This one is for my student. She said that the students write many emails to professors requesting for project work but no one ever replies and it is very disheartening.
I too am guilty of not responding to emails, especially if they are from students requesting for project work.
With multiplication of Universities and courses offered, one thing most Universities, colleges, institutes seem to have jettisoned is the laboratory work. It does not matter for theoretical courses but for subjects like basic sciences it matters terribly. Compounded with this is the fact that many of the small universities, colleges, and institutes do not have a viable research program. These institutions, therefore, have found a neat solution to the problem- have the students do a 3-6 month project work outside the institute. On paper it looks so attractive! Oh, the students will do a project work. The reality is little different. Most of these institutes take no responsibility on placement. They ask the students to write to various professors across the country and find for themselves a placement. So I, for example, will get at least one or two such request on any given day. This is an addition to the students wandering into the office asking for permission to do project work.
Most of us do not want to have these students. For one, we do not get paid by their Universities to train them. On average I have to spend at least 1-2 lakhs per year per student. So if a student comes to my lab for 6 months project work, it means Rs 50,000 to 1 lakh consumable money. Where would I get that money from? Secondly, most of them have to be trained from the very beginning. As most of us do not work in the laboratory anymore, we have to depend on our students for the training part. Some PhD students are good and they will take pains to teach. Some are pretty bad. They will agree on principle to train another student but will not do so. Many times, and this has happened even in my lab, the trainee will be in tears. So I have to see, before accepting a trainee, who is available in my lab to train them. Finally, even our own M.Sc program insists on a project work/laboratory training. This means that in my lab at any given time would be 1-2 M.Sc students. So if I taken any student from outside, it means in addition to these M.Sc students.
Therefore, when emails come to me from students they are deleted. I guess what I should have is some sort of an automatic reply system where it says sorry but no space is available or some such thing. I should set it up so that the person who writes to me at least gets a reply. But what I want more than this is that the Universities should have viable research program and it is the responsibility of the University to ensure that there students are trained in laboratory techniques.
PS: I should clarify. The UGC has given us money to train students. Each one of us can take up to three students per year and for each student we will be given Rs 30,000. This eases situation little bit. But the number of applicants is so large that 3 per faculty is peanuts.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Sound of Music
My brother calls it The Sound of Mucus, which, he says, is how Christopher Plummer also refers to it.
My brother and I fight over lots of things. This is one of them. I like the movie and he does not. So I promised him a blog on why I like the movie.
When I was about six or so the parents took all of us to a Tamil Movie at Regal Cinema. My mother loves movies but my father does not care too much about it. However, at that particular junction we kids could not be left alone at home. Therefore, we were dragged over to the cinema hall.
The movie was horrible. I think it was called Veedu or Veethi or something like that. All I remember was that there was just too much violence and then there was this scene where the heroine was chased by the villain. The heroine cried throughout the movie. And I cried too. In fact I howled so much that my brother remarked at the end of the movie that he did not know who cried more: the heroine or me.
Anyway, that decided it. I was not going to see any movie and they were not going to drag me to it. If the parents wanted to see movies that was their business, not mine. I was not going to go for any movies. As we did not have television it was easy enough to avoid it at home and if my mother wanted to see a movie, she went with her sister-in-law while father babysat us. Once appa desperately tried to get me to come with them to see a movie called Meendum Kokila. He assured me that it was a nice funny movie but to no avail. No means no. I was not going to see any movie. They were horrible.
That was the scenario when The Sound of Music came into town. Since we had a LP record I knew there were lots of children in the movie. Moreover amma had let it fall that she had seen it in Bombay and it was nice. Still suspicious of her, I remarked that I would not mind coming to a movie if it was The Sound of Music. The parents were surprised but agreed to take me, provided I did not howl. As if at 14 I would...
So we went over to a theater near Paharganj and the movie was such a pleasant surprise. There was no violence, no beating up, no crying...at last something I could watch without wanting to burst into tears.
Of course it is saccharine sweet. Of course there is no story plot. Of course lots of it is nonsense but hey, who cares.
Just another point: To this date I cannot sit through a movie with lots of violence or sadness. My brother has been trying to make me watch Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali. When I told him that I can't, he was like what rubbish? But it is true. I cried when I read the book. Durga dies. How could she die? So that is about it. I cannot watch the movie. Incidentally, though I cried in the end of Charulata when I read it, I still was able to watch the movie. I think it is just Durga's death was simply too much to swallow or maybe it is the ending in Charulata. Yes, her husband goes away and the marriage is at an end but the way Tagore finishes the story, I could at least imagine that one day things would all work out. That I cannot do with Pather Panchali. It sounds silly but that is how it is.
