After four long months of subzero temperatures, spring has decided to show its face. Today, for the first time since I landed here in August, I was able to step out in the open without a jacket or even a sweater. Sunshine, glorious sunshine! I let the warm soak into me as I marvelled at how the grass looks greener when the sun is brighter. People who've never seen snow in their lives might ask what is the big deal about sunshine. I say, come here for a winter and ask again!
But spring is here in more ways than just the weather. The paperwork for my assistantship has finally been processed, and I'm typing this out from the computer and the desk that is going to be mine for the next 3-4 years. I'm now officially a Research Assistant, a respectable, gainfully employed student. I get a tuition waiver and a stipend, and I have to work hard to earn that. Which means it might be harder to keep a straight face to my roommates when they ask me, "How come I always see you reading a novel? Don't you have any work?" and I reply, "Of course I do. This is like dessert, there's always room for it!"
Now that I can worry less about money, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The less money you have, the more you appreciate its worth! I don't have to feel too guilty about eating out, or going to the nearer-but-more-expensive store, or upgrading my computer for non-essential purposes (read gaming), etcetera etcetera.
Even better than money is comradeship. There are a couple of people in my lab from my college, and not only are they very helpful and companionable, I feel almost at home with the occasional statement thrown in in Tamil or Telugu, or comment on some mutual IITian acquaintance, and so on. I have lunch with them everyday now. I'm sure the other people in the lab are equally nice, and I'll get to know them as time goes on. It sure beats sitting in the common computer lab surrounded by noisy undergrads and unable to concentrate on my work.
My advisor is - in a word - AWESOME. I asked him what work I had to start with, and he said, "Talk to the others in the lab regarding their research, and see if you find anything interesting." I asked him what time I'm expected to come to the lab everyday, and he said, "Whenever you wish." When I ask him a technical question, his breadth and depth of knowledge leaves me feeling like a chicken in a lion's pride. And he never gets annoyed by all the foolish things I ask or do.
I've also gotten used to my roommates and feel comfortable in their company, and I'm fine with the arrangements in regard to cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc. In other words, it feels as though my life in the US is truly beginning only now.
The trees have leaves and the plants have flowers. Spring is here, and the smile on my face is back. It's genuine, and I'll give it to you often. Say cheese!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Works well alone
I remember my 6th grade class teacher writing on my report card:
Works well alone: A
Works well in a group: E
I've had loads of laughs telling that story to people over the years, so I won't say it again. But I got reminded of it because of an "incident" that occurred this weekend.
A friend of mine was doing a course project with three other team members, and it ended in total disaster. They sought my simulation expertise to pull them out of a tough spot, and I spent several hours helping them out. Once that was done, I returned to my own work; but they then had to seek another friend's programming expertise to pull them out of another spot. In spite of all the help they got, they were no further from solving their problem at the time of submission than they were at the time they received the project statement.
Notwithstanding the lack of computer skills, I could see that their problem was simply lack of coordination. They had neatly divided the work into four segments between them, but...
- None of them bothered to follow up with the others if they'd made progress with their work. So, all of them procrastinated till two days before the submission.
- Everybody assumed that one of the others could fill in his/her gap in computer skills, and didn't bother to check if that was indeed the case. So, when they found out that none of their group members knew simulation, they called me. When they found out that nobody was good at programming, they had to call another guy. And when you need to bring in outsiders into your project and explain stuff to them, it causes huge delays.
- Nobody bothered to sound out the others to check if their ideas were right. One guy came up with an algorithm, but didn't ask the others to check it for him. They, in turn, didn't have the patience or inclination to check something that wasn't their job. When the algorithm flopped, they were out of ideas and out of time.
- They forgot about dependency. If Part B can only be done after Part A, the person doing Part A should do it quite early.
At the end of it all, my friend says, "This is why I prefer to work alone."
That gave me quite a jolt, because I prefer to work alone as well. If I have to work in a group, I choose the smallest group. And I invariably end up doing the majority of the work myself, and redoing most of what the others did. I have this perfectionist nature when it comes to work, and little patience for ineptitude of any sort. So, I keep saying, "Never mind, I'll take care of it"... and naturally, most people are happy enough to accept my offer. This way, I get the job done with zero interpersonal skills and zero coordination and next to zero communication, through sheer... well, ego! I mean, I want a good grade for this, right? And if I need something done right, I do it myself.
However, as I watch my projects grow larger and larger, it occurs to me that there will come a stage when I simply can't do everything by myself. So I have to learn... somehow... how to manage, coordinate, communicate and work with other people. I should also learn how to work in a group on a peer-to-peer basis, without taking control and saying, "You just take care of this part, should be easy enough. I'll do that and that and that." I mean, if somebody spoke to me like that, we would probably have a sword duel on our hands.
