deja vu

some things I'm coming across so frequently these days, its eerie. as if they are following me around.

1. the mention of 'Echo park'. what's with it. I stayed not far from it when in LA, but didn't visit it. now suddenly everyone is talking, writing about it. so much so I had to check where it was, and then remembered its mention on the LA map when I was there. and I found a breaking news of a dead body found floating in the lake in echo park recently, of a man gone missing sometime ago.

2. dead squirrels. rather squirrels killed by cars. probably one lil kitten too (was difficult to tell in the brief glimpse I got yesterday driving past). is this an unavoidable consequence of the abundance of spring in spaces where the urban borders on the wild (the wild that doesn't threaten us that is, or you know how that would go). in fact, this is getting so bad, that the remains are no longer being removed and are being left (sometimes in the middle of the road) to change color, become dull, and slowly decay(?). I try to both avert my eyes from the splayed innards, and try to look at it with respect for the life that it was and regret for how it was probably killed.

3. recipients of voluntary contributions (public goods that I consume non-rivaling), or charity. this is the first time in my life that I can probably afford to contribute, if my job stays.


aside: the faculty member in the office next door to mine is trying to explain (arguing with a lot of agitation) to a very calm student why he gives points for questions left blank and why the student got less points for a question he attempted to answer than he would have had if he had left it blank. I am with the student on this one, in his words, "this discourages one from trying to answer the question". the logic of penalties for wrong answers should only be relative to a perfect answer; or if relative to a 'no-answer', should only be applicable to multiple choice questions where an answer could be a totally random guess that may strike lucky (and therefore to discourage such 'answers'). I'm judging, again.

long alone phase again. makes me terribly introspective. and hence, the over-exploitation of this blog's presence.

school is one of those commuter universities. people drive long distances, both students and faculty and staff. neighborhood around not too desirable, with news of robberies, etc. etc. as a result, unlike my phd department, here people don't socialize with each other. random lunches on weekdays sometimes, if schedules permit. but other than that, everyone else has a spouse and kids (or maybe grandkids) tucked away somewhere far away in this huge urban metroplex. other than me. and yeah this other guy too, next door to me, who still lives with roommates. well technically, flatmates I presume but that's what you call them all here. I mean come on, who lives with roommates past 30, that too in texas, where you have abundant space, cheap(ish) rent, the works. I mean, maybe NYC would need one to compromise on space, privacy, etc. but not in the lone star state.

anyway, so I'm left to my own devices. I found this cafe lately, a place run by Italian American brothers, really chilled out and cool. been going there a bit, now and then, to sit and work, or to really quench that evening tea desire, even took parents there, and sis. and yesterday, Sunday afternoon I found a crowd of people like me there. I mean there always are some people there sitting alone and working, but on Sunday afternoon at about 1:30pm this whole place was full, including the chairs outside (given that it was kinda hot and muggy, maybe not intolerably so), and most people were sitting alone with a laptop or otherwise and seemed to be working. for a minute I thought I needed to go somewhere else cos I couldn't see a single table available. but of course, I squeezed in at a running window counter-space with barstools alongside. and I had to. this is the only place that gives lovingly brewed tea in this goddamn coffee world. in a proper kettle clothed in one of those kettle-sweaters. and proper tea, various choices, sri lankan, darjeeling, etc. etc. the kettle thing is super nice because one can often have two three cups of tea in the one that one ordered. of course the price is such that that doesn't hurt them.

plus they have these amazing croissants and other baked stuff. yesterday I got some raisin stuff that had all this powdered milk sprinkled on it. like, I dunno what it really was, but it so reminded me of when I was a kid and I loved eating powdered milk, and it was similarly sticky in my teeth and gums such that the guilty pleasure lasts for a while after.

I sat there for a couple of hours, working on editing and correcting my paper, noticing the differences between the men and the women sharing the space around me, each alone. the counter/bar was a lil high for each of us women, who preferred the laptop where it belongs, in the lap. whereas the men to either side of me had theirs up on the wooden surface. their feet rested on the ground whereas ours was mostly up on this lil ledge under the bar. have so often wondered how/why women are so creative and contortive in their sitting positions. like this one that often relaxes me - one leg up on my chair in a half cross-legged-ness such that the knee points right out forward and the other crossed over it really close-knit and then dangling down from the chair on the opposite side. and then after a half and hour, switch the legs.