My brother and I fight over lots of things. This is one of them. I like the movie and he does not. So I promised him a blog on why I like the movie.
When I was about six or so the parents took all of us to a Tamil Movie at Regal Cinema. My mother loves movies but my father does not care too much about it. However, at that particular junction we kids could not be left alone at home. Therefore, we were dragged over to the cinema hall.
The movie was horrible. I think it was called Veedu or Veethi or something like that. All I remember was that there was just too much violence and then there was this scene where the heroine was chased by the villain. The heroine cried throughout the movie. And I cried too. In fact I howled so much that my brother remarked at the end of the movie that he did not know who cried more: the heroine or me.
Anyway, that decided it. I was not going to see any movie and they were not going to drag me to it. If the parents wanted to see movies that was their business, not mine. I was not going to go for any movies. As we did not have television it was easy enough to avoid it at home and if my mother wanted to see a movie, she went with her sister-in-law while father babysat us. Once appa desperately tried to get me to come with them to see a movie called Meendum Kokila. He assured me that it was a nice funny movie but to no avail. No means no. I was not going to see any movie. They were horrible.
That was the scenario when The Sound of Music came into town. Since we had a LP record I knew there were lots of children in the movie. Moreover amma had let it fall that she had seen it in Bombay and it was nice. Still suspicious of her, I remarked that I would not mind coming to a movie if it was The Sound of Music. The parents were surprised but agreed to take me, provided I did not howl. As if at 14 I would...
So we went over to a theater near Paharganj and the movie was such a pleasant surprise. There was no violence, no beating up, no crying...at last something I could watch without wanting to burst into tears.
Of course it is saccharine sweet. Of course there is no story plot. Of course lots of it is nonsense but hey, who cares.
Just another point: To this date I cannot sit through a movie with lots of violence or sadness. My brother has been trying to make me watch Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali. When I told him that I can't, he was like what rubbish? But it is true. I cried when I read the book. Durga dies. How could she die? So that is about it. I cannot watch the movie. Incidentally, though I cried in the end of Charulata when I read it, I still was able to watch the movie. I think it is just Durga's death was simply too much to swallow or maybe it is the ending in Charulata. Yes, her husband goes away and the marriage is at an end but the way Tagore finishes the story, I could at least imagine that one day things would all work out. That I cannot do with Pather Panchali. It sounds silly but that is how it is.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Internet woes
My internet woes continue. The service has not been available since Saturday. Complaints are of no avail so today I plan to call either the Junior Engineer or the Area Manager.
I feel a twinge of sympathy for them. It is a horrible position to be in. After all it is a position we have gone through.
In the early 1970s Appa was in charge of the Kidwai Bhawan exchange. We had been given living accommodation within the exchange complex. The exchange was notorious for not functioning. We could hardly ever dial out and most of the calls we received would be wrong numbers. Consequently, the home-office line was blurred and many times appa would receive complaints from harassed subscribers at home.
My periappa was very fond of one particular incident.
We were seated at the dinner table when the phone rang. My brother leapt to answer the phone. Still holding the receiver, he called out:
"Appa it is for you!"
And still holding the receiver, he said excitedly:
"Appa, do you realize it is first correct phone call we have had in this entire day?"
Appa took the receiver. The voice at the other end asked incredulously:
"Do you also receive wrong numbers?"
Appa said cheerfully:
"All the time. Tell me, how can I help you?"
"Oh I was calling you up to complain about the wrong number calls that I receive. but..."
As I pick up the phone to complain I remember the episode vividly and feel a twinge. But...
I feel a twinge of sympathy for them. It is a horrible position to be in. After all it is a position we have gone through.
In the early 1970s Appa was in charge of the Kidwai Bhawan exchange. We had been given living accommodation within the exchange complex. The exchange was notorious for not functioning. We could hardly ever dial out and most of the calls we received would be wrong numbers. Consequently, the home-office line was blurred and many times appa would receive complaints from harassed subscribers at home.
My periappa was very fond of one particular incident.
We were seated at the dinner table when the phone rang. My brother leapt to answer the phone. Still holding the receiver, he called out:
"Appa it is for you!"