There have been a few rare occasions when I've actually had the pleasure of working with companions who were much better than me at certain skills, such as preparing a presentation. There you have a neat division of labour... one guy does the job I considered dull (which, fortunately, he did not consider very dull), I do the job I consider interesting, and the other prepares the presentation while we explain to him approximately what we need to convey. There was even an occasion when I was a novice at the area we were working on, so I let my partner do most of the work and I had him explain it to me after that, and I did the documentation. I'm not proud of it, and when it became obvious to the professor that I didn't understand much about how the program worked, I got one of the lowest grades of my life.
I really have to get the hang of this teamwork thing, and do it in such a way that I don't have "Egotistic IITian" spelt in large red letters on my forehead.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Works well alone: A
Works well in a group: E
I've had loads of laughs telling that story to people over the years, so I won't say it again. But I got reminded of it because of an "incident" that occurred this weekend.
A friend of mine was doing a course project with three other team members, and it ended in total disaster. They sought my simulation expertise to pull them out of a tough spot, and I spent several hours helping them out. Once that was done, I returned to my own work; but they then had to seek another friend's programming expertise to pull them out of another spot. In spite of all the help they got, they were no further from solving their problem at the time of submission than they were at the time they received the project statement.
Notwithstanding the lack of computer skills, I could see that their problem was simply lack of coordination. They had neatly divided the work into four segments between them, but...
- None of them bothered to follow up with the others if they'd made progress with their work. So, all of them procrastinated till two days before the submission.
- Everybody assumed that one of the others could fill in his/her gap in computer skills, and didn't bother to check if that was indeed the case. So, when they found out that none of their group members knew simulation, they called me. When they found out that nobody was good at programming, they had to call another guy. And when you need to bring in outsiders into your project and explain stuff to them, it causes huge delays.
- Nobody bothered to sound out the others to check if their ideas were right. One guy came up with an algorithm, but didn't ask the others to check it for him. They, in turn, didn't have the patience or inclination to check something that wasn't their job. When the algorithm flopped, they were out of ideas and out of time.
- They forgot about dependency. If Part B can only be done after Part A, the person doing Part A should do it quite early.
At the end of it all, my friend says, "This is why I prefer to work alone."
That gave me quite a jolt, because I prefer to work alone as well. If I have to work in a group, I choose the smallest group. And I invariably end up doing the majority of the work myself, and redoing most of what the others did. I have this perfectionist nature when it comes to work, and little patience for ineptitude of any sort. So, I keep saying, "Never mind, I'll take care of it"... and naturally, most people are happy enough to accept my offer. This way, I get the job done with zero interpersonal skills and zero coordination and next to zero communication, through sheer... well, ego! I mean, I want a good grade for this, right? And if I need something done right, I do it myself.
However, as I watch my projects grow larger and larger, it occurs to me that there will come a stage when I simply can't do everything by myself. So I have to learn... somehow... how to manage, coordinate, communicate and work with other people. I should also learn how to work in a group on a peer-to-peer basis, without taking control and saying, "You just take care of this part, should be easy enough. I'll do that and that and that." I mean, if somebody spoke to me like that, we would probably have a sword duel on our hands.
There have been a few rare occasions when I've actually had the pleasure of working with companions who were much better than me at certain skills, such as preparing a presentation. There you have a neat division of labour... one guy does the job I considered dull (which, fortunately, he did not consider very dull), I do the job I consider interesting, and the other prepares the presentation while we explain to him approximately what we need to convey. There was even an occasion when I was a novice at the area we were working on, so I let my partner do most of the work and I had him explain it to me after that, and I did the documentation. I'm not proud of it, and when it became obvious to the professor that I didn't understand much about how the program worked, I got one of the lowest grades of my life.
I really have to get the hang of this teamwork thing, and do it in such a way that I don't have "Egotistic IITian" spelt in large red letters on my forehead.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
The fortnight gone by....
In Retro Mode...
I watched "To kill a mocking bird" and it was simply the most b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l movie I've seen in ages. I wish I'd read the novel earlier, because I know I won't read it now. I also watched "The King and I" - the original 60s movie, not the 90s remake - but I didn't enjoy it much; I guess I've simply outgrown such movies. It was too artificial.
I realized something else I've outgrown - surprisingly, Jules Verne. I remember enjoying "Journey to the Center of the Earth" when I was a kid; but when I read "From the Earth to the Moon" and "All around the moon" last week, I got tired of Verne's didactic tone, even if I forgave him for getting things wrong. It's a work of fiction after all.
