I’ve been in SMC for the last seven years and have written for this newspaper for the last six. Looking back id say the social construct of this institution demands that you fit in; it treated you well to fit in and in its own way took care of you if it fit in. Some say it is time to step up and make the change. I say it is in not easy to change the mindset of an entire institution, after all Rome wasn’t built in a day.
This isn’t the view of the college or the paper, it is a personal manifesto. A plea from someone who always “thought” of herself as mediocre and could never really be who she wanted to. It’s about a choice and it is about your life. This choice doesn’t require you to try hard to buck the system, though it challenges you to rethink your position in this institution. I have learnt one important lesson over the years, there is nothing wrong in being mediocre. There is not much of a difference between being a genius and being mediocre.
A genius in the outside world is one with an IQ of over 150, one who probably has an eidetic memory or one who probably wins the Nobel Prize. However in here a genius is one who has exceptional abilities and insights to find the not so obvious solutions to the problems every student faces in this institution, “How to get accepted and still be me?”
What defined the genius? Were geniuses only those who created what was perceived as the beautiful or the shocking, those who formed some piece of work that delivered a visceral punch? In painting, in music, in academia, in literature or theater? If so, did that make the rest of the 4000 odd students nothing more than the audience? Passive observers whose only contribution was applause or criticism? Think of it this way, what became of the geniuses without the “mediocre” audience?
No one in a genius all the time. Albert Einstein had trouble finding his own house when he returned home early every day. Alexander Graham bell forgot his own telephone number. But all of us are geniuses sometimes. The tragedy is that this society keeps drumming the genius part out. The problem is that we seem to have entered a Faustian bargain as a group. We trade our genius and artistry for possible stability.
I agree it is very difficult to find security in mediocrity. You can work only so many hours, fret only so much. Being a slightly better at academics or a slightly better artist can be taxing. You’re always looking over your shoulder, always trying to be a little less mediocre than the girl next to you. It wears you out. It’s impossible to do the work at the same time you’re in pain. The moment to moment insecurity of so many things classes, labs, sports, culturals, robs you of the confidence you need to do great work.
I leave you with this thought, think of what you do as an art. Your art is what you do and no one can tell you exactly how to do it. Your art is the act of taking personal responsibilities, challenging the status quo which at the end of the day changes people. You don’t need to be a “genius” to do that, plain simple “mediocrity” would do
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Mr. Daredevil and me
I have a very active imagination. While most people dream of random mundane stuff, my dreams are always of flying monkeys, circus polar bears on rampage, man eating spiders and so on. So during me not-so-brief stay on this planet there have been quite a few terrifying characters I have made up/watched on the television. However none of them can even compare to Mr. Daredevil.
I was helping H move into his new house and little did I know I was being watched. Watched by someone who knew every nook and corner of the house that I didn’t know existed…until of course he disappeared into them! After a day of heavy lifting and cleaning H offered to go get us some food while I unearthed some kitchenware from the yet to be opened boxes. As I was wrestling with the packing paper to find some usable plates, the power went off. I rummaged through the boxes to find some candles to light and that’s when I felt his presence.
I feel a chill go up my spine when I hear a scuffling sound near the cupboard. I try to scream as loud as I can to ward off the evil that lurks but no words come out. That is when I see him. He stands there proudly smirking knowingly at me. His thousand eyes marking his target while he begins to calmly move towards me trying to figure out the best way to take me down. As I watched in mounting horror he undid his hidden wings and prepared to take flight. He leaps into the air and hits me. I flail my arms around and my body writhes in terror. He flies straight at me…wings beating, altitude rising and falling most unpredictably. Seconds before impact I freeze, hold my ground and simply raise my hands feebly and turn my head away so I don’t see into those eyes before he strikes.
I tried to defend myself. What I did not know was that this flying critter was the ace of fly school. He was top gun material, probably the captain of the fleet. He anticipated my swing, dove, twisted and did a roll before climbing vertically upwards and disappeared into one of those fore mentioned nooks which only he knew exist!!! I stood there, stunned and speechless at what had just happened knowing fully well that he had won the battle wings down and the worst was yet to come.
I try to make my way out of the house before he shows up again. I started hard when the click of the door knob resounded. Shit. Can he open doors now? Why me? I thought. It wasn't fair. Someone touched my arm and I scream. Thank god it’s H. He is startled and turns me around. “What’s wrong he asks?” At this point my skin is clammy and my complexion is white. He looks troubled and insists on knowing what’s wrong. I point a shaky finger towards the bedroom. As H prepares to go and investigate I stop him saying its useless to go unarmed.