..

there was this guy who lived in my building, probably till December, in the floor above me somewhere. a violinist. used to be beautiful to hear him play sometimes, especially on quiet weekday afternoons. and then some days he would give us a special treat, probably liked practicing there, by playing in the parking garage, on its first level a lil inside the entrance to the left. so when you entered driving, you were met with this beautiful, sonorous, echoing, sound of music. the garage is a brilliant place for that, with its interconnected levels that trap and empower the sound before releasing it back again. a lil bit like the space in the arches under the Bethesda terrace near that popular fountain in central park in NYC, where you often see and hear musicians.

I just realized it today while I drove into the garage that this guy probably lived here no more, cos I hadn't heard him in a long time. that's the thing with one-two bedroom apartments in a place like TX where everyone eventually wants a house. no matter how nice the apartments, it will only have young people, even a lot of students (sometimes sharing, to normalize the rent), mostly people who have yet not 'settled' in life. I hate that. that idea of settling.

words are haunting me today. so I add words to my header as well.

on the day osama bin laden's death was announced, hubby quoted this to me:
"One is still what one is going to cease to be, and already what one is going to become
one lives one's death, one dies one's life"
it was apt. since then, every news of death reminds me of it. it is always apt. moreover, I see it as something that connects abstraction with life. its simply a description of continuity, from one moment to the next, from living to dying, or backward from death to life. its almost like a math statement or a proof. because there is continuity from one moment to the next, therefore there is continuity in the wholes too - of life and death. people die the lives they lived, they live the deaths that will come to them. because when they die they're still who they were, until they're no more.

strangely, I found different people interpret that quote above differently. to me there seems to be no other meaning. but that's me, my life, my death.
oh btw, Jean Paul Sartre said that above.

someone (JC) posted something on fb today that had another quote that will haunt me a long time. and unlike the above that haunts me in a pleasant comforting way, this fills me with dread:
"Men don't get knocked out, or I mean they can fight back against big things. What kills them is erosion; they get nudged into failure. They get slowly scared." - John Steinbeck

I so know what that means. I so remember those times when I have dusted myself up from a big fall and started again. and yet I also so feel like I'm eroding. aaarghh. its so scary. or maybe even worse, maybe I only imagined my ability and brilliance etc. etc. and in reality I'm a nothing. like Shreeram Lagoo in this movie I once saw, 'Ek Din Achanak'. it was a strange questioning of the celebrated versus the ordinary, of ambition and routine, of suspense and meaning and triviality, of pretense and self conviction and family awe and respect for the ordinary, and everyone's denial to see the ordinary for what it was, almost bordering on sacrilege when one of the daughters puts it into words that maybe her dad was just a plain ordinary man. (sorry for the spoiler if anyone was going to see it)
or maybe I was wrong in how I read it. but it filled me with similar dread.

and then these words in the book I'm reading (that I didn't want to start reading because lately I've read a lot of depressing and real stuff; but also I'd been wanting to read this for a long time and I finally bought it when its kindle price fell; I rarely buy a book for more than $9.99):
"We want to be loved; failing that, admired; failing that, feared; failing that, hated and despised. At all costs we want to stir up some sort of feeling in others. Our soul abhors a vacuum. At all costs it longs for contact." - Hjalmar Soderberg

a lighter thought: facebook cashes in well on this above.

reading my older posts I realize I'm becoming more verbose and less spontaneous.

I fucked up my earth day today. drove a lot more, and used a lot of the fuel to cool the car. it was hot today. went to school to meet a student (Friday mornings its difficult to get me out otherwise), student decided to change plans and ditched me. I sat in my office grading for a couple of hours with my door wide open. people were surprised I was there, and more. I hardly wear sleevelesses in school, what with not trying to attract too much attention, trying to look the role of a teacher, and when I do its usually more formal stuff. today I was in a 'ganjee' as we would call it, suddenly found these 100% cotton shells from loft that fit me! of course its petite xxs. plus I was playing some music very soft. this department is a greying place, I'm probably the youngest, plus I look younger than my age even. people stopped by today, to chat, or just to grin. it was nice. I felt like I was the spring/summer in this grey grave place.

framing shop didn't have my custom mats ready, not all of them at least. I feel stupid and yet didn't say anything; paying some $40 for just having someone cut some thermocol(?) (per piece) for framing maa's paintings, and yet having to pay with more waiting time.

the last two deepika movies have been nicer than usual - piku and finding fanny - saw them recently, one after another.