I did like Robert Heinlein's "Stranger in a strange land", though I think he would have done better to end the book 75 pages earlier than he did. This was my first Heinlein novel and I like his style of dwelling on the human aspect of his story, rather than the "action". Puts me in the frame of mind of one of my favourite contemporary science fiction authors, Ursula Le Guin.
The Callous Youth...
I seem to have developed a knack for landing up at the public library and picking up a truckload of novels just before some exam. Each time I do that, I make it a point to sigh and tell the girl at the counter, "There goes my exam tomorrow..."
I don't even feel guilty. I know I can't study more than a few hours for an exam anyway, if I study at all. Why not spend that time reading a book rather than waste it in watching television?
The Idiot Box...
Television is one of the Prime Evils in the world, after Diablo, Mephisto and Baal. I never had a complaint against any of my roommates, even when they kept messing up the kitchen without cleaning it, until they started ridiculing my favourite shows like Smallville and Star Trek. Grrrr. I don't blame it on them; I have a new policy, if there is blame, blame it on the TV set or the Weatherman.
What's in a name, anyway?
I'm at the bridge table introducing myself to a lady I haven't played against so far. She has difficulty pronouncing my name and asks me again how to say it. "Croissant, but with a P," offers my partner helpfully. Boy, I had a good laugh! I didn't bother correcting anyone, though. They would only pronounce it worse.
Speaking of names, I owe an apology to the authors Robin Hobb, for thinking she was a man, and Tracy Hickman, for thinking he was a woman. Man, I still have trouble with these American names. But they, naturally, have more trouble with the Indian names. Why else would I meet a man with a perfectly good Tamil name like "Odaiperumal Periyakaruppan", who shortened it to "Odai Peri"? Or a "Shanmuganathan Gnanasambandam" who calls himself "Nathan"? Or a "Sankaravadivelu Viruthachalam" reduced to "Sanky"?
Is the shrink in?
My friend read my last post and asked not too politely if I needed a shrink. Oh well, in retrospect I guess I did go off the wire, but it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. This is when a normal person would say, "I need a vacation". Except that I wrote that post just after Spring break. So I say, "Give me some work, I need my sanity back." And the profs were kind and gave me two mid semester exams and one assignment and three project deadlines for the week.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I watched "To kill a mocking bird" and it was simply the most b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l movie I've seen in ages. I wish I'd read the novel earlier, because I know I won't read it now. I also watched "The King and I" - the original 60s movie, not the 90s remake - but I didn't enjoy it much; I guess I've simply outgrown such movies. It was too artificial.
I realized something else I've outgrown - surprisingly, Jules Verne. I remember enjoying "Journey to the Center of the Earth" when I was a kid; but when I read "From the Earth to the Moon" and "All around the moon" last week, I got tired of Verne's didactic tone, even if I forgave him for getting things wrong. It's a work of fiction after all.
I did like Robert Heinlein's "Stranger in a strange land", though I think he would have done better to end the book 75 pages earlier than he did. This was my first Heinlein novel and I like his style of dwelling on the human aspect of his story, rather than the "action". Puts me in the frame of mind of one of my favourite contemporary science fiction authors, Ursula Le Guin.
The Callous Youth...
I seem to have developed a knack for landing up at the public library and picking up a truckload of novels just before some exam. Each time I do that, I make it a point to sigh and tell the girl at the counter, "There goes my exam tomorrow..."
I don't even feel guilty. I know I can't study more than a few hours for an exam anyway, if I study at all. Why not spend that time reading a book rather than waste it in watching television?
The Idiot Box...
Television is one of the Prime Evils in the world, after Diablo, Mephisto and Baal. I never had a complaint against any of my roommates, even when they kept messing up the kitchen without cleaning it, until they started ridiculing my favourite shows like Smallville and Star Trek. Grrrr. I don't blame it on them; I have a new policy, if there is blame, blame it on the TV set or the Weatherman.
What's in a name, anyway?
I'm at the bridge table introducing myself to a lady I haven't played against so far. She has difficulty pronouncing my name and asks me again how to say it. "Croissant, but with a P," offers my partner helpfully. Boy, I had a good laugh! I didn't bother correcting anyone, though. They would only pronounce it worse.
Speaking of names, I owe an apology to the authors Robin Hobb, for thinking she was a man, and Tracy Hickman, for thinking he was a woman. Man, I still have trouble with these American names. But they, naturally, have more trouble with the Indian names. Why else would I meet a man with a perfectly good Tamil name like "Odaiperumal Periyakaruppan", who shortened it to "Odai Peri"? Or a "Shanmuganathan Gnanasambandam" who calls himself "Nathan"? Or a "Sankaravadivelu Viruthachalam" reduced to "Sanky"?
