kids per class, so that my boy gets the attention that he needs. And the teacher must RUN (no dawdling about it) to rub and kiss his head/knee/elbow as soon as he hurts it. LOL this list is making me laugh. But I'm serious, mind you!
e) Nobody should laugh at the boy when he unpacks his "puliyogare-thair sadam", while they eat their meat-filled "macaroni and cheese".
f) Nobody should make fun of his name and call him Annie, instead of Ani.
g) He should be allowed to play in the mud and the rain.
h) Nobody should be allowed to bully him, my little ladla beta!
Jeez... this list shows that I am no better than any other besotted mother in the world. How lowering! I thought I was far more advanced... apparently not.
Anyway, I have 3 options in mind: Waldorf School of Pittsburgh, Jewish Community Center and the University of Pittsburgh Daycare.
Waldorf, I read about in the New York Times. The picture that accompanied the article showed a bunch of kids tramping about in the mud, collecting stones or flowers or frogs or whatever caught their fancy. And that caught MY fancy. What fun those kids seemed to be having!
My own kindergarten years were in Mt.Carmel school in Bangalore and it was a right old nightmare. There was no playground- only the road. We would have to run to the side of the road any time there was any traffic. And the teachers would cane us (not the "lift your skirts and show me your bum" kind of caning, but the "show me your palms/knees/shoulders/head and I'll strike it with a ruler" kind of caning). Nobody's gonna cane my kid.
Whatever I've read and seen about Waldorf, Pittsburgh, I like very much. It ranks #1 on my list right now. However, it is beginning to feel a bit uppity. Their admissions form for their Little Friends Program (for 18 month-4y kids) has questions like "How was the pregnancy?", "Where was the delivery?", "Was your child breastfed?" Okay, how does it matter? I understand that the teachers/care-givers have to know if there were complications to the child's health at birth or later, but shouldn't they just ask that directly? Why this roundabout manner?
Jewish Community Center of Pittsburgh features on the list because I have a secret desire to turn the little chap into a rabbi..... I'm kidding, dudes! Yes, there is a Jewish madrassa right opposite my house, but I'm not that brain-washed. Yet.
The JCC is very close to my house and they seem really good, very concerned about child care etc. I had a good feeling when I checked out their facility: lot's of happy little kiddies, singing and playing. The only negative thing to this is that kids can't play in a garden or among trees or such, because the JCC is in the heart of the city. Only concrete jungles everywhere.
And finally, the University of Pittsburgh Early Childhood Program- easily, the best daycare choice for Pitt employees, faculty and students... BUT they have a wait list that is 2 years long. The little chap will be 3 years old before there will be a spot for him. So it stays on the bottom of my list for now.
February is the deadline for applications to the first two programs. I can't believe the kiddo's old enough for this stuff. My little chammathu kutti! Grown up already! With 4 little teeth and a killer crawl! Okay Varsh, control yourself.
[I should point out here that by "school", I mean day care. In my mind, "school" is any place that kids go to outside of home, for a few hours, on a regular basis and where they learn something. Thought I would make that clear before you exacting readers protest at my usage of "school", instead of "day care"- tis all the same, see? ]
Like any over-protective mother, I have some criteria for my boy's school:
a) There must be no exams or tests or anything ridiculous like that.
b) There must be no TV
c) There must be nap-time, preferably with music in the background.
d) There must be a small number of kids per class, so that my boy gets the attention that he needs. And the teacher must RUN (no dawdling about it) to rub and kiss his head/knee/elbow as soon as he hurts it. LOL this list is making me laugh. But I'm serious, mind you!
e) Nobody should laugh at the boy when he unpacks his "puliyogare-thair sadam", while they eat their meat-filled "macaroni and cheese".
f) Nobody should make fun of his name and call him Annie, instead of Ani.
g) He should be allowed to play in the mud and the rain.
h) Nobody should be allowed to bully him, my little ladla beta!
Jeez... this list shows that I am no better than any other besotted mother in the world. How lowering! I thought I was far more advanced... apparently not.
Anyway, I have 3 options in mind: Waldorf School of Pittsburgh, Jewish Community Center and the University of Pittsburgh Daycare.
Waldorf, I read about in the New York Times. The picture that accompanied the article showed a bunch of kids tramping about in the mud, collecting stones or flowers or frogs or whatever caught their fancy. And that caught MY fancy. What fun those kids seemed to be having!
