... 30F!!! Bring on the heat wave, Nature! Woohoo!!
That's almost 0 degrees Celcius and we folk here are throwing off our winter jackets and dancing away!
Brilliantly effective conversation-starter: laughing about Atlanta's response to 2 inches of snow...
Yes, I know, I know... those folks aren't used to any temperature less than 30C; snow has never ever entered their collective imaginations. It reminds me of my days in Chennai, when any time the temp dipped below 32C, we would all bring out our sweaters and huddle up and make dire predictions about falling sick with bad colds.
But it still tickles the imagination, nonetheless.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
A heart-stopping moment on a hill
It snowed like God (or some other Higher Being, for those who feel this might be blasphemous) had an insane case of dandruff-induced itchy scalp.
Our new mayor claimed that the snow shovelers and salt trucks were working around the clock, but neither I nor anybody else I know could see the evidence for this. Certainly one of the major roads in the city, Beechwood Boulevard, supposedly a "Snow Emergency Route", had a thick covering of snow, it was also slippery and icy and every car ahead of us was trying not to skid and crash. God forbid you got stuck behind a school bus on a hill: it would be almost impossible to get the car running straight again.
We crawled our way to work and back. We live on a little hill with very steep inclines on both directions. It's not fun to either drive or walk up it. But I don't think any of us had considered how dangerous it could be with snow and ice piled on it.
Ram revved the car and drove up, only to get stuck in the middle of the hill. The wheels turned uselessly, snow splattered everywhere, but we weren't going anywhere. Ram braked, put the car in 'park' and got out to see how bad the situation was. I stepped out too with Durga in my arms. I started telling Ram that I would walk the short distance back home to pick up some shovels when slowly, inexorably the car started sliding backwards with Ani still in it.
Several things happened simultaneously: Ram hollered, "Varsh, move out of the way!", I yelled, "Ani, hold on. You'll be fine. We'll get you!" and Durga cried. As he realized what was going on, Ani whimpered, a soft sound that clutched my heart and set it pounding.
The car door that I had hopped out from earlier was still open, I was still standing right by it, between the door and the car interior and was moving backwards with the car as it continued its silent and alarming descent. My brain had shut down, I could only think of Ani and getting him out, not realizing that were I to slip or lose my grip in the snow, Durga and I would be in danger. Ram was yelling something, his eyes wide, his mouth moving but I couldn't understand the words coming out of it.
Then suddenly, miraculously, the car stopped moving of its own accord. It ground to a halt near a small pile of snow. "Get Ani! Get Ani!" I gasped, staggering back. Ram was already inside, frantically unstrapping Ani from his car seat. By this time, we had help. A couple of neighbors had peered out to see what the ruckus was and had rushed out with shovels. I grabbed Ani's hand in my sweaty one. Ani was remarkably cheerful about his whole adventure.
"Come on, babies. I'll take you home", I told Ani and Durga. Our kind neighbors and Ram sorted out the issue of the stuck car while I plied Durga with milk and let Ani watch all the TV he wanted, much to his utter delight.
And I prayed and prayed and thanked the great God for my kids and my husband.
Our new mayor claimed that the snow shovelers and salt trucks were working around the clock, but neither I nor anybody else I know could see the evidence for this. Certainly one of the major roads in the city, Beechwood Boulevard, supposedly a "Snow Emergency Route", had a thick covering of snow, it was also slippery and icy and every car ahead of us was trying not to skid and crash. God forbid you got stuck behind a school bus on a hill: it would be almost impossible to get the car running straight again.
We crawled our way to work and back. We live on a little hill with very steep inclines on both directions. It's not fun to either drive or walk up it. But I don't think any of us had considered how dangerous it could be with snow and ice piled on it.
Ram revved the car and drove up, only to get stuck in the middle of the hill. The wheels turned uselessly, snow splattered everywhere, but we weren't going anywhere. Ram braked, put the car in 'park' and got out to see how bad the situation was. I stepped out too with Durga in my arms. I started telling Ram that I would walk the short distance back home to pick up some shovels when slowly, inexorably the car started sliding backwards with Ani still in it.
Several things happened simultaneously: Ram hollered, "Varsh, move out of the way!", I yelled, "Ani, hold on. You'll be fine. We'll get you!" and Durga cried. As he realized what was going on, Ani whimpered, a soft sound that clutched my heart and set it pounding.
