En Riktigt God Jul: A Really Merry Christmas

 Hi Folks, I will write the explanations later, but for now, enjoy these. Went to visit my neighbour and her house was lit up......really looked like Christmas!!

God Jul!

 

Just sharing a picture of Santa in a hurry to reach every household.  Saw this at the university.  Thought of sharing it with you all.

Have a great holiday season.  May dear Santa come to your house with all the gifts you can wish for!!

Advent Arrives: November 30, 2014

This story belonged two weeks ago. Dec 1, is when advent begins.  Yesterday was Santa Lucia.  Here is this story again...that was published last on December 11, 2019.  We still have 10 days to Christmas, light your candles folks!

First published on December 4, 2014--Here it is as a Xmas bonus...If you have noticed, I have been publishing every friday. I wanted to create some order around this blog. But this one cannot wait and must be published. I also thought this would be a Christmas bonus.

I do not have many readers.  But I have a few in the US, a few in India, a few in Sweden, One in France, One in South Korea, One in Ukraine, Two in China, One in Canada and One in Portugal.  I get regular traffic from the Uk and sometimes Singapore.  Not sure if folks in Fiji are reading, but I share the links with my friends in Australia and NZ. 

Thankyou all for reading.  And folks, every once in a  while, do drop a comment.  It makes me feel good!!  :) 

Also, as a person who has interviewed many journalists for research etc. I would like to say that it is true that when I write sometimes, I am thinking of you all....

PS: I have been to Liseberg and since am going to Goteborg regularly, I am staying close to Liseberg and walk everyday to the park and back!!  

An image from my walks to Liseberg Park....This is how the amusement park is decorated for Xmas....I love the blue.--compared to multicoloured lights, Sweden chooses monochrome. Its either blue or white light and its something so unique about Sweden. 

And  now here is the blog post from 2014---

Christmas Decoration on my Door (2013:  I added the reindeer and the little felt Santa, to the hanging to add a personal touch--Oh and the snow--that just shows that it was both snowing and blowing hard enough that it came all the way to the door, and clung to decoration, to add a realistic touch)

Called Julstacken, the Christmas sticks, these seven lights resemble the menorah, only in the opposite direction.  Menorah is the upside down version, with--where the candles seem all at the same height).  These go up usually on advent which is about four sundays before Christmas.  

Another staple in Swedish Christmas Decorations is a star.  Traditionally, a paper star either hanging in the windows or on a lamp stand, but now, they are also available in these handy wire frame stars, often wrapped in jute or nylon string.  This one is run by batteries.  

A wreath being sold in the Karlstad Market.  2013

Advent, comes four sundays before Christmas, is a time that sort of puts chrismtas, celebration and fun on everybody's mind.  I first heard of it from my German host mom in Clarion, PA, USA.  She told me that in Germany children were usually given this advent calendar, which they could open a day at a time, and each day had a gift for the children, which built up the excitement for the final day.  Today, you can purchase calendars that are issue and gift specific, chocolates, baseball cards, barbie images, barbie accessories--thanks to the market ideology.   Earlier they were created by mothers, today most of these are bought.  

Here you can see some examples of Advent calendars ---All of the  following images have been taken from the web. 

A wooden Advent Calendar

One of the traditional Advent Calendars

But then, we are talking Sweden!!  While commercialism is the buzzword everywhere, Sweden and I think Europe in general has maintained some level of traditional celebrations.  

So, my Swedish mom called me today, 'Hey You want to go to the Alsters Jul Market?  Alters Christmas Market?

No, I am in Göteberg, taking a class, remember.  So, I spend my weekends here.

¨Oh...its advent today.  E and Y came by for Advent Fika (coffee with something sweet to each).¨

¨Trevligt, Nice!!¨

Ÿeah, and we had Pappor Kakkor (gingerbread cookies, and truly-Swedish ones are the best--slim & crisp -they simply melt on your tongue?), and Ljus bulle and saffron bulle (saffron buns often baked in the shape of angels, or S!!)

Saffron buns--a very Swedish/Nordic-thing to eat around Christmas time, especially Santa Lucia (picture taken from http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/st_lucia_saffron_buns/

Picture taken from http://emmalindberg.vimedbarn.se/page/13/

You should get some for yourself too!!

Ÿes, I have been eating Pappor Kakkor for a while already!!

A chuckle.....

So, are you going to go to LIseberg in Göteberg?

Yes, I plan to, but get lazy when I back in the apartment.  Its cold and I have so much to do.

'Yes, but you must'

Sure!

We say our greetings and hang up.

I know I must go there, before I leave the city. But also because I want to get some footage of the Christmas celebrations. 

As I sit down, I realise, this is the difference, Sweden is not religious, but it has taken all the best things, such as traditional celebrations, special foods, special days for eating those foods, including a strong, clean character --which earlier was connected to religion--and made them a marker of a good, well-lived life.  So that is why even the young Swedes are baking cakes in their dorms, and most young women and men know how to cook. And year after year the simplicity of the festivals remains.  They may have become more commercial (and sadly it looks like that it will continue, and another post will come on that later) but there is a beauty to hear someone say, 'Hej its kladkaka dag' (cocoa cake day)--and rush to the groceries for eggs and cocoa.

