আমার এই পথ চলাতেই আনন্দ

কিছুদিন আগে আমার এক রসিক বন্ধু ভবিষ্যদ্বাণী করেছে, “তোমার বিয়ের সময় তুমি বরযাত্রীদের নিজেই রাইড দিয়ে নিয়ে যাবে। মাঝে মাঝে হাইওয়েতে এক-একটা এক্সিট দেখিয়ে র‍্যানডম ক্যুইজ করবে, ‘বলুন তো, এই এক্সিটটা কোথায় গেছে?’ যখন কেউ কিছু বলতে পারবে না, তুমি বলবে, ‘আরে ভাবুন ভাবুন, কমন সেন্স অ্যাপ্লাই করুন। আর একান্তই বলতে না পারলে চলুন গিয়েই দেখা যাক এই এক্সিটটা কোথায় গেছে। আমি সেদিন এইভাবেই একটা এক্সিট ধরে টু পয়েন্ট থ্রি থ্রি মাইল গিয়ে একটা স্টেট পার্ক খুঁজে পেয়েছিলাম।’ ”

গাড়ি হাঁকিয়ে নতুন নতুন জায়গায় যাওয়া আর রাস্তাঘাট মুখস্ত করে ফেলা আমার একটা অদ্ভুত শখ। এখন করোনার দাপটে এখানে ‘স্টে ইন শেল্টার’ চলছে। জরুরি প্রয়োজন ছাড়া বাইরে বেরোনো বারণ। গাড়ি চালিয়ে যাওয়া বলতে শুধু গ্রোসারি, সেটাও বড়জোর সপ্তাহে একবার। আবার যে কবে লং ড্রাইভে যেতে পারব, কে জানে! অ্যাপার্টমেন্টের চার দেওয়ালের গন্ডীর মধ্যে বসে থেকে মনটা নিমেষে চলে যায় ছোটবেলায়। জীবনের প্রথম নয় বছর যে বাড়িতে কাটিয়েছি, সে বাড়ি থেকে এক মিনিটের হাঁটায় যশোহর রোড। সকাল থেকে রাত যে কোন সময় বাসস্টপে গিয়ে দাঁড়ালেই শোনা যেত বাসওয়ালাদের হাঁক -

“সীট খালি সীট খালি বেলেঘাটা শিয়ালদা মৌলালি ধর্মতলা সীট খালি”

“হাওড়া হাওড়া খান্না মানিকতলা বাগুইআটি কেষ্টপুর লেকটাউন উল্টোডাঙা গিরিশপার্ক বড়বাজার হাওড়া হাওড়া হাওড়া”

“জাগুলি জাগুলি গাদামারা ময়না আমডাঙা কামদেবপুর আবালসিদ্ধি জাগুলি”

“দক্ষিণেশ্বর দক্ষিণেশ্বর নাগেরবাজার দমদম সিঁথিরমোড় বরানগর ডানলপ দক্ষিণেশ্বর”  

ঘোরার পোকাটা মাথায় ছোট থেকেই নড়ত। ইচ্ছে হত বাড়ির কাছের বাসস্টপে যতগুলো রুটের বাস থামে, স-ব রুটে ঘুরে ঘুরে জায়গাগুলো আর রাস্তাগুলো চিনে আসি। বয়স কম, একা তো যেতে পারব না, কাউকে সঙ্গে যেতে হবে। কিন্তু অন্য কাউকে বলতে ঠিক ভরসা হত না। এরকম আজগুবি শখ কারো আবার হয় নাকি! আর বাসের অত ভাড়াই বা দেবে কে! তাই ছোটবেলায় ওইভাবে ঘোরাটা আর হয়নি।

বি টেক করছি। থার্ড ইয়ার থেকে ফোর্থ ইয়ারে উঠব। ইন্টার্নশিপ করতে গিয়েছিলাম ব্যাঙ্গালোর। ওখানকার বাসে ডে-পাস বলে একটা ব্যাপার আছে। সেটা দু’হাজার দশ সাল। তখন নন-এসি বাসে কুড়ি টাকা আর এসি ভলভো বাসে পঞ্চান্ন টাকায় ডে-পাস পাওয়া যেত। মানে একবার পাস কিনলে ওটা নিয়েই সারা দিন যত খুশি ঘোরা যায়। দ্বিতীয়বার আর টিকিট কাটার দরকার নেই। এক শুক্রবার হল কি, সন্ধ্যেয় অফিস থেকে বাড়ি ফিরে ব্যাগটা রেখেই বেরিয়ে গেলাম। যাব কোথায়?  অনেক বাসে দেখেছি ইলেকট্রনিক ডিসপ্লে বোর্ডে লেখা থাকে হয় ‘বনশঙ্করী’ নাহলে ‘কে বি এস’। ‘কে বি এস’ অর্থাৎ ‘কেম্পেগৌড়া বাস স্টেশন’ এর সাথে অনেকে আবার জুড়ে দেয় ‘ম্যাজেস্টিক’। ‘বনশঙ্করী’ আর ‘ম্যাজেস্টিক’ – এই দুটো জায়গা চিনে আসতে হবে। রাতে বাড়ি ঢুকতেই রুমমেটদের একজন জিজ্ঞেস করল, “অফিস থেকে ফিরেই দুম করে বেরিয়ে গেলি, কোথায় গিয়েছিলি?” সোৎসাহে বলে উঠলাম, “জানিস জানিস, বাসে বাসে করে ঘুরলাম। একটা বাসে এখান থেকে বনশঙ্করী, আরেকটা বাসে বনশঙ্করী থেকে ম্যাজেস্টিক, আবার আরেকটা বাসে ম্যাজেস্টিক থেকে এখানে। জানিস একটা পয়সাও এক্সট্রা লাগেনি। ডে-পাসেই হয়ে গেল।” সে বেচারা বুঝতে পারল না কি বলবে। হয়ত আশা করে ছিল শুনবে কারো সাথে ডেট এ গিয়েছিলাম, তার বদলে এ কী শুনল! পরের দিন সকালে ঘুম ভাঙতে ভাঙতে শুনলাম সেই ছেলেটা বাকি রুমমেটদের গল্পটা বলছে। বাকিরাও বুঝতে পারছে না হাসবে না কাঁদবে।