Armed with a cricket bat H slowly entered the room. He hits Mr.D in a swift sideswipe and made him spin across the floor…he came to a stop after hitting a chair leg and lay there a while with his precious wings strewn clumsily about, but almost as soon as he stopped he righted his wares, twitched his antennae and ran off at 160km/h towards some unseen haven he knew of. He turns, gives us one last look which plainly says “You may have won the battle but not the war.”
H turns to me with an unbelievable look on his face “A fricking cockroach? You made me think it was something much worse.”
I hear H ran into him another day and tried to take him out with a spray of mortein but I assume Mr.D didn’t get hit right because he dove into the sink (probably washed the stinging bug-spray off himself) and reappeared a few days later after his “sick leave” in the bathroom.
Mr. D is living proof that roaches were here before us, will live amongst us, and will survive after we nuke each other. H for one has given up on trying to get rid of him. He swears that after he stopped trying to kill him Mr.D stopped pulling those maverick-fly-boy moves. Mr.D now even has the decency to hide when H has guests.
I have a very active imagination. While most people dream of random mundane stuff, my dreams are always of flying monkeys, circus polar bears on rampage, man eating spiders and so on. So during me not-so-brief stay on this planet there have been quite a few terrifying characters I have made up/watched on the television. However none of them can even compare to Mr. Daredevil.
I was helping H move into his new house and little did I know I was being watched. Watched by someone who knew every nook and corner of the house that I didn’t know existed…until of course he disappeared into them! After a day of heavy lifting and cleaning H offered to go get us some food while I unearthed some kitchenware from the yet to be opened boxes. As I was wrestling with the packing paper to find some usable plates, the power went off. I rummaged through the boxes to find some candles to light and that’s when I felt his presence.
I feel a chill go up my spine when I hear a scuffling sound near the cupboard. I try to scream as loud as I can to ward off the evil that lurks but no words come out. That is when I see him. He stands there proudly smirking knowingly at me. His thousand eyes marking his target while he begins to calmly move towards me trying to figure out the best way to take me down. As I watched in mounting horror he undid his hidden wings and prepared to take flight. He leaps into the air and hits me. I flail my arms around and my body writhes in terror. He flies straight at me…wings beating, altitude rising and falling most unpredictably. Seconds before impact I freeze, hold my ground and simply raise my hands feebly and turn my head away so I don’t see into those eyes before he strikes.
I tried to defend myself. What I did not know was that this flying critter was the ace of fly school. He was top gun material, probably the captain of the fleet. He anticipated my swing, dove, twisted and did a roll before climbing vertically upwards and disappeared into one of those fore mentioned nooks which only he knew exist!!! I stood there, stunned and speechless at what had just happened knowing fully well that he had won the battle wings down and the worst was yet to come.
I try to make my way out of the house before he shows up again. I started hard when the click of the door knob resounded. Shit. Can he open doors now? Why me? I thought. It wasn't fair. Someone touched my arm and I scream. Thank god it’s H. He is startled and turns me around. “What’s wrong he asks?” At this point my skin is clammy and my complexion is white. He looks troubled and insists on knowing what’s wrong. I point a shaky finger towards the bedroom. As H prepares to go and investigate I stop him saying its useless to go unarmed.
Armed with a cricket bat H slowly entered the room. He hits Mr.D in a swift sideswipe and made him spin across the floor…he came to a stop after hitting a chair leg and lay there a while with his precious wings strewn clumsily about, but almost as soon as he stopped he righted his wares, twitched his antennae and ran off at 160km/h towards some unseen haven he knew of. He turns, gives us one last look which plainly says “You may have won the battle but not the war.”
H turns to me with an unbelievable look on his face “A fricking cockroach? You made me think it was something much worse.”
I hear H ran into him another day and tried to take him out with a spray of mortein but I assume Mr.D didn’t get hit right because he dove into the sink (probably washed the stinging bug-spray off himself) and reappeared a few days later after his “sick leave” in the bathroom.
Mr. D is living proof that roaches were here before us, will live amongst us, and will survive after we nuke each other. H for one has given up on trying to get rid of him. He swears that after he stopped trying to kill him Mr.D stopped pulling those maverick-fly-boy moves. Mr.D now even has the decency to hide when H has guests.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sprucing up!
I was up last night unable to sleep mindlessly surfing through the TV when I saw a re-run of the much talked of ‘Evolution’ ad of Dove. It shows a plain, geeky woman walking up and seating herself in front of the camera and then being transformed by hair, light, and make-up into a glamour diva. The message conveyed of course was that it’s all doable—those flawless complexions, perfect features that seem to drive terror and cause self doubt amongst women all over via all visual media, are not so scary and impossible anymore.
The optional message is that it’s all fake—which means that the rest of us, too, can look like the million bucks it will cost us, for happiness is merely beauty at a price.
