Going on Vacation

My busy summer vacations are almost ending. I have been more or less stuck between my home and my university during the last three months. I am going on a trip to Las Vegas and Grand Canyon today and hopefully this one week of vacation will make up for the boredom and toil of the rest of the summer.

I only hope my vacation will not be like this!

(Cartoon courtesy xkcd)

Indian Colours

I'm just back from New York City. The Empire State Building has never looked so beautiful to me before.

Jai Hind!

The First Year

I came to this country on 13th august 2008. So this post was supposed to be kind of an anniversary post. However, the last few weeks have been really hectic with my Ph.D. work and a summer job on the weekdays and travelling on the weekends. At the moment I am really really sleepy and must go to bed soon, but still I'll write in short about my summer job because it is kind of a dream come true for me.

Everything started a year ago when I took this photo from my college hostel roof. It shows a part of the school with the Newark skyline. As I mentioned in an earlier post, this photo was then selected by our president as his holiday greeting card. That was the end of the story, or so I thought, until one day in the middle of June. I am a member of a walking club in the school and we walk twice a week for half an hour. The club has some high-ranked officials from various departments of the university as members, and two such people were talking about publicity photos as we walked.

Now, as you may be aware, I can't help a bit of bragging when I get the chance, and I saw my chance here. I proudly told them that a photo taken by me was selected for the president's card last winter. The lady stared at me for sometime and said, "Oh, it was you then? What's your name again?"

I hardly expected them to even remember the card, let alone my name which was printed on the card. How many of us remember the photographer's name (assuming it is given) six months after we see a card? But I was lucky - the lady was the executive director of the University Communications department, the people who print the president's holiday card, among other things. So she was one of the people who chose the photo for the card and remembered it vividly.

"Have you ever considered working for us?" she asked. I wasn't surprised, because this was not the first time someone was asking me a similar question - basically why I wasn't a professional photographer - and I had my answer ready. "No, because I don't have a DSLR camera."

"But we do have one," she said. "You mail me your photos and apply for the job. In case you pass the interview, you can use the brand new DSLR that we have. We bought it just for such a situation."

This was totally unexpected. Getting paid for doing what I love doing most, and then also getting to use a DSLR camera - this was too god to be true. But it was true, and I finally cleared the interview. I have been taking photos and doing other related work for the last month and a half, and I'm loving it. Although I am not in a position to decide whether my photography has improved, I can no longer call myself "strictly an amateur." The job is only till the end of August though - after that I will go back to my teaching assistantship and being an amateur photographer as I am not allowed to work more than 20 hours per week in the US.

But being in this job also means I have to sit in an office whole day and go to work at odd hours on some days, because of which I am perpetually sleepy and short of time. That is why I must end this post right here. The first year in the US went by quicker than I expected. I hope the other years will be at least as quick as this one in passing by.

The Seasons

In the last one year, I saw the four seasons of New Jersey – fall, winter, spring and summer. Although we have those seasons in India, the seasons here are completely different from their Indian counterparts (Bengal counterparts, to be more accurate).

Let me start with fall because that is the first season I saw here. In Bengal the period between September and November is autumn, not fall, and the only distinguishing thing that can be said about that season is that it is full of festivals. Nature dresses up in kaash and shiuli after the rains and we have Durga Puja and Diwali. Most people are happy because the cold season is coming in a hot country. Here in the US, however, fall is an entirely different matter altogether. There is a growing chill in the air, just like in Bengal, and the festival season arrives with Halloween, but that’s about where the similarity ends. The thing that overwhelms one in fall is of course raining leaves – tons and tons of it. All vegetation turns bright red as if with a flick of some invisible wand. Then as the trees go bare and the mercury plummets, most people’s spirits head downwards too because the cold season is coming in a cold country.

Then winter arrives with its white blanket of snow. I have seen winters in Allahabad, and I have seen winters in warmer places like Kolkata and Hyderabad, but here in the northeast of United States winter is so different from the winters back there that it is hardly recognizable as the same season. The temperature, for one thing, is about 20 degrees lower at all times than the minimum temperature that the plains of Bengal have ever seen. The cold literally bites at bare body parts. Then there is the snow which engulfs everything in sight for several months. All ponds and small lakes freeze up, and even when you walk on the uncovered ground, you can clearly feel the crunchy hardness beneath the grass. No picnics and zoo trips like back home in Kolkata – those can only be done in the summer here.

