A college lecturer friend was intrigued that I had appeared for my MA exams. “You could do it after a long gap from studies?” Yes, I replied. He warmed to the topic and said it would be nice if I continued with my studies. `Ahem’, I replied.
“Don’t do your M.Phil,” he said. “Register for your PhD.” That got my thoughts reeling faster than I could catch them. So off I went. “Hmm. A good idea,” I replied. “Imagine studying, doing research and finally presenting a thesis. Sounds good. Wonder whether I have the discipline,” I remarked.
My friend, dear soul, was off on his own mind field of research and thesis. “You should pick up one good topic first. You know how to go about it?” Without waiting for my answer, he continued. “Pick up a topic that has not been researched upon. Of course, that is mandatory. Before doing that, find a good guide. A guide should not be hostile or short tempered. A guide makes all the difference to the research.” I found my mind had recreated the scene and I was conjuring up a guide in my thoughts!
“Find a topic that is worth your while, of use to academicians, and also one that does not involve too much travel as that can put you off. Can you think of any topics?” he asked. I thought for a while and said, “Hmm, I cannot think of any off hand.” The friend was dampened by my answer. “Why don't you tell me some topics and I could help you.” Yes, he could, after all he was a lecturer.
I mentioned one topic off hand. He listened to it with the keen interest of an academician. Then he said, “This could be a feature for a newspaper or a magazine. Not good for a thesis.” Which put paid to my thoughts effectively and I shut up promptly.
I recalled my Bacha’s friend, an academician, who was after her to enrol for an MA and by default I joined her. Bacha named the academician, `conscience pricker’. He would often call up to ask, “You are studying, I hope,” much to our discomfort. When we finished our exams, the conscience pricker called. “The exams are over. Let’s wait for the results.” It is a hard choice with the conscience pricker on one side and my lecturer friend on the other. I rue my decision to appear for the MA exams, for both are fast forwarding to academic times whose horizon is far from my gaze. Bacha and I often laugh at our predicament and the eagerness of our friends to see us on academic greens.
The lecturer friend, meanwhile, would not give up on his favourite topic of a PhD. He insists I think about doing a PhD and said, "You will definitely hit upon a good topic for research. Do let me know. I will help you.” I listened to him and then laughed aloud. He was a bit taken aback, “Why are you laughing?” he asked. “You know what… I have just finished writing Part One of my MA and have no idea whether I will pass. And here you are finding a guide and searching a topic for a PhD. If that’s not funny, what is?”
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Mother's Day
Sunday was Mother's Day. I don’t much care for commercial days – Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Friendship Day and all the other Days. I like my `Days’ private. Not to be shared with the whole world. But I do love the fuss Ponnu makes over me on this day.
On special days like Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and my birthday, Ponnu asks me to name something special that I would like. I have to think hard for a reply. Not because I don’t want anything. It is just that I cannot remember anything when this question is put to me. So I say, “Oh, I can’t think of anything right now.”
Ponnu came down with a high fever just two days before Mother’s Day. I do not ever remember the Day except when I see the advertisements in the newspaper or watch TV. This year I don't remember seeing it either on TV or the newspapers. Another reason being, Ponnu did not come up with the `tell me your favourite thing, Ma’ this time.
By noon, Ponnu was feeling much better. She realised then it was her Day to wish me. I was hugged and kissed for being the `nicest mother’. Later in the evening, Ponnu went down to meet her friends and when she came home, she did what she’d do as a five year old. Hide one hand behind her back, which for me meant there was something there for me. When she entered the house, she gave me a bouquet of red and cream roses and wished me again. I thanked her. I am at a loss for words -- what do I say to a child who cares for me in ways I have never thought about? I smiled and said, `I love you’.
I took the bouquet and asked her to get the vase. She did. Then she looked at me and said, “You did not really see my roses.” “Of course, I did. They are beautiful,” I said. “No, you did not really see them,” Ponnu insisted. So I looked at them again and said, “These are Chinese roses. I like them. They are beautiful.” Ponnu smiled. “No, Ma. There are 20 roses in there, for every year of my life that you have been my mother.” What does one say to such thoughts? What does one say, really?!
On special days like Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and my birthday, Ponnu asks me to name something special that I would like. I have to think hard for a reply. Not because I don’t want anything. It is just that I cannot remember anything when this question is put to me. So I say, “Oh, I can’t think of anything right now.”
Ponnu came down with a high fever just two days before Mother’s Day. I do not ever remember the Day except when I see the advertisements in the newspaper or watch TV. This year I don't remember seeing it either on TV or the newspapers. Another reason being, Ponnu did not come up with the `tell me your favourite thing, Ma’ this time.