No one will complain if you don't --but that is the whole point of tradition, that it puts our minds in a certain state, and for a few minutes it is an out of body experience--memories, friends, smell of freshly cooked food, hugs, jokes and laughter--all the things associated with good'O times.

So let me wish you all a very happy advent, the beginning of the ending of the year---and may you all make new beautiful memories during this time!!

Now That's a Happy Diwali!

I posted this only about 2 weeks ago.  But here I am repeating this story. I have interacted with F twice since this incident.  Today I told him I wrote about him.  I wanted to take his picture, since he was wearing a cute Santa band on his head. He wrinkled his nose that he did not mind me using his name or the story, but did not like his pictures taken. That's quite ok.  

It still made my day.  I wanted him to know how much his kindness had helped me.

So, here is the story again....about How Good the People Can be!

I have been meaning to write that story, that I promised you all.  So here comes.

It was Diwali.  Must have been 4th of November.   I had been busy all week and had no time to plan.  For all those who do not know Diwali is the biggest Hindu festival, comes on the darkest night of the year.  Its a new moon, so the skies are dark.  But according to the legend, both our dear Lord Ramachandra along with his wife and younger brother are returning home after an exile of 14 years.   They return on pushpak vimaan (look it up).  Pushpak Vimaan, is a flying object, open from all sides and works on 'will of the captain'.  You know, like thousands of years later, Obi Wan Kanobi tells Luke, 'let go Luke' and runs the flying vehicle on instinct?

Coming back to Diwali at my end....it was slightly sad for I had no time to cook  or clean, which is important for this occasion. I did boil some rice, hoping turn it into rice pudding, with raisins and cardamom and cashews and saffron....

Other than Prabhu Ram, we also get a visit by Goddess Lakshmi.  She visits only the houses that have been cleaned and decorated.  Goddess Lakshmi is the goddess of fortune.  We keep the house lit the entire night.  A small oil lamp is kept in every room.  One big lamp with ghee as  the fuel is kept in the kitchen and one another one with ghee is used to make Kajal/Kohl for our eyes.  More on that later.

The flowers must have been given with such goodwill that they lasted 2 weeks. A very long time, considering dryness of Karlstad and coldness of Swedish winters. 

At the end of the day, after grading/marking and some other work, I was exhausted and feeling sad for all the Diwalis I have spent away from home. What a strange life this is :( 

I knew I needed flowers. I have not bought flowers in months. Since September winter started to show its claws pretty fast.  There has hardly been any Sun and everything is going to sleep.  So I went to COOP, the closest grocery store where I have been shopping since I came.  It took me some time to start going to ICA--which is about 15 minutes walk away. 

I got the candles, and went about the store looking for flowers.  But there were none.  Not even the wilted ones. Only flower pots and some potted plants. 

Disappointed I decided to pay for the candles and leave.  At the checkout counter was F.  I have known him almost as long as I have been in Sweden.  His parents came from Hungary.  At one point, may be years and years ago, he told me that his sister was my first student.  She was in the first undergraduate class I ever taught. Which means it was the second semester of my first year of teaching. I taught only MA students in the first year.

Her name is V, and she is now married with a child.  All this time, I keep getting her updates from him, as shared where she works, when she was pregnant, and how old the child is.  Like any proud uncle he shares his nephews pictures and videos with me, as I am paying for the groceries I have bought. We discuss life at the counter, sometimes he helps me find things in the store.  So, nearly a decade of interaction.  I know his name and he always smiles when we see each other.  When you live in a place, a familiarity sets in, like a warm blanket.  He is one such face, who I mostly meet at the grocery store, because he works there and I shop there. 

So, this evening, when he was at the counter again as I was ready to pay I asked him, (btw, we mostly talk in english, not sure why.  I speak to others in Swedish).

'F, do you have flowers?"

"We should."

"I looked, but there are none."

"In the corner?" He asked pointing towards the potted plants. 

"None"

He looked confused and said, we just did.  They were wilting. Maybe we put them away to throw them out. 

"Well, I could use even the wilted ones.  I need them. Its a festival today, and I want to offer a few flowers. I can pay half or a certain amount of the original price. Or even full. I don't care. I just need some flowers.  It's too late and too dark to walk to ICA."

"Wait let me see"

He ran in quickly and came out with not-so-bad red roses.  

"Here" he handed those to me.  I had already paid, so I started to return to the other side of the cash register.

"No,  you don't need to pay".

I was surprised and insisted that I must. 

"No,  no need."

"Its two bouquets'

For the readers, flowers in Sweden are very expensive.  Especially in autumn and winter.  So, a bouquet that size could be 6-10 dollars.  He was giving me two.

"No, enjoy your festival."

"Then I must buy something else from the store, to contribute"

"No", he insisted waved his hand and said, again, 'have a nice festival".

I sighed and smiled.  The goodness of people of this world is everywhere. In these simplicities.  That exchange was based on having known each other for a while, a care, a concern a trust.

I walked home thinking, "Now that is a Happy Diwali"

I came home and despite my tiredness cooked kheer (rice pudding)--and made sure to save some for F.

The day after I walked to the store, with a bowl of Kheer, a packet of sparklers, and a thankyou note.  He was not there that day. I asked another woman working there to save it for him in the refrigerator. 

I wanted to make sure, he had a happy diwali too.  Possibly his first one!!

Thanks Universe for bring these 'simply beautiful' incidents my way. 