And still holding the receiver, he said excitedly:
"Appa, do you realize it is first correct phone call we have had in this entire day?"
Appa took the receiver. The voice at the other end asked incredulously:
"Do you also receive wrong numbers?"
Appa said cheerfully:
"All the time. Tell me, how can I help you?"
"Oh I was calling you up to complain about the wrong number calls that I receive. but..."
As I pick up the phone to complain I remember the episode vividly and feel a twinge. But...
Right to Information- works!
The past few months I have been having sort of struggle with National Institute of Open Schooling (NIOS).
It all goes back to the school for migrant laborers children. The migrant laborers come into Kanpur and other cities to work in the brick kilns. The work starts in October and lasts till April or so. At that point the laborers go back to their village, only to come back to the city in October.
Jagriti Bal Vikas Samiti has been working with these children for past 20 years or so. One of the things they have done is to open a school to educate these children. The school has classes till eighth class. The NIOS conducts examinations for these children as well as for secondary and senior secondary children. The children have to enroll for the examinations in August. The problem that confronted Jagriti was that the children enroll in their school only in October so how can they enroll for the examinations in August?
So I was asked whether I can talk to some one in NIOS and see if something could be done. I nodded yes.
Easier to nod than to do it! Every day for two weeks I tried calling up NIOS. It did not matter at what time I called, which day I called, or which number I dialled, I never got a response. No one would even answer the phone. The one time someone answered the phone told me that the enrollment is in August.
Then Appa suggested that I email them. I emailed the director, the secretary, and even the Chairperson. No response.
Finally I got rather frustrated and said "I feel like slapping an RTI on them."
Which is what we did.
On Friday, flustered person (Incharge of examinations sections) called, apologized, and gave me the information I sought. We have to do some paperwork but hopefully, the children of the school can now get their eighth class certificate.
So you see RTI works!
But that is not the point. The point is that this information should have been provided when we first tried to get in touch with them. Some one should answer the phone, some one should answer the email.
Of course it does not happen that way.
For the past few weeks I have been struggling with MTNL. Neither my phone nor my internet works. If it works, it does so intermittently. I have booked complaints with 198 but to no avail. I have called their call center about my internet problem but every time I am assured that it would be repaired within 24 hours. I do not know when 24 hours start and when they end.
Finally, I have no recourse but to call either the Area manager or the Junior engineer and try to get it repaired.
It is such a waste of time and energy!
It all goes back to the school for migrant laborers children. The migrant laborers come into Kanpur and other cities to work in the brick kilns. The work starts in October and lasts till April or so. At that point the laborers go back to their village, only to come back to the city in October.
Jagriti Bal Vikas Samiti has been working with these children for past 20 years or so. One of the things they have done is to open a school to educate these children. The school has classes till eighth class. The NIOS conducts examinations for these children as well as for secondary and senior secondary children. The children have to enroll for the examinations in August. The problem that confronted Jagriti was that the children enroll in their school only in October so how can they enroll for the examinations in August?
So I was asked whether I can talk to some one in NIOS and see if something could be done. I nodded yes.
Easier to nod than to do it! Every day for two weeks I tried calling up NIOS. It did not matter at what time I called, which day I called, or which number I dialled, I never got a response. No one would even answer the phone. The one time someone answered the phone told me that the enrollment is in August.
Then Appa suggested that I email them. I emailed the director, the secretary, and even the Chairperson. No response.
Finally I got rather frustrated and said "I feel like slapping an RTI on them."
Which is what we did.
On Friday, flustered person (Incharge of examinations sections) called, apologized, and gave me the information I sought. We have to do some paperwork but hopefully, the children of the school can now get their eighth class certificate.
So you see RTI works!
But that is not the point. The point is that this information should have been provided when we first tried to get in touch with them. Some one should answer the phone, some one should answer the email.
Of course it does not happen that way.
For the past few weeks I have been struggling with MTNL. Neither my phone nor my internet works. If it works, it does so intermittently. I have booked complaints with 198 but to no avail. I have called their call center about my internet problem but every time I am assured that it would be repaired within 24 hours. I do not know when 24 hours start and when they end.
Finally, I have no recourse but to call either the Area manager or the Junior engineer and try to get it repaired.
It is such a waste of time and energy!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Vivekananda Vichar Manch
Few days back Vivekananda Vichar Manch put up a poster. Being an inveterate poster reader, I stopped to read it.