My own kindergarten years were in Mt.Carmel school in Bangalore and it was a right old nightmare. There was no playground- only the road. We would have to run to the side of the road any time there was any traffic. And the teachers would cane us (not the "lift your skirts and show me your bum" kind of caning, but the "show me your palms/knees/shoulders/head and I'll strike it with a ruler" kind of caning). Nobody's gonna cane my kid.
Whatever I've read and seen about Waldorf, Pittsburgh, I like very much. It ranks #1 on my list right now. However, it is beginning to feel a bit uppity. Their admissions form for their Little Friends Program (for 18 month-4y kids) has questions like "How was the pregnancy?", "Where was the delivery?", "Was your child breastfed?" Okay, how does it matter? I understand that the teachers/care-givers have to know if there were complications to the child's health at birth or later, but shouldn't they just ask that directly? Why this roundabout manner?
Jewish Community Center of Pittsburgh features on the list because I have a secret desire to turn the little chap into a rabbi..... I'm kidding, dudes! Yes, there is a Jewish madrassa right opposite my house, but I'm not that brain-washed. Yet.
The JCC is very close to my house and they seem really good, very concerned about child care etc. I had a good feeling when I checked out their facility: lot's of happy little kiddies, singing and playing. The only negative thing to this is that kids can't play in a garden or among trees or such, because the JCC is in the heart of the city. Only concrete jungles everywhere.
And finally, the University of Pittsburgh Early Childhood Program- easily, the best daycare choice for Pitt employees, faculty and students... BUT they have a wait list that is 2 years long. The little chap will be 3 years old before there will be a spot for him. So it stays on the bottom of my list for now.
February is the deadline for applications to the first two programs. I can't believe the kiddo's old enough for this stuff. My little chammathu kutti! Grown up already! With 4 little teeth and a killer crawl! Okay Varsh, control yourself.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Perceptions
Sometimes, life is so busy, so full of little things that all add up, that I forget about things that make me happy and grounded. Mostly, life gets that way because I let it. A chance remark by somebody, a declaration by someone else, makes me think that I ought to be the way these other people are. Instead of thinking about how my life, as it is currently, makes me happy, I think about what I ought to be doing to try to achieve some ideal. That ideal is never reached and I begin to feel like a failure.
It's all in the perception.
The truth of this statement is becoming clear to me slowly. If my goal is to have a house that is spic and span and never dirty or cluttered, then I am never going to be happy, because that state is impossible to achieve. "Spic and Span", "Dirty", "Cluttered" are words that are entirely subjective. So, no matter how clean the house actually may be, it will never live up to the fantasy that I have built up in my head. Instead, if I were to focus on objective, measurable, achievable goals, such as "I must have a clean towel after a bath every day", or "I must have clean utensils to cook in", then immediately housework becomes scalable. More importantly, there is a feeling that housework is DONE.
A month or so ago, I was complaining that my list of things to do never got shorter. As soon as I finished things, there would be others to take its place. With my new epiphany, I have consciously begun to shorten this list. Does the laundry HAVE to be done today? Nope, we have clothes to last us another week. Does the floor HAVE to be swept and mopped today? Nope, let me just remove the big, visible dirty stuff that the baby won't shove into his mouth.
All of a sudden, I have time! Time to read, time to bake, time to play with my baby and time to stare into space. And I have space! Space to breathe slowly, to walk slowly and to think that I ought to call my friends and see what they're up to.
This method has worked so well that I am trying to adapt it to my work. What is the bare minimum to do to get an answer? Do that first. Then, what is the bare minimum to do to confirm this answer? Do that next. Suddenly, I have chopped down my list of experiments from a couple of pages, to about 3. Sure, the experiments listed probably will be done at some point of time. But in my head, since I perceive their importance differently, there is suddenly more space. My head is no longer cluttered with lists and lists.
So. Lessons learned: do things that make your mind uncluttered. If you perceive something as lessening your happiness, don't do it. Change your perception about it.
I feel empowered.
It's all in the perception.
The truth of this statement is becoming clear to me slowly. If my goal is to have a house that is spic and span and never dirty or cluttered, then I am never going to be happy, because that state is impossible to achieve. "Spic and Span", "Dirty", "Cluttered" are words that are entirely subjective. So, no matter how clean the house actually may be, it will never live up to the fantasy that I have built up in my head. Instead, if I were to focus on objective, measurable, achievable goals, such as "I must have a clean towel after a bath every day", or "I must have clean utensils to cook in", then immediately housework becomes scalable. More importantly, there is a feeling that housework is DONE.