Like most introverts I grew up with my nose in a book, and so somehow entirely missed the process that socializes people to take some care with their appearance. While this saved me much of the heartache and self-doubt during school life, it also ensured that the real world came as a rude shock. I was forced to amend my quite genuine belief that looks don’t matter, to the indignant position that they shouldn’t matter.
I for one experienced this horror when I went for an interview last week, where I ran into a classmate of mine who was there for the same interview. Did I have better grades? Yes. Did I do better on my written tests and my tech rounds? Yes. Did I have more experience than the other applicant? Yes. Was I better looking than her? No. Don’t get me wrong here. I was well dressed, well mannered. But I wasn’t wearing make up or dint take as much effort with how I presented myself as the other applicant. However I got an email saying I wasn’t what they were looking for while the other applicant was hired. Of course there is always the possibility that she was better qualified than me and maybe I am just crying over spilt milk.
It’s too tedious to cite all the studies that show that the earth’s very axis is tilted albeit slightly in favour of better-looking people, who despite the fact of having been assumed to have fewer brains( which is definitely not always true), get hired more easily, make more money, live easier lives, and have more fun.
Most people would prefer to believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but evolutionary psychology tells a different story. In reality, everyone is likely to gravitate toward certain physical characteristics that make some people more desirable than others.
These preferences exist for one basic reason: biological reproduction. It is a well established fact that male preferences are biologically and evolutionarily programmed to find signs of youth and health attractive, so as to seek females that are best suited to carry on their genes.
Ever since the first cave woman held a bit of shiny stuff against her skin, ever since an Egyptian noblewoman smeared green mineral paste on her eyelids and bathed in donkey’s milk, we’ve been using brain to spruce up ways to make oneself look better, raising the beauty stakes ever higher and forcing the less attractive to play ever-more frantic games of catch up.
We are now at a watershed moment in the history of human hotness. Things are evening out. Between makeup, makeovers and surgery, the ugly and/or insecure have never had it so good, which is nice, because their ranks are swelling with every new magazine issue, television show and movie that comes out. Once upon a time it was kajal in the eye , flowers in the hair and today it’s liposuction and Botox. Who knows, facial transplantation surgery—now used only in the most extreme medical need—may one day become as casual as a haircut.
I haven’t yet worked out how I feel about all this (though I should be appalled). We should know better than to fall for it, but frankly, as long as the world continues to reward style over substance ( in many cases) , getting the odd lock highlighted or your eyebrows shaped might not be such a bad option to flinging yourself off a bridge.
The optional message is that it’s all fake—which means that the rest of us, too, can look like the million bucks it will cost us, for happiness is merely beauty at a price.
Like most introverts I grew up with my nose in a book, and so somehow entirely missed the process that socializes people to take some care with their appearance. While this saved me much of the heartache and self-doubt during school life, it also ensured that the real world came as a rude shock. I was forced to amend my quite genuine belief that looks don’t matter, to the indignant position that they shouldn’t matter.
I for one experienced this horror when I went for an interview last week, where I ran into a classmate of mine who was there for the same interview. Did I have better grades? Yes. Did I do better on my written tests and my tech rounds? Yes. Did I have more experience than the other applicant? Yes. Was I better looking than her? No. Don’t get me wrong here. I was well dressed, well mannered. But I wasn’t wearing make up or dint take as much effort with how I presented myself as the other applicant. However I got an email saying I wasn’t what they were looking for while the other applicant was hired. Of course there is always the possibility that she was better qualified than me and maybe I am just crying over spilt milk.
It’s too tedious to cite all the studies that show that the earth’s very axis is tilted albeit slightly in favour of better-looking people, who despite the fact of having been assumed to have fewer brains( which is definitely not always true), get hired more easily, make more money, live easier lives, and have more fun.
Most people would prefer to believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but evolutionary psychology tells a different story. In reality, everyone is likely to gravitate toward certain physical characteristics that make some people more desirable than others.
These preferences exist for one basic reason: biological reproduction. It is a well established fact that male preferences are biologically and evolutionarily programmed to find signs of youth and health attractive, so as to seek females that are best suited to carry on their genes.
Ever since the first cave woman held a bit of shiny stuff against her skin, ever since an Egyptian noblewoman smeared green mineral paste on her eyelids and bathed in donkey’s milk, we’ve been using brain to spruce up ways to make oneself look better, raising the beauty stakes ever higher and forcing the less attractive to play ever-more frantic games of catch up.
We are now at a watershed moment in the history of human hotness. Things are evening out. Between makeup, makeovers and surgery, the ugly and/or insecure have never had it so good, which is nice, because their ranks are swelling with every new magazine issue, television show and movie that comes out. Once upon a time it was kajal in the eye , flowers in the hair and today it’s liposuction and Botox. Who knows, facial transplantation surgery—now used only in the most extreme medical need—may one day become as casual as a haircut.
