Only with time

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 about 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]. This aspect is about putting in the time to go through a process. For example, this involves waiting patiently for an experiment to run its course and yield the results. 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 working with 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. 

One day at a time, one step at a time

An experience that most functioning adults face is that of building up a routine with great effort, only to have it come crashing down in the face of an unexpected adversity.  Sometime in the summer of 2024, I found myself in such a situation. A health crisis in my family meant that I had to stay away from IISER for about six weeks.  My family dealt with the crisis wisely by putting together all the support systems and structures.  We all did what was necessary, and somehow managed to keep our work lives going (even if remotely). In my case, that meant regularly corresponding with my students and colleagues, and taking care of other urgent administrative work (such as preparing budgets for conference grants, following up with our grants office, submitting course outlines etc).  But, I soon realized that I was unable to focus on anything that required "deep work": I could not concentrate on my ongoing research projects, and my usual writing routine could not withstand the shock of the situation. One of my collaborative projects was gaining speed at this time, and while I joined all the meetings, it was actually the collaborators who were pulling all the weight during this phase while I started blankly at the screen. 

After the family situation was better, I returned to campus.  Nevertheless, there was a thick fog in the mind, possibly due to the stress of the situation and several weeks of irregular sleep. I was finding it hard to recover despite being back on home ground. Soon, there was another month-long phase of travel, and the writing routine seemed at its lowest ebb.

The redemption came in September in the form of an eight-day-long vacation in Kashmir that I had planned long before the family crisis had erupted. I was to stay for the whole duration in a quiet hill station called Yousmarg, known for its beautiful meadows. While planning the vacation (or more appropriately, the stay-cation), I had hoped to be in a completely relaxed state of mind after a summer of conferences and paper submissions, and to possibly start something afresh. But, it was not to be: the version of me that reached Yousmarg was terribly anxious at falling behind in all her research projects, and was struggling with low attention span. This could not continue.

So, I made a plan: I decided to focus on just one project and devote a few hours every morning to it. I also planned to work on the project for the rest of the day, but the latter part could be more flexible, combined by walking around Yousmarg, reading [1], or taking a nap, based on my mood and energy levels. The strategy was to start small and do a little bit every day.  In fact, I started with proof-reading some parts that had already been written by my collaborators, and promised not to judge myself even if it took me all day to understand some steps of a proof.  The important thing was to make some progress everyday, and regain my attention span in small increments.

It worked! 

The lack of internet at the hotel worked like elixir for someone looking to regain their attention span. I waded through all the project-related material (downloaded before the travel), line by line, step by step. Since I could not type on Overleaf or connect to my collaborators, I made notes and zeroed down on a couple of points that looked troublesome. The walks around the hotel became more pleasant while I thought these points over [2]. 

By the end of my trip, I found myself up-to-speed with all that had happened in the project during the summer, except for a couple of points. This may well have been the first ``vacation" in which I got to relax, while also working without anxiety. Soon after returning to Pune, I resumed my teaching duties (the post-midsem part of a second year course on probability to a large class) and regular meetings with students. At this time, I spoke to a friend who had recently overcome a similar challenge. She had survived a much more difficult situation, and was able to walk me through the different stages of regaining focus. "When the fog lifts, you will know; until then, one has to keep doing whatever we can."

While the ``fog" had still not lifted completely, the sunlight had started to filter in. My energy levels and attention span were both coming back, and the stability of not having to travel for the next three months motivated me to double down on the project. On the morning of the Mahalaya, I made a to-do list of literature search and writing needed to take care of some sections of the paper. The aim, everyday, was to not leave the study table until the task for that day had been completed. By the morning of Vijaya Dashmi, I had completed multiple sections, and had also corrected the points which were troubling me in Yousmarg. 

For those who know what I am talking about, these points had to do with some subtleties in the relationship between the symmetric-power L-functions for Hecke newforms and the Rankin-Selberg L-functions; with the corrections in place, all the subsequent sections had to be modified.  Our project is to find explicit constants in the zero-free regions for modular L-functions, and every estimate has to be noted and incorporated carefully and precisely into the "master" equations.  Soon after Diwali, our team of collaborators resumed our weekly meetings (we are working between three countries and four time zones).  In complete contrast to the summer, I was now eagerly engaged in the meetings, and would enthusiastically look forward to them through the day.  This is when I knew that the fog had lifted completely. We started working on each section, and over the last month, have cleaned up the manuscript and written out the proof of our main theorem. We are now in the final stages of the article, and the month of December will be spent in proof-reading and finalizing the draft. The feeling of showing up well-prepared for every meeting and absorbing all the insights from collaborators to improve one's understanding of the project is priceless. I enjoy working on this project every morning, and it is such a relief to have overcome the writing inertia of the summer months.

The writing routine is back, but with a realization that adversities and shocks can strike unexpectedly. Regaining one's focus requires kindness to oneself and some flexibility in work habits. It requires us to control where we spend our time and energy, but without slipping into victim mode (as my friend wisely pointed out). Above all, it is about taking one step at a time, one day at a time, consistently. If something looks intimidating (as it naturally will, if we are recovering from a situation which took us away from something we were doing regularly), break down the task into small steps, and focus on one step at a time without negative self-talk. Replace "Why I am I so stupid?" with "What exactly is the problem in this step?" Replace "Why am I so slow?" by "What progress have I made since yesterday? What can I do next?" If the next step seems to invite procrastination, break it down into even smaller steps. 