I've been wondering too much these days. and last night. went to bed well past my age. throbbing headache right now.

wondering whether to start on second grading set (TAs are useless (a lil harsh that)), or to frame the paitings, do laundry, cook (nah), read past blogposts, work on paper, stand in balcony waiting for the horses, nap (too late now), stop wondering.

I've been indulgently lazy today, it felt really good. already celebrating the yet to arrive summer vacation.
and here's a lazy post to commemorate today, spent at home. the first two below are lil things I got back from NM (quite proud of the printed cards of a local artist there that I framed up) and the last is simply a play of sunlight on my slightly ignored corner (don't know why I've stopped sitting at my dining table since parents and hubby last visited).

I'm trying, these days, to try and listen. to other people. especially those, who I don't want to listen to. or rather those I want to interrupt badly, with opposition, with passionately felt opposition. at a recent faculty (teachers only) meeting I realized I sometimes became what I would otherwise call 'militant' (if I wasn't myself doing it then or if I saw or believed in the opposite at that moment) in voicing my opinion. and I am not proud of that realization, or rather I'm proud of having realized it but not of what I realized about myself. and it is then no wonder, that I've had people glare at me in some such conversations, not wanting to ever talk to me again, especially when such militancy was expressed in opposition to what they were saying.

so after reading Teju Cole about the European-Muslim identity and integration crisis in Brussels (waking up after the first night of reading this as the narrator moves to Brussels from NYC, to news of the Brussels attack recently), and sympathizing with the underdogs in the story as I have a general bias toward them, I decided to give eyes to the opposite opinion. to another side of the story. and Flemming Rose so came in. after reading about a fifth or so of his book, I was shaking my head in vehemence again, almost yelling to make his one-sided story stop, dying to tell him he did not understand. that he was wrong.

and I wrote him a long letter. one of those, with links and examples to express what I was trying to say, to bring home the meaning to him, to help him see the only truth in this story. that he was wrong.

and I almost emailed him the letter. almost - I stopped only because I was hesitant to use my email address to send it, in some ways to use my identity to sign off with. I didn't know what that would entail, in the future. and yet creating a virtual identity or in other words to use anonymity to send it would be cowardice, preposterous to even think of. so I settled for middle ground, and procrastinated, leaving to a wiser future me to know better what to do here.

the very next picking up of his book that night took a sudden turn. he started explaining the why, of what he had done. the history behind the event. and isn't that where all meaning lies. I suddenly realized he was not so wrong, nor was I so sure of what was right or wrong here. it wasn't so simple anymore. and I understood a little bit.

I'm so glad I didn't send that email already. someone once told me, when you're really angry about something go ahead and write it all down, as clearly as possible, explaining as much. and then lock it up, and try reading it some days later, or maybe even better, just crumple it or tear it up and throw it away. it served its purpose while it was being written in fact, and there's nothing more sometimes that it can do.

and we are told that yoga originates from some concept of meditation. I always liked to think of it more as self-control, and of the body rather than the mind. but of course the two affect each other. but somehow I've been unable to meditate ever. so yoga does calm me down but only when it tires me, only when my mind's wanderings cease, and focus on how that stretch feels in those muscles, in trying to gauge and argue and reason with the body in how much more I can stretch it, how much longer. and this works best if I'm in a class with other people around me. or if at least I have one other person virtually there on video, so that I'm doing it with someone. in short, despite the alleged ascetic origins of yoga, I respond to it best in society.

moreover, very often I fail to do yoga well if I don't begin with somewhat a calm mind. especially when I'm doing it by myself. so, having learned enough to not have to pay for classes or an instructor does not help a lot.

on the other hand is running. even dressing and preparing for a run sends a rush of adrenaline to my head, which although excites me, also calms my anxieties about life and people and the inanities. running truly cures my maladies of thought.