Happy Diwali!

And here is what I wrote for him in the thankyou note!

Thanks Fln,

 

You did not have to.  But you did, out of kindness. And guess what, the flowers have lasted longer than all the fresh flowers I have bought.  Maybe because they came with good wishes. Thanks for making my festival bright, not just with the flowers but also with your kindness.  

 

The longer living flowers—even though they were ready to be rejected –show how kindness can infuse ‘life’!  even when there is no hope. 

 

This is some rice pudding. Hope you will like it.  Ingredients.  Rice, milk, cardamom, sugar, raisins and nuts.  Hope you like it.

Glad Diwali (festival of lights). 

Tusen tack,

Ch

 

We also enjoy fireworks that day so enjoy 

Amazing Art and Our Ancestors: The Song that Stones Sang

First published on September 29, 2019.  Here it is again.  As some of you know I premiered my first film this past weekend.  It was a great experience. I am a very small fish in a massive ocean of media content.  But creation itself is a reward. And yes, we still need viewers.  To feel loved, we must know the gaze of the lover.  We must.  But look around, even if you do not live in your country of the place where you were born.  Look around at the buildings and stones and trees and leaves. Ask them to share their stories.  I am sure, they will sing symphonies!!

All you have to do is listen!

_______________________________________________

India has always fascinated me.  Always. As a child, I might have been curious about other countries, but I never wanted to leave India. I wanted to serve it, and see every nook and corner of the country.  Sure everyone can feel this about their country---but India is unique on so many levels. Her linguistic, religious, ethnic and climate diversity is unmatched.  I learnt from someone a few years ago that it has over 15 climate zones. 

We get the maximum rainfall in the world (Cherapunji), we have a massive dessert (Thar) and we have can boast not only of snow capped mountains but the tallest mountain in the world (Mt. Everest).  

And then we have the Kanya Kumari, the tip of the country where you see bodies of water become one. You stand there and except a small piece of land behind you,  all you see is water ahead and around you. ---If you face the tip of India and are guarded by Vivekananda rocks with its massive temple on your back--you stare into the vastness--full of hope.  You get a chance to contemplate your own smallness. Hopefully we return from that experience with a humility. 

It could take lifetimes to see the country.  I had no plans of leaving it.

But then I did. People think I complain too much about leaving it.  But I have been displaced since I left it.

I have made some amazing friends.  Had a truly adventurous life.  So many experiences that I can hardly document them. 

And I so I have often wondered about what if I had never left, would I be any happier?

I will never know.

But when I see these images and they are plenty these days --what with special archaeological finds--I always wonder if I had studied indology, would I be happier.  I have often thought Physics or medicine is something that would have made me happy.


But behind it all I wanted to tell stories.  Always.  And when I look at this image--I think of that one movie--an old one, whose title sums it all--'The song that stones sang' (Geet Gaya Pathron Nein)--its truly the stories that these stones tell.

A connection to the land of your birth is a connection to your ancestors. Something, no matter how much you love other countries, cannot be bought or created.  Or least not in one or two or three generations. 

Art is another form of connecting us to our ancestors.  Art tells me the story of myself. 

Talking to the Teacher, Smiling with the Student

Apologies again my dear readers. I promise a new story soon. Much, much is going on. Will share some details soon. I met an old friend yesterday.  Inger. I have known her from the very week I came to Sweden.  In fact, I emailed her before I came here. She is part of the Art of Living community. While the community dispersed, because it is a small town, she and I have kept in touch. Yesterday was our 4 hour long meeting. I loved every minute of it. The best thing was that about 65-70% portion I spoke Swedish, wrong possibly, but Swedish. 

I kept thinking of my journey.  I realised its been beautiful.  This post came to mind. I wrote it in 2017, then hid it.  Its been a few difficult years.  With COVID adding some more stress.  But I have survived.  

I am proud say that for the last few years, I have seriously become my own teacher.  This has been the best learning experience. 

To all the teachers and all the students, I dedicate this post.

This post was first published on December 10th, 2017. Here it is for you all again. 

Teachers provide the wind beneath our wings.  Real teachers I mean.  Be they parents, friends, teachers-teachers, or you yourself. 

For a long time now, I have a sinking feeling of not being successful.   I get defensive sometime and want to brag, or talk about my puny accomplishments, or talk about the difficulties that I have had and feel good about performing despite all of them. 

But we are measured in the publications and grants.  That is performance!

The worst thing for a person is to know that one is capable, but not being able to perform and at some level just not giving any attention to it, since there is so much else, that is at the core level that remains unsettled. 

Well, about publications I knew, but ‘grants’ is a very European thing.  In the US, you were supposed to teach and develop some courses usually related to your research, and publish along side. In addition, summers are longer, and there is at least one week long break the middle of a semester and teaching is shorter, about by ten weeks.  At bigger universities you get a research assistant.  As I did in my first year of visiting professorship, during which I taught five new courses, from a minimum of 35 to a maximum of 125 students. Over one year, I supervised three research assistants.  During this year, I wrote, edited and re-wrote my dissertation.  But most importantly, adjusted into a new town, Bloomington, and lived without furniture or much support system. Over that year, I made three life long friends, one of whom I consider my mentor.   The other two, have remained in my life and we are connected at the heart level.