I haven’t yet worked out how I feel about all this (though I should be appalled). We should know better than to fall for it, but frankly, as long as the world continues to reward style over substance ( in many cases) , getting the odd lock highlighted or your eyebrows shaped might not be such a bad option to flinging yourself off a bridge.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Salaaaary
I have started hating family functions. I guess its the only way one meets their cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews etc etc. What i don't like is people pestering me about what i do.
Q1: What do you do now?
Q2: how much does it pay?
Excuse me random daugher of a third cousin of my dad, its none of your business.
What is it with us people? Whats the obsession that we have about education, job qualification?
I think we should blame the previous generation. When i was a kid i remember parents waiting at the school gates to pick up their kids yapping about random non important things like "My daughter is the first in class. My son has finished all levels of the Hindi exams. My daughter has started preparing for iit from std IX."At that time i used to think we would be better. We would be much better than our parents at least in this respect. However i find we are even worse.
I remember the time when people asked "Where do you work? Have you got your promotion? When will you become a manager?" But now its "Why arent you working for an MNC? Dont apply to that US university its not even in the top 50. Oh you studied in that college, oh they never have campus interview"
The problem why asking for personal information is bad is because, people tend to transalate that into other unconnected fields.They tend to think bad either of your education or your upbringing.
Most of the time when people ask how much you earn, it is for a wrong reason. The parents, some close friends may ask for a good reason. But they are the minority. The main reason why people ask is that they want to assume for a fleeting moment that their lives are somehow better than the other person. The salary quoted provides them with the scope to demarcate themselves. It also allows them to indirectly advertise their salary, even though no one even asked them and make comments like "Oh you poor thing.Have you considered changing careers?".
Oh am not saying i dont want to earn lots of money. Of course i do. But that doesnt mean you get to give your " five mins psych eval". Why do people judge you based on a factor that is decided by completely unrelated parameters?
Please dont harp on things related to job/education/marriage all the time. There are nMillion other things to talk about.
Q1: What do you do now?
Q2: how much does it pay?
Excuse me random daugher of a third cousin of my dad, its none of your business.
What is it with us people? Whats the obsession that we have about education, job qualification?
I think we should blame the previous generation. When i was a kid i remember parents waiting at the school gates to pick up their kids yapping about random non important things like "My daughter is the first in class. My son has finished all levels of the Hindi exams. My daughter has started preparing for iit from std IX."At that time i used to think we would be better. We would be much better than our parents at least in this respect. However i find we are even worse.
I remember the time when people asked "Where do you work? Have you got your promotion? When will you become a manager?" But now its "Why arent you working for an MNC? Dont apply to that US university its not even in the top 50. Oh you studied in that college, oh they never have campus interview"
The problem why asking for personal information is bad is because, people tend to transalate that into other unconnected fields.They tend to think bad either of your education or your upbringing.
Most of the time when people ask how much you earn, it is for a wrong reason. The parents, some close friends may ask for a good reason. But they are the minority. The main reason why people ask is that they want to assume for a fleeting moment that their lives are somehow better than the other person. The salary quoted provides them with the scope to demarcate themselves. It also allows them to indirectly advertise their salary, even though no one even asked them and make comments like "Oh you poor thing.Have you considered changing careers?".
Oh am not saying i dont want to earn lots of money. Of course i do. But that doesnt mean you get to give your " five mins psych eval". Why do people judge you based on a factor that is decided by completely unrelated parameters?
Please dont harp on things related to job/education/marriage all the time. There are nMillion other things to talk about.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
FIRST LOVE- I
“They say, when you are eighteen, you have to fall in love with someone. She never thought it would ever happen to her. But still, there was something about that dude that was bothering her. He was not among the most charming guys in the gang. He was not even suave or funny. In fact he was kind of broody and Heathcliff like. Maybe it was his frankness and casual attitude that attracted her – she didn’t know for sure. There was one thing that sent electric shock across her body – his smile. Edison didn’t invent any formulae to calculate how much this version of electricity could affect people!
This wasn't a silly crush. She was a grownup now. This was love. True love. She had known him for a year or two and had a crush on him at one point early on. She had spoken with him a couple of times but each time,she found out to her dismay that of all the words available in the English language, she could recollect only ten or fifteen words! All grammatical rules broke down when she looked into his eyes. She didn’t have the courage to go and talk to him about her feelings. She knew he would never go for her. She was plain , pudgy and dorky. To her he was perfection. Time passed by. They became good friends.