জায়গা চেনা আর রাস্তা চেনার এই নেশা সাত সমুদ্র তেরো নদীর ওপারে এসেও যায়নি। বরং বেড়ে গেছে আরো। টেক্সাস এ-এন্ড-এম এ প্রথম সেমেস্টারের ফাইনাল পরীক্ষা যেদিন শেষ হল, সেদিন আবার বাড়ি এসে ব্যাগ রেখেই বেরিয়ে গিয়েছিলাম। ক্যাম্পাসে যতগুলো বাসরুট আছে, সবগুলোয় চড়ে দেখতে হবে কোন বাস কোথায় যায় আর কোথায় কোথায় থামে। অনলাইনে ম্যাপে সেটা দেওয়া থাকে ঠিকই, কিন্তু থিওরি আর প্র্যাকটিক্যালের মধ্যে একটা তফাৎ আছে। নিজে না গেলে শুধু ম্যাপ দেখে মনে রাখা যায় না। সেদিনটা ভালই যাচ্ছিল, কিন্তু একবার একটা বাসের লাস্ট স্টপে না নেমে বসে ছিলাম ওই বাসেই ফিরব বলে। বাকি যাত্রীরা তার আগের স্টপে নেমে গিয়েছিল, তাই বাসে অন্য কোন যাত্রী ছিল না। ড্রাইভার জিজ্ঞেস করল, “এটাই লাস্ট স্টপ। তুমি শিওর এখানে নামবে না?” ভয়ে শুকিয়ে গিয়েছিলাম। সত্যিটা যে ভয়েই বলতে পারব না। কি বলব! ড্রাইভার কি ভাবছে! কোনমতে ‘ও সরি, আমি খেয়াল করি নি’ বলে নেমে গিয়েছিলাম। পরের বাসে ফিরেছিলাম। তারপর এরকমভাবে বাসে করে আর কখনও ঘুরিনি। হেঁটেই ঘুরতাম।

ঘুরতে যাওয়ার জন্য পা বাড়িয়ে আছি; যে শহরে থাকি সেখানে পাবলিক ট্রান্সপোর্ট একরকম নেই বললেই চলে, অথচ গাড়ি চালানো শিখতে প্রচন্ড ভয়। ছোটবেলায় বাসে উঠে সুযোগ হলেই ড্রাইভারের পাশে বসতাম। লক্ষ্য করতাম কিভাবে স্টিয়ারিং ঘোরাচ্ছে। ফার্স্ট-সেকেন্ড-থার্ড-ফোর্থ-রিভার্স কখন কোন গিয়ার দিচ্ছে। গিয়ার বদলানো, অ্যাক্সিরালেটর বা ব্রেকে চাপ দেওয়া, কখন কিরকম শব্দ হয় – তার নকল করেছি বহু বছর। কিন্তু খেলাচ্ছলে চালানো আর সত্যি সত্যি চালানোর মধ্যে বিরাট তফাৎ। গাড়ি চালানো শিখতে গিয়ে জানলাম স্টিয়ারিং এ হাত দেওয়ার আগে নিয়মকানুন শিখে লার্নার্স পারমিট পেতে হবে। প্রথম যখন দেখলাম এত গাদাগুচ্ছ নিয়ম মুখস্ত রাখতে হবে, মনে হয়েছিল আমার দ্বারা হবে না। একটার পর একটা মডিউল আসত নিয়মকানুনের, আর ভাবতাম মানুষ এত কি করে মনে রাখে। খাতায় নোটস বানিয়ে, ডায়াগ্রাম এঁকে, বারবার করে আউড়ে – কিছুতেই কিছু হত না। পরের দিন দেখতাম সব ভুলে গেছি। এভাবে দু’বছর চলেছে। দু’বছর? হ্যাঁ, দু’বছর।

প্রথম যেদিন ‘হাতে স্টিয়ারিং’ হ’ল, মনে হচ্ছিল এই বুঝি নার্ভাস ব্রেকডাউন হ’ল বলে। পার্কিং লটে দু’ঘণ্টা শুধু গাড়ি ডানদিকে কিভাবে ঘোরায় তাই প্র্যাকটিস করেছি, কিন্তু প্রতিবারই মনে হয়েছে কিছু না কিছু ভুল হল। কয়েকদিন পর যখন পার্কিং লটে প্র্যাকটিস করতে গেছি বাঁদিকে কিভাবে ঘোরায়, তখন মনে হচ্ছিল ডানদিকে ঘোরানোটা তাও যা পারছিলাম, এটা তো আরোই পারছি না। এরকমভাবে কয়েকমাস চলেছে। যে-ই শেখাচ্ছে, তার-ই প্রাণ ওষ্ঠাগত। খুব প্রিয় একজন মানুষ মজা করে বলেছেন, “যেদিন গাড়ি নিয়ে রাস্তায় বেরোবে, বেরোনোর আগে আমাকে মেসেজ করে দেবে। সেদিন আমি আর বেরোব না।” নিজের গাড়ি বাড়ি নিয়ে এসেছি কোন এক মঙ্গলবার, কিন্তু শনিবারের আগে চালাতে বেরোইনি ভয়ে। যদি কিছু হয়ে যায়। তার কয়েক সপ্তাহ পরের কথা। তখন শহরের রাস্তায় মোটামুটি পারছি, কিন্তু হাইওয়েতে কখনও উঠিনি। একবার একজনের বাড়ি যাচ্ছিলাম কিছু বই আনতে। হাইওয়ে দিয়ে কয়েক মাইল যেতে হত। ভয়ে হাইওয়েতে উঠিইনি। হাইওয়ের পাশের রাস্তা, যেটাকে আমেরিকায় ফ্রন্টেজ রোড বলে, সেটা দিয়েই গেছি এসেছি। কিন্তু বাড়ি ফেরার পর একটা অদ্ভুত ব্যাপার হল। মনে হল, হাইওয়েতে ওঠাটা একটা চ্যালেঞ্জ। এই চ্যালেঞ্জটা আমি নিতে পারব না? একবার চেষ্টা করে দেখি না। প্রথমবার হাইওয়েতে উঠলাম, গেলাম পাঁচ মাইল, ফিরলাম পাঁচ মাইল। ঘণ্টায় সত্তর মাইলে মানুষ চালাচ্ছে কি করে! আমার তো স্পিড ষাটের উপর উঠলেই বুক ধড়ফড় করে উঠছে। আবার মনে হল, আরেকবার যাই। একটু দম নিয়ে আবার গেলাম। সেদিন এইভাবে তিনবার যাওয়া আসা করেছি হাইওয়েতে। তৃতীয়বার মনে হল, নাহ এইবার আর আগের মত দম আটকে আসছে না। বুঝলাম, বার বার প্র্যাকটিস করতে থাকলে গাড়ি চালানো জিনিসটা আস্তে আস্তে সহজ হয়ে আসে।