The car door that I had hopped out from earlier was still open, I was still standing right by it, between the door and the car interior and was moving backwards with the car as it continued its silent and alarming descent. My brain had shut down, I could only think of Ani and getting him out, not realizing that were I to slip or lose my grip in the snow, Durga and I would be in danger. Ram was yelling something, his eyes wide, his mouth moving but I couldn't understand the words coming out of it.
Then suddenly, miraculously, the car stopped moving of its own accord. It ground to a halt near a small pile of snow. "Get Ani! Get Ani!" I gasped, staggering back. Ram was already inside, frantically unstrapping Ani from his car seat. By this time, we had help. A couple of neighbors had peered out to see what the ruckus was and had rushed out with shovels. I grabbed Ani's hand in my sweaty one. Ani was remarkably cheerful about his whole adventure.
"Come on, babies. I'll take you home", I told Ani and Durga. Our kind neighbors and Ram sorted out the issue of the stuck car while I plied Durga with milk and let Ani watch all the TV he wanted, much to his utter delight.
And I prayed and prayed and thanked the great God for my kids and my husband.
Friday, January 17, 2014
The Sweet Taste of Success
I was awarded a postdoctoral fellowship last year. This is a big deal for me: most other graduate students write grants for predoctoral work or help their advisers write grants to fund themselves. I didn't have to since my adviser was well-funded. I have also been lucky enough to land up with postdoctoral advisers with funding. So, while my scientific training so far has been fairly smooth and stress-free, it also means that I lack a very basic skill that all scientists should have: how to fund oneself.
So imagine my utter delight when I applied for (an intramural) grant and was funded. I felt that I could at last have something concrete to write on my CV. But during the application process, much to my chagrin, I had completely screwed up my presentation. My written material was good, but I had spoken unintelligibly fast, had a fit of stammering at one point and was not able to provide a concise and clear answer to questions like "where do you see your career going?" So while the committee ultimately awarded me the grant, they expressed grave concerns about my presentation skills and my lack of focus for my academic future.
In the months since that cringe-inducing meeting, in my mind, the members of the committee shaped themselves into scornful, nitpicking, intimidating bullies. In my bad moments, if I happened to encounter any of them in the hallways, I would have to struggle not to give in to complete mortification.
The semi-annual progress meeting came up. I was inundated with work, not research-related, but personal, the kind of work that doesn't seem like much, but drains energy: We had a friend who had been staying with us and had left behind piles of her stuff to sort through; one of our close relatives was in the hospital delivering a baby; her parents were in town and it was important to spend time with them; my husband decided that we had to get to work earlier than we were, so I had to be done with housework quicker the previous night and get the kids to bed earlier than they were used to; Durga caught a new infection at daycare and so on.
I was also terrified enough about the meeting that I didn't feel like working towards it. This is a particular sort of mood that I have become familiar with over the years. The first time it happened was when I was 18 years old, during the interview at Christian Medical College, Vellore. There was such anticipation at home, so many expectations that I would do well, so many scary stories about the interviews that when I went there, I slipped into a kamikaze haze and sunk the interview.
In my dreamy moments, I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't done that, if I had fought to do better and if I had actually become a doctor. I don't think I would have married Ramakrishna then (nor that he would have married me) or had my kids, so I guess it all turned out for the best.
This time though, I was determined not to let my haze slip over me. For one thing, if I lost my fellowship, I would have to bid goodbye to my incredibly awesome, fairly cushy job and I am not at all prepared to do that. So I sat myself down, clarified my priorities and did something that I should remember to always do for important things from now on: wrote up about what I aimed to do, what I had done and how I saw this fitting into what I wanted. Regarding this last and most important part, I was honest: I didn't create a tenure-track future for myself, I instead talked about becoming an expert in the field while continuing as a non-tenure track staff scientist at the institute. If anybody was going to challenge me about that ("why should we fund you if you are not prepared to join the ranks of professors and scholars?"), I wrote up a statement defending my choice. With this blueprint in hand, I felt on much steadier ground. I used this blueprint to modify my CV and to create a presentation.
But it was still lacking an oomph factor. So I quickly drew up the plans for a few experiments, and classified them on the basis of impact. I would have time only to do 2 experiments and I needed them to give me the biggest bang for the buck. I also drew up alternate plans: what to do if I somehow messed up these experiments (a very common occurrence with me) and didn't obtain the data I needed. I scheduled time on various equipment for these experiments: a microscopy appointment, a flow sorting appointment and so on. I called different clinics to get the clinical samples I would need, obtained some on an emergency basis and got to work. In the meantime, I wrote up everything that I wanted to say.