By noon, Ponnu was feeling much better. She realised then it was her Day to wish me. I was hugged and kissed for being the `nicest mother’. Later in the evening, Ponnu went down to meet her friends and when she came home, she did what she’d do as a five year old. Hide one hand behind her back, which for me meant there was something there for me. When she entered the house, she gave me a bouquet of red and cream roses and wished me again. I thanked her. I am at a loss for words -- what do I say to a child who cares for me in ways I have never thought about? I smiled and said, `I love you’.
I took the bouquet and asked her to get the vase. She did. Then she looked at me and said, “You did not really see my roses.” “Of course, I did. They are beautiful,” I said. “No, you did not really see them,” Ponnu insisted. So I looked at them again and said, “These are Chinese roses. I like them. They are beautiful.” Ponnu smiled. “No, Ma. There are 20 roses in there, for every year of my life that you have been my mother.” What does one say to such thoughts? What does one say, really?!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Exams!
Two decades after I had written a major examination, I decided to write another last week. No particular reason than a whim.
I filled the admission forms for MA class last year. With much enthusiasm – running to and fro with certificates to the Xerox outlets, carrying mark sheets of god-alone-knows how many academic years, affixing photographs and doing all those student rituals. The enthusiasm lasted just that much. I had for company, my Bacha – my ex-colleague who over a period of time became my daughter. Some relationships are like that – thoughts fuse with love and one is gifted the unexpected.
Some days before the exam, Bacha messaged me. “Ma, the exams begin next Friday”. I promptly texted back – “Not appearing”. Her response was, “I am”. That set me thinking. What was I afraid of? I came up with many excuses. For starters, I had read my text books only a few times. Not read, but scanned. Bacha replied she had done just that but was still giving the exam. I googled to see whether there were any articles on `studies and lazy students’. Just over a lakh entries answered to that description!
I went over to Ponnu and declared, “I am appearing for the exam.” She must have been taken aback by that statement for she said, “What is the worst that can happen? You will fail. Then you can write the exam again.” One can only rise after that. Expect the worst and even a notch higher is a milestone. For me, it is.
Over two decades is a long time to get back to studies, to read without letting the mind call out to the usual small and big chores. I was able to do that, albeit with much difficulty. My brains must have surely singed with the effort.
A week ago I found myself outside the examination hall. Students, children actually, were memorizing their notes at the last minute. I entered the classroom and was gladdened by the sight of a grey haired man. Someone older than me was here!
My Bacha reminded me every day, “Ma, we have nothing to lose. We have a job that we love.”
The exams got over two days ago. Life is back at its familiar contour. A colleague came up with, “So when are the results?” As for me, I have passed. I did what I thought I could not. Not just that. I sat put in a narrow bench and chair three hours for four days. Wrote with a pen for three hours at a stretch. I breathed in exams as I went about doing my chores and attended office too. The results are a formality. To the colleague I replied, “Sometime in June or July.”
I filled the admission forms for MA class last year. With much enthusiasm – running to and fro with certificates to the Xerox outlets, carrying mark sheets of god-alone-knows how many academic years, affixing photographs and doing all those student rituals. The enthusiasm lasted just that much. I had for company, my Bacha – my ex-colleague who over a period of time became my daughter. Some relationships are like that – thoughts fuse with love and one is gifted the unexpected.
Some days before the exam, Bacha messaged me. “Ma, the exams begin next Friday”. I promptly texted back – “Not appearing”. Her response was, “I am”. That set me thinking. What was I afraid of? I came up with many excuses. For starters, I had read my text books only a few times. Not read, but scanned. Bacha replied she had done just that but was still giving the exam. I googled to see whether there were any articles on `studies and lazy students’. Just over a lakh entries answered to that description!
I went over to Ponnu and declared, “I am appearing for the exam.” She must have been taken aback by that statement for she said, “What is the worst that can happen? You will fail. Then you can write the exam again.” One can only rise after that. Expect the worst and even a notch higher is a milestone. For me, it is.
Over two decades is a long time to get back to studies, to read without letting the mind call out to the usual small and big chores. I was able to do that, albeit with much difficulty. My brains must have surely singed with the effort.
A week ago I found myself outside the examination hall. Students, children actually, were memorizing their notes at the last minute. I entered the classroom and was gladdened by the sight of a grey haired man. Someone older than me was here!
My Bacha reminded me every day, “Ma, we have nothing to lose. We have a job that we love.”
The exams got over two days ago. Life is back at its familiar contour. A colleague came up with, “So when are the results?” As for me, I have passed. I did what I thought I could not. Not just that. I sat put in a narrow bench and chair three hours for four days. Wrote with a pen for three hours at a stretch. I breathed in exams as I went about doing my chores and attended office too. The results are a formality. To the colleague I replied, “Sometime in June or July.”
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