Is the shrink in?
My friend read my last post and asked not too politely if I needed a shrink. Oh well, in retrospect I guess I did go off the wire, but it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. This is when a normal person would say, "I need a vacation". Except that I wrote that post just after Spring break. So I say, "Give me some work, I need my sanity back." And the profs were kind and gave me two mid semester exams and one assignment and three project deadlines for the week.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, March 10, 2006
The Coward and the Fool
This wednesday, Nag and I did something we've both been planning to do for months but somehow just never went ahead with it: we went to the Ice Rink for a skating session. I've been a roller skating buff for years and this was only my second time on the ice, so I was really looking forward to it. It was Nag's second time (or third?) as well, but he said the last time he stepped onto an ice rink it was a disaster; I didn't press for details. He seemed enthusiastic about it now; what else mattered?
I learnt roller skating by myself when I was a kid, in my backyard with my brother, and in the backyard of my grandparent's house in Salem, with my cousins. When I was slightly older, I received more proper coaching at the social club established by the same uncle. The first thing the horrified instructor did on watching me skate was to make me unlearn whatever I'd taught myself. Sure enough, in a month's time I found myself able to go faster and manouevre more easily, and skating became double the fun it already was.
Have you ever dreamed of flying? Of leaving behind the shackles of the world - and I don't mean merely gravity and friction - and spending time in exhilarated ecstacy, just you and the wind, dancing with carefree abandon? The nearest you can get to that is by skating. Fantasy and creativity and imagination were the bread and butter of my childhood, and I've always revelled in going beyond the confining real world. Perhaps they still are, in a limited way. The freedom and joy I associated with skating is hard to describe to anyone unlike me.
In IIT Madras, I would occasionally skate around the campus in the evenings, while pedestrians looked at me as though I were an alien. I particularly remember one little kid, probably from the slum dwellings behind the campus, looking at me with open awe and jealousy, pestering me with inane questions. There was another occasion when a man stopped me and asked me how much roller skates cost; he couldn't afford much but apparently his son had seen someone roller skating (perhaps me!) and couldn't stop talking about it, and being a loving father he wished to buy him a pair of skates if he could afford it. But bystanders aside, the times I really enjoyed myself was when I had some friend accompany me on my rounds. Like laughter, and all simple pleasures in life, the joy of skating multiplies instead of dividing itself when you share it with others.
Ice skating takes roller skating to new levels of freedom and elation. I vividly remember the first time I went ice skating, in San Francisco. I did nothing more than get the feel of it and how different it was from what I'm accustomed to; I skated around simply, doing nothing fancy, and used the hand rails to stop when I had to. I didn't fall down once. But I was beaming like a kid, and was positively disappointed when it was time to go.
I made up for it completely when I stepped on the ice this time. I skated at speeds pretty close to what I'm used to at roller blading, even at the curves. I tried the spin-stop several times, and even tried skating backward (unsuccessfully, I might add). I fell down so many times that I lost count. I was having so much fun that while the speakers crooned "Cecilia" by Simon and Garfunkel, my thoughts drifted to the Cecilia of PhD Comics and I missed a rough spot on the ice and took a bad sprawl just as they were singing, "I'm down on my knees...". Well... my palms were a bit grazed and my knees felt beat but, heck, I was grinning and was skating around merrily in a trice!
And all this time, Nag was at the corner, walking around in slow circles around the rink with the comforting support of the hand rails. I stopped after every round or two at his side to offer a tip or a word of advice, and encouraged him to leave the boards and come to the centre. "Do you know what's the best way to teach swimming?" I asked, "Throwing the person into the deep. Now leave the darn rails and come to the middle, it doesn't matter if you fall. You're 23, it can't hurt that much!" All to no avail.
I requested and I encouraged. I coaxed and I cajoled. I threatened and pretended to be a meanie. Nothing worked. He steadfastedly plodded away at the edge, accepting what meagre skating tips I could offer - remember this was only my second time on the ice - and making an attempt to learn, but determinedly at his own pace. As a nasty last resort, I tried to embarrass him into coming to the middle... I asked one of the rink staff, within earshot of Nag, to "Convince my friend to leave the rails," and his reply was, "Can't help you there, he's just gotta do it." And then I pointedly showed him all the little kids who were skating like champs out there in the middle. Perhaps I could appeal to his male ego in this convoluted fashion. Nope, no luck.
I gave up and concentrated on having fun myself, stopping by every other round to offer a word of encouragement, until it was time to leave. He could read my thoughts. "Coward!" my eyes said. He said aloud, words to the effect, "Look, you've been roller skating for years, you have a sense of balance. The closest I've ever come to doing that is riding a bicycle. Surely you can understand that if I step into the middle without figuring out the basics, I'll only end up hurting myself?" He didn't have to say them; I'm fully aware of the facts. He said them anyway. I understood, but I still thought he was being a coward.