But, since that was my first year of teaching, it required much work from me.  I can write in one sentence 'I taught five new courses', but it actually was a tedious, disorienting and extremely frustrating time (Which my Head of the Department noted so kindly in his parting note.)  Out of the five courses, three of them I had no background in e.g. Women in Media.  One requires women's studies in that, and I had no background, either in women's studies or in cultural studies, although I would write about some in the latter area, a few years later.

There was one course on Public Communication Campaigns and I used some knowledge from my Msc. in Training and Development on planning a campaign.   But all of a sudden, I was reading authors I had no knowledge of, watching films I had never heard about---(taught two courses related to media production, both of which used some knowledge that I had acquired in my MA level, but none with any relation to anything from PhD, although I always incorporated my favorite area….media effects.).

Along with all of the above, I was applying for new jobs.

And of course the perpetual question of who am I? Where do I belong, and where shall I stay and finally reside, never left me. 

But one thing that started long before when I began teaching at university has remained with same.

A connection with my students!

I had about four years of school teaching experience, not counting one year of student teaching experience.  In the first year of my teaching, (actually about 6 months), I created a bond with the students that lasts till this day.  Only twenty when I got hired, a few months before I finished my second degree in education, I was a child myself --but loved to address the 10-13 year olds who I taught math, as 'bachche.' (Child).  There needs to be a separate post about what happened when I left India and how my students reacted, it is a saga of it own.

But over quarter of a century later, my students are still in touch, I get birthday messages, they visit me when I am in India, my family knows them like family members.

What was it?  It was the fact that I listened to them.  They came running every morning, with simple stories like 'I got a new toy, my mom bought me a new book, I have started reading newspapers, I love cricket, I want to be a cricketer, no, I am going to be a doctor, Ma’m, my aunt had a baby so I need to take a day off'.  I listened and paid attention.  I also created informal games for our in-class time.

One of the game was that if I entered the class and student had not opened their math book, I would lightly tap them on the head with my own copy of the book, and they would all try to duck and get the book out of their bag before I could hit them.  It then became a game as to who was most 'ready' before my class started, with book, notebook and a pen.

The other was discussing current affairs and general knowledge for about five minutes, even though we were a 'math class.'  They learnt and brought me more information.  We laughed and joked, but we always learnt things.  One of the parents came to me in a parent-teacher meeting and said, my child says that you never move forward until you are satisfied that all of the class has understood the math problem and can solve it with confidence.

'I try!' I had said, blushing.

Another student, who moved to the US, told me more than a decade ago now, 'Math was something I hated, until you taught us, and then it was my favorite subject'  (He is an engineer now in the US-married with kids).

That year on Diwali, I had to turn down, many a box of sweets that my students brought me.  I simply did not feel right about taking gifts.  My father later said, very wisely, 'You should have opened the boxes right there and shared with the entire class'.  Its something I have done several times.

I also worked with another habit in the first year, which I dropped quite early on. I used to throw chalks at my students.  Especially if they were talking, not paying attention or dozing in the class.  Amazingly, I was often on the mark.

*Kya Nishaana hai!' my students used to say.  'What an aim!!'

Its true, I hardly missed. Soon, as I moved to Botswana, that habit was dropped, because I had no clue how to act.   Moreover, I taught a completely different subject.  Home Economics.

When I left, the students I taught math for less than 6 months, cried, just as much as I did.  I was afraid that time and distance would sever that beautiful bond that we had created.  But for some reason, a great amount of love has stayed.

In the US, I started teaching from the second semester onwards when I became an assistant to a production application and television studies professor. While not much stayed from that, I have two-hand written notes in my autograph books.

One of them from Craig 'One of the best graduate students I got to work with'.  Then there was AJ (always joking--I think his real name was Cliff)--who always said, 'How much have you already done?'.  I was still 25, living in the third country on the third continent going towards the second year of my MSc. degree.

That summer, I worked at a Girls Scouts camp as an art director.  In one session talking to two campers, while disciplining them, I said, ‘would you behave like that at home’, they responded in a shrug. To my follow up question, do you behave like this with your mother (mind you, I was only in my twenties)—they responded, ‘My mother does not talk to us like that.’

I stepped back but continued to guide them through the week that they were at the camp. At the end of the week, they came and apologized to me for behaving rudely. Ofcourse, I smiled back. 

At the same camp, I remember sleeping in a tent one night, because there was a need for an extra counselor.  Even though I had a room, since I had an art director position, I did not mind staying with the campers.  I clearly remember one brownie (usually 8-10 years) started crying because she missed home, and how I went up to her tent to help her feel better.  The reason I say this is, at that age, girls my age were running after boys, or spending time at bars. Even at the camp, girls talked like ‘girls talk’.  But there was I was, being a mother to all.  I should have known that I would be shrivel without a family.  Die of not being able to use my talents of caring and nourishing others.  And if I used those

At the camp, I met K, who kept contact with me for the next several years, ---during which graduated high school and started med school, I finished one degree and moved to a city and then started another degree.  And until a few years ago, we wrote letters to each other.  I have just stopped much of this now, realizing and knowing fully well, relationships that are meant to be will return to us.  Travelling has taken its toll, even as it has nourished my soul. 

During PhD as a student I had little experience of teaching, although I taught computer application to high schools students at Upward Bound.  There were two students, I remember I had to deal with.  It worked out fine in the end.

