Mochas with medicine and the revolution: Where Stanford and Berkeley unite

I have dreamed of a republic, such as the world would adore.
- Camille Desmoulins, French journalist, 1789

I am still feeling the buzz and the glow from my trip to Stanford and Berkeley this year - an incredbile homecoming. My two favorite universities in the world.. but back in the '90s it was a dream for a middle-class Indian student to be able to afford them, without a full scholarship.
 

I hung out with Camille Desmoulins and other journalist-revolutionaries in Berkeley’s cafes. It's smell was strong in the air. The dust, hoof beats and sound of cymbals. The streets were paved with rocks, aimed for the intifada. It was an interesting experience.. to hang out in cafes with professors from NPR and personal friends of Jon Stewart. Intellectual PhD students walked around with Lyapanov and control theory texts in their bags, while I deciphered the intricacies of calculus, as Coldplay played in the background. In my favorite 'Brewed Awakenings' cafe, tripping on their hot chocolate mocha. I could have written my entire Ph.D proposal there, with my pals in the Mech. and Bio. Engg. departments, but the practicalities of life.. At least I deciphered the clarity of my soul and academic dreams..As my dear friend M, calls it, my 'avant-garde French revolution' writing place. In Seattle, it's the 'B n Espresso' in buzzy Capitol Hill, but that's another story.

 

Beyond the poetic rhapsodization, I swung between Berkeley and Stanford in that one week and absorbed two worldviews..both equally lovable in a strange sense. Though they are traditionally supposed to be the classic rivals, ad infinitum.

Stanford is the Renaissance, with the arches and domes and furrowed students walking past the long promenades. Whenever I am there, I am dazzled by the dust in the air, emanating an air of regality/ elegance. The talks by the med school Professors on their literary genres and hanging out with my close friend R in the Stanford bookstore. buying 2 dollar Thomas Manns. He is my friend from Delhi and good old DU, who literally lives in the NASA center next door and caffeine and books. His work was part of the flight to Mars, so that was an incredible high in itself.

And Berkeley is the Paris of the 1780s..brewing coffees and 'intifadas' in its innumerable cafeterias, bookstores and meet-up clubs. Clubs. Clubs is where it all began. The French revolution began with the Jacobin Clubs, the Enlightenment version of the modern day 'meet up' where journalists, intellectuals and like-minded activists hung out.. and planned the overthrow of the European order. I was reminded of it from the innumerable AID meetings (Association for India's Development) to literary and film societies.. teeming all over the place, like rugs. I didn't have enough time to do justice to all of them, though I did hang out with one, at the 'Au Coco Lait' cafe in Berkeley - another caffeinated hub of the intellect and the arty avant-garde types.

The graduate programs in both places are equally intricate as a maze, but complement each other in incredible ways. The brilliant Alexandr Lyapunov and his systems theory is common to both of them, being some of the top centers of control theory in the world. Lyapunov is one of my heroes, intellectual, scientific and social. A Russian revolutionary in the true sense of the word. A brilliant mathematician and the father of modern control theory, an incredible social idealist - and romantic, who killed himself after the demise of his wife.

Systems biology, being the newest conceptual breakthoughs in science, which will change its face for the next century. A field which exquisitely combines science, math and medicine into one jigsaw whole. Peering into cells, molecules, entire body systems and diseases with calculus. Modeling pregnancies, TB and brain tumours - and developing some of the most cutting-edge medicines for them..already saving lives. How cool is that.. pure unadulterated math making medicine. With that excruciating calculus component which I am always trying to conquer, it fascinates me as the new face of science. Just as cell biology and quantum physcis were at the turn of the century.

My Ph.D and revolution and literary dreams linger there ..and the labs of UCSF, the other medical hub, smelling of cadavers which give life. A medical university which combines global health, social conscience and cutting-edge research, with some of best looking residents I have seen. Incredible dinners and parties on Embarcadero with conversations from bioscience and colonialism in the Middle East. UCSF smells of medicine. Pure, anatomical and cadaver-ridden, medicine. It reels your senses and is not for the faint-hearted. I interviewed in one of their labs for a corpus-callosum study on brain imaging..and the fragility of the grant system came through. Of places which fund the biotech hedge-funds of the world. How ironic, that capital markets live off the intellectual capital, of places that are deprived of capital.  But that is another story. To be continued..