The Vichar Manch wanted citizens to get together, think and act. The manch was worried about the security situation in India. They listed items starting from the beginning. They named the bombings, the burning of trains, etc.etc. All in all there were 20 or so items that merited attention. Amazing. I glanced through the items.
It truly was amazing. Not a word about Babri Masjid or the Gujarat riots or the attacks on the church. In fact not a single word about the activities of the Hindu fundamentalists.
I have been thinking a lot about this particular issue. Especially, because of the latest arrests by the police of the perpetrators of bombings in Delhi. Almost all of them are young- 22-23 years old- and many of them are University students. So why would they do something so ghastly?
The thing is that none of these people are foreigners of the famous foreign hand that Indira Gandhi was so fond of talking about. These kids are Indians, grew up here in our country, and yet did some thing stupid and idiotic like this. I shudder to think what they must be going through in the hands of the police. And I wonder about those families who lost their near and dear ones in the bombing.
Why did these kids do it? Was it brain-washing, or was it in revenge? What was it that motivated them?
The point is that we live in a pluralistic society. The kind of attitudes that is propagated by fundamentalists- Hindu, Islam, Christian- does no good to anyone other than breed more hatred. That is why I dislike the kind of posters that Vivekananda Vichar Manch put up.
I did what I usually do under such circumstances- wrote a story. It helped me stabilize a bit.
The views of Vivekananda Vichar Manch can be read here.
The Vichar Manch wanted citizens to get together, think and act. The manch was worried about the security situation in India. They listed items starting from the beginning. They named the bombings, the burning of trains, etc.etc. All in all there were 20 or so items that merited attention. Amazing. I glanced through the items.
It truly was amazing. Not a word about Babri Masjid or the Gujarat riots or the attacks on the church. In fact not a single word about the activities of the Hindu fundamentalists.
I have been thinking a lot about this particular issue. Especially, because of the latest arrests by the police of the perpetrators of bombings in Delhi. Almost all of them are young- 22-23 years old- and many of them are University students. So why would they do something so ghastly?
The thing is that none of these people are foreigners of the famous foreign hand that Indira Gandhi was so fond of talking about. These kids are Indians, grew up here in our country, and yet did some thing stupid and idiotic like this. I shudder to think what they must be going through in the hands of the police. And I wonder about those families who lost their near and dear ones in the bombing.
Why did these kids do it? Was it brain-washing, or was it in revenge? What was it that motivated them?
The point is that we live in a pluralistic society. The kind of attitudes that is propagated by fundamentalists- Hindu, Islam, Christian- does no good to anyone other than breed more hatred. That is why I dislike the kind of posters that Vivekananda Vichar Manch put up.
I did what I usually do under such circumstances- wrote a story. It helped me stabilize a bit.
The views of Vivekananda Vichar Manch can be read here.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Dog catchers
Dogs are a menace on the campus. Every one has a tale of how they were chased by the dogs, or bitten by the dogs, or how their children were harassed, or how they make a mess every where. There is Sooby who takes pleasure on chasing people if they walk past him talking on their mobiles. Then there are bunch in the Transit House who dirty the corridors. The cleaning lady complains bitterly about them but we are unable to do anything. The trash bags cannot be kept outside so that it can be picked up because the dogs rifle through them, splattering the garbage generously on the corridors.
The campus is divided into two groups. One group argues vociferously that stray dogs will come into the campus whatever we do. The other group wants to get rid of them.
As usual I am ambivalent about them. At one level is that they are a menace. At the other level is humane consideration.
The group that is for the dogs has proposed that the easiest thing to do is to get the dogs sterilized. The other groups complains bitterly that they have not see any sign of it and the dogs just multiply.
So on my usual walk tonight I was pleasantly surprised. Near the Paschimabad cutting three dogs were barking. A van with Animal Hospital written on it was parked near the crossing. I crossed over and asked the security guard:
"What is happening?"
"They are returning the dogs."
"What?
"They had taken the dogs, no, ma'am. They are being returned after nasbandi."
So there we go.
The campus is divided into two groups. One group argues vociferously that stray dogs will come into the campus whatever we do. The other group wants to get rid of them.
As usual I am ambivalent about them. At one level is that they are a menace. At the other level is humane consideration.
The group that is for the dogs has proposed that the easiest thing to do is to get the dogs sterilized. The other groups complains bitterly that they have not see any sign of it and the dogs just multiply.