শুরু হ’ল প্র্যাকটিস। একটা সময় এল, যখন ম্যাপ দেখে ভেবে নিতাম আজ এই রুটটায় যাব। সেই রুটটায় ঘুরে আসতাম। পরের বার ভাবতাম, আগেরদিন এই এক্সিটটা নিয়ে বাঁদিকে চলে গিয়েছিলাম। বাঁদিকে না গিয়ে ডানদিকে যদি যেতাম, তাহলে কোথায় পৌঁছতাম? বা যদি সোজাই চলে যেতাম, তাহলেই বা কোথায় যেতাম? কখনও বাড়ি থেকে বেরোনোর আগে ম্যাপে দেখে নিয়ে, কখনও আবার না দেখেই বেরিয়ে যেতাম। কতবার এরকম হয়েছে যে হয় ম্যাপ দেখে না হয় রাস্তার ধারে সাইনবোর্ডগুলো দেখে অবাক হয়ে ভেবেছি, “ও তাই! এই রাস্তাটা অমুক জায়গায় গেছে! গিয়ে দেখি তো!” এইভাবেই চলে গেছি লেক সমারভিল, লেক কনরো, স্যাম হিউস্টন ন্যাশনাল ফরেস্ট, ডেভি ক্রকেট ন্যাশনাল ফরেস্ট। হিউস্টন-অস্টিন-স্যান অ্যান্টোনিওর মত বড় শহরের পাশাপাশি চলে গেছি ছোটবেলার আমডাঙা-কামদেবপুর-নাগেরবাজার-বাগুইআটির মত রোনস প্রেইরি, হান্টসভিল, ম্যাডিসনভিল, সেন্টারভিল, মার্লিন, ওয়েকো, ইন্ডিপেন্ডেন্স, ব্রেনহ্যাম, বেলভিল, সিলি, লা গ্র্যঞ্জ, গিডিংস, রকডেল, টেইলর, ফ্রাঙ্কলিনের মত ছোট-মাঝারি অনেক শহরে। দূরপাল্লার রোড ট্রিপে গেছি – কখনও তিন জন, কখনও চার জন, কখনও পনেরো জন, আবার কখনও একা। যে স্টিয়ারিং এ হাত দিতে একদিন ভয়ে বুক কেঁপে যেত, আজ সেই স্টিয়ারিং এ মাঝে মাঝে বসতে না পারলে কেমন খালি খালি লাগে।  

ভবিষ্যতে যদি সময়-সুযোগ হয়, স্টিয়ারিং এ বসে ঘুরতে চাই বোস্টন থেকে স্যান ফ্রান্সিসকো, ভ্যানকুভার থেকে টোরন্টো, কায়রো থেকে কেপটাউন, পার্থ থেকে সিডনি, মস্কো থেকে সাইবেরিয়া, আর অতি অবশ্যই কাশ্মীর থেকে কন্যাকুমারী, গুজরাট থেকে অরুণাচল। এই মুহূর্তে হয়ত পাগলের প্রলাপের মত শোনাচ্ছে। তা শোনাক। স্বপ্ন যতক্ষণ স্বপ্ন থাকে, বাস্তবে পরিণত না হয়, ততক্ষণ ওরকমই শোনায়। একদিন হয়ত এরকমই কোন একটা হাইওয়েতে ঘুরতে ঘুরতে পাশের সীটের সহযাত্রীকে জিজ্ঞেস করব, “বলুন তো, এই এক্সিটটা কোথায় গেছে?”   

আপাততঃ পৃথিবী করোনামুক্ত হোক। সবাই ভাল থাকবেন। সাবধানে থাকবেন।

My Birthdays

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned twenty-seven. “Twenty-seven? Really?” paused my mind, “Are you sure?” Not very long ago my mother and sisters at home would often start a discussion about me. They would wonder whether I really grew up, and whether I could really take care of myself. “He’s just older on paper”, some would jokingly conclude, “Our kids need to be told and shown and reminded of everything. So does their great uncle!” I am sure that they would differ today. My life has changed a lot in the last three and a half years of studying abroad. Birthdays, too, have become a lot different. Today when I recollect the series of twenty seven birthdays I have had so far, I feel strange. There was a time when I used to feel upset that I had no stories to tell. Today I am amazed to see so many little stories born out of only twenty seven days of my life.

I am blessed to have a family that turned many of my birthdays into grand celebrations. Whether a get-together at home or travel, my family made sure that I never run out of fond memories to cherish. I was too young to remember anything from my first birthday. However, when I was a little older, one day I found an old invitation card behind a wooden bench at home. The invitation sounded like a nursery rhyme. It was worded as if I, a one-year old, was asking everyone to come join us. It felt special. The first time I distinctly remember cutting a birthday cake was when I turned five. In the middle of the cake I saw a candle shaped like a ‘5’. I was told to blow it out, and suddenly everyone in the room started clapping and singing. Amidst the noise, I was prompted to cut the cake and pose for pictures. I was overwhelmed. However, I felt at ease as the story repeated two years later, in front of another candle shaped like a ‘7’.  By this time decorations made of balloons and colored papers began to fascinate me.