They were travelling by bus. Looking out the window, she realized her head was beginning to ache. It was ridiculous really, she thought. Why was this so difficult? She thought she was over it. Over him. She glanced down at his hand. Would he ever hold her hand in his? He could so easily reach out and touch her hand right now.
Things had changed between them, hadn’t they? He didn’t treat her like that kid he used to hang out with. He was lost in thought. She was different. He knew she had a crush on him when she was a kid. But now things had changed, he was certain of that. But he was uncertain of exactly what those changes meant. He knew she was just as happy as him to have him as her friend. But did he want them to be something more?
They walked home from the bus stop both lost in thoughts. He realized how much he depended on her. They reached his apartment. She gave him the slow half smile that was so much a part of her. The smile that accelerated his heartbeat. Without thinking he said “ I don’t know what I would do without you.” She turned to him and said “I think I’ve had feelings for you, for a really longtime.” He edged back mumbled something and disappeared into the house without a word.
It was her birthday. She didn’t really want to celebrate. He hadn’t called. Why would he? She had decided to avoid him. It seemed like the longest day she ever had to live through. All she wanted was a book to curl up with in bed. Then he called asked if they could meet. She was nervous.
They met at the beach. He laid his hand on her arm, and she was compelled to look back at him. "Are you unhappy?"
"No," she said immediately, truthfully.
He continued to scan her face as his hand slid down to her wrist. "Are you happy?"
She opened her mouth, prepared to answer, then closed it again on a quick sound of frustration.
Why must those eyes be on hers, so direct, demanding perfect honesty? They wouldn't accept platitudes or pat answers. "Shouldn't I be?" she countered. His fingers tightened on her wrist as she started to rise. She had no choice but to face him again.
"Are we friends?" he asked.
She fumbled for an answer. A simple yes hardly covered the complexities of her feelings for him or the uneven range of their relationship. "Sometimes," she answered cautiously. "Sometimes I don’t know what we are."
“Me too” he thought silently. Hadnt he come here wanting to make things right! He couldn’t bear not talking to her. He entwined his fingers with hers, deep in thought.
He turned to him and said, “I like you, I really do. I wish we lived in an universe where all that mattered were the feelings of two people. But it wont work out. This is not right. You are too young to understand. I want you to forget this evening. I don’t want to see you or meet you for sometime. Now, Go home."
She blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"Go home," he repeated in the same frigid tone.
Her eyes were suddenly round and eloquent. "Oh, no, I—"
"I said go." His words fell like an axe. "I don't want you here."
Even as she stared at him, she paled from the hurt. There was nothing, nothing he could have done to wound her more deeply than to send her away. She felt both a rush of angry words and a rush of tears back up in her throat.
His words had been the last thing she had thought of before she fell into an exhausted sleep and the first to play in her mind when she awoke. She had been wrong. He didn’t like her.
"Why do I like him so much?" she asked herself. "What is it about him that attracts
me?" Her brows lowered and she stared into the distance. "Is it his voice, that is musical, and appealingly? Is it his intelligence? His wonderful sense of dry wit? Or is it the way he moves, with such fluidly controlled grace?”
This wasn't a silly crush. She was a grownup now. This was love. True love. She had known him for a year or two and had a crush on him at one point early on. She had spoken with him a couple of times but each time,she found out to her dismay that of all the words available in the English language, she could recollect only ten or fifteen words! All grammatical rules broke down when she looked into his eyes. She didn’t have the courage to go and talk to him about her feelings. She knew he would never go for her. She was plain , pudgy and dorky. To her he was perfection. Time passed by. They became good friends.
They were travelling by bus. Looking out the window, she realized her head was beginning to ache. It was ridiculous really, she thought. Why was this so difficult? She thought she was over it. Over him. She glanced down at his hand. Would he ever hold her hand in his? He could so easily reach out and touch her hand right now.
Things had changed between them, hadn’t they? He didn’t treat her like that kid he used to hang out with. He was lost in thought. She was different. He knew she had a crush on him when she was a kid. But now things had changed, he was certain of that. But he was uncertain of exactly what those changes meant. He knew she was just as happy as him to have him as her friend. But did he want them to be something more?
They walked home from the bus stop both lost in thoughts. He realized how much he depended on her. They reached his apartment. She gave him the slow half smile that was so much a part of her. The smile that accelerated his heartbeat. Without thinking he said “ I don’t know what I would do without you.” She turned to him and said “I think I’ve had feelings for you, for a really longtime.” He edged back mumbled something and disappeared into the house without a word.
It was her birthday. She didn’t really want to celebrate. He hadn’t called. Why would he? She had decided to avoid him. It seemed like the longest day she ever had to live through. All she wanted was a book to curl up with in bed. Then he called asked if they could meet. She was nervous.