So on my usual walk tonight I was pleasantly surprised. Near the Paschimabad cutting three dogs were barking. A van with Animal Hospital written on it was parked near the crossing. I crossed over and asked the security guard:
"What is happening?"
"They are returning the dogs."
"What?
"They had taken the dogs, no, ma'am. They are being returned after nasbandi."
So there we go.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Gorku
As a child nothing fascinated me more than to hear the tale of Gorku from my mother.
Gorku was a buffalo who lived in maternal grandparents house in Madras. She was a lovely buffalo, extremely fond of mud bath. One day she was found missing.
Now, depending on who is telling the tale, the events following this piece of information would vary. It would also vary with every retelling of the tale. Even though I knew the ending it was still a hilarious story and I would insist on hearing it again and again. And even now whenever amma visits me or whenever I see any of my mama, I ask for this tale.
The bare plot is very simple. Gorku ran away. My fourth mama, who at that time was living at home while searching for a job, was given the responsibility of fetching the buffalo home. My maternal grandfather was a trifle impatient man and no one dared to say anything to him except my amma. Anyway, my fourth mama, whose name is Mani mama, went off to fetch the buffalo home in the company of the cowhand who unfortunately happened to have only one eye.
The cowhand was a firm believer of astrology. So off they went to West Mambalam to consult an astrologer who used parrots to predict the future- kili jyotisyam. On the way the cowhand, who was a ladies man, kept winking at all the pretty girls.
“Hey amma, have you seen a buffalo walk past this road? She is a beautiful buffalo with shiny black skin.”
The girls would giggle and Mani mama would wish the earth swallowed him.
Anyway, they reached the astrologer who confidently predicted that the buffalo would return home soon.
The buffalo did not come home and thatha was not too pleased. Mani mama visited the municipal corporation to see if the buffalo had been impounded but Gorku was not there.
Then few days later while Mani mama was walking down the street in Mambalam, he chanced to see Gorku.
“Gorku,” he called out.
Gorku immediately recognized him.
“Gorku, Gorku,” she bellowed out.
It turned out that the cowhand had been demanding a raise which thatha had refused to consider.
Anyway it all turned out well and there was a happy reunion.
“What happened to Gorku?” I would ask amma, food poised at the mouth, for I would have refused to eat without the story of Gorku told to me at meal times.
Amma would shrug her shoulders. She could not remember. Perchance she was sold when thatha died.
I believe Gorku is well and alive. Somewhere out there she is wallowing in her favourite mud bath.
I saw Gorku counterpart when I did a site visit to Ghazipur. The photo is not very well focussed but I could not take a photograph without explaining about Gorku.
Gorku was a buffalo who lived in maternal grandparents house in Madras. She was a lovely buffalo, extremely fond of mud bath. One day she was found missing.
Now, depending on who is telling the tale, the events following this piece of information would vary. It would also vary with every retelling of the tale. Even though I knew the ending it was still a hilarious story and I would insist on hearing it again and again. And even now whenever amma visits me or whenever I see any of my mama, I ask for this tale.
The bare plot is very simple. Gorku ran away. My fourth mama, who at that time was living at home while searching for a job, was given the responsibility of fetching the buffalo home. My maternal grandfather was a trifle impatient man and no one dared to say anything to him except my amma. Anyway, my fourth mama, whose name is Mani mama, went off to fetch the buffalo home in the company of the cowhand who unfortunately happened to have only one eye.
The cowhand was a firm believer of astrology. So off they went to West Mambalam to consult an astrologer who used parrots to predict the future- kili jyotisyam. On the way the cowhand, who was a ladies man, kept winking at all the pretty girls.
“Hey amma, have you seen a buffalo walk past this road? She is a beautiful buffalo with shiny black skin.”
The girls would giggle and Mani mama would wish the earth swallowed him.
Anyway, they reached the astrologer who confidently predicted that the buffalo would return home soon.
The buffalo did not come home and thatha was not too pleased. Mani mama visited the municipal corporation to see if the buffalo had been impounded but Gorku was not there.
Then few days later while Mani mama was walking down the street in Mambalam, he chanced to see Gorku.
“Gorku,” he called out.
Gorku immediately recognized him.
“Gorku, Gorku,” she bellowed out.
It turned out that the cowhand had been demanding a raise which thatha had refused to consider.
Anyway it all turned out well and there was a happy reunion.