My presentation was scheduled for Thursday afternoon. By Wednesday I had most of the things I needed, but it still lacked something. So, I scheduled yet another urgent flow sorting appointment for Thursday morning, got my samples in place by Wednesday evening. While the samples were being processed for the flow sort on Thursday morning, I ran down to the microscopy department, copied the images I needed, ran back to the flow facility, copied the results obtained from there, ran back to my lab, updated my presentation and with a slightly sweaty hand, sent the presentation to the committee and its secretary.
I still had two hours left. In this time, I printed out a copy of my presentation, found a quiet corner for myself, got a timer and went over everything that I had written down. I also underlined the words that needed emphasis, marked the places where I would pause strategically, and kept note of the amount of time I would spend on every concept that I introduced during the talk. I also made my pronunciation more American so that my audience wouldn't have to spend time deciphering my accent. I noticed that while I was fairly fluent once the talk was underway, my biggest challenge was a smooth beginning. Another challenge was stumbling when I would encounter something that made me lose my train of thought, such as meeting somebody's eyes. So I literally memorized my lines for the first few slides until I could say them without having to think. Were I to encounter the faces of the many audience members, I would be able to say my spiel without distraction.
One hour to go. I went back to my office and browsed the daily news. It was time to rest and let my subconscious process all the things I had shoved into my head over the past few days.
Show time.
I did well. My adviser later told me that my presentation was 'spectacularly good'.
Yes!
Now I can finally rest with the knowledge that I have truly earned my fellowship.
So imagine my utter delight when I applied for (an intramural) grant and was funded. I felt that I could at last have something concrete to write on my CV. But during the application process, much to my chagrin, I had completely screwed up my presentation. My written material was good, but I had spoken unintelligibly fast, had a fit of stammering at one point and was not able to provide a concise and clear answer to questions like "where do you see your career going?" So while the committee ultimately awarded me the grant, they expressed grave concerns about my presentation skills and my lack of focus for my academic future.
In the months since that cringe-inducing meeting, in my mind, the members of the committee shaped themselves into scornful, nitpicking, intimidating bullies. In my bad moments, if I happened to encounter any of them in the hallways, I would have to struggle not to give in to complete mortification.
The semi-annual progress meeting came up. I was inundated with work, not research-related, but personal, the kind of work that doesn't seem like much, but drains energy: We had a friend who had been staying with us and had left behind piles of her stuff to sort through; one of our close relatives was in the hospital delivering a baby; her parents were in town and it was important to spend time with them; my husband decided that we had to get to work earlier than we were, so I had to be done with housework quicker the previous night and get the kids to bed earlier than they were used to; Durga caught a new infection at daycare and so on.
I was also terrified enough about the meeting that I didn't feel like working towards it. This is a particular sort of mood that I have become familiar with over the years. The first time it happened was when I was 18 years old, during the interview at Christian Medical College, Vellore. There was such anticipation at home, so many expectations that I would do well, so many scary stories about the interviews that when I went there, I slipped into a kamikaze haze and sunk the interview.
In my dreamy moments, I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't done that, if I had fought to do better and if I had actually become a doctor. I don't think I would have married Ramakrishna then (nor that he would have married me) or had my kids, so I guess it all turned out for the best.
This time though, I was determined not to let my haze slip over me. For one thing, if I lost my fellowship, I would have to bid goodbye to my incredibly awesome, fairly cushy job and I am not at all prepared to do that. So I sat myself down, clarified my priorities and did something that I should remember to always do for important things from now on: wrote up about what I aimed to do, what I had done and how I saw this fitting into what I wanted. Regarding this last and most important part, I was honest: I didn't create a tenure-track future for myself, I instead talked about becoming an expert in the field while continuing as a non-tenure track staff scientist at the institute. If anybody was going to challenge me about that ("why should we fund you if you are not prepared to join the ranks of professors and scholars?"), I wrote up a statement defending my choice. With this blueprint in hand, I felt on much steadier ground. I used this blueprint to modify my CV and to create a presentation.
But it was still lacking an oomph factor. So I quickly drew up the plans for a few experiments, and classified them on the basis of impact. I would have time only to do 2 experiments and I needed them to give me the biggest bang for the buck. I also drew up alternate plans: what to do if I somehow messed up these experiments (a very common occurrence with me) and didn't obtain the data I needed. I scheduled time on various equipment for these experiments: a microscopy appointment, a flow sorting appointment and so on. I called different clinics to get the clinical samples I would need, obtained some on an emergency basis and got to work. In the meantime, I wrote up everything that I wanted to say.