After winter’s torture is over, spring arrives to free the bare vegetation from the shackles of snow. Within a matter of days all nature bursts forth in a multitude of blooms. Spring brings flowers in Bengal too, but I have never seen large trees get completely covered with flowers there. And all trees, shrubs, herbs and creepers participate in that bloomfest. If spring back home was like the fireworks we burnt at our house on Diwali, then spring here is like the July 4th fireworks show in New York. There’s simply no comparison.

Then comes summer, and this time it is my home country’s turn to win. The summer here is mild and meek, almost ashamed of its existence, and the temperature falls to Indian-winter-like levels after a few hours of rain. A sunny day is usually just right for outdoor activity and between this season and the blast furnace like heat of India there is no similarity at all.

So is there any element of weather here which reminds me of my home? Does New Jersey, in any season or any kind of weather feel just like Hooghly? Strangely, it does.

When the skies darken with thunderclouds and cool breeze announces rain, it feels just like the rainy season in Bengal. When the first drops of rain hit the parched ground after a dry spell, it smells just like India. And when the skies are ripped apart by flashes of lightning and thunder shakes the windowpanes, I can close my eyes and imagine myself back home and close to Nature. Yes, being close to Nature is one thing that I severely miss here. Although Nature is the last thing I want to be close to when it is covered in snow here, and being bitten by mosquitoes back home does not feel too soothing either, most of the other times I prefer the natural air to air conditioning. Here in the USA there is only one weather indoors, and whether it is 35 degrees outside or -15, indoors it is a comfortable 20. All times of the day. All the year round. And that is one of the reasons why the rain here feels so much more like the rain back home. A dark sky is one of the things that can be felt even inside a climate-controlled house during the day, and thunder, lightning and heavy rain are the few weather phenomena that make you look up and gaze outside the window when you are sitting inside double-paned windows that shut out most other sound. A thunderstorm here makes me feel as vulnerable here as in India, maybe more because we live in wooden houses here. And if I am outdoors, the feeling is even more pronounced. I was stuck amidst a thunderstorm and torrential downpour last Sunday in New York City. At the time, I was on 42nd Street – New York’s Theatre District and a block from Times Square which is a place as dissimilar to Kolkata (or any place I’ve ever been to) as possible. But as soon as the rain came down, the holiday crowd scattered dragging their overturned umbrellas and the rain wiped out everything on all sides barring the nearest buildings. The place which was the symbol of modernity with its tall neon signs and skyscrapers a few minutes ago wore almost the same look that my hometown does with its swaying coconut trees in such heavy rain. And soon, puddles had formed on roadsides reminding one of Indian cities.

Another reason that makes the rain more like that in India is the change that comes over Nature after the rain. Although I am told that there is no rainy season in this part of the US, nobody would have been able to tell that looking at the weather this year. This year it has rained throughout summer – June didn’t even have one dry week and it is still raining every few days. But if we leave aside the question of whether it is normal, what we do get is a lot of greenery. The fields become soggy with mud, mushrooms pop up everywhere and the tree-trunks, walls and the corners of the sidewalk are covered in a green layer of algae. Even mosquitoes arrive, though we don’t allow them indoors, and if I return home around dusk, I find fireflies flying around bushes – a sight that I haven’t seen anywhere other than Hooghly.

So I am not complaining about the rain as much as everyone else is doing. Although I hate a sunny day of outing to be spoilt just like the others do, and also hate to get wet while going to work, I enjoy the rain at certain times. For example, if it rains in the evening and I get a little wet while coming home, I don’t feel too bad, because nothing can beat the fun of having a cup of ginger-tea and some hot pakoras after I dry off. I love to see and hear the rain when I don’t have to go out, and I can relax with a Wodehouse in my room. And sometimes, I also love the rain during some weekends when I am too tired to go out but not too tired to cook khichuri and some fried fish. I really enjoy the rainy weather at such times because it is the closest thing to Indian weather that I get here. Besides, I love thunder and lightning.

Unless I am in a position to get struck, that is.

The Hungry Device

Last night, a few hours after I went to bed, something woke me up.

I had retired at 1:00 a.m. as usual and was sleeping oblivious to the world (or so I thought) in my attic bedroom all alone in the large house when this sound penetrated through the layers of sleep and hit my primary auditory cortex. It was an electronic beep. As I floated up to the surface, I first thought it was my laptop, and then thought it was my phone, and as more and more of the conscious mind took charge from the subconscious, I decided it was my burglar alarm letting me know in no uncertain terms the presence of a burglar downstairs.