“What happened to Gorku?” I would ask amma, food poised at the mouth, for I would have refused to eat without the story of Gorku told to me at meal times.
Amma would shrug her shoulders. She could not remember. Perchance she was sold when thatha died.
I believe Gorku is well and alive. Somewhere out there she is wallowing in her favourite mud bath.
I saw Gorku counterpart when I did a site visit to Ghazipur. The photo is not very well focussed but I could not take a photograph without explaining about Gorku.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A lesson in Spanish
Lata, who takes care of me, has two sons. The eldest one has completed school last year and there was much discussion as to what should he do. Lata works for one other faculty who is with Spanish Center. He suggested that Sonu should do Spanish but Sonu could not qualify either for JNU or for Jamia, two universities who offer courses in this language.
Lata was determined that Sonu should make something of his life so scrounging around for money she managed to get Sonu private tuition in Spanish. This year Sonu qualified for Jamia and has joined for a diploma course there.
His progress has been so good that his private tutor has offered to send him to Spain to do some work there. Lata was in a dilemma- the passport, the airfare, some amount of money to spend.
"Didi I have money for airfare but for the rest..."
We pitched in. Now, Sonu is waiting for the passport to come so that he can make his first trip abroad. He told his mother:
"Wait till I start earning. Then you will not have to do any household work."
Lata was laughing when she recounted it to me. I told her:
"Oh wait till Sonu goes to Spain. Then next time around you too should hop on the flight and go."
Lata was determined that Sonu should make something of his life so scrounging around for money she managed to get Sonu private tuition in Spanish. This year Sonu qualified for Jamia and has joined for a diploma course there.
His progress has been so good that his private tutor has offered to send him to Spain to do some work there. Lata was in a dilemma- the passport, the airfare, some amount of money to spend.
"Didi I have money for airfare but for the rest..."
We pitched in. Now, Sonu is waiting for the passport to come so that he can make his first trip abroad. He told his mother:
"Wait till I start earning. Then you will not have to do any household work."
Lata was laughing when she recounted it to me. I told her:
"Oh wait till Sonu goes to Spain. Then next time around you too should hop on the flight and go."
Monday, September 8, 2008
Counseling services
I have been ambivalent towards the reservation policy as initiated by the government. My problem with it has been that we are pushing students into higher education without adequate preparation at school levels. That our schools are abysmal is well-known- just go to the schools in small towns and villages and you will know what I am talking about.
But I have a deeper problem: Most of the universities are not equipped to deal with these students.
Given that our society is highly patriarchal, the students from smaller town and villages carry their own baggage when they come to large cities or to universities like mine for higher studies. I deal with Ph.D. students so my discussion will be limited to them.
The girls, because so much curbs have been put on them, view the entrance into PhD as liberation. Many times the M.Sc girls will come up to me to say that if they get into PhD will I accept them as their student because you see if they go back home, they will be married off and that would be the end of their career. The girls, because of this very fear, try to do their best- they will work hard to complete their thesis because their is a deadline on their head, they have no hesitation in asking again and again if they do not understand something, they will discuss their experimental results with others and think of better ways to do the experiments. More importantly, if they are unable to analyze their data they have no problems in going to their supervisor or discussing with other students.
The boys, most of them, are exactly the opposite. Brought up on a steady diet of men are superior, they are absolutely incapable of adjusting to the new world. Some of them do, but many of them simply cannot. I have one such student who is from the hinterlands of Bihar. He is diffident, he cannot analyze any data (thanks to the inadequacies of his school as well as college education), and he has to work with a woman. Poor chap! Of course we can say why he does not raise above all this. The answer is that he cannot. That is about it.
If the University had been sensible (and few of us have been insisting on it), there would be a counseling service for such students. Place where they can unburden themselves, place where they would be taught to adjust into the new world, taught how to interact with other students especially girl students, and taught how to cope with the fact that their supervisor is a woman.
But as the University is not sensible such students are left to fend for themselves and most end up being absolutely unhappy. So here is my student, who I simply do not know how, is going to write and defend his thesis. He will be termed as a scientist but I cannot envisage what he would do really.
I feel sorry for him and angry at myself. If I had bit of sense I would have addressed this problem in the beginning itself. But as he was my first student, and this was my first exposure to this kind of problem, I have made a complete muck of it. I end up more than half the time losing my temper when I should not. And then I feel even more angry and upset :(
Of course I can always console myself that I did not know any better, I can also console myself by saying why does not he make an effort, but the truth is that it just leaves an unpleasant metallic taste in my mouth.