 

 

Ishq-wala Love

I see it coming.

The face of sunshine in the snow.

The smile of love in the snow.

Snowflakes fill my soul.

With Ishq-wala Love.

I'm coming home..

To Ishq-wala Love.
Isn't that the only thing that matters?

Honest feedback

I recently got some honest feedback from well-intentioned friends, about how much of my blogs were talking about "religion" and "inter-faith" issues. I am grateful for these friends, who brought me to this insight. Like throwing cold water to the face.
I looked at my blog and I was shocked.
A single, independent woman with two Masters degrees from Europe and America -  and publications in the Guardian and a multi-cultural background like mine.
Yes, it would have seemed odd. Very odd.

Then I realized that I was letting that one experience, which shook my world 10 years ago, still affect my life.
Being caught in this insane 'religious' violence in India, facing a life and death situation, in 2002. My hand shakes talking about it. Seeing victims of the most inhumane atrocities in the relief camps in my beloved Delhi. Which changed my world.. and what I thought of it. I haven't talked about it since.. though it simmers in my words on my blog and other places. The festering wound of how human beings can slaughter each other in the name of "religion" and justify it. I cannot repeat the atrocities which were witnessed and are well-documented.
How my "feminist" co-worker, researching female foeticide, looked at gang-rapes of pregnant women and said, "THEY asked for it.. these people are all traitors anyways.."
That broke my back.
But like many war journalists, who witness violence first hand, there is a journey to healing.. and recognising it is the first step.
The couldnt-care less Delhiite with neon dreams and the desire to conquer space..felt in those few days that nothing one achieved or how liberal one was, mattered to those mobs.
But I decided, that I will not let this control my life anymore, without realizing how much subconsciously I still was.
I thank these amazing, insightful and honest friends for throwing the cold water in my face.. and I wake up, look at myself and wonder what became of me.
For realizing a wound, is the first step to healing it.. and sometimes honest feedback, however brutal, works like bitter medicine, long needed.

This 'freedom' of mine is a hard earned freedom. With blood, toil and passionate motivation, When I was returning to the US for my second Masters, AFTER the above experiences, I was told time and again to "get married" to some nice guy, yaar. There were plenty of options from my friends and family circle. But none took my heart.."Why do you need to do this on your own. You have the looks, brains and so forth.You can always go to grad school AND be married". But somehow, I felt repelled by the idea of planning a marriage for 'security'. Somewhere in me, the idealist persisted - and how it's brought me beautiful experiences I wouldnt want to trade for a bourgoise ring. I am NOT a bohemian libertine from any angle.. but then why does a woman need to justify her dignity and independence of spirit?  Yes, I had my insecurities due to my traumatic experiences, but then who doesn't? But I didn't trade my soul or crack..but kept on believing. It maybe easy for guys who have not fought these battles, to see me with that fragile 'good-looking' face, which only shows the girl who did modeling assignments during her undergrad days - and keeps the happy smile of the Delhi girl. Which she will always be at heart.

I prefered to starve, than ask my loving and gentle ex for any financial help, when I was job-hunting. He never knew..despite being a management consultant a top-notch firm. He never knew.. when I could have asked him for gifts and job references, about how hard I worked to make ends meet during grad school and afterwards during the recession. I never asked him for the Prada bags and Gucci shoes, when he could have showered them on me.. his love was enough for me.

Someday the men will also understand, that we women have the spirits of a warrior beneath the high cheekbones.