From then on I always wanted get-togethers whenever I stayed at home during birthdays. My sixteenth birthday was unique. There was nothing planned the day before, but I was adamant on inviting at least a few family members. To be fair, we ended up ringing almost everyone we were close to. Those who could show up the next day, did so. There was no special decoration, but honestly I did not need any, thanks to the quality time we enjoyed. On my nineteenth birthday there was a reunion of a few very good friends from high school. I am fortunate that we could be together at my place on a few more birthdays. By the time I entered my twenties, my nephews and nieces grew up. My birthday became their day of celebration. The day I turned twenty-five is a day I will never forget. Having arrived home from the other side of the world two days ago, I was still jet-lagged. In the early morning, my drowsy eyes lit up as I watched my children busy at work. They spent hours to make me a collage that said, ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY KUTTIMAMA’ (Happy Birthday Little Uncle). Waiting in the queue to surprise me further were their beautiful hand-made cards. I heard that they had been planning all of those for months. Inspired, I let the camera of my new smartphone speak for me as long as I could keep my eyes open.

  The first time I remember traveling to my aunt’s place at Dainhat in the Burdwan district of Bengal was when I turned three. It remained for years – and it still is – a special train journey through the greenery of rural Bengal. This repeated in the years I turned six and nine. From my aunt’s place we went to visit the ISKCON temple at Mayapur when I turned six, and the royal palaces, mosques, gardens and tombs of the Nawabs of Bengal at Murshidabad when I turned nine. On my eighth birthday my mother was recovering from typhoid, but I was too young and stubborn to accept that there would be no celebration. To calm me down, my father took me for a brief visit to the Bandel Church, even though his health was not good either. We could, however, make up for it during my twelfth birthday as we toured Rajgir, Deoghar and Chittaranjan. My most cherished memory from this trip is the visit to the ruins of the Nalanda University near Rajgir. The structure, the bricks, the stairs, the places that were ancient student halls and the surroundings of one of the oldest universities in the world made me speechless. In hindsight, this was perhaps what sowed in me the desire to be part of a university one day. The other beautiful memories that stay with me came from the visits to the Victoria Memorial in Kolkata, the Maithon Dam in Jharkhand and a tour to Tarapith, Massanjore and Santiniketan during my thirteenth, eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays respectively.

Some birthdays were not that pleasant, but they forced me to learn and grow as a person. One of my maternal uncles died of a train accident two days before my tenth birthday. We were all set to travel when the news came as a terrible shock. In a house with everyone mourning the untimely loss of one of the most talented artists in the family, I learnt on my own not to demand anything on my birthday. My fifteenth and seventeenth birthdays were close to my board exams. I had to take one mock test on each of those days: a three-hour Biology test on the former, and a three-hour Math test on the latter. Known to be a studious boy, I was afraid to speak my mind back then, but it took me quite a while to break the shackles of ‘why me’ and ‘why today’. Eventually it occurred to me that a bad exam would mean a bad memory. So I became determined to write my best exams on both the days.

Over the last few years I had to stay away from my family on quite a few birthdays. The large family gatherings gave way to only a few close friends; some of them could not be there even if they badly wanted to. The once all-day events started to wrap up quicker. The once never-ending chatter started to leave room for quiet reflections. I am slowly getting accustomed to it, but I must say that I needed this experience. This made me learn what I could never see otherwise. If I really want to celebrate, I can; it is just that I may need to be active. If I want someone to join me, it is up to me to ask them. If I really want to have delicious home-cooked food, I can; it is just that I might need to cook. If I really want to go somewhere, I can; it is just that I might need to plan and execute. It is always fantastic when family and friends can do things for me, but sometimes I need to do things for myself so I can enjoy birthdays. I am fully capable of the latter. It feels scary at first, but with time it becomes empowering.

One of my favorite TV commercials as a child was a Complan ad. A mother looks at her son’s abandoned toy cycle. She wonders how quickly he has grown up. To her great surprise he takes her out for a ride on his real bicycle. When I think of how I used to be during my birthdays in childhood and how I am now, I feel that I have come a long way. However, inside me lives a little child in the world of dreams, hopes and fantasies. He likes to be mischievous; he notices little things; he feels deeply; he gets excited at every opportunity; he is still very much alive. I treasure him. He makes me who I am. I want to keep him alive, no matter how old I get!

Introduction to Teaching

         The golden moments of the first seven years of my life still live in the album “Aamaar Shoishob” (My Childhood). Thanks to my mom’s meticulous work, I have the privilege to open the album and look back on my childhood whenever I wish. On one of its pages there is a question: “What did my elders say I would be when I grow up?” Mom left it blank. Perhaps it bothered me as a kid. One day in her absence I wrote an answer myself. The answer was ‘master’. I guess that I was about five years old at that time. ‘Master’ was the best word I could come up with to describe a teacher. I did not ask anyone. No one suggested either. Anyway, the answer got written, and it never changed. To become a teacher has always been my dream.

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          It was around the time I got introduced to the compound letters of the Bengali script when my dad brought home a blackboard. I saw my primary teachers writing on blackboards; I tried to do it myself. I quickly realized that the good old slate-pencils do not work on a blackboard. Dad got me a box of chalks. I started writing letters and words, and reading them aloud to the empty room – just the way my teacher would do to a full class. It was a unique experience. I felt energized, delighted and a lot lighter inside. What surprised me was that I was able to comprehend and retain a lot more than how much I usually could without having anyone by my side.

This was the very first time I acted as a teacher. It was great fun. I wanted the fun to continue. I had no clue back then that two decades later the fun would turn into something very special. This Spring I got an offer to teach an undergrad Flight Mechanics class. My section would be a small one with nine students, which is a good size to begin with. As a Graduate Teaching Fellow, I would be the instructor of record and responsible for all the lectures, homework assignments, quizzes, final exam and the letter grades. This would be completely real. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster as the first day of class got closer. As I met my advisor the day before, he said, “Dipanjan, tomorrow’s your Big Day!”

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During school days, one of my favorite topics to write an essay on was ‘Your Aim in Life’. I used to write that a life without a goal is like a boat without a sailor, and that my goal is to become a great teacher. As I grew older, acting as a teacher in front of an imaginary class became one of my favorite hobbies. When we stumbled to recall our Biology lessons, our favorite Biology teacher used to say, “Simply reading isn’t good enough; you need to ponder over what you’ve read.” I figured out that switching to the teacher mode automatically gave me the scope to ponder. The mock-teaching greatly boosted clarity and confidence. The excitement was overwhelming till I realized one day that I needed to control my voice. One day our ex-neighbor said to my mom, “I heard him. I thought he must be tutoring someone. Then I saw through the window. There was no one else. He just kept talking with animated gestures!” I understood that they were concerned, but I was too crazy to stop.