But I have a deeper problem: Most of the universities are not equipped to deal with these students.
Given that our society is highly patriarchal, the students from smaller town and villages carry their own baggage when they come to large cities or to universities like mine for higher studies. I deal with Ph.D. students so my discussion will be limited to them.
The girls, because so much curbs have been put on them, view the entrance into PhD as liberation. Many times the M.Sc girls will come up to me to say that if they get into PhD will I accept them as their student because you see if they go back home, they will be married off and that would be the end of their career. The girls, because of this very fear, try to do their best- they will work hard to complete their thesis because their is a deadline on their head, they have no hesitation in asking again and again if they do not understand something, they will discuss their experimental results with others and think of better ways to do the experiments. More importantly, if they are unable to analyze their data they have no problems in going to their supervisor or discussing with other students.
The boys, most of them, are exactly the opposite. Brought up on a steady diet of men are superior, they are absolutely incapable of adjusting to the new world. Some of them do, but many of them simply cannot. I have one such student who is from the hinterlands of Bihar. He is diffident, he cannot analyze any data (thanks to the inadequacies of his school as well as college education), and he has to work with a woman. Poor chap! Of course we can say why he does not raise above all this. The answer is that he cannot. That is about it.
If the University had been sensible (and few of us have been insisting on it), there would be a counseling service for such students. Place where they can unburden themselves, place where they would be taught to adjust into the new world, taught how to interact with other students especially girl students, and taught how to cope with the fact that their supervisor is a woman.
But as the University is not sensible such students are left to fend for themselves and most end up being absolutely unhappy. So here is my student, who I simply do not know how, is going to write and defend his thesis. He will be termed as a scientist but I cannot envisage what he would do really.
I feel sorry for him and angry at myself. If I had bit of sense I would have addressed this problem in the beginning itself. But as he was my first student, and this was my first exposure to this kind of problem, I have made a complete muck of it. I end up more than half the time losing my temper when I should not. And then I feel even more angry and upset :(
Of course I can always console myself that I did not know any better, I can also console myself by saying why does not he make an effort, but the truth is that it just leaves an unpleasant metallic taste in my mouth.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Teacher's day
In the morning Popy and Reshma wished me a Happy Teacher's day. Today is 5th September commemorated as Teacher's day.
I recall doing teacher's day at school but not at M.Sc levels. I think Dr. Manjrekar is correct in his assessment: we were too busy painting the department red to worry about anything including teacher's day.
But the students of today's generation remember it better than we did. So two of last year's M.Sc students came to give me a card and to touch my feet. That always makes me feel uncomfortable for we do not have the tradition of touching anyone's feet at home.
And then I got a surprise card from a ex-project student and another one from a student who did a project in my lab and is now in California.
All in all a very nice day.
I remember my teachers. Strangely I remember most of the teachers who taught me in 11th class. Strange because I did most of my studies at KV Sector VIII, RK Puram except for 11th which I did in Lucknow. The school was small, the teachers were friendly and innovative, actually. There was Mrs. Duggal whose English exams were fun because she always gave us space to write a short prose at the end of the exam. Mrs. Kumar who taught us Physics and could not be bothered with exams. And Mr. Tripathi who taught us Chemistry and instilled in me the habit of keeping extensive records of the experiments done.
Then in B.Sc. there was Dr. Sarabhai who worked harder than I did for the gold medal and who was kind enough to do all the paper work needed for the graduation ceremony. I think the parents visited him when the letter of the award ceremony came because I was away in Baroda.
And finally there was Joel, whom I treated more as a colleague than as a teacher. I ran the lab and bullied him just as I bully my brother. But he took it all good-naturedly and let me do the experiments my own way.
So it is to all of them a Happy Teacher's Day.
I recall doing teacher's day at school but not at M.Sc levels. I think Dr. Manjrekar is correct in his assessment: we were too busy painting the department red to worry about anything including teacher's day.
But the students of today's generation remember it better than we did. So two of last year's M.Sc students came to give me a card and to touch my feet. That always makes me feel uncomfortable for we do not have the tradition of touching anyone's feet at home.
And then I got a surprise card from a ex-project student and another one from a student who did a project in my lab and is now in California.
All in all a very nice day.
