10 days later

I come here to just retain my sanity…

1. I submitted a 20-page synopsis of my Ph.D. thesis. After three drafts and plenty of torture. Finally. So the title and etc are decided… For now, all that I can safely say is that my thesis is on classroom dynamics and learner identity. More horror stories will follow. Trust me, and if you are the type who believes in either god, or the power of positive thinking, say a prayer for me. (I am planning to work on a “Memoirs of a Ph.D. student” once this is all done… It will be the finest piece of non-fiction from me, if only if I am alive long enough to write it).

2. A poem of mine (Seven Stages) is to appear in the Tasmanian indie magazine Famous Reporter, issue no.40, Dec 09. This is just the online version….

and

3. Watch this space for more details. After ages I might perhaps be getting the chance to make a public/literary appearance in Chennai this weekend, and will keep you posted abt the details. Things are pretty hazy right now.

I have aged 10 years in two weeks and

I wish this kind of slow horror stops. My sister tells me part of the reason for things spiralling out of control on the personal and domestic front (I hope I sound as vague as any astrologer) is that I am no longer normal. In her words, “Akka, because of this PhD tension, and the workplace tension you are not yourself. So you better stop thinking about other things okay.” Sane, dangerously sane words.

Either, sitting with research books and papers all day long gives me a kind of scary clarity (and I see things in a different light) , or, I am venting out the pressures of this work on innocent people. Trust, right now, is the most difficult emotion that I will be able to come up with.

I just keep praying that all this confusion, bitterness and pain goes away. A few years down the lane, I think none of this should matter. May be it’s just plain wishful thinking.

And I also realized, part of the reason why a PhD has to be such an “unforgettable” (in every negative sense of the word) experience has to do with the fact that it is less of writing and research, than it is of people-pleasing. From simply filling in forms, to keeping clerks in good humour, to searching for all those photocopies of fee receipts (I have paid the university more than half-a-lakh in fees), I feel so defeated. It is not a process that will ever encourage creativity. Or ideas. Or even outspokenness. Well, well, I will get back to work (not writing, but some or other clerical crap).

Isaignani Ilayaraja

If I ever finish writing my Ph.d. thesis anytime soon, I think one of the foremost people who should take credit for it should be Maestro Ilayaraja… But for his soulful music and melodies, I wouldn’t even share a room with an ELT textbook!

In which I become a restless recluse

This isn’t news, but still. I have avoided email-internet-telephone-mobile like the plague and the only good news is that I have discovered “If you shun the world, the world shuns you.” On an average and extremely boring day, I get about 20 calls, today I got only 3 calls and all from Aircel regarding some free ringtones. Guess I have ceased to exist. I don’t know how else to manage my life. I need to get this PhD done in a couple of months. By end of June. So, there’s all the attendant reading that goes on. Next, I need to keep myself occupied and not worrying about who-wins-what in this elections. 

In the midst of this I have got to value papers. 170 answer-scripts. I feel sleepy already. 

The worst side-effect of reading on ELT is that I am getting drawn back into teaching, into the magic that you can create in classrooms. Really, the only time I have forgot all my preoccupations, all my worries, has been in the classroom, as a teacher. If only I had a teaching job where I didn’t have to sit at my workplace from 9 to 5, if only I could drop in, teach and get back home. I wouldn’t say it is a noble profession. It is a vulnerable position and I like that. It is like being a writer. You are vulnerable. That makes you strong, somehow. Not in a I-can-put-it-down-into-words sort of way. I have shared more secrets about myself with a class of eighty-nine than with a close friend for a decade. May be I did that for the ice-breaking, may be I did that to tell them that to write or to speak English you really didn’t need extremely priveleged backgrounds. There are so many things that I would not tell anyone for loss of face, but those things I could tell those teenagers. And for the first time in life, I also learned to listen to others PoV. Sometimes, when people take radically “wrong” stands, I simply shut off. But when the young ones are saying something I naturally listen. I want to give them a complete hearing. Then I accept the bits of it that I can relate to. Sigh!

I think teaching, like writing is extremely intimate. Except that, since English in an Engineering College is low-status/ low-priority, there’ s not much that a teacher can derive out of the job. I will stop right now. Otherwise, this shape-shifting soul of mine will start glorifying everything else she’s doing…

Piled Higher And Deeper (the first in the series of blogs where I rant about the process of writing my thesis)

Since I don’t have anywhere else to offload my angst, I shall torture this poor blog of mine. Ever since 2009 started, my dad has been *extremely* worried as to whether I will complete my PhD at all. Before I launch head-on into things, let me make some of the background clear. My dad is my “manager” of sorts–I know this sounds actress-y, but hell, this is the truth. I do most of what I want to do, but then, he decides what I should not do. (And believe me, his rules are really ruthless, sometimes. Never amenable to reason, or requests or anything). Doesn’t mean I love him any less (he’s my dad, no one else is devoting so much of time and affection on me). Most of the time, I sort of blame it on his background, his immaturity and his many (always unfounded) fears. Things are much more complicated. But, this post is not about my dad. I use him as a point of reference just to say: He’s never doubted my ABILITY to do something. He’s always sure his girl will do what she wants to (even when he’s downright discouraging). So, (and here’s where the story gets into focus) when he told me yesterday that he had serious doubts whether I will complete my PhD at all, I was lost.