My life at IIT brought me one step closer towards my dream. My friends recognized my aptitude and asked me to tutor them on many occasions. I could not help feeling enormous joy and satisfaction at every such opportunity. It was through these sessions I began to experience what it takes to teach well. In addition, I taught high school students as a National Service Scheme volunteer for a year. Towards the end I got the chance to work as a teaching assistant. By the time I came to grad school I became confident in my potential to teach well. Grad school gave me the platform to learn the essentials of effective college teaching and practice the same. According to my advisor’s plan, I took the Flight Mechanics class from him last Spring and worked as the teaching assistant last Fall, and thus had a full year to master the subject material. All these prepared me for the Big Day.

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The night before the Big Day I sent out my very first email to the class. I introduced myself and told my students to relax and sleep well before they would show up at 8 o’clock the next morning. In hindsight it was in fact what I needed for myself to calm down. I scheduled the activities in the first class in my head, but it turned out that I had underestimated the time. It took me a week to realize that 50 minutes, which at times seemed never-ending as a student, fly at the speed of light when I am the teacher. I learnt that there is only so much material I can go over in one class. I also learnt how to assess students while helping them develop a better understanding of the material. I cherished the freedom of teaching in my very own style. I tried to encourage my students to think critically and ask questions. I enjoyed keeping the class as interactive and conceptually rich as possible.

I could never imagine how long and intense the behind-the-scenes work could be for a teacher. It required me to focus on the course, think through and research all the topics I felt difficult as a student, and stay away gracefully from all possible distractions. It was hard. However, when the early student evaluations came in March, I knew that I was doing a good job, and that students were enjoying my class. I raised the bar quite high. The rest of the semester was all about doing what it takes to live up to the expectations of my own, my advisor and my students. The semester ended on a high note. The class size will increase from nine this Spring to about seventy the coming Fall. Let us see how it goes. I am all set for the challenge.

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        One of the major takeaways I had from the training on teaching is to never leave students without telling them three major takeaways from the day’s class. Readers, before I let you go today, I want to share with you three very important things I have learnt during my journey – a tiny glimpse of which you just saw.

One. Follow your passion. Nurture it. Let it grow big. It is a process full of bliss that someday will serve the world. It is the direction in which you take constant baby steps no matter how hard life gets. It is your own story to inspire millions of people. Circumstances that overwhelm you appear just to add colors to your story. What if you do not know your passion yet? Keep exploring. It will just occur to you.

Two. Never stop learning. Muster the courage to step up and start doing the hard job that you once thought you could never do. Do not worry about making mistakes. Your mistakes are your biggest teachers. I had a Math teacher who during our first meeting said, “Look, I don’t teach Math. Students can learn Math just by studying the examples in the book. All I do is to open their eyes.” For the next year and a half I saw him constantly pushing us to work out problems that we thought were beyond our reach. He showed us how they could be within our reach should we be willing to go the extra mile. This is how we become wiser in every sphere of life.

Three. Everyone is a teacher. To become a good teacher you do not need a degree. All you need is a strong desire and determination to make a difference in the lives of your fellow humans. You teach by the way you carry yourself, the way you nurture relationships, the way you set and respect healthy boundaries, the way you share and execute ideas. You teach all the time through your actions. "Actions speak louder than words".

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The success of a teacher lies in the success of their students. I hope that listening to my story has enriched your reservoir of positive energy to keep going. That's all I had for today. Thank you, love and good luck! :)

Grad Life: Halfway Through

Kharagpur, April 2011 …

The summer that would soon start challenging me with the uncertain was knocking at the door. I was writing an end-semester examination – the fourth of a series of five. It started at 2:00 in the afternoon and was to continue till 5:00. The enthusiastic invigilator took it upon himself to update us on time every half an hour. At one point, he said, “Three-thirty. Halfway through.”

A shiver ran down my spine the moment I heard ‘halfway through’. I paused for a minute to reflect on my progress. There were five questions – all of equal credit – and I was still working on the second one. I knew that I had to speed up before it could get too late. I knew that the next to attempt would be a ‘power-play’ question to make up for some lost time and confidence. I learnt from what went unexpected in the first half and revised what to expect of myself in the second. I followed through. It worked. 

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One of my Mathematics teachers known for his grueling tests used to say, “From every examination you gather some experience”.  As I stepped forward in the exciting journey of life, the ‘halfway’ moment of April 2011 gradually revealed a bigger picture. Every situation catching us off guard is an examination. They occur to enrich our experience. The process of enrichment has – very similar to what in engineering is called a transient – a period during which we are shaken inside. We respond by being tense, clumsy, scared, resistant, oblivious, or something else. Our initial response is often subconscious. It depends on who we are inside by virtue of our genes, nourishment and past exposures. Eventually there comes a time when we rise to consciousness. We get to realize how to ‘take it from here’. We start to appreciate that it is just another stepping stone in our path of eternal growth. This is what I call the halfway point. Two and a half years into grad life, I feel that I am hovering somewhere around the halfway point now. The future might – and probably will – prove me wrong; I will gladly accept it. Today I am going to share with you a few of the many experiences during my grad life that have brought me closer to the halfway point.

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         During my initial days at College Station, the friend circle I was part of loved to discuss politics. This was reinforced by the upcoming Indian general election of 2014. In the past, all I could think of politics was something very naive I had heard from people around like “They played politics to get this particular person selected / eliminated”. I absolutely hated this idea, so I used to stay away from any discussion on politics. However, this circle used to discuss whether a particular policy of a leader was good or bad, whether a person should be elected given all their records, and so on. At times of course they used to get too attached to, verbose and carried away with their ideas, but they did get to enjoy the discussions nonetheless.

One day I got confronted by one of them on my lack of participation.

“Look, these stuff do not come to me at all”, I was honest, “I need to learn these from scratch and prepare to be able to participate”.

“Man, you have to know what’s happening to our country”, he said, “It’ll affect all of us. Besides, we’re not experts either. Does that mean we’d never discuss?”