We had lunch and paid a visit to the public library to get some books and video tapes. Before leaving, he cryptically went to the children's section and took a book. I saw the title. It was a beginner's guide to ice skating.
It struck me then that he wasn't being cowardly. He was adult enough to be determined to learn this little thing; and he was adult enough to not be embarrassed by the things I did at the rink. He was just being plain sensible. Perhaps I'm the one being reckless and foolish. Every fibre of my being rebelled against that thought, saying that only after burning one's fingers does one fully learn to make, use and appreciate a fire. Only by falling will you learn.
Perhaps he is a coward, perhaps he isn't. Perhaps I'm a reckless fool and perhaps I'm not. Who's to say? People are different. People have their own, different ways of getting things done.
I realized then, with a start, how my own way of getting things done has changed. Even a couple of years ago, I would not have fallen down that many times in 90 minutes in a skating rink, under the same circumstances. Irrespective of the joys and freedom of skating, I had my methodical, rational way of approaching any problem. It was the way I grew up. By making my brain do the ground work before the body did anything. People often mistook my reticence for... well, God only knows what! But where was that boy now?
Recall my post "I'll never learn". It bespeaks an impulsive nature (which by the way is totally unlike me). And I really keep doing them! Only last week, I contradicted my professor in class again, and tripped on an icy patch near my apartment, AGAIN. There are a couple of other things I cannot speak of here, but they definitely spell R.E.C.K.L.E.S.S. in bright red letters. A year ago, not a soul who knew me even a bit would ever call me a reckless fool. Yet, now I know with full certainty that I am one... at least by my own standards.
What wrought this change upon me? Has my mind found an outlet to rant and rail and rave against the world for all its injustices perceived by my sub-conscious? Why am I clinging on to this thread of childishness when the rest of my mind and heart and body have matured into full adulthood?
I seem to be starting each new day with more questions than the last. God save me, for I don't even know myself any more.
Prashanth.
I learnt roller skating by myself when I was a kid, in my backyard with my brother, and in the backyard of my grandparent's house in Salem, with my cousins. When I was slightly older, I received more proper coaching at the social club established by the same uncle. The first thing the horrified instructor did on watching me skate was to make me unlearn whatever I'd taught myself. Sure enough, in a month's time I found myself able to go faster and manouevre more easily, and skating became double the fun it already was.
Have you ever dreamed of flying? Of leaving behind the shackles of the world - and I don't mean merely gravity and friction - and spending time in exhilarated ecstacy, just you and the wind, dancing with carefree abandon? The nearest you can get to that is by skating. Fantasy and creativity and imagination were the bread and butter of my childhood, and I've always revelled in going beyond the confining real world. Perhaps they still are, in a limited way. The freedom and joy I associated with skating is hard to describe to anyone unlike me.
In IIT Madras, I would occasionally skate around the campus in the evenings, while pedestrians looked at me as though I were an alien. I particularly remember one little kid, probably from the slum dwellings behind the campus, looking at me with open awe and jealousy, pestering me with inane questions. There was another occasion when a man stopped me and asked me how much roller skates cost; he couldn't afford much but apparently his son had seen someone roller skating (perhaps me!) and couldn't stop talking about it, and being a loving father he wished to buy him a pair of skates if he could afford it. But bystanders aside, the times I really enjoyed myself was when I had some friend accompany me on my rounds. Like laughter, and all simple pleasures in life, the joy of skating multiplies instead of dividing itself when you share it with others.
Ice skating takes roller skating to new levels of freedom and elation. I vividly remember the first time I went ice skating, in San Francisco. I did nothing more than get the feel of it and how different it was from what I'm accustomed to; I skated around simply, doing nothing fancy, and used the hand rails to stop when I had to. I didn't fall down once. But I was beaming like a kid, and was positively disappointed when it was time to go.
I made up for it completely when I stepped on the ice this time. I skated at speeds pretty close to what I'm used to at roller blading, even at the curves. I tried the spin-stop several times, and even tried skating backward (unsuccessfully, I might add). I fell down so many times that I lost count. I was having so much fun that while the speakers crooned "Cecilia" by Simon and Garfunkel, my thoughts drifted to the Cecilia of PhD Comics and I missed a rough spot on the ice and took a bad sprawl just as they were singing, "I'm down on my knees...". Well... my palms were a bit grazed and my knees felt beat but, heck, I was grinning and was skating around merrily in a trice!