Why do my parents who believe that I am capable of doing anything, have fears whether I will write a 300-page thesis? They have this fear that I will never be Dr.__ in my life (which both of them are) and that I would be left out. For sometime I kept fighting with them, saying stuff like trust me and so on. Now, I have stopped saying. Why? Because I have started having the same doubts.

I have tried my best to keep myself distraction free. I have quit surfing the net (other than for research), Orkut, Facebook, replying emails, calling up friends, everything that was taking my time. Even let go of a couple of opportunities (teaching at a writing workshop, reviewing books) since I didn’t want to get into other stuff and lose focus. But, I am disturbed because ever so often I check the news. I am worried about what’s happening in Sri Lanka, I am worried about how people here are reacting. And then, there’s the election fever. For the first time, I don’t want to vote. That doesn’t make me any less hungry for news though. May be I should pack my bags and go to my dad’s village and sit and write out this thesis, but it is not feasible. Which means, I have to sit in this grumpy merciless Chennai weather and write. And write something that’s not beautiful.

Of course, I do plan to make my thesis hard-hitting. But then, the rules of academia in my part of the world prevent me from making it a lovely read. So, I am writing what seems like unreadable prose, and I am just letting it stay. And do you know how I console myself: Yesterday I read that nobody other than a researcher in the same topic as yours is going to read beyond the first three pages of your thesis. Which is really amazing. I finish my thesis, then I start convincing the world that there are really better things to research!

(By the way, this long post should be enough of stress-shedding for a week. I don’t want to add blogging to the list of my distractions. And, I want to be done with all the writing by June-end and the revising by mid-July, so that I don’t have to continue teaching next year. One year and done. That’s the way I want my career as a lecturer to be.)

Ph.D. Funda No. 1

THOSE WHO DON”T READ ENOUGH SHALL PERISH

(Some day, years later, I will share the relevant anecdote. Until then, bye. Right now, I have perfected the art of going on a hiatus without making a hell of a noise about it. Which sort of suits my character.)

Hiatus

I badly want to announce a break, but I am scared of jinxing it. Everytime I have said I that I would be away for a while, I have come back here with posts. So, let this stay. Have some trouble at the PhD front. I started to work with translation + language teaching, couldn’t come up with enough material so I switched my topic. Now the trouble is, the new topic has to “RATIFIED” (and they say, I am the one in love with big, pompous words) by my doctoral committee. Sigh. The committee meets this March 29, at 3.00 p.m. or thereabouts, and till then, it is a case of moths and butterflies and other hairy, flying creatures in my stomach.

No wonder, those who know me always ask? Why this Ph.D.? What do I answer? The only right answer seems to be: I am a masochist, I love this routine. Oh, yes, really.

So, expect a silence until then. Or, given my extreme upredictability, expect an overdose of posts.

Crazy, crazy week

By Monday, I have received more than half a thousand poems… Great, and amazing response, but I am just thinking of how difficult it is going to be to sit and read through and judge. It would be fun, but it would also be a little taxing. So I try not to think of it too much. Though, there’s a benevolent part of me that wants to extend the deadline by a week, or a fortnight. The reason? Never in my life (except on three, or four rare occasions) have I submitted a work by the deadline. If I want to apply for something, it goes into my to-do list the day I see it, but then it stays there long after the deadline has passed. I just get excited by other things, or get into real deep soup, or something on similar lines, and I land up never submitting. Sloppiness in general. I have this nagging feeling that I should sit and write, and do something, and send some stuff across, but I never quite manage it. And this time around, because I am the one who fixes the deadlines, I want to be a little lenient.

And I am surprised by the kinds of doubts people out there have when you put out a call for submissions: is the deadline over (when everywhere I say that the deadline is only 30 May), and then, do we send the poems in the text or body of the email (does it really matter?), can I send more than one poem (a lot of people have asked this, and this i can understand), is it a problem if my poem uses foreign language words (it is not a problem even if your poem uses C++ and Java, i love codes as much as i love poems), I am an indian woman but i don’t live in india can I send you my poems (yes, yes, yes, please do), my poetry isn’t essentially about the city, but the city has influenced all my poems, so I want to send a poem (hey, really!), and finally, please give me your feedback (this is tricky. i can either select, or not select. why go into the business of saying why I liked or didn’t like yours), and then the final, please give me your feedback at the earliest (goodness. even the deadline isn’t over yet…)

What else? I have my comprehension examination fixed for July. The first week, or so I guess. Which means, after two years of being provisionally registered for a PhD, my registeration would get “confirmed”. So much of technicalities, and a three-hour exam, followed by a one-hour grilling session. Which means I have to bury my nose in lots of books for the time being. What a wasteful way to spend the summer.

Today I misplaced my mobile and I thankfully got it back. Much drama.

Was in the worst of moods this weekend. Had a bad showdown with my parents, big fighting, and then, I quarreled with my guide, and ended up feeling miserable with myself.