But looking back, I realize that –I always considered an opportunity to be around students, an opportunity to care and love, a possibility of deep emotional relationship. Weird, I was. J  L !!

Teaching started full force when I started at Indiana University. (I did teach a class or two here and there at psu, and assisted in a class on documentary films).

And my teaching has continued since. 

It was there at IU, that many students said to me, 'Thankyou for a your personal way of teaching, Your friendly ways have been appreciated in an impersonal university, why are you leaving, can we do something to stop this (I smiled, because I was leaving because I had a tenure track position at another university--my alma mater).

Then there was a student named, C. Natali, who was a wonderful writer.  But not very good academic writer.  I told him, I loved his writing but he could not get an A because his writing was not reflective of the assignment, at least not in the tone and language. He refused to alter his writing.  I refused to budge.  He finally gave in, after I said, ok, 'write first part of your final, as if it is an academic writing' so I know that you are capable, and then may be I will concede.

He did.

And I did.

He wrote to me later on, 'I found your take on grades and work very refreshing.' (paraphrased'). (I still have many of these notes in my gratitude journal).

And I remember with fondness, when one student found out that I was short listed for a small university in California, 'If you move there, may be we can share an apartment to save money'.  It was a young man, and I do not think he understood, how scandalous it would be for the likes of me.  But I smiled, because he probably meant it as a compliment.

It was also at IU, that I met Sarah, who was absolutely uninterested in the class on public communication campaigns.  She stopped coming to classes. I emailed and called her.  Finally made several changes to the way I was teaching and how I interacted with students.  On her final exam, at the end of the document she wrote, 'Thanks for what you did for me during this class, it helped me a lot.'

Then there was Josh. That brilliant, round faced kid.  Who never attended classes and aced every exam.  On his final document he wrote, 'I see you have got it in you, continue to teach'.  I had to smile. His self-confidence coming through that sentence.

Not sure if I did it both semesters, but at IU, at the end of (at least) one semester I made hand made books marks, for each student.  I had used quotes from a book on 'beginnings and endings of famous books' that a friend J. Frumpkin had given me.  That year, I also took candies to my classes a few times. Thanksgiving and Xmas for sure.

Once when a student, who was always late, walked into the class I said handing her the bag of candies, 'You are late, we just finished eating pizza'.  She thought I was serious, and the entire class laughed.

It was also there that I befriended at least for a short time, a student, who was a head and shoulder taller than I and used staring tactics to scare me.  Finally, I invited him to my office and asked him why he was doing that, 'You take things personally' he was defensive.

‘Do I?'  and I related things back to him. 

Considering how young I was, I am amazed at how calm I was.  The blue-eyed 6-footer, left with a smile and always jokingly called me 'My Prof.' from then on.

At Clarion, I had several students tell me, 'What I learn in your class I have used in other classes, how do you do it?' (one specific example was the way I told them, there are reasons for why things are done in a society, even if we do not think about them, once we get used to them. For example, red lights, are red or danger sign a red coloured sign because red has the highest wavelength and can be detected even on foggy days.).

There was a mixed race student there, who told me repeatedly that her grandmother had forced her to go to college. She was absolutely uninterested in college.  I would sit her down and motivate her.  When I was leaving (which is another saga and needs another post)--she came and said, 'I will miss you, no one listened to me.'

Then there was A. Sibbal, who at the end of fall semester wished me, * A kick-ass break'

What is a kick ass break, A?  I asked.  I got something like 'Cool, & fun.'

There was also D, who had stopped coming to classes and did not turn in his final.  I, like a concerned teacher that I was, called his home.

You do not call their parents' said Nancy, the ever so caring administrative assistant, who had known me from my student days.

'I was mortified' and promised to not ever care that much (But, as was my nature, I continued.’)

A few days later, as I was riding my bike home, I saw D, in a car merrily enjoying with his friends.  He waved, I waved back.

'Are you ok?' I yelled.

'Yup, I am ok, are YOU OK?  he chuckled.

Also, it was that year that a student wrote in evaluations, 'You changed the way I look at images.'  I was teaching a brand new course that I had developed. And since the labs were not in place, I asked them to use photoshop and a combination of still photographs, and sound to create a feeling of motion and use it for story telling.  My students amazed me with their work.  Some beautifully told stories in just five shots--a combination of long medium shots and close ups.

Also, another student wrote, ' I love it how you worry if one student is missing from the class.'

My return to Penn State was good for the heart because I loved state college, but it was painful for the reasons I had to move.  Which again will be detailed later.

But from the very beginning, although like always, I was teaching new courses, I formed a bond with the students.

Presently, I have about five students who I am sort of in touch with.  Two boys, three girls. One, who is an Indian-American, has almost become like a family, as we have been in touch for the last decade and a half, and we spoke about 6 weeks ago on the phone.

But it was at Penn State that Brian and another student came up to me and said, 'Its a take your professor to lunch day, may we take you out?'  I was so touched, but that was a busy week and I could not.  It was also there at Penn State that two students got into a huge fight in the middle of class, over some group work.  Abuses of the worst kind were hurled at each other, and I, only one year away from graduation, still not quite mature, stood my stance, did not get angry but dismissed the class.  Letting the arguing students stay in the class. I do not remember how I sorted it out, but I got an email from one of the students, J.