After days of thinking to myself and thanks to a senior for suggestions, I watched all the episodes of the show ‘Pradhanmantri’ (The Prime Minister) that covers the political history of India since independence. I began to realize how difficult it is to make decisions that are going to influence billions of people. I began to appreciate how complex the human dynamics is. I began to respect the people who tried their best to make it work. I began to understand that history is written or narrated from a particular perspective, and that the same incidence is going to be perceived, interpreted and described differently by two different people. I stepped out of my comfort zone. I understood how difficult yet essential it is in life.

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           My roommate Atanu, our very good friend Niladri and I were enjoying a delicious dinner at a seafood restaurant not very long ago. At one point Atanu said, “Guys, I’ve a question. We’ve been through school life, undergrad life and grad life. Which one would you enjoy the most?”

            “Me? Grad life!” I said instantly. Atanu asked why.

         “Well, the other two were not bad, but this one’s been different. I’ve been growing as a person like I never did. What about you?”

           “For me it’s school life, man! Those were golden days. I miss them like anything. They’ll never come back!” Niladri agreed as well. They went down the memory lane.

  For a moment some memories of school life came to my mind. They are no doubt special, but I feel better, freer and more excited about life now. I gave them the genuine answer. I smiled.

           Had this conversation taken place a few years ago, I would have felt awkward for differing from them. I would have been honest anyway, but afraid of being judged as the ‘odd one out’. If I have to thank grad life for one reason other than advancing my academic career, it is that grad life has taught me to accept myself just the way I am. I wondered for months what is wrong with me that makes me feel isolated in a group. I have got a simple answer: nothing.

  I am a complete person on my own. My perspectives count. My feelings matter. My concerns are real. My tastes and quirks make me the person that I am. I am free to enjoy my own company. I am free to exercise my own choices as long as I take full responsibility for every single one of them. My self-worth comes from within. It does not depend on how a person treats me. That I do not get along with someone or that someone does not like me does not mean that I am a bad person. With this esteemed sense of self comes the drive to take the uphill road of constant self-improvement. We are all good, but we can always get better. I believe that we must all keep coming up with better versions of ourselves in order to work towards a better world. I have been working on watching my thoughts when alone and my words when with people.

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         As we honor ourselves and step out of our comfort zones, we start respecting and appreciating every fellow human being at a unique stage of a unique journey of life. Every brain is wired uniquely. Every heart responds to unique sensations. One person can easily see what another cannot. A third person can easily do what the first two cannot. Our skills are honed by where we wanted to go, what we have been through and how much we have learnt. No one is superior; no one is inferior; we are just different. The world needs the wholehearted service of every single one of us to the best of our abilities.

Grad life has been changing me in ways I could never have imagined. 

Thank you, grad life!

Happy Birthday to me! J

People Skills: Part Two - The Ray of Hope

“Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.”

– Rabindranath Tagore

           

Before I go any further, I would first like to thank all of you who have read part I and given it a thought. It takes a lot of courage to share with the world something about ourselves that we are not proud of. However, once we own our story and decide not to run away from it, we do have, in ourselves, the power to change for the better. Change takes time; change takes practice, but change is inevitable. Readers, in my mind I have wondered a hundred times if what I am going to tell you today is worth talking about. Ninety out of hundred times my mind has told me, “Oh it’s so obvious. It’s so stupid. No one will find it interesting!” This is probably the train of thought holding me back a lot of times during conversations. Today I will give it a shot. I will share with you a few stories and my thoughts over the last few months.

            I met Saptarshi, senior to me by a year, at the dramatic society I was a member of back in my IIT days. We stayed in the same hall of residence. From the institute foyer – where we used to meet up for rehearsals – to the nearest tap of drinking water was about a minute’s walk, but not all the time were we in a mood to go get water ourselves. One day Saptarshi asked me if I had water. My bottle was empty, so I said no. Later that day, I felt thirsty; I walked up to the tap, drank water, and came back with my bottle full. Shortly after, another senior, from a different hall of residence, asked for water. I offered him readily. Saptarshi noticed this, and said, “Dipanjan, what was that? You favored a senior from another hall and turned down one from your own! How could you!” Today I would have relished his sarcasm, but those were days when, for me, humor used to exist only in literature. This, along with my low self-esteem, dried my mouth, and made me feel guilty of bad manners.

            Fortunately, it did not take long for me to observe and appreciate the fact that Saptarshi was my polar opposite in social circles – brimming with energy, cracking jokes on everyone including himself, bursting into frequent laughter, and keeping people around him entertained for hours. His artistic pursuits, in addition to his ability to take everything easy, made me think that he was living nothing short of the life of his dreams. As we came closer, I learnt that, when the ‘guilt-trip’ incident happened, he was struggling with a back pain and getting ready to undergo a spine surgery. Such was his strength that he could go having fun with everyone for hours when he could not even sit properly, for his back used to ache. I wonder how many of us could even imagine what the very popular comedian was going through. In my heart I felt great respect for him, but there was something more to come.

            One night I went to his room for some entertainment. He was busy looking up an article on Wikipedia. As I asked what the article was on, he said, “The Chakras”. Clueless, I asked him to explain. “Oh well, there are seven of them. They’re nodes – from top to bottom – where the energy’s concentrated in the human body. Those with energy at the second highest node become musicians; those with energy at the highest become sages, and …”, he went on explaining. What I thought was supposed to be an hour of laughter ended up being a two and a half hours of lecture – on spiritual awakening, the beliefs and values in ancient India, the teachings of Swami Vivekananda, and some more. An avid listener, quiet and spellbound, I sat pinned to the chair as he kept on illuminating my mind, making natural and effortless transitions through topics. This was so uncharacteristic of the happy-go-lucky Saptarshi I had ever known. The two and a half hours felt like an eternity. For me, it was entertainment – not the way I imagined, but certainly the way I loved. When he finally stopped, he thanked me for listening, and said the following:

“Dipanjan, you’ve never seen me like this, right? Look, I’m a very serious person. I study all that I shared with you tonight. BUT, if you ever bring these up when we’re having fun as a group, I’ll be the person yelling at you. Do you know why? When people are looking for fun, I show my light-hearted side, not my serious side…”

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As a child, I learnt that we have four basic needs: food, clothing, shelter and education. It has only been a while since I started to see that education means a lot more than our academic curriculum. Education is what opens our soul to the world. In order to live a healthy life, we all want to be loved, accepted and felt part of a society that nurtures our interests. No one wants to feel isolated and left behind. An educated soul knows that we must give what we want to receive – be it love, respect, honor, appreciation, acceptance or whatever else. An educated soul knows something more. If we want to share these beautiful feelings with the world, we must share them with ourselves first. We must learn self-love, self-acceptance and self-compassion to get rid of low self-esteem and self-deprecating self-talk. Instead of telling ourselves, “I can’t do what a lot of people are doing effortlessly day in and day out”, we should learn to say, “I’m a human being. It’s okay if certain things do not come naturally to me. If they’re important, I can learn them, and I know that I will.” The world looks different – and a better place to live – once we start holding ourselves high. The first amazing change we notice in ourselves is that we start holding everyone high.