I remember my teachers. Strangely I remember most of the teachers who taught me in 11th class. Strange because I did most of my studies at KV Sector VIII, RK Puram except for 11th which I did in Lucknow. The school was small, the teachers were friendly and innovative, actually. There was Mrs. Duggal whose English exams were fun because she always gave us space to write a short prose at the end of the exam. Mrs. Kumar who taught us Physics and could not be bothered with exams. And Mr. Tripathi who taught us Chemistry and instilled in me the habit of keeping extensive records of the experiments done.
Then in B.Sc. there was Dr. Sarabhai who worked harder than I did for the gold medal and who was kind enough to do all the paper work needed for the graduation ceremony. I think the parents visited him when the letter of the award ceremony came because I was away in Baroda.
And finally there was Joel, whom I treated more as a colleague than as a teacher. I ran the lab and bullied him just as I bully my brother. But he took it all good-naturedly and let me do the experiments my own way.
So it is to all of them a Happy Teacher's Day.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The obessive compulsive cleanliness disorder gene
As I inspected the house yesterday to see whether it is ready to receive the parents, I was stuck by the injustice of it all. I mean to say that the family as a whole (the parents, the brother, the sister-in-law) all seem to be stuck on cleaning, cleaning, and some more cleaning, while I do not care. I mean it is a case of it is okay, I can live with it, and when it becomes too much I will clean everything up. In that process I usually end up throwing away valuable things which sort of then justifies my not cleaning, if you follow my argument.
So I thought about it a little bit. After all today I know more about genetics than I did four years back thanks to teaching the subject every year.
The more I thought about it the more I became convinced that there exists an obsessive compulsive cleanliness gene. Looking at the pattern of inheritance (it has skipped me) I think it is a dominant gene.
Let us designate the gene OCD. This is the dominant form. When expressed the patient wants to clean everything. The recessive form is ocd, where the person can live with some amount of untidiness.
The parents I think are heterozygous to this gene. If they were homozygous, then I too should be afflicted with this disease. As I am not, the parents have to be heterozygous, with one copy of the disease gene and one copy of the normal gene. Therefore, the genotype of both the parents is OCD/ocd.
This means that F1 progeny (that is my brother and me) had 50% chance of being OCD/ocd, 25% chance of being ocd/ocd, and 25% chance of being OCD/OCD.
Given the way my brother cleans every thing (he beats the parents hollow) I am convinced that he is OCD/OCD. Extremely clean. He gets up in the morning and starts cleaning. What amazes me is that he got a wife who is exactly like him in this aspect.
And I am ocd/ocd-there is no such concept as clean, clean, clean all the time in me.
It is all in the genetics. I felt little better.
The house is not cleaned up despite my best intentions. But then if it was cleaned, what would the parents clean when they come? Then they would be bored. And their expectations would rise up. Every time they come they would expect the house to be ultra-clean. So thinking overall about it, and taking consolation from the genetics, I have given up on the idea of getting the house clean to their standards.
So I thought about it a little bit. After all today I know more about genetics than I did four years back thanks to teaching the subject every year.
The more I thought about it the more I became convinced that there exists an obsessive compulsive cleanliness gene. Looking at the pattern of inheritance (it has skipped me) I think it is a dominant gene.
Let us designate the gene OCD. This is the dominant form. When expressed the patient wants to clean everything. The recessive form is ocd, where the person can live with some amount of untidiness.
The parents I think are heterozygous to this gene. If they were homozygous, then I too should be afflicted with this disease. As I am not, the parents have to be heterozygous, with one copy of the disease gene and one copy of the normal gene. Therefore, the genotype of both the parents is OCD/ocd.
This means that F1 progeny (that is my brother and me) had 50% chance of being OCD/ocd, 25% chance of being ocd/ocd, and 25% chance of being OCD/OCD.
Given the way my brother cleans every thing (he beats the parents hollow) I am convinced that he is OCD/OCD. Extremely clean. He gets up in the morning and starts cleaning. What amazes me is that he got a wife who is exactly like him in this aspect.
And I am ocd/ocd-there is no such concept as clean, clean, clean all the time in me.
It is all in the genetics. I felt little better.
The house is not cleaned up despite my best intentions. But then if it was cleaned, what would the parents clean when they come? Then they would be bored. And their expectations would rise up. Every time they come they would expect the house to be ultra-clean. So thinking overall about it, and taking consolation from the genetics, I have given up on the idea of getting the house clean to their standards.
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