And all this time, Nag was at the corner, walking around in slow circles around the rink with the comforting support of the hand rails. I stopped after every round or two at his side to offer a tip or a word of advice, and encouraged him to leave the boards and come to the centre. "Do you know what's the best way to teach swimming?" I asked, "Throwing the person into the deep. Now leave the darn rails and come to the middle, it doesn't matter if you fall. You're 23, it can't hurt that much!" All to no avail.
I requested and I encouraged. I coaxed and I cajoled. I threatened and pretended to be a meanie. Nothing worked. He steadfastedly plodded away at the edge, accepting what meagre skating tips I could offer - remember this was only my second time on the ice - and making an attempt to learn, but determinedly at his own pace. As a nasty last resort, I tried to embarrass him into coming to the middle... I asked one of the rink staff, within earshot of Nag, to "Convince my friend to leave the rails," and his reply was, "Can't help you there, he's just gotta do it." And then I pointedly showed him all the little kids who were skating like champs out there in the middle. Perhaps I could appeal to his male ego in this convoluted fashion. Nope, no luck.
I gave up and concentrated on having fun myself, stopping by every other round to offer a word of encouragement, until it was time to leave. He could read my thoughts. "Coward!" my eyes said. He said aloud, words to the effect, "Look, you've been roller skating for years, you have a sense of balance. The closest I've ever come to doing that is riding a bicycle. Surely you can understand that if I step into the middle without figuring out the basics, I'll only end up hurting myself?" He didn't have to say them; I'm fully aware of the facts. He said them anyway. I understood, but I still thought he was being a coward.
We had lunch and paid a visit to the public library to get some books and video tapes. Before leaving, he cryptically went to the children's section and took a book. I saw the title. It was a beginner's guide to ice skating.
It struck me then that he wasn't being cowardly. He was adult enough to be determined to learn this little thing; and he was adult enough to not be embarrassed by the things I did at the rink. He was just being plain sensible. Perhaps I'm the one being reckless and foolish. Every fibre of my being rebelled against that thought, saying that only after burning one's fingers does one fully learn to make, use and appreciate a fire. Only by falling will you learn.
Perhaps he is a coward, perhaps he isn't. Perhaps I'm a reckless fool and perhaps I'm not. Who's to say? People are different. People have their own, different ways of getting things done.
I realized then, with a start, how my own way of getting things done has changed. Even a couple of years ago, I would not have fallen down that many times in 90 minutes in a skating rink, under the same circumstances. Irrespective of the joys and freedom of skating, I had my methodical, rational way of approaching any problem. It was the way I grew up. By making my brain do the ground work before the body did anything. People often mistook my reticence for... well, God only knows what! But where was that boy now?
Recall my post "I'll never learn". It bespeaks an impulsive nature (which by the way is totally unlike me). And I really keep doing them! Only last week, I contradicted my professor in class again, and tripped on an icy patch near my apartment, AGAIN. There are a couple of other things I cannot speak of here, but they definitely spell R.E.C.K.L.E.S.S. in bright red letters. A year ago, not a soul who knew me even a bit would ever call me a reckless fool. Yet, now I know with full certainty that I am one... at least by my own standards.
What wrought this change upon me? Has my mind found an outlet to rant and rail and rave against the world for all its injustices perceived by my sub-conscious? Why am I clinging on to this thread of childishness when the rest of my mind and heart and body have matured into full adulthood?
I seem to be starting each new day with more questions than the last. God save me, for I don't even know myself any more.
Prashanth.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
The Power of Customization
As a manufacturing engineer, an oft-repeated anecdote I hear (which probably isn't even true) is about Henry Ford telling a customer, "You can have the Model T in any colour, so long as it's Black."
Perhaps the days of large corporations monopolizing certain markets are not gone yet, and the anti-trust laws still have work to do. But certainly, companies can't get away with offering limited variety these days. You have to pay the price either in margins or in market share. Even at low-price, functional-product, semi-wholesale stores like WalMart, you can find a half dozen brands each with a dozen varieties, for any product you pick.
If you can keep a leash on Capitalism and give it some time, I guess the customer really does win. With all the cut-throat competition around, companies have to try to give the customer every thing he wants. Things haven't yet come to that stage in India, but in the US, you can see "The Customer is the King" written on the walls everywhere, and they have to mean it or they'll go out of business before you can count to Mississippi Three.
Take for instance, having a sandwich at Subway. The first time I did, I went up to the counter and ordered something I picked from the menu in front of me. Apparently that wasn't enough. I was peppered with questions one after another.... "What kind of bread?" "What kind of cheese?""Do you want it toasted?" "Sauces? Dressings?" "Which vegetables?" "Salt? Pepper? Oil? Oregano?"