A month or so ago, I was complaining that my list of things to do never got shorter. As soon as I finished things, there would be others to take its place. With my new epiphany, I have consciously begun to shorten this list. Does the laundry HAVE to be done today? Nope, we have clothes to last us another week. Does the floor HAVE to be swept and mopped today? Nope, let me just remove the big, visible dirty stuff that the baby won't shove into his mouth.
All of a sudden, I have time! Time to read, time to bake, time to play with my baby and time to stare into space. And I have space! Space to breathe slowly, to walk slowly and to think that I ought to call my friends and see what they're up to.
This method has worked so well that I am trying to adapt it to my work. What is the bare minimum to do to get an answer? Do that first. Then, what is the bare minimum to do to confirm this answer? Do that next. Suddenly, I have chopped down my list of experiments from a couple of pages, to about 3. Sure, the experiments listed probably will be done at some point of time. But in my head, since I perceive their importance differently, there is suddenly more space. My head is no longer cluttered with lists and lists.
So. Lessons learned: do things that make your mind uncluttered. If you perceive something as lessening your happiness, don't do it. Change your perception about it.
I feel empowered.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Annual Retreats
Another year, another poster presentation and another disappointment at not having won anything.
I understand that this department can't give me a prize because I don't technically belong to it. But I really don't understand why they force me to participate, raise my hopes and then dash them to the ground every year.
Fine. Keep your stupid money, people.
Projects that will always get awarded: vaccine work/ work on therapeutic drugs, even though each of them may be more cytotoxic than not (and they will be awarded despite the fact there's data on the poster showing that they are cytotoxic). Basic research on vaccines and therapeutics is a) repetitive and b) totally random in the case of drugs- you pick a drug from a million screens, and you hope it will work. Vaccine design, at least, has some elegance to it.
Projects that will always be second best: work on host restriction factors. Host restriction factors, in my mind, are so beautiful. They build such a lovely story of the evolving immune system, of the ever-present combat between microbes and the immune cells, of adaptability of systems and of nature, as a whole. Of course, I am biased.
Projects that judges will always shy away from: mine :(
Thus, I wallow in self pity.
My project is on something people discovered 24 years ago, have figured out a lot of things about, but cannot figure out exactly what it is. After 24 years of ifs, buts and maybes, nobody wants to touch the stuff any more.
Hey. Writing this up has suddenly given me some insight into myself: maybe the reason I've been so wary of doing basic science in the future is because of my PhD project. If I were to pick a project in the future, I would not pick one that is so nebulous, so prone to variation between humans, between systems and between cells. Because when something is that wishy washy, you stop believing in it.
Somehow, I have to finish up this PhD. Then, I need to do something that will give me some results within a reasonable period of time and with reasonable amounts of energy. Something that works beautifully and consistently. Because this project is slowly draining me out of all my optimism and love for science and research. Because I know that it is time to call it quits, wrap it up, dust my hands and say, "Enough".
I understand that this department can't give me a prize because I don't technically belong to it. But I really don't understand why they force me to participate, raise my hopes and then dash them to the ground every year.
Fine. Keep your stupid money, people.
Projects that will always get awarded: vaccine work/ work on therapeutic drugs, even though each of them may be more cytotoxic than not (and they will be awarded despite the fact there's data on the poster showing that they are cytotoxic). Basic research on vaccines and therapeutics is a) repetitive and b) totally random in the case of drugs- you pick a drug from a million screens, and you hope it will work. Vaccine design, at least, has some elegance to it.
Projects that will always be second best: work on host restriction factors. Host restriction factors, in my mind, are so beautiful. They build such a lovely story of the evolving immune system, of the ever-present combat between microbes and the immune cells, of adaptability of systems and of nature, as a whole. Of course, I am biased.
Projects that judges will always shy away from: mine :(
Thus, I wallow in self pity.
My project is on something people discovered 24 years ago, have figured out a lot of things about, but cannot figure out exactly what it is. After 24 years of ifs, buts and maybes, nobody wants to touch the stuff any more.
Hey. Writing this up has suddenly given me some insight into myself: maybe the reason I've been so wary of doing basic science in the future is because of my PhD project. If I were to pick a project in the future, I would not pick one that is so nebulous, so prone to variation between humans, between systems and between cells. Because when something is that wishy washy, you stop believing in it.
Somehow, I have to finish up this PhD. Then, I need to do something that will give me some results within a reasonable period of time and with reasonable amounts of energy. Something that works beautifully and consistently. Because this project is slowly draining me out of all my optimism and love for science and research. Because I know that it is time to call it quits, wrap it up, dust my hands and say, "Enough".