This idea worked better than a cup of coffee in chasing away the last vestiges of sleep and I was alert in an instant, only to realize that it couldn’t have been the burglar alarm after all. The burglar alarm is on my bedside table and this beep was coming from somewhere else. Besides, the sound was different. It was a sharp beep - almost a screech - and it occurred once every thirty seconds or so. The burglar alarm beeps non-stop.

The windows were open a crack as it had been rainy yesterday, and I opened them wide in hope of tracing the origin of the sound. It only helped me establish the fact that the sound was coming from downstairs of my own house.

By this time I had a very clear idea what the wretched thing was, but I couldn’t even begin to guess why it was making all this fuss in the middle of the night. So I cautiously opened the door and switched on the staircase light. Then, armed with the burglar alarm control in one hand and my cell phone in the other, I cautiously proceeded to descend to the second floor. And even before I reached there I could see the source of the sound. It was the carbon monoxide detector fixed on the wall of the second floor hall. It was blinking red and beeping once every thirty seconds. Obviously, I was in some kind of danger.

My first thought was that I had left the gas burning and something was on fire. I started sniffing the air in hope of detecting a burning odour and failed. I also realized that if I was up to the ears in this carbon monoxide stuff, I should not continue all that spirited sniffing. So I came down and tried to open the window. This time the burglar alarm detected me and made me jump out of my skin by beeping right in my hand. However, I managed to open the window, and turn off the burglar alarm. In other words, I did precisely what a burglar would have liked me to do. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t nearby. Unfortunately for me, the CO detector did not quit beeping.

So I went downstairs and peered into the dark kitchen, too afraid to switch the light on; I knew that switching the light on is precisely the kind of thing that triggers a fire from a gas leak. So I felt my way through the dark kitchen and checked the gas burners. Nothing. They were tightly closed. I am too short to reach the kitchen windows, so climbed the counter as usual and opened them. Then I opened some other windows around the house. When I reached the CO detector again, I found it was continuing its shrieking unabated. I also found I had a throbbing headache and was feeling at my wit’s end, which were, as I realized due to my extensive reading, the first signs of carbon monoxide poisoning. Besides, I had a growing feeling that it was all a false alarm and nothing would happen to me after all. This is exactly the kind of complacent feeling that lack of oxygen brings. I tried to reset the device, but it only started shrieking louder and more frequently. Taking out the batteries stopped it, but then, I wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t call the fire department if I kept the batteries out for good. So I put the batteries in again and it resumed its beeping. I felt like strangling the device.

I couldn’t call anyone for advice at this hour. I tried calling my landlord who is in Europe, but the call never went through. So I dialed 911. It started ringing at the other end, and just when I thought it wouldn’t be answered, a sleepy man picked up the phone. Evidently, his sentiments towards me were the same as mine towards the CO detector. The conversation went somewhat like this.

“This is the emergency assistance number. If you are calling at this hour you better have a proper emergency. I hope you understand this and have sufficient reasons to call us.”

“Uh, hello.”

“Oh yes, hello. What’s the problem?”

“I would like to know…”

“Sir, I hope you understand that this is an emergency number! If you are seeking information then this is not the…”

“Will you listen to me? I am not sure if this is an emergency and that’s what I want to know. The CO detector at my house is beeping and I do not see a fire or anything. I have opened the windows. Am I missing something?”

“What kind of a detector is it?”

“Well, it is small and round and has KIDDE written on its…”

“Please hold on while I transfer the call to our fire department.”

And he hung up. I couldn’t connect again.

By this time, I knew there was no CO anywhere in sight. I just wanted the alarm to stop. I went upstairs and did what I do best – Googled for a solution. It took me to the Kidde website where I found the user manual of that device. And what the user manual said was this: my CO detector was hungry for power. No, not power over me – it already had enough of that to make me climb on kitchen counters at 4:30 in the morning. It needed power in a more literal sense – it had run out of batteries. It would continue beeping until I put in fresh batteries. Luckily I had half-used Duracell AAs in my SLR’s external flash unit and I fed them to the alarm which silenced it. My job was far from done though – I had to shut all the windows in the house again, climbing on kitchen counters wherever necessary. Finally I could get back to bed around 5:20, an hour after I had left the bed. I still had the headache.

And in one night I got an idea of what parents of newborn kids feel like when the little ones cry in the middle of the night and wake them up for food.