By the time I was done ordering, my head was swimming. On that occasion, I thought, "These guys are professionals, they should be able to put together something tasty, right? I don't always know what I want!"
Only for a minute. I realized immediately that having the freedom to choose is far better than getting a pre-designed product. The next time I ordered a sub, I got every detail down to a pat and was really happy with what I'd ordered. Contrast this to what I had at the Subway in Chennai, when I let the guy behind the counter put the sub together the "regular" way, I thought it was just average-tasting. Score one for Customization.
In complete counter-example, I had a hair-cut yesterday and tried to tell the lady exactly what I wanted... and it was more or less a disaster. Believe me, you don't want to look at my head right now! It was so much better when I just let the professionals do their job. Darn it, how long will this hair take to grow back to normal? Score one for the people who say "The customer doesn't know what he wants, but we do."
Still, it feels so much better having the power to choose, and having the option to get exactly what you want if you know what you want, and still be able to say, "Do what you think is best."
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Perhaps the days of large corporations monopolizing certain markets are not gone yet, and the anti-trust laws still have work to do. But certainly, companies can't get away with offering limited variety these days. You have to pay the price either in margins or in market share. Even at low-price, functional-product, semi-wholesale stores like WalMart, you can find a half dozen brands each with a dozen varieties, for any product you pick.
If you can keep a leash on Capitalism and give it some time, I guess the customer really does win. With all the cut-throat competition around, companies have to try to give the customer every thing he wants. Things haven't yet come to that stage in India, but in the US, you can see "The Customer is the King" written on the walls everywhere, and they have to mean it or they'll go out of business before you can count to Mississippi Three.
Take for instance, having a sandwich at Subway. The first time I did, I went up to the counter and ordered something I picked from the menu in front of me. Apparently that wasn't enough. I was peppered with questions one after another.... "What kind of bread?" "What kind of cheese?""Do you want it toasted?" "Sauces? Dressings?" "Which vegetables?" "Salt? Pepper? Oil? Oregano?"
By the time I was done ordering, my head was swimming. On that occasion, I thought, "These guys are professionals, they should be able to put together something tasty, right? I don't always know what I want!"
Only for a minute. I realized immediately that having the freedom to choose is far better than getting a pre-designed product. The next time I ordered a sub, I got every detail down to a pat and was really happy with what I'd ordered. Contrast this to what I had at the Subway in Chennai, when I let the guy behind the counter put the sub together the "regular" way, I thought it was just average-tasting. Score one for Customization.
In complete counter-example, I had a hair-cut yesterday and tried to tell the lady exactly what I wanted... and it was more or less a disaster. Believe me, you don't want to look at my head right now! It was so much better when I just let the professionals do their job. Darn it, how long will this hair take to grow back to normal? Score one for the people who say "The customer doesn't know what he wants, but we do."
Still, it feels so much better having the power to choose, and having the option to get exactly what you want if you know what you want, and still be able to say, "Do what you think is best."
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
The dignity of labour
Back in IIT, I "earned" the nickname "The Prince of Chennai" for being a totally spoilt brat. I guess they had enough reasons....
- I went home frequently
- I always had help in moving in and out of my room for the vacations, with my driver and occasionally a servant aiding me. They even helped clean up my room while moving back in!
- My Mom being a super famous culinary expert, people assumed that I get to eat yummy exotic dishes everyday that I'm not in the hostel
- I fantasized aloud occasionally about going back home to an airconditioned existence rather than sweating it out in the hostel rooms
- I had a nice computer and nicer motorbike and a cell phone (even if that was a crummy one)
I can see how I must have appeared to be a spoilt rich kid, but the truth is I'm not rich. Just S.P.O.I.L.T. Being the younger son in the family, I revel in the extra attention and affection my Mom showers on me. And heck, I'm not in the least ashamed of it.
So, here I land in the United States and all of a sudden, I'm doing my own cooking; I have to do the dishes; I have to vacuum the carpet; I have to scrub kitchen floors and bathroom floors; I have to clean toilet bowls; I have to do my own laundry and ironing and grocery shopping and what not and what not. I must admit it was all hard at first for a guy like me. But it's been nearly 8 months since I landed in the US and I've gotten used to it, and it's not all that bad.
In India, we grow up in a stratified society where the menial tasks are deemed unfit for people in respectable families to be doing. Perhaps it is the result of the millenia of influence of caste system and rule by nobility. Perhaps we have a tradition of exploiting the underprivileged and those with the money have a vested interest in keeping the lack of equal opportunity remain that way. Perhaps this is the only stable social structure for an overpopulated country. I don't know. But let me tell you what I do know.