'I apologize for the way I behaved, he said, 'More than anything, it was a disrespect towards you and I deeply apologize for that.'

'I can forgive J, but many times the world is not forgiving,' I wrote back, 'Just remember that as you step outside of college.'

Also, it was at PSU that one student Th, left me a note saying, 'gladly I took your class (International Mass Communication) so that I can finally say that I learnt something at Penn State.

There are two sort of funny, sort of scary incidents from Penn State, that I remember.  One, when I was teaching a Media Theory class, and the students had to write a group project on one theory of their choice, and present it to the class. This group chose ‘Diffusion of Innovation’ and used the example of ‘cocaine’ as an innovation.  I was shocked, embarrassed and sad.  Did they not understand what an innovation was? I asked. Do you think cocaine is not an innovation? They asked. No, No, and No.  Once you have that in your blood and you are charting out how that is distributed through a culture, you will have society left to study in a few years.  Seriously, a bad idea!! That, though funny in a sadistic way, still bothers me.

The other incident was when in one of the classes a group chose their ‘argument’ that ‘porn’ was good for relationships.  Their argument that ‘relationships get boring’ and that watching porn can save them.  I remember my extremities went numb on a fairly warm spring day.  I kept thinking how I would address this.

I do not remember what I said in my short speech, because it was important to let them ‘think the way they wanted’ but also important to guide them and give them something to think about, which would make them realize that they were not on the right track.

I got up slowly, and I do not remember the middle part, but I started and ended my speech with this short sentence, ‘Obviously, you have never been in love’.  I remember that the entire class had clapped.

Phew, I thought, what if they had gotten angry and called me regressive.  So, there was a young audience out there, that was hungry for some direction and values, rather than be guided towards a hedonistic lifestyle that much of the  media was pointing them towards. 

It was also at Penn State that I emailed R, a student in Comm 413 or 411 class when he missed a few classes.  He told me that he was not making enough money to pay rent and did not want to bother his parents, who were first generation immigrants from the Philippines. I asked him if I could contribute some towards his rent.  He politely declined, but paid me a compliment by leaving me a note before he graduated from the university.

And it was PSU that I arranged trips to the UN headquarters about 4 times in the four years that I was there.  The trip cost 50 USD, and some of the students could not pay, and I did not mind helping them out, just so they could have an experience.

The summer before I graduated, my summer classes made special signs for me, thanking me and wishing me well with my PhD.  That summer and the following summer, I cooked for my students. First year it was just about 8 students, some of the food for catered. A year later, it was about 13 students ---and I cooked for two days.  Sometimes I look back and wonder.  Should those times have been spent on publications and research?  What was I doing?  It took much effort and planning, and that is when I never even though about money.  Those were early years of working and I felt rich compared to my student days when paying for food and rent was difficult, and there seemed no end to my cheques bouncing.

I remember fondly telling my students, I will cook and provide no alcohol, and will card you guys, well, no, actually, alcohol is not allowed.  They had all smiled. But on the day of the party, a student walked up to the kitchen side of my one bedroom apartment and said, 'Excuse me, I need to get a beer, from your fridge'

'What A?!!!???  When in the world did beer enter my fridge? I did not create a scene, and till this day the thought scares me, for I am sure, some of them were not 21 yet.

During those times, I would apply for other jobs, but knew not anymore, who I was, or where I belonged. I belonged to the students and a classroom, wherever that was.  A realization that came to me later, but subconsciously has saved me over the years.

Had it not been for teaching, I would have gone crazy a long time ago.  Teaching allowed me human connection that was missing in worlds were publications and conferences and high paying jobs were a marker of our value.  I also missed the human connection because my experience of friendship in the US was ‘raw’ to say the least.  Most people I knew would move or leave town within a year of knowing them.  Others would have never made enough fo a connection with me to work hard on keeping in touch.  While continued to write and send letters and cards.  For years, I mean for years.

Teaching allowed me to remain human, during the times I had insomnia and used NyQuil PM to go to sleep, during the years I gained weight due to a strange lifestyle, of teaching new courses every year while applying for jobs and finishing my PhD--which meant I was awake and asleep at the oddest hours of the day.  (sometimes teaching 8 am classes, and 3 pm classes on the same day, which meant one proper meal, much snacking and chocolates other times).

So, it hurt when I shared that I was never included in any of the activities, never a part of anything at Penn State while teaching, and was told that 'It was because I was a student'.

A student? I taught all 400 level courses, teaching 3 classes each semester, 50-60 students each, and no graduate assistant, while finishing my PhD and looking for new jobs.

It hurt even more when I moved and not a single person asked me, *Would you like any help?'  I was moving to not another town, or even a neighboring country, I was moving to another continent with a time difference of nearly 15 hrs, and I did it all by myself.

I was short listed at one small university in Michigan and one in Maryland (while only a year or so ago, it was much better universities were looking at, my value had dropped with 'only teaching' and no publications, another thing that I realized later and without any guidance from anyone, I kept falling down in a bottomless pit of developing human relations, without any anchor, that some how seemed to have less and less value in academia.

So, when the choice was between a small town in Maryland and Michigan, and Fiji (had applied to Swtizerland and India both of which were not working out)--I chose Fiji.  While I do not regret leaving the US--- Fiji was a mixed blessing.

