'Doctored' Doctorates
Daily newspapers have written exhaustively about inter-personal skills in the workspace, ego-clashes that we have with colleagues (as well as all with those not in the league), not forgetting dealings with that crack-head of a boss of yours. Pages after pages of these newspapers have also highlighted on how to rapidly stride through your career by being at the right place at the right moment, how to oil your boss' interests so that they get lubricated enough for you to go around his revolving chair and find a seat "right" (hand??) besides him. But the newspapers of the day usually gives you an insight about the corporate workspace (or some other silly something from here and there from "page 3 to 33" as Sainath puts it!), with men and women in nicely attired suits, leather bags and laptops for accessories, and a pay-packet to fill your stomach, your relatives, your neighbours and many more. But something very similar (minus the pay packet) happens in our "happy world" of academics. Welcome to the world of academics! Do not fret and frown. I will guide you through.
When you enter the world of academics, passing through the "highly secretive" passage of a doctorate programme is inevitable. You might not be new to the "drama of commons", having sailed through the difficult years from school to the university, but what you witness during the doctorate years surpasses all dramas seen. The drama intensifies when you are screwing yourself for your dream degree (Dr.) working with a set of students under the same supervisor. And what if the supervisor that you are working with has a big name, big fame and a really big intellect? Students swarm around him/her like bees for a droplet of nectar leading you to the nirvana that you have been in search of all your life - simple publications, complex publications, refereed publications, publications with a high impact factor, publications with a not-so-low impact factor, national conference, symposiums, seminars, international conference [more fame, more money, more comfort - they serve wine on flights he he ;-)] you name it and they have it. But beneath this impressive sheath of publications, seminars, conferences and symposiums (don't ask me the difference between a conference and a symposium!) there is a lot of "bloodshed" and "sweatshed" (I am sorry but I had to coin this term to represent sweat!). And not to mention that one droplet of nirvana (nee nectar) causes a few casualties too. This is how it all takes place.
First, having got into the institute you hover around your supervisor's office (for an appointment silly!). Second, you try to talk to your gurubhais (and behens) who are very busy with something that you don't really understand. All you can see is that they are stuck to their computers, "lot many" browser windows open, and constantly complaining about what a bad deal they have had in coming to this place. After much dilly-dallying when you really sit down to have a tete-e-tete with them, you feel home-sick (for you don't really understand what you are doing amongst the intellectuals). They make you feel like you have never ever seen a text book of your subject and if ever seen it, then you have not really understood what the author "spake". So, you settle down at a corner in the office where nobody can notice you and think about your future course of action (as in, where else can a lesser mortal like you get admitted into).
However, with your heart in mouth, you keep coming and hovering around the supervisor's office, and one fine day you get a call. You enter the office, introduce yourself, take a seat and are asked to give an account of your progress since the last 15 days (well by that a fortnight or more would have passed). You try to reason out that you have actually been trying to sort out a few things. Then lo and behold, your boss thrashes you out thoroughly (to shreds literally!) for not having come up with a topic of research, that you do not have an aptitude for research, and that you need to acquire a few skills. Just then, one of your gurubhais enters with a grin on his face as he have just been communicated about a "high-impact" publication that is forthcoming by the next fortnight. Your supervisor has a twinkle in his eye, smile on his lips, and a congratulatory note for his favourite student. He turns his head and with a contemptuous something on his face he discusses your future with this brainy gurubhai; how nowadays students do not come in with an aptitude for research, how they waste the government money on mobile phones and bags (having just caught sight of your Nokia phone and leather bag that you bought the day before from the BIG MARKET with your stipend money. Your curse your mother for having suggested to buy a phone so that she can be in constant touch with you!), and how he can fit in such a poor student into his busy schedule. Suddenly you notice that the gurubhai standing beside your prof. has an "unnaturally" swollen chest, eyes narrowed down, and without notice walks out of the office with a gait resembling that of the "superman". Your supervisor gets back to working on something on the computer. You keep sitting there, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, and not knowing what to think (which is the worst of all!). Then, something tells you that you must quietly slip away without attracting attention. And that is what you ultimately do.
You get out of your office and walk, walk faster, and run until you get to your room in the hostel. You cry like a baby, howl like a mad man and before you know it, you are already sleeping on the floor. Your mother calls you at 9.30 P.M. and finds out something's wrong with you. You narrate her about your first meeting with your prof but she does not find anything depressing about it and successfully cheers you up. And so, days turn into months, months into years and years into ages.