My friend Siddartha

"Although Siddhartha fled from the Self a thousand times, the return was inevitable.."
- Hermann Hesse, Nobel Laureate in 'Siddartha'

Today, I am missing my friend Siddhartha. A lot.
Siddartha is the name of some of my closest friends in Delhi, my buddies through life and Pink Floyd songs and driven dreams of Ivy Leagues and Latin America and spiritual trips in Nepal. And my current screen favorite in India, Siddartha Malhotra; who epitomizes that cool vibe for me. The hip Delhi streets, with Dylan t-shirts, blazing ambition and self-belief. I can't believe that drive is still fueling me. That desire to achieve greatness. Be it a Nobel or Pulitzer or a tenure at an Ivy League. Even a contract with an international music company or an Investment banking firm with fair motives.

Siddartha is a Pali word that means "One who is meaning, in himself."
But on a different note.. Siddartha is my favorite book by Hermann Hesse. His hero for me. The one who went on a quest and found himself.
This was the only book that ever resonated with me. Though I looked at others through the years..I almost bought into a lot of the authoritarianism, but..

None. I saw none of the authoritarian texts that made sense to me, as much as this one little book written by a bespectacled German in the 1930s. I respect all 'systems', but Siddhartha stayed with me.
It started my first love story. It ended my second one.
I remember reading it in one go, when I was 16.
The best part about it was the 'not following' anyone.
I loved that Siddhartha refused to join the Buddha’s order. Become part of any organized institution.
Weird, when I feel into the same ‘maya/illusion’, but I kept a part of me intact.
My first love, who read Siddhartha with me in one go and how we called each other 'Siddhartha'. We said we would never give in. We would seek and find. And how we almost forgot.. and fell..but are awakening.
My second love is still seeking. It’s brutal, but he will find the way.

Siddartha is the power and force of believing in yourself.
Siddartha is me at 23, walking through Paris on my own, discovering the revolution beaneath the Place de la Bastille.
To get lost in an insane 'religious' conflict, almost die and yet escape unscathed. To heal yourself..
To keep it intact through the innumerable 'Aunties' and institutions and 'get married' and labels. And standing up to patriarchy and identity. Little did I know when I read Siddhartha, how much 'he' would be tested. Being a girl in a South Asian culture made me a ready candidate for the test. A girl who only believed in love and not labels. Who thought an 'registered' marriage would be the only way she would 'institutionalize' her true love, felt guilty about not having big desi wedding. Who me? It's not fancy.
Being a hardworking graduate student in an MS Engineering program, living with your loved one, without seeking approval of people..despite the close-knit community of your 'home' culture. I dont't even think it is such a big deal for two adult human beings in grad school.but don't know how slowly I fell into the same trap of cultural pressure. And being 'dumped' for not being the right 'religion' after giving 9 years of your life to someone..it's not fancy. At least I realize it now. I put words to it. Broken, scared but still writing.

Me, for whom love was the smoky cold breath in the snow. Walking hand in hand in long coats..it still is. How did it happen? And now it is coming back.. all that. The snow. The winter. The hand in hand. I can see it coming :) And am so excited..no more pressures.. just being me and Being with my Siddartha.

And it’s strange how Love, connects you to things. For me love has been a connection of quests. I have never loved anybody who didn’t have that.
Sometimes with love, you don’t have to do anything, but awaken each other. Bring out the soul within each other, like a beautiful melody from a lute. Both times, in my life, love has brought those precious blessings. Not ownership, but belonging.

Siddartha is someone I miss a lot..a crazy, seeking soul-mate, who is still searching, But doesnt find the peace beneath the bourgoise veneer of Prada bags and Gucci shoes.
Siddartha is that Ivy League vibe I love.. walking through the snow with a long black coat and a cool love next to me, throwing snowflakes at each other. And reading poetry from Lorca, as we go out to conquer our lab.
Siddartha is me.
And sometimes he is caught..and sometimes he is free. But continues on his quest. To break free of the shackles, that aren't really there.
And there is another Siddartha.. a flesh and blood one.. who is looking for me and I am looking for him. He wear a coat with a muffler and drinks a croissant with a black coffee, looking back at his ex-girlfriends and walks on, with me.
After all, isnt love about awakening the Siddartha in each other?