             So, after a few friends pointed out and Saptarshi demonstrated what I need to learn, it is up to me to make conscious changes when dealing with people. Change takes time; changes takes practice, but change is inevitable. Amir, older to me by six years, is one of my best colleagues at Texas A&M. I once said to him, “I feel so sad, Amir. You know, there are so many people I just do not get along with. I mean, how nice it’ll be if I can, but the truth is that I just don’t!” With a gentle smile, Amir replied, “Man, you don’t have to!” I see his phone busy all day, so I did not understand him at first. “You know, we’re all different people by nature. Some people like to get close; some do not. Some people like to hear details; some do not. Plus, we come from different places and cultures. For example, I’ve seen people from small towns, and from big cities. They’re likely to have different styles. It’s okay…”

An avid reader and my source of light when it was all dark, Amir introduced me to a series of books – ‘Quiet’, ‘The Five Love Languages’, ‘The Gifts of Imperfection’, ‘Emotional Intelligence’, ‘Crucial Conversations’, ‘Mindful Compassion’ – that are gradually revealing a side of life I never knew exists. Thanks in addition to my exposure to the Myers-Briggs personality types, it makes perfect sense to me that I will get along well naturally with some people, while with some others it will take a lot of work. In addition, it is part of compassion to set boundaries and hold people accountable for their behavior. My strength today comes from the fact that, no matter how good my people skills become, I have always wanted and I will always want the best for myself and everyone, and I will continue working towards the same!

The Cultural Lens: A Storytelling Seminar

“We’re a group of masters and PhDs here – all educated people. We think we just know it. Often, we really don’t!”

Last evening I went to a seminar on College Teaching. The seminar was intended to address the nuances of teaching a culturally diverse population. Dr. Marisa Suhm, the Assistant Director of the Department of Multicultural Services at Texas A&M, was the speaker. As she began, she said that she would base her talk mostly on stories. Looking back now, I find a few of her stories simply unforgettable. Readers, I want to share them with you today. As you read them, I want you to think how our brain can make conclusions which are not just wrong, but horribly wrong, and how much we need to re-wire the brain when exposed to different cultures.

 “My first overseas assignment,” Dr. Suhm said, “was to teach English Literature to a group of students in Micronesia. In case you’re wondering where Micronesia is, it’s a group of Pacific islands, to the north of Australia. It’s so far that if you go any farther, you are essentially coming back!

So, the first piece of literature I taught was Shakespeare’s Hamlet. If you recall, Hamlet’s studying when he receives the news of his father’s death. As he comes back, he sees a marriage ceremony going on – his mother marrying his uncle. He’s shocked! Is this real? Why’s his mother not mourning her husband’s death? How come they’re celebrating? How come she’s marrying her brother-in-law?

I got up to this point, and said to the class, “Everyone with me?” They eyed the ceiling as their eyeballs rolled sideways.
         “Does anyone have questions?” I gestured with my hand to tell them to raise theirs, should they have questions. A pin-drop silence followed. I had never seen this in US. Had it been the law school in US, students should have been yelling by now!

I thought I’d give it another try with a different teaching method. In the next lecture, I enacted the scene – with all sorts of drama – instead of just narrating it.

“Everyone with me?” Once again, all the eyeballs rolled.

“Questions? Please raise your hand!” I saw the silence repeating itself.

Frustrated, I saw the dean. What he said made me stunned. In that island, people look up and roll their eyeballs to say ‘yes’. Raising the hand is considered rude. Further, as there are frequent wars between the communities, when a woman’s husband dies, she is married off to the second brother for protection. So, while I was asking those big questions that Hamlet had, the students must have been thinking, “What’s the big deal? Why’s she so vocal about it?” Guess what could have happened had I not gone to the dean on time! The students would see him after a few days and say, “What the hell, she’s teaching the same Hamlet all semester!” My eyes opened that day!” Dr. Suhm moved on to the next slide.

A little later, we were asked to observe a role-play. It was about a man and a woman entering a dining hall and eating together. The man entered with the shoes on, the chin up, keeping a straight posture, eyeing the surroundings. The woman stayed a couple of steps behind, walking barefooted, looking down. There were two chairs; the man sat with his back against one and his feet on the other. The woman sat on the floor. She then stood up, took a bottle of drink, filled two glasses, and gave one glass to the man. He drank a little and made a gesture by hand, at which she started drinking. She stood up again, took a bowl of food, filled two plates, and gave him one. He ate a little and gestured at her to start eating. All the while, the man never removed his shoes or left any of the chairs, and the woman sat on the floor.

As the play ended, Dr. Suhm asked us a few questions to make sure that the observations were the same for all of us. She then told us to brainstorm the kind of culture that the actors represented. The attributes we came up with were unequal, patriarchal, male-dominated, chauvinistic, and some more. We all agreed that, in that culture, women are treated as inferior and servants. They have to walk without shoes and behind men, sit below men, serve men, and are not allowed eat or drink without men’s approval. Men, on the other hand, are leaders, have all the rights, and have things done for them by women.

“So, ladies here, would you like to be part of such culture?”

“NO! We want to be treated as equals. We want to be able to exercise our own freedom and make our own choices.” This was the overall response from women.

“Gentlemen, please be honest; would you like to be part of such culture?”

A guy said ‘no’ instantly. When asked why, he said that there’s no challenge for men, for everything is done for them anyway.