My presentation was scheduled for Thursday afternoon. By Wednesday I had most of the things I needed, but it still lacked something. So, I scheduled yet another urgent flow sorting appointment for Thursday morning, got my samples in place by Wednesday evening. While the samples were being processed for the flow sort on Thursday morning, I ran down to the microscopy department, copied the images I needed, ran back to the flow facility, copied the results obtained from there, ran back to my lab, updated my presentation and with a slightly sweaty hand, sent the presentation to the committee and its secretary.
I still had two hours left. In this time, I printed out a copy of my presentation, found a quiet corner for myself, got a timer and went over everything that I had written down. I also underlined the words that needed emphasis, marked the places where I would pause strategically, and kept note of the amount of time I would spend on every concept that I introduced during the talk. I also made my pronunciation more American so that my audience wouldn't have to spend time deciphering my accent. I noticed that while I was fairly fluent once the talk was underway, my biggest challenge was a smooth beginning. Another challenge was stumbling when I would encounter something that made me lose my train of thought, such as meeting somebody's eyes. So I literally memorized my lines for the first few slides until I could say them without having to think. Were I to encounter the faces of the many audience members, I would be able to say my spiel without distraction.
One hour to go. I went back to my office and browsed the daily news. It was time to rest and let my subconscious process all the things I had shoved into my head over the past few days.
Show time.
I did well. My adviser later told me that my presentation was 'spectacularly good'.
Yes!
Now I can finally rest with the knowledge that I have truly earned my fellowship.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Weather insanity
Did you see what it "Feels like" Right Now?? -11F! And that, rest of the world which follows a saner temperature scale, is -24 C!
I have just came back from outside after a 10 minute scurry, collar raised up, neck muffled, head (unfortunately) inadequately covered, gloved hand clutching on to samples and culture plates, nose watering, eyes burning and cheeks hurting.
Note to self: take day off from work tomorrow, where the high temperature (high, mind you... not some random point in the day, but high) is 8F, with wind chills approaching -25F.
Why am I in this country again?
Friday, December 13, 2013
The Superstition of Scientists
Perhaps it's the fact that many procedures in molecular biology are seemingly persnickety: the wrong pH, the wrong temperature, the wrong way of agitating a solution can throw an experiment completely off and can take a scientist ages to figure out what went wrong. Mol Bio is something like Potions, in Harry Potter: if you stir a pot 5 times clockwise, instead of anti-clockwise, under a half moon, instead of a full moon, you are bound to turn yourself into a frog.
Experimental molecular biologists spend ages optimizing protocols and are notoriously conservative about change: nobody follows "if it works, don't fix it" as a molecular biologist. A protocol might take 8 hours, but a mol biologist won't approach a quicker protocol without many mental palpitations, prayers, qualms and shudders. And even after trying the quicker method, he/she may well shrug and say, "My old method was better. It might take me a day and a half of incessant labor, but I think the yield and the quality were better"
Thus, if such a person were to use a premade kit and got beautiful results, well... this person will be unlikely to use any another product for that purpose.
This is the mentality that companies selling molecular biology products take full advantage of. Check out Qiagen's whole genome amplification kit: they have one for genomic DNA, one for frozen tissue and one for single cells; each one more expensive than the previous. But the underlying principle of amplification is exactly the same.
When you check out their protocol for each of these kits, the components are named different in order to make a consumer feel like they are paying (an arm and a leg) for something secretive and magic that will instantly provide them with the answers they seek.
For example, take Table 5 of the Repli-G Single Cell Handbook "Preparation of the master mix"
Component:
H2O sc
Repli-g sc Reaction Buffer
Repli-g sc DNA Polymerase
Now take Table 3 of the Repli-G MiniMidi Handbook "Preparation of the master mix"
Component:
Nuclease free water
Repli-g Mini Reaction Buffer
Repli-g Mini DNA Polymerase.
They are exactly the same components, being marketed under different names. But can you use the Repli-g Mini kit (cost for 25 reactions $199) for a single cell amplification, instead of the Single Cell kit (cost for 24 reactions $488) ? No! Because they have tested the Single Cell kit on single cells and they know that it works. If you were to use the cheaper kit, for this application for which it is not suited, they cannot guarantee that you would get consistent and reliable results.
The hapless lab tech/ grad student/ postdoc convinces the PI that the money must be spent, and the expensive kit is bought, which probably works beautifully and now, this person will continue to buy the more expensive kit and will never try out the cheaper kit because of the suggestion that it might not work.