They met at the beach. He laid his hand on her arm, and she was compelled to look back at him. "Are you unhappy?"
"No," she said immediately, truthfully.
He continued to scan her face as his hand slid down to her wrist. "Are you happy?"
She opened her mouth, prepared to answer, then closed it again on a quick sound of frustration.
Why must those eyes be on hers, so direct, demanding perfect honesty? They wouldn't accept platitudes or pat answers. "Shouldn't I be?" she countered. His fingers tightened on her wrist as she started to rise. She had no choice but to face him again.
"Are we friends?" he asked.
She fumbled for an answer. A simple yes hardly covered the complexities of her feelings for him or the uneven range of their relationship. "Sometimes," she answered cautiously. "Sometimes I don’t know what we are."
“Me too” he thought silently. Hadnt he come here wanting to make things right! He couldn’t bear not talking to her. He entwined his fingers with hers, deep in thought.
He turned to him and said, “I like you, I really do. I wish we lived in an universe where all that mattered were the feelings of two people. But it wont work out. This is not right. You are too young to understand. I want you to forget this evening. I don’t want to see you or meet you for sometime. Now, Go home."
She blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"Go home," he repeated in the same frigid tone.
Her eyes were suddenly round and eloquent. "Oh, no, I—"
"I said go." His words fell like an axe. "I don't want you here."
Even as she stared at him, she paled from the hurt. There was nothing, nothing he could have done to wound her more deeply than to send her away. She felt both a rush of angry words and a rush of tears back up in her throat.
His words had been the last thing she had thought of before she fell into an exhausted sleep and the first to play in her mind when she awoke. She had been wrong. He didn’t like her.
"Why do I like him so much?" she asked herself. "What is it about him that attracts
me?" Her brows lowered and she stared into the distance. "Is it his voice, that is musical, and appealingly? Is it his intelligence? His wonderful sense of dry wit? Or is it the way he moves, with such fluidly controlled grace?”
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Arti: Okay this is the limit. I am one step away from going insane. Oh god! Where the hell are you?
God: hey waddup!
A: Who is it?
G: Its me God..
A: God? Where are you.. I cant really see you with all that bright light pointing towards me..
G: Oops. Sorry shifted to low watt environment friendly ones. Having trouble adjusting brightness. Just hold on will sms ya.Must be cheaper.Coverage at this time of the night should be good.
A: er.. I thought u created the universe and well isn’t light included in it??
G: Of course not, Woman have you forgotten elementary physics? Law of conservation of energy??
A: oho! Din know that. Then wats with the “Let there be light” propaganda?
G: That. I din come up with it.. The PR guys thought it would be good for my image.
A: oh okay. So why you here?
G: Didn’t you just summon me.
A: Okay that’s weird.. It was jus an expression. Sorry.
G: That’s cool np. I was bored anyway. Have been reading this. (points to a huge book)
A: Okay that’s huge. Is it a list of all that people want?
G: Not really.. Its Shashi Tharoor’s tweet updates. I wanted to know why he gets into trouble all the time. And one point of clarification, me being God and all am not allowed into hell.
A: Oh okay I kinda forgot.. it seems to be a verbal crutch these days.. By the way since ur here and all can I ask you something?
G: Fire away.
A: Who are you? Krishna? Buddha? Jesus? Allah?
G: The core of all religions is the same. And the core is me. Interpretations of me vary. But I am constant.
A: okay.. if that’s the case people go around fighting about you for what reason? Why don’t ya stop em?
G: That’s not how I roll.. I gave you all free will. I don’t have time to babysit each and everyone of you. And to be honest I get a lil bored up here. You guys are my tv you know..
A: that’s a little petty for god now isn’t it?
G: you shoulda seen how ive screwed over other planets?
A: other planets? Okay I don wana know. Is that why ur texting me instead of a vision?
G: How do you know this is not a vision?
A: Touché god.
G: Okay my balance is kinda out. So gtg. Ttyl.
God: hey waddup!
A: Who is it?
G: Its me God..
A: God? Where are you.. I cant really see you with all that bright light pointing towards me..
G: Oops. Sorry shifted to low watt environment friendly ones. Having trouble adjusting brightness. Just hold on will sms ya.Must be cheaper.Coverage at this time of the night should be good.
A: er.. I thought u created the universe and well isn’t light included in it??
G: Of course not, Woman have you forgotten elementary physics? Law of conservation of energy??
A: oho! Din know that. Then wats with the “Let there be light” propaganda?
G: That. I din come up with it.. The PR guys thought it would be good for my image.
A: oh okay. So why you here?
G: Didn’t you just summon me.
A: Okay that’s weird.. It was jus an expression. Sorry.