“Well, we all can have our own interpretations”, Dr. Suhm continued, “but here’s the true story. In this culture, people worship earth as God. Women are powerful enough to touch God; men are not. Women are powerful enough to look at God; men are not. So the woman can walk barefooted and look at the floor, but the man must have his shoes on and chin up, so he does not see the floor. While eating, the man cannot let his dirty body parts – butt and feet – touch the ground, so he must have them on chairs. The woman need not do so, so she can sit on the floor. Because of frequent wars, the man’s job is to protect the woman. This is why he leads her and scans the surroundings for potential intruders. She offers him drink and food to examine if there’s poison; then only she eats. You see, all our conclusions are wrong!”

We all were speechless.

“We’re a group of masters and PhDs here – all educated people. We think we just know it. Often, we really don’t!” She said, “This was an example made to trick your brain. Without being conscious, we see things through our own cultural lens or cultural filter. We try to make sense of events as if they were part of our culture. The reality might be something beyond our imagination. Remember this when you teach students belonging to different cultures. Make no assumptions!”

My Journey with Children

My eldest niece Debolina turns seventeen today.

I was in the fourth grade in primary school when Debolina was born. By that time, I had been an elder brother thrice. However, the thought of becoming an uncle at the age of eight never crossed my mind. Her mother – my eldest cousin – gave birth to her at the hospital where my mother used to work as a nurse. I desired to be with my mother, cousin and brother-in-law as we were going to bring her home from the hospital. My desire was fulfilled. I was ecstatic during the entire journey. Perhaps very few experiences in life can be as exciting as bringing a newborn home.

Debolina spent the first few months of her life with us at her maternal grandfather’s place. I used to observe her as much as I could. Why she needed to sleep twenty hours a day, when I could place her on my lap, whether she could recognize all of us around, when she would start talking – were some of the questions I used to ponder over. To this curiosity, an incident added something special for the first time.

Debolina was two or three months old when her mother fell severely ill one night. The doctor said that the baby must not be breastfed, for she too would fall ill. Though not recommended before the age of six months, she had to be given baby food that night. It was past 10 o’clock; all the shops in our locality were closed. My father and one of our close neighbors went out to see if they could manage to get something. Famished, the baby was crying louder and louder. Everyone at home was counting moments of anxiety. I had never felt that helpless before. Fortunately, a medical store a little far from home was still open. It saved us any further pain. I generally find it hard to express my emotions freely, but when the baby food arrived home that night, I jumped and screamed in joy. It was spontaneous. I felt a strong bond with my little niece. Deep inside occurred a realization that I too can do my bit for her to grow as a happy and healthy child.

This was the beginning of a journey that continues with full fervor to this day. I thank God for giving me the opportunity to share my family life with a total of ten nephews and nieces – members of my next generation. Depending on what should serve them the best, my role switches: from a playmate to a teacher, from a listener to a mentor, from a guardian to a friend. I try to give them my undivided attention. In return, they gladly give me theirs. As a result, I get a glimpse of how they perceive and communicate with the world, as well as how the perception and communication evolve with time. To an adult, interaction with children on a regular basis is one of the most enriching lessons life can offer. Let me share with you some stories from my life.

Until my niece Suparna started going to school, she found it hard to open up to the family members whom she did not get to see all the time. This set of family members included me as well. Shortly after she had been admitted to school, she once visited our home with her parents. I was surprised to see her smiling at me, trying to get close to me and pulling my leg whenever she could get a chance. She told others later that she liked my not getting impatient. After lunch, her mother put her to sleep while her father left. As she woke up, she started crying, “Where’s dad? Where’s dad?” I intuitively knew that I should not say, “Dad’s gone”. What should I tell her then? Her mother – my cousin – said, “It’s okay; walk her up the stairs.” I did so, and started introducing her to the trees nearby. She calmed down, and started telling me about the trees she had seen earlier. It was the beginning of a different chapter for us.

My nieces Sohini and Sinjini live two bus-stops away from our home. During my IIT days, I used to visit them every time I went home. “Kutti-mama (young uncle) is here!” would be their loud response as the door would open. The three of us would then have a wholehearted chatter and laughter, followed by wild dance moves to each and every ringtone of my cellphone – till we would get sweat-drenched and run out of breath. Despite being terrible at dance, I would participate, thinking of the smile of fulfillment it would bring on their faces. They would then beg of me to stay back for a little more time. After my departure, they would invariably ask their mother when I would see them the next time. I would go back to drown myself in the pure and innocent charm of “Kutti-mama’s here!” The cycle continued till I came abroad. I miss those lovely moments today.

My seven-year old nephew Priyam is now in the first grade. He likes playing with toy cars and watching trains pass. Two years ago, he came to see me with his mother before I left for the US. When it was time for their return, he started crying piteously. He did not stop until I showed him some YouTube videos of trains that he had liked the previous night. I learnt that he really loves vehicles. Now, speaking on the phone the other day, he said, “Do you know what a black box is?”

I could think of two closely related ideas. One is a general modeling technique in Control Theory. The other is a specific application of the technique, used for recording flight data in aircraft. Given his interest in vehicles, it may be the second one, but is it not too advanced for a first grader? I said, “Well, first tell me what you know; I can then take over.”

He gave me in very clear words the definition that applies to an aircraft. “How did you know it?” I asked, astonished.  

“I saw it on the Discovery channel”, he said. I learnt later that he notes down in a journal all that sound interesting to him, so that he can tell me on the phone. After we spoke a little more, I asked, “What'll you do when you grow up?”

“A few things. I'll become an engineer of cars. I'll build shelter for the poor and donate them lots of money. And… and… one more thing… I'll be a teacher.”

I thank him for a good sleep that night!

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Readers, today I have told you a few – only a few – of the many stories that involve the children of my family. I regard these stories very close to my heart. They have played a big role in making me the person I am today. “Children are the most beautiful flowers of all”, realized a fictional giant who once had selfishly denied children entry to his garden. In children, I see, above everything else, elements of inspiration. When we treat them with love, respect and care, we automatically make ourselves better human beings. To me, loving means to accept them for what they are – including what they are good at and what they are not so good at. Respecting means to make an attempt to view things from their perspective and not force ours on them. Caring means not only to make sure that their needs are met, but also to work on self-improvement as adults, so that children can look up to and learn from us. Once we expand the notion of family, we have a society. Expand the horizon a little more, and we have a country. Go a little further, and we have an entire generation across the globe trying to follow our footsteps. Let us watch ourselves in action, for an entire generation is watching!