This semester, I am teaching a batch of students from the 4th year of our Integrated BS-MS programme. Technically, they are at a level equivalent to first year MSc students. Last week, while discussing properties of the Fourier transform with them, I suggested that in case they forget a certain property or formula, but need it, they should not hesitate to work it out by applying the basic definition of a Fourier transform. "Since there's only a handful of you, you will almost certainly get extra time to finish your quiz or exam," I joked. Before I knew it, I started reflecting loudly on an important change that happens gradually in our lives around their age. Up to a certain point in life, academic success almost exclusively depends on how quickly one can answer questions (correctly) in a time-bound exam. But, as we transition into adult life, success or progress in a career (and other parts of life) depends on how much time we are willing to give to a task at hand.
I was thinking more in terms of what my students would be doing in their fifth year and onwards: working on research projects for their MS thesis and beyond. This would involve learning new topics on their own outside of a structured curriculum, often from research papers which are not easy to read. It would involve spending time on answering a new question for which no hints are given at the end of a textbook. There will be no assurance that the answer will arrive, or about when it will arrive. Any progress will be visible after long days and months of tedious calculations and focused thinking on a topic. One will make mistakes, and correct them time and again. The same holds for other areas of our lives: health, fitness, developing personal relationships or learning new skills. A functional adult life is a direct consequence of how much time we devote to whatever we take up (sometimes by choice and sometimes by compulsion), and how patiently we wait for growth or progress.
Many games that we learn in our childhood, such as arranging jigsaw pieces, building objects out of lego pieces and playing chess train us to be generous with time along with concentration. For that matter, even in the exam-dictated part of our lives, the ability to perform well in restricted timelines comes from long hours, days and months of dedicated, unapologetic practice. Thinking or taking quick action on your feet when time is short comes when you have practiced something for long. For example, while learning to play tennis, the backhand motion takes long to learn for many of us (true at least for me). But, a few months of practice down the line, we don't even think for a second when there is a need to use it. Delivering a decent lecture requires a long preparation time. The shorter the lecture time, the longer you have to spend in organizing the essential ideas in order to communicate them without going over time. As Pascal pointed out, even writing short letters takes time. Almost everything meaningful in life requires time and patience.
Taking time to do something has multiple aspects. The first is the "woodpecker" aspect: the basic "action" level of spending time on activities. This time is to be devoted, either in short, regular chunks of time, or in long chunks, based on the situation. On a regular basis, we set aside time daily for an activity, preferably during hours when there is minimal chance of being disturbed. When a project is stuck or nearing completion, we dedicate larger chunks of time to it, at the cost of ignoring or postponing some other tasks. During collaborations, things often get sorted out while the collaborators are visiting each other, as opposed to meeting online. While time-bound, regular online (or offline) meetings ensure progress, a collaboration visit nudges all parties to put aside other activities for a while, and spend long hours thinking about something at a stretch. This often accelerates a project out of a rut, and this is precisely why summer time (when we don't have to worry about teaching schedules) is so valuable for scientists. But, in any case, whether in regular periods or in larger, continuous chunks, the woodpecker aspect is about chipping away at something.
The second is the "washing machine" aspect [1]. For example, this involves waiting patiently for an experiment to run its course and yield the results. In essence, this aspect is about putting in the time to go through a process. Situations, where we take action, and wait for the consequences, however long it may take. Those of us who waited for visa appointments in the Covid and post-Covid periods will relate to this. There is nothing we can do while the process is going on, other than regular monitoring and paper-work. The medical treatment to recover from an illness is part of this category. We go through the course of treatment and wait for healing. To a large extent, the endeavour to get fitter could also be considered as an example here. One makes a (hopefully, sustainable) diet and exercise plan, follows it diligently and waits for as long as it takes for the body to respond.
Then, there is a third "flower blooming" aspect, one of the most important aspects of any scholarly activity. This aspect is about discovering a new idea or method, and waiting for time to shape it into different manifestations and applications. Our duty, which is the equivalent of watering and nurturing a plant, is to actively reflect upon the meaning of the idea by thinking about it, making a regular effort to write and rewrite it, and by finding out its connections with other ideas and problems. We try not to let it go unheeded, as we wait for it to "bloom". As an idea blooms, we revisit, polish, review and reframe it over time. As students, this aspect of time comes into play in our journey of learning. While a course introduces a topic, the learning, understanding and absorption of the content will take much longer than a semester and will be each student's individual journey. Here is the translation of a beautiful Sanskrit verse shared by my colleague, Professor Pavan Kumar: "One fourth from the teacher, one fourth from own intelligence, one fourth from classmates, and one fourth only with time".
[1] Most posts on this blog are written during long linen-wash cycles.