I chose it for being the opposite of Pennsylvania and providing me with an insight into another culture.  Fiji's warmth though good, brought other issues, such as health problems to a person so used to Pennsylvania's cold, several infections and mild form of dengue fever the first year I was there.  But what sustained me was once again, my love for students.  I took them under my wing.  And like in no other place! I felt a sense of camaraderie, since many were Indians and all were from 'developed countries', which meant that maybe just maybe, we shared sensibilities.

For the next two years, I would cook for my students, friends, colleagues, neighbors, not thinking that I was 'spending time and energy' where I could develop a career. I guess, human relations always meant so much to me, that I kept pouring out like water from a broken hose, that is so happy to spill, and gushes out, but does not realize that it may not be welcome by all the plants and definitely not in that intensity by the gardener.

While for the most part it was beautiful and heart warming, Fiji turned out to be one of the most painful experiences with students.  They were all fine until I was giving, but I was not allowed to correct or tell them that they were rude, or that their behavior was less than ideal.  And when say ‘giving’—it was not just any regular giving.  Other than cooking meals, I was celebrating my students’ birthdays, I was actually thinking of them on my vacations, making list of who to bring gifts, several times becoming close to their families, taking responsibility to be there for them.  Sometimes missing my break time to be there for them when they were going through a difficult time and much more.

And many times writing long emails and letters to explain a few things that had gone wrong.  In fact, when teaching MA classes, I even had some issues with two somewhat 'celebrities' of the country, who could not understand that I would put 'deadlines' on projects, and expect timely delivery. 

When I had to leave the country, I did not know what was I crying over.  Although Fiji was in my heart, I was also crying at a sense of loss, an enormous loss of time and trust.  I had invested in people who had thought nothing of dropping me from their lives.  I mean ---I taught weekends because I thought they were behind in their readings, I would hold extra classes. If I heard they were going through difficult times, I called and talked to them like an older sister, as if it was my responsibility. 

And I heard that one of the students said that ‘she is trying to please us’.  Why would I do that?  But I knew nothing else but giving, loving and caring.  I had done that several times before, and usually gotten taken for granted.

However, I will write a separate post about two of my students from the first year in Fiji, who I taught for barely 2 months, who still keep in touch.  One if now in Australia and another one was my roommate for a short period of time, after I had a burglary at my house and I had to move.  For the second time in my life fear of living alone came to me (first time was when I moved to Africa and realized that my school did not have electricity and had live without electricity for a year).  Those two students have kept a sense of smile on my face with silly emails and exchanges that are quite endearing.  I want to dedicate a post to them so will not write here.

Today, I have no fear or pain about those memories. I completely understand that those things are more telling of how the students saw life than who I am.  Part of the credit goes to my students in Sweden.  They adopted me and brought me back to life.

For the last two years, I have slowed down, pulled myself back and even stepping away from long conversations with my students.  But, it is here in Sweden ---students have given me standing ovation, over and over and over again.

This when, I have taught nearly 14 new courses over the 7 years that I have been here.  This semester, I have taught 5 new courses, --four of which are co-taught meaning I am not the only teacher and not the course coordinator, but still its been quite confusing, for I do not always understand what is expected and am forever floundering.  But I perform.

So, it hurts when none of this is looked at (I have had one grant for 20%, which I have not delivered on. Although I have written over 10 papers since the grant.  But --on that paper the suggestions given were so many that it needed to be overhauled.  I now think I should trust myself more, but in that process and many other things, I have not been able to work on that. And yet, I have not stopped teaching new courses. While non delivery on one paper should be considered, the fact that I have had new courses and delivered on some other papers and have contributed so much should be considered as well).

And then I am surprised at a standing ovation at the end of the class.  There are students who come up and say, 'Thanks for these inspiring lectures, I have never had a teacher like you who has actually taught us the procedure research' (I am teaching two classes on research methods, one at MA level and another at BA level).

In my first years a few of my MA students simply adopted me.  They did for me, which no other students did.  They helped me unpack, they helped me organize my house, they showed me grocery shopping places, they brought me food when they realized I was not eating well, when I was sick they made sure I had medicine, when I had to travel, they helped me book seats on train, get me cabs, when I travelled they looked up places to stay for me.' and even today, about five to six of my students from an 8 student class, the first year ....are in regular touch with me. I attended one wedding in the summer this year.

WHY AM I WRITING THIS NOW???

Three things happened.  One, this semester I got a standing ovations several times, second, about three weeks ago I had a long conversation with boys in my class, after the class.  They stayed after the class for an hour to 'simply talk life'.  And third, I was just rejected for an internal grant, my fourth time applying. I got it once, only because it was a co-application, so in a sense I think someone else was the reason I got it.¨

So, three weeks ago, after a research class, boys and I stood talking about everything from feminism to dating to study to human relationships.

One thing I remember one of the boys saying is that 'in this age of tinder, girls have no patience about knowing us' (although I would say that girls could complain about the same)---I felt the boy's pain.  They also talked about the need for family and human relationships, which they think Sweden and in general developed countries lack.  They were also very clear about the fact that it is politically incorrect to talk about inherent differences between men and women and that at least in their country the system is geared towards women.  That if women dominate a profession or an organization it is not a suspect but if men do, then it is a suspect and usually considered a result of favoritism or male dominance --hegemony and stuff.