Shoot. Gotta stop before I am ready. And when I come back, I'd have forgotten the original point of this post....
Experimental molecular biologists spend ages optimizing protocols and are notoriously conservative about change: nobody follows "if it works, don't fix it" as a molecular biologist. A protocol might take 8 hours, but a mol biologist won't approach a quicker protocol without many mental palpitations, prayers, qualms and shudders. And even after trying the quicker method, he/she may well shrug and say, "My old method was better. It might take me a day and a half of incessant labor, but I think the yield and the quality were better"
Thus, if such a person were to use a premade kit and got beautiful results, well... this person will be unlikely to use any another product for that purpose.
This is the mentality that companies selling molecular biology products take full advantage of. Check out Qiagen's whole genome amplification kit: they have one for genomic DNA, one for frozen tissue and one for single cells; each one more expensive than the previous. But the underlying principle of amplification is exactly the same.
When you check out their protocol for each of these kits, the components are named different in order to make a consumer feel like they are paying (an arm and a leg) for something secretive and magic that will instantly provide them with the answers they seek.
For example, take Table 5 of the Repli-G Single Cell Handbook "Preparation of the master mix"
Component:
H2O sc
Repli-g sc Reaction Buffer
Repli-g sc DNA Polymerase
Now take Table 3 of the Repli-G MiniMidi Handbook "Preparation of the master mix"
Component:
Nuclease free water
Repli-g Mini Reaction Buffer
Repli-g Mini DNA Polymerase.
They are exactly the same components, being marketed under different names. But can you use the Repli-g Mini kit (cost for 25 reactions $199) for a single cell amplification, instead of the Single Cell kit (cost for 24 reactions $488) ? No! Because they have tested the Single Cell kit on single cells and they know that it works. If you were to use the cheaper kit, for this application for which it is not suited, they cannot guarantee that you would get consistent and reliable results.
The hapless lab tech/ grad student/ postdoc convinces the PI that the money must be spent, and the expensive kit is bought, which probably works beautifully and now, this person will continue to buy the more expensive kit and will never try out the cheaper kit because of the suggestion that it might not work.
Shoot. Gotta stop before I am ready. And when I come back, I'd have forgotten the original point of this post....
Thursday, November 21, 2013
The Silly New Fad in Scientific Paper Publishing
What's this new fad of putting up the picture of the lead author in scientific publications?
It's useless and distracting. I glance at the paper and instead of focusing on the title, my eye is caught by this picture... and I wonder how she can see with hair falling across her eyes, if she's outdoors trekking somewhere, if this picture was recent, how much this lady can trek, whether she had this picture taken specifically for this paper, and if so, why did she choose this particular picture, and if I don't have something better to do than wonder about random people.
Please, publishers, don't waste the 3-5 minutes of my attention that you've grabbed. Just tell me the main scientific story and store the biography for a news release. That same space could have better used by putting a little box with the highlights of the paper.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Kids, Language and Accents
Ani has a friend, L, in preschool.
L's parents speak Tamil to her, insist on her answering in Tamil and speak Tamil to each other.
I speak Tamil to Ani, but it is peppered with English. English is the language with which RK, Ani and I converse.
Ani speaks English with a strong Indian accent at home (complete with the head bobs... I didn't realize that either RK or I did that until Ani started doing it) and English with a strong American accent at preschool. He understands Tamil but he doesn't think in it. On the other hand, L speaks English only with an American accent, but Tamil with a Tamil accent.
Even more interesting: L calls Ani the way his name is supposed to be pronounced: A-nee
However, when she refers to him in the third person, he becomes 'Aah-nee', the American-accented version of his name.
It's one thing to read about kids unconsciously absorbing the culture around them, quite another to see it in real life.
L's parents speak Tamil to her, insist on her answering in Tamil and speak Tamil to each other.
I speak Tamil to Ani, but it is peppered with English. English is the language with which RK, Ani and I converse.
Ani speaks English with a strong Indian accent at home (complete with the head bobs... I didn't realize that either RK or I did that until Ani started doing it) and English with a strong American accent at preschool. He understands Tamil but he doesn't think in it. On the other hand, L speaks English only with an American accent, but Tamil with a Tamil accent.
Even more interesting: L calls Ani the way his name is supposed to be pronounced: A-nee
However, when she refers to him in the third person, he becomes 'Aah-nee', the American-accented version of his name.
It's one thing to read about kids unconsciously absorbing the culture around them, quite another to see it in real life.
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