Thus coming and going out of your Prof's office (for you have been working on your Prof's books, projects, papers and household and office chores?), you reached the final year (you have been talking about this since the last many years) of your doctorate degree. People keep asking about your date of submission, about your date of wedding, date of joining a job and you do not know how to face the world for you do not have any dates with you. You are a dateless (or dated?) person. Ha! Only thing that makes you happy is to see a new student entering your department and the sympathetic gaze that people around throw on him. You follow the others and glance pathetically at the new bakra and take refuge in that publication that you had last Sunday. You remember the first meeting you had with your prof and the swollen chest and narrowed down eyes of your gurubhai. You realise the reasons behind that chest and those eyes for you too have them now.
First, having got into the institute you hover around your supervisor's office (for an appointment silly!). Second, you try to talk to your gurubhais (and behens) who are very busy with something that you don't really understand. All you can see is that they are stuck to their computers, "lot many" browser windows open, and constantly complaining about what a bad deal they have had in coming to this place. After much dilly-dallying when you really sit down to have a tete-e-tete with them, you feel home-sick (for you don't really understand what you are doing amongst the intellectuals). They make you feel like you have never ever seen a text book of your subject and if ever seen it, then you have not really understood what the author "spake". So, you settle down at a corner in the office where nobody can notice you and think about your future course of action (as in, where else can a lesser mortal like you get admitted into).
However, with your heart in mouth, you keep coming and hovering around the supervisor's office, and one fine day you get a call. You enter the office, introduce yourself, take a seat and are asked to give an account of your progress since the last 15 days (well by that a fortnight or more would have passed). You try to reason out that you have actually been trying to sort out a few things. Then lo and behold, your boss thrashes you out thoroughly (to shreds literally!) for not having come up with a topic of research, that you do not have an aptitude for research, and that you need to acquire a few skills. Just then, one of your gurubhais enters with a grin on his face as he have just been communicated about a "high-impact" publication that is forthcoming by the next fortnight. Your supervisor has a twinkle in his eye, smile on his lips, and a congratulatory note for his favourite student. He turns his head and with a contemptuous something on his face he discusses your future with this brainy gurubhai; how nowadays students do not come in with an aptitude for research, how they waste the government money on mobile phones and bags (having just caught sight of your Nokia phone and leather bag that you bought the day before from the BIG MARKET with your stipend money. Your curse your mother for having suggested to buy a phone so that she can be in constant touch with you!), and how he can fit in such a poor student into his busy schedule. Suddenly you notice that the gurubhai standing beside your prof. has an "unnaturally" swollen chest, eyes narrowed down, and without notice walks out of the office with a gait resembling that of the "superman". Your supervisor gets back to working on something on the computer. You keep sitting there, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, and not knowing what to think (which is the worst of all!). Then, something tells you that you must quietly slip away without attracting attention. And that is what you ultimately do.
You get out of your office and walk, walk faster, and run until you get to your room in the hostel. You cry like a baby, howl like a mad man and before you know it, you are already sleeping on the floor. Your mother calls you at 9.30 P.M. and finds out something's wrong with you. You narrate her about your first meeting with your prof but she does not find anything depressing about it and successfully cheers you up. And so, days turn into months, months into years and years into ages.
Thus coming and going out of your Prof's office (for you have been working on your Prof's books, projects, papers and household and office chores?), you reached the final year (you have been talking about this since the last many years) of your doctorate degree. People keep asking about your date of submission, about your date of wedding, date of joining a job and you do not know how to face the world for you do not have any dates with you. You are a dateless (or dated?) person. Ha! Only thing that makes you happy is to see a new student entering your department and the sympathetic gaze that people around throw on him. You follow the others and glance pathetically at the new bakra and take refuge in that publication that you had last Sunday. You remember the first meeting you had with your prof and the swollen chest and narrowed down eyes of your gurubhai. You realise the reasons behind that chest and those eyes for you too have them now.
Comments
honestly, if you are not dumb enough, you may choose to ignore the "dumb english". No compulsions.
Love,
honestlyours..
I didn't mean to insult. I can understand that you write in "Good english", but don't you think simpler sentence structures will make for better reading.
Cheers
Kaber
i can understand your concern. but then i guess blogging is not about "good english" at all. else i would have been working in a newspaper or better still in a grammar school. english and for that matter "good english" as they all say is a funny language you see. when it comes to putting forth certain ideas and opinions, i prefer doctored english. blame it on my poor writing or whatever. but as long as the message is conveyed, i guess the work is done.
keep writing..
love,
honestlyours.