I remember when I started running when I was about 24 I think. before buying a nice pair of nikes, I actually wanted to ascertain that I would use them, and therefore I ran for a few mornings in my red all star sneakers. really bad for my feet, but who thought about that then. I was kind of immediately addicted to it, but there were lots of mornings when my laziness would overcome that addiction. the one thing if I remember right that kept me continuing was the thought that I didn't know how many years I could actually run without having age become a barrier. in fact, I remember thinking that I had about 10 years that looked safe for running, after which I may or may not be able to do it too long. and that thought got me jumping out of my bed those mornings because I realized that 10 years were made up of so many mornings, bit by bit.

last two-three years I started having a lot of trouble with my knees whenever I ran, and I reduced the frequency and then just gave it up. my knees would kinda lock up while running and would then hurt even after I stopped, and especially when I climbed down any stairs. I think I partly over-stressed my knees because some years I started running with hubby, who is much faster than I like to be.

this last week I started running again, now by the river, alone again. new shoes, asics rather than nike this time to see if these understand the 'pronation' of my feet better and keep my knees healthier. no socks though, because I bought these online and they are tight with socks! and I'm taking it slow and soft and steady. and because I'm about 10 years older than when I started running, I can't somehow get up at the wee hours anymore. (I used to love running before sunrise, partly because it was cooler then, partly because I didn't have to bother seeing too many people, and partly because I hated running in sunlight even if it was cold). but now I'm allowing myself these deviations, and its just as well, because much of that river trail is shaded by these trees and the sun is still so low in its climb that I can't see much of it. until I come to the point in the trail where the trees end, and that's where I'd been stopping to look around and breathe the morning in, and then to turn back and run my return home. but today the clouds gave me an alibi to not stop and despite no-trees the sun was banished, and I kept on and on, and reached today again after a long time, that state where the legs run by themselves.

anticipation, desperation, denial, jubilation, and hope...

if only students realized that faculty members are often just as looking forward to those holidays as they themselves, or maybe even more, because after all a student can skip a class here or there with a self-declared holiday but a faculty member must wait for only officially announced ones.

I so wish I was (back) on the other side of this teacher-learner divide. why couldn't there be a profession of a student, someone who keeps learning different things, of interest of course, and maybe makes that learning available to others with least cost to herself. but I guess that is the idea of an academic, except that the cost is not small, and it keeps growing with competition for academia. and there are rungs on the ladder, and you find yourself in a place based on where you went to school essentially, and you keep dreaming of climbing up. but if you are in the lower rungs, the lower rungs being the slipperiest, their precise function is to keep you tired maintaining your position so nothing is left in you to climb. plus, there is a growing crowd for those waiting below to even get a hold of that ladder, and those far higher ups are not troubled by this because for them they are specks of dirt, but you can see better, you can see that it could be worse for you, you could be down there. or yet worse, you can still go down (rather than up) and then what?

or, on the other hand, given that you have in your life made only one or two choices ever, for the rest - simply either embracing what you found or rejecting it to meet the next thing you bump into, maybe something rejecting you would be a blessing in disguise (if you are still in denial of the more than partial rejection already from those upper rungs).

there was once in my life before that I was resoundingly rejected. from all the top Indian MBA schools. I was good but not 'good enough'. this is also the time, when I was dying to leave home, and an MBA education seemed like the only recourse that would take me away from the city that seemed to have all possible options of education on the face of it, but none too-good MBA schools. I remember those days, when I cleared the CAT and XAT cutoffs for some interviews, although not the IIMs. After each of those interviews I would come back home feeling scared and anxious, only to be met with questions and accusations from my dad of how I was doing it all wrong, and how I was inherently a 'slow' person; unlike my sis apparently who was 'unlike me so much quicker and brighter because she ate raw green chilies as meal accompaniment'. I'm not joking. and ironically this sis of mine grew up throughout her childhood and teenage being judged against me and some cousins by those very respected parents and adults because we were class-toppers while she wasn't. I'll leave you to decide how convoluted this is.

anyway, now it is an understatement how thankful I feel for having been rejected then. oh and btw, I'm still slow, and yes I admit that bit had truth in it, but I no longer see why its always a bad thing, in fact it soothes me quite a bit, I feel its often my strength.

maybe, ten years down the line I will feel the same about these current rejections and defeats (both those denied and those conceded).

on that note, most people I know can give a more than vague idea of where they will be ten years down the line from now, if they are then alive and not ailing. I do hope this one thing, I do fervently hope that right now I have no idea where I will be ten years later.