G: That’s cool np. I was bored anyway. Have been reading this. (points to a huge book)
A: Okay that’s huge. Is it a list of all that people want?
G: Not really.. Its Shashi Tharoor’s tweet updates. I wanted to know why he gets into trouble all the time. And one point of clarification, me being God and all am not allowed into hell.
A: Oh okay I kinda forgot.. it seems to be a verbal crutch these days.. By the way since ur here and all can I ask you something?
G: Fire away.
A: Who are you? Krishna? Buddha? Jesus? Allah?
G: The core of all religions is the same. And the core is me. Interpretations of me vary. But I am constant.
A: okay.. if that’s the case people go around fighting about you for what reason? Why don’t ya stop em?
G: That’s not how I roll.. I gave you all free will. I don’t have time to babysit each and everyone of you. And to be honest I get a lil bored up here. You guys are my tv you know..
A: that’s a little petty for god now isn’t it?
G: you shoulda seen how ive screwed over other planets?
A: other planets? Okay I don wana know. Is that why ur texting me instead of a vision?
G: How do you know this is not a vision?
A: Touché god.
G: Okay my balance is kinda out. So gtg. Ttyl.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
stereotypes
My friend’s mother recently passes away. H didn’t take it very well. Did not want to work, talk to anyone. We begged, cajoled, threatened. After about a month, went off to work. Had a breakdown in front of the colleagues. But the whole thing was not looked upon kindly by the people at work. Why? As a man he is supposed to be stronger. He doesn’t fit the stereotype. From childhood, girls are allowed to cry and boys are forced not to cry. After a certain age the boy is told, “You are a big boy now. You shouldn’t cry.” Does it mean men aren’t allowed to express emotions? Everyone believes that he/she belongs to a stereotype and may be he/she should just follow that.
We as a species are all hypocrites. It’s just that our level of awareness about it differs from person to person. Not so long ago I made a harsh comment about men who cry and how unattractive it is. Now when I think about it I realize I was being as dumb as the people at H’s workplace.
Having said that, I am playing devil’s advocate. In today’s cognitive world, stereotypes are just generalizations, for better or worse, the product of everyone’s mind. For most people an essential feature of stereotypes is that they are negative and that is the one reason why they seem so offensive. People want to feel good about themselves and they would like to, more often than not, bolster their confidence by convincing themselves that they are doing much better than their cohorts.
Take gender stereotyping. Comments like “You throw like a girl” meant to insult a guy is looked on as a negative stereotype. It is well established that an average man would have better muscle power than an average woman. Does it mean guys who make comments like this are chauvinists? Not really. It’s a way for them to establish rapport.
Don’t you think we may have equal number of positive and negative generalizations about people? We tend to label those negative as stereotypes whereas the positive ones are labeled as mere generalizations. This is a reason why people seem to get offended when you tell them they belong to a stereotype. Isn’t it better to fit into a mold rather than not fit anywhere at all?
I think it is an innate tendency for the human mind to abstract. It’s easier to group people into different homogeneous segments, than to attempt understanding each one separately. These groups can be anything like "those who go for love marriages" , H1B category, north Indians calling all south Indians “madrasi”.. Yada. Yada. It is just one form of cognition according to me when you are trying to understand someone.. There are as always errors and but it still makes the effort easier for the mind right?
I don’t know if stereotyping is right/wrong, makes sense/doesn’t. I just hope people would have better perception of the concept. What do you think?
We as a species are all hypocrites. It’s just that our level of awareness about it differs from person to person. Not so long ago I made a harsh comment about men who cry and how unattractive it is. Now when I think about it I realize I was being as dumb as the people at H’s workplace.
Having said that, I am playing devil’s advocate. In today’s cognitive world, stereotypes are just generalizations, for better or worse, the product of everyone’s mind. For most people an essential feature of stereotypes is that they are negative and that is the one reason why they seem so offensive. People want to feel good about themselves and they would like to, more often than not, bolster their confidence by convincing themselves that they are doing much better than their cohorts.
Take gender stereotyping. Comments like “You throw like a girl” meant to insult a guy is looked on as a negative stereotype. It is well established that an average man would have better muscle power than an average woman. Does it mean guys who make comments like this are chauvinists? Not really. It’s a way for them to establish rapport.
Don’t you think we may have equal number of positive and negative generalizations about people? We tend to label those negative as stereotypes whereas the positive ones are labeled as mere generalizations. This is a reason why people seem to get offended when you tell them they belong to a stereotype. Isn’t it better to fit into a mold rather than not fit anywhere at all?
I think it is an innate tendency for the human mind to abstract. It’s easier to group people into different homogeneous segments, than to attempt understanding each one separately. These groups can be anything like "those who go for love marriages" , H1B category, north Indians calling all south Indians “madrasi”.. Yada. Yada. It is just one form of cognition according to me when you are trying to understand someone.. There are as always errors and but it still makes the effort easier for the mind right?