With regards to my own research and focus on research---people could easily say 'so, I mean if you are so touchy feely, go find a job that rewards you for that.  In academia you are in a business of publications and teaching is just the base job.  I have been blamed 'How come you write so many conference papers (many of which are full length papers)--why don't you publish?'

Well, I do, but its slow for several reasons.  Not only my research and teaching but also my previous coursework and my teaching and my research have never been connected. My dissertation was not connected to my course work, my teaching was not connected to my dissertation or courser work and over 35 courses that I have taught in five universities on three different countries and continents have hardly anything in common with what I studied.  So, in an essence, I have taught myself at every step.  I taught journalism in Fiji, without a single class in journalism, I taught mathematics at school in my first job, without a math degree, its just that I was great at Math, and continued to coach cousins and friends for years --with just high school math (calculus and trigonometry).  Even contacting universities at the US and taking GREs before I got into the US meant walking a mile to the bus stop, then four hours of drive to the city in Botswana that allowed me some 'urban privileges'.

My base education was in sciences and part sciences, and an MSc. in training and development. I had never heard of a single media theory until PhD, and never truly written a research paper, as opposed to a report oriented paper that we wrote in MSc.  But, without guidance, I have simply mentored and raised myself.

I am still behind, still an assistant professor, who is learning the language of the country I spend about 4-5 hrs a week on learning Swedish.  In nearly 17 years of college teaching, I have still not stopped teaching new courses (teaching two new ones next semester) have had no sabbatical (there is no concept of that in Sweden)--and one short sick leave.

I am quite disconnected from myself.  Despite the best of my intentions, it is hard to maintain a routine.  Shall I renew my driving licenses for grocery shopping is hard, shall I work towards publications, shall I apply for a job somewhere? Shall I take a year off? Shall I return home? Do I have a home? Will I ever have a community?

These issues still haunt me.  In the middle of this, I have over 40 conferences papers, one key note talk, one edited journal, a few newspaper articles, three journal articles and one coming out soon, two other waiting to be sent out, four book reviews, three book chapters, two peer reviewed articles in a professional magazine, one encyclopedia entry, and have seen undergraduate program change three times since my arrival in Sweden, and MA program is under its third change.  Have been involved with development and implementation of new courses, and oh, last year got one paper as best paper accepted at a leading conference. Oh, have supervised several MA and BA essays, which had nothing to do with any of the research areas that I work in.  Oh and yes, two burglaries, one in Fiji and one in Sweden, let me afraid, fearful of the world and unconfident about myself.

Yet, I felt ashamed and hated myself after I was rejected.

I will continue to work--there is no option.  But I wondered what are we as teachers and colleagues?

Is teaching, being there for the student, and guiding him/her so 'low and unacknowledged a job?

From what my students tell me, it is the most important job.

Yet the most ignored the most underrated.  I wish I were coached the way I coach my students.

With regards to my MA students and even several BA students, I have worked hard with them so they would feel motivated to finish.  They come back and thank me, but shall I stop that because it costs me time and emotional energy?  Especially now that I realize that I have much to say research wise.  I have so much work and so many ideas that need be worked on, yet, yet, why I do continue to spend extra time on students. 

May be I see myself in them, gasping for breath, confused, hoping for a straw to appear so they can hold it and hope to be pulled out of the whirlpool of the craziness that is academia and even life in general.  Especially in our field, that does not guarantee jobs and equips students only with the name of theories and scholars. Most of those who graduate, and I would say even up to the end of Masters, can actually NOT WRITE.  So, despite a degree in communication they are not equipped to write.

In that equipping them with a few tools of how to survive in this world is nothing short of a big 'needed favor' to them. I often spend time with students to ask them about thinking of creating their own jobs rather than always looking for jobs.  'Become creators of jobs' and the listen intently.

My experience tells me that most of them got to the university accidentally and actually do not belong there. Vocational training should be a part of university training, even though many will disagree.  Training students in liberal arts, may expand the mind, but it does not develop a sense of work ethic or a respect for hard work that we all benefit from.  (That needs explaining a bit more, in another post).

But, I had to pen this down, because for the last week, I have been feeling really down.  Even though I told myself to rise above this.  I could not stop disliking myself.  I never look at myself in the mirror, (oh yes I take selfies, but that has happened for longer than the word has existed)--but have been avoiding looking at myself.

Writing this brings a sense of peace, although not reconciliation with myself.  I know this, teaching has been my savior, it has helped me feel like I have contributed to this world.  Nothing I publish as an academic will evoke what I could evoke by engaging my students in a human dialogue.  I am aware that it is neither respected not acknowledged (even though students tell me how much they appreciate it.  A friend had asked why I talk about morality (a better term is Dharma) to my students.  And when I shared that with my students, they said, 'You should, no one talks to us about it.  May be because I come from Guru (teacher)- Shishya (disciple) culture that I realize the significance of this relationship.  May be because I am forever trying to belong, may be it is a selfish thing to do.

I know I have to be more focused on research, despite this crazy teaching schedule, but this connection of listening to students and caring for them, which makes me feel human, allows me to be myself, is going to continue, despite my attempts at restricting it, simply because it is an expression of who I am.  It resonates with my deeper core.

And in helping them, I realize, in some ways, I provide a lean log to myself to hold on to, despite the turbulent waters of life.