Buried Deep Within
We had our first organized lab clean-up in.... wait, can you take a guess as to how many days/months/years? Hmm... one semester?? NO! One year?? (Not a bad guess given that we have an annual lab inspection and we have passed it every year).... NO! First time since I have joined the lab, which was 4 years ago?? NO!
Okay, this could go on forever. I'll give you the answer:
It was the first time EVER!!! In, give or take a decade, 3 DECADES!!
Guess what we unearthed?
-->Bags of cotton autoclaved in 1990- with the autoclave tape slowly crumbling to dust and the cotton getting the consistency of cotton candy
--> pH meter from the 80's era
--> Media from 2001 (someone has been very carefully storing that media for close to a decade now, without ever using it.... and not even the least bit of fungal growth in it. Surprising, no?)
--> Lab notes. Dozens and dozens of books of former grad students, sitting around smugly. It is always fun to read bits and parts of other people's lab notes. In the initial, innocent years of research, lab notes are serious tomes, focused only on science. By the final year, lab notes are insouciant. And wedged in between experiments are grocery lists, monthly finances and, if the student is female, menus and recipes.
--> The coup de grace... hold your breath.... Tritium!!! It was sitting inside a little glass vial, looking, for all the world, like some harmless cytokine which somebody forgot to return to the fridge. I picked it up and shook it, because it seemed a bit thick and yellow. Then my brain rather slowly registered the words "3H isotope". "Maybe all 3H is not radioactive?" I was thinking because this vial looked so innocuous. Then I turned it around and there was the orange sign with the words "Caution! Radioactive Isotope!" written on it. Yikes!
I used the cotton-candy to wrap up the vial, Lori stuffed it into a tin (couldn't find lead) box and Kathy found us a Geiger counter. Poof! No counts registered- we probably were at more risk from the radon in the room than anything in that vial. Good thing too... even though it makes a boring end to what could have been a sensational story. Our lab would have got into SOO much shit otherwise. I wonder how old it is... the lab stopped registering as a radioactive isotope-user nearly 10 years ago.
Anyway, half life of tritium apparently is only about 7 days. So, it couldn't have been radioactive for very long after it was bought.
This cleaning session was only 3 hours (for which I was late, as usual. But only by half an hour!). I wonder if we will have the energy and motivation to continue cleaning next week or the week after. After all, there are still EIGHT more lab rooms that belong to us and that probably need to be cleaned :s
Okay, this could go on forever. I'll give you the answer:
It was the first time EVER!!! In, give or take a decade, 3 DECADES!!
Guess what we unearthed?
-->Bags of cotton autoclaved in 1990- with the autoclave tape slowly crumbling to dust and the cotton getting the consistency of cotton candy
--> pH meter from the 80's era
--> Media from 2001 (someone has been very carefully storing that media for close to a decade now, without ever using it.... and not even the least bit of fungal growth in it. Surprising, no?)
--> Lab notes. Dozens and dozens of books of former grad students, sitting around smugly. It is always fun to read bits and parts of other people's lab notes. In the initial, innocent years of research, lab notes are serious tomes, focused only on science. By the final year, lab notes are insouciant. And wedged in between experiments are grocery lists, monthly finances and, if the student is female, menus and recipes.
--> The coup de grace... hold your breath.... Tritium!!! It was sitting inside a little glass vial, looking, for all the world, like some harmless cytokine which somebody forgot to return to the fridge. I picked it up and shook it, because it seemed a bit thick and yellow. Then my brain rather slowly registered the words "3H isotope". "Maybe all 3H is not radioactive?" I was thinking because this vial looked so innocuous. Then I turned it around and there was the orange sign with the words "Caution! Radioactive Isotope!" written on it. Yikes!
I used the cotton-candy to wrap up the vial, Lori stuffed it into a tin (couldn't find lead) box and Kathy found us a Geiger counter. Poof! No counts registered- we probably were at more risk from the radon in the room than anything in that vial. Good thing too... even though it makes a boring end to what could have been a sensational story. Our lab would have got into SOO much shit otherwise. I wonder how old it is... the lab stopped registering as a radioactive isotope-user nearly 10 years ago.
Anyway, half life of tritium apparently is only about 7 days. So, it couldn't have been radioactive for very long after it was bought.
This cleaning session was only 3 hours (for which I was late, as usual. But only by half an hour!). I wonder if we will have the energy and motivation to continue cleaning next week or the week after. After all, there are still EIGHT more lab rooms that belong to us and that probably need to be cleaned :s
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