I don’t know if stereotyping is right/wrong, makes sense/doesn’t. I just hope people would have better perception of the concept. What do you think?
Monday, January 18, 2010
Izz all well?
Three idiots may or may not be a rip off to chetan bhagat’s original novel, it may have been a real fun to sit through those two and half hours but one line in the movie got me thinking.
In one of the scenes of 3 Idiots, Aamir Khan says, “kabhi aap log class main ye soch kar aaye ho ki aaj kuch naya sikhne ko milega, aaj maza aayega”.
I hope I got the hindi English typing right. When you think back to your college days, you have a lot of fond memories. You think of pulling pranks, failing tests, falling in love, getting drunk. But for once have you thought of a memorable class you sat through?
Most regrettably, students never feel that way. Attending the class is rather an ordeal which they have to face in their quest to get a degree. This is the reason why students loath to attend the classes and the only ‘weapon’ that’s capable enough to shove them into the class is the “Terror of attendance”.
In most of the classes students are welcomed with the horror of the powerpoint slides; extremely monotonous, verbose and theoretical. Lecturers and professors just copy paste from e copys of books and just read out in class. There is a saying “example is better than precept”. Until and unless we don’t know how a particular funda is being applied in the lab or in the industry, why the hell should we care to understand it?
I teach a cell biology 101 class. In our college 101 classes are those which deal with the basics. In order to make students understand the models of the plasma membrane I likened the structure to a subway sandwich. Believe it or not when the question was asked in the exam paper every single student got it right.. Sure some of them included the analogy, but what matters is most of them got the concept rather than just commit it to memory.
Another thing that really bothers me is the focus on campus interviews. Don’t get me wrong am all for 100% placement and all that. But what matters seems to be the final salary p.a rather than the job the person gets. People ask me why I teach. Even my own profs “you are top of your class. You shouldn’t be teaching. Yada yada. ” . The first thing people ask me when I tell them I teach is how much do you earn? That really drives me crazy. Why should it matter to you? My uncle advised me” If today you join a biotech or a pharma firm, in three years you may be earning 3 to 5 times of what you would earn as a lecturer” Thank you Einstein I didn’t know that. I do what I do coz its fun. It’s a challenge everyday.
I hope the Indian education system will one day change so that students can learn what they like rather than what others think is good for them. I believe in looking for excellence rather than success. If one is excellent at what one does success is definite to follow. Success should not be because of serendipity but because of conscious and calculated efforts.
In one of the scenes of 3 Idiots, Aamir Khan says, “kabhi aap log class main ye soch kar aaye ho ki aaj kuch naya sikhne ko milega, aaj maza aayega”.
I hope I got the hindi English typing right. When you think back to your college days, you have a lot of fond memories. You think of pulling pranks, failing tests, falling in love, getting drunk. But for once have you thought of a memorable class you sat through?
Most regrettably, students never feel that way. Attending the class is rather an ordeal which they have to face in their quest to get a degree. This is the reason why students loath to attend the classes and the only ‘weapon’ that’s capable enough to shove them into the class is the “Terror of attendance”.
In most of the classes students are welcomed with the horror of the powerpoint slides; extremely monotonous, verbose and theoretical. Lecturers and professors just copy paste from e copys of books and just read out in class. There is a saying “example is better than precept”. Until and unless we don’t know how a particular funda is being applied in the lab or in the industry, why the hell should we care to understand it?
I teach a cell biology 101 class. In our college 101 classes are those which deal with the basics. In order to make students understand the models of the plasma membrane I likened the structure to a subway sandwich. Believe it or not when the question was asked in the exam paper every single student got it right.. Sure some of them included the analogy, but what matters is most of them got the concept rather than just commit it to memory.
Another thing that really bothers me is the focus on campus interviews. Don’t get me wrong am all for 100% placement and all that. But what matters seems to be the final salary p.a rather than the job the person gets. People ask me why I teach. Even my own profs “you are top of your class. You shouldn’t be teaching. Yada yada. ” . The first thing people ask me when I tell them I teach is how much do you earn? That really drives me crazy. Why should it matter to you? My uncle advised me” If today you join a biotech or a pharma firm, in three years you may be earning 3 to 5 times of what you would earn as a lecturer” Thank you Einstein I didn’t know that. I do what I do coz its fun. It’s a challenge everyday.
I hope the Indian education system will one day change so that students can learn what they like rather than what others think is good for them. I believe in looking for excellence rather than success. If one is excellent at what one does success is definite to follow. Success should not be because of serendipity but because of conscious and calculated efforts.
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