There was a day when I was extremely anxious and my nerves were so frayed I couldn't sit still. Funnily enough, the only thing that worked for keeping mind calm was an extended session of cleaning the dishes! I did my roommates' dishes and the cooking utensils and the spoons and forks and I did it slowly and deliberately. By the time I finished it was as though I'd just meditated for an hour, and as a bonus my kitchen was sparkling clean!
I'm not the cribbing kind, but I can be quite the critic at times. Now, doing everything by myself, I realized how much I ought to criticize myself if I retained my "standards". No lesson in humility is better learnt than by making the same mistakes for which you've raised your eyebrows at others in the past.
It feels wonderfully independent living in this way. If I went back to India and lived in a nuclear family, I would live without cooks or servants.
I'm learning to be more responsible, and discovering talents like cooking - the hard way!
I'm partially cured of my laziness. It's true!
In short, there is nothing denigrating about menial labour. I fully believe that every child should be made to do it as part of his/her upbringing. I may be critical of the USA about many things, but one of the things they did get right is to instill the fact that there is dignity in labour. Nobody thinks any less of the guy shovelling snow in the corner: he could be a regular guy, earning an extra buck to buy his girlfriend a gift. Nobody thinks any less of the girl behind the counter at the cafeteria, hey, maybe she works part time while going to college at the same time. Even if he isn't and she's not, these are considered as perfectly respectable things to do. There is an all-round pride-taking in standing on one's own feet and being 100% independent. If you have full time maids and servants, you must be stinking rich and live in a really big house!
I wonder if I'll ever see such an attitude in India....
Cheers,
Prashanth.
- I went home frequently
- I always had help in moving in and out of my room for the vacations, with my driver and occasionally a servant aiding me. They even helped clean up my room while moving back in!
- My Mom being a super famous culinary expert, people assumed that I get to eat yummy exotic dishes everyday that I'm not in the hostel
- I fantasized aloud occasionally about going back home to an airconditioned existence rather than sweating it out in the hostel rooms
- I had a nice computer and nicer motorbike and a cell phone (even if that was a crummy one)
I can see how I must have appeared to be a spoilt rich kid, but the truth is I'm not rich. Just S.P.O.I.L.T. Being the younger son in the family, I revel in the extra attention and affection my Mom showers on me. And heck, I'm not in the least ashamed of it.
So, here I land in the United States and all of a sudden, I'm doing my own cooking; I have to do the dishes; I have to vacuum the carpet; I have to scrub kitchen floors and bathroom floors; I have to clean toilet bowls; I have to do my own laundry and ironing and grocery shopping and what not and what not. I must admit it was all hard at first for a guy like me. But it's been nearly 8 months since I landed in the US and I've gotten used to it, and it's not all that bad.
In India, we grow up in a stratified society where the menial tasks are deemed unfit for people in respectable families to be doing. Perhaps it is the result of the millenia of influence of caste system and rule by nobility. Perhaps we have a tradition of exploiting the underprivileged and those with the money have a vested interest in keeping the lack of equal opportunity remain that way. Perhaps this is the only stable social structure for an overpopulated country. I don't know. But let me tell you what I do know.
There was a day when I was extremely anxious and my nerves were so frayed I couldn't sit still. Funnily enough, the only thing that worked for keeping mind calm was an extended session of cleaning the dishes! I did my roommates' dishes and the cooking utensils and the spoons and forks and I did it slowly and deliberately. By the time I finished it was as though I'd just meditated for an hour, and as a bonus my kitchen was sparkling clean!
I'm not the cribbing kind, but I can be quite the critic at times. Now, doing everything by myself, I realized how much I ought to criticize myself if I retained my "standards". No lesson in humility is better learnt than by making the same mistakes for which you've raised your eyebrows at others in the past.
It feels wonderfully independent living in this way. If I went back to India and lived in a nuclear family, I would live without cooks or servants.
I'm learning to be more responsible, and discovering talents like cooking - the hard way!
I'm partially cured of my laziness. It's true!
In short, there is nothing denigrating about menial labour. I fully believe that every child should be made to do it as part of his/her upbringing. I may be critical of the USA about many things, but one of the things they did get right is to instill the fact that there is dignity in labour. Nobody thinks any less of the guy shovelling snow in the corner: he could be a regular guy, earning an extra buck to buy his girlfriend a gift. Nobody thinks any less of the girl behind the counter at the cafeteria, hey, maybe she works part time while going to college at the same time. Even if he isn't and she's not, these are considered as perfectly respectable things to do. There is an all-round pride-taking in standing on one's own feet and being 100% independent. If you have full time maids and servants, you must be stinking rich and live in a really big house!
I wonder if I'll ever see such an attitude in India....
Cheers,
Prashanth.
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