In time, we build things back (we really do, however "low" we start), and at the same time, become non-judgmental observers of our own growth and progress. For those of us who have to write regularly, the progress becomes visible in the form of all the new sections that were typed up. It can be quite revealing to compare the current version of something with what it was a month ago. While you were taking one little step every day (and possibly wondering if this was enough), your draft was growing bigger and more wholesome, the extent of which can be noted a month later.

Starting tomorrow, I will be busy with preparations for a major conference from 09-13 December at IISER Pune.  The rest of the month will be spent in conference travel and time with my family. Will I be able to guard my morning writing routine through all of this? And if there is a crack, can I bounce back to normalcy by taking one step at a time? We will leave these questions for a future blog post.

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[1] I specifically chose the letters and poems of Emily Dickinson because the Sangarmal hotel at Yousmarg, where I stayed, reminded me of her homestead. But, I may have chosen the wrong collection of letters. This particular collection contained many letters in which she is exhorting her friends, in moving language, to reply to her letters and not ignore her. These letters made me very angry with her friends, and may have drained my mental energies a little. 

[2] The walking, however, had other consequences. People in Yousmarg are extremely friendly; the thought of a (female) tourist walking all alone on a cold day is unbearable to them and they will take you to their homes and serve tea. The personal connections made through such interaction are invaluable, and sometimes, one just has to postpone the Math to the privacy of the hotel room and garden :-) 

The week in "review"

In the last few posts, I have been sharing thoughts around academic reviews: is research productivity the only criterion that matters to a reviewer? Does time spent in mentoring or teaching beyond our institutional duties matter? Is it judged negatively? What does a review process (and preparing for it in any form) do for us (point (3) in this post)?

One of the reasons why this has been predominantly in my thoughts is because our department was preparing for an external review that happened in the past week. A group of six senior mathematicians visited us for a few days, and met us all individually as well as in a group in order to review how we were doing as a department. For the individual meetings, we were all encouraged to prepare a report on our academic activities in the last five years, and a presentation on our recent and future research goals. The emphasis of the presentation was to be solely on our research work. This was a serious exercise, and we spent hours figuring out how to explain our research work to the committee (which would not necessarily have specialists in our field) in a comprehensible manner in under 10 minutes. With the adrenaline rush of students preparing for their exams, we worked to prepare the slides. Over short coffee breaks, we discussed this with friends and made philosophical remarks about what this was doing to us [1]. 

My individual meeting with the committee was pleasant beyond my expectations. After hearing out the presentation and a brief discussion on research work, the committee asked me a question which I was not quite prepared for: "Are you happy?" When was the last time someone asked me this question in my adult life, I wondered [2]. I had an affirmative answer to this question (and truthfully so), and we went on to have a friendly conversation about related issues such as teaching and student supervision. 

One other amazing thing about this meeting was that two of the members had informally mentored me before I moved to North America for graduate studies. Neither of them had taught me directly, and while one of them was a faculty member in a department where I studied for a few months, I met the other one in a summer school organized by them. Looking back to that time, I don't believe I showed any unusual talent or ability. I just had a strong interest in pursuing mathematics, and needed to know how to continue doing it: both these members gave me the gift of their time, attention and advice when these were needed the most. It is likely that members of the committee had had a similar interaction with some of my other colleagues. An important take-away from this meeting, therefore, was that my fear about being judged negatively for spending time on mentoring or outreach activities beyond research and teaching at IISER was unfounded because it was clearly something that these members also care for [3]. 

Later in the week, the committee met us all as a department and we had a lively exchange of ideas about our larger goals and challenges. The committee members also talked frankly about facing similar challenges at earlier stages of their careers, and once again, one could not help but appreciate their gift of time and attention to all of us.

While this review process undoubtedly turned out to be a great experience, not all reviews have such positive outcomes. Occasionally, feedback or suggestions received in a review process of any kind, be it from an article referee, grant agency, audience at a seminar or even PhD advisor/mentor may not align with how we think and work. Sometimes, we may not receive timely, or well considered feedback at all. Recently, I listened to an episode of the podcast Pratidhvani, in which the guest, Professor Suresh Govindarajan described a challenging situation during his PhD days, when his advisor chose not to give him timely feedback on his work. In addition, the advisor made a suggestion that did not align with the student's value system.

PhD studentship is one of the most vulnerable phases of life; the final phases of PhD, when your research needs full, one-pointed attention, is also the phase when you have to worry in real time about where you will go next. The role of the advisor, particularly in terms of providing meaningful and regular feedback on your work, in order for you to finish the degree and move on to the next stage of your training, is extremely important here. What if the advisor chooses not to provide such feedback, or to provide it in a manner that is not helpful at all? How Prof. Govindarajan coped with the situation is best heard in his own words (56.43 onwards on the podcast is when this particular situation is described).

This is what I am going to take away from the above episode and from all the reviews I have been through: feedback received in a review is temporary, based on what a particular reviewer (with their own expertise and perspective) is evaluating in a given situation at a given point of time. We should receive it in that spirit. It is not a " permanent indictment" on our whole state of being. Our own performance keeps changing and evolving based on the resources available to us, and the environment we are in. For example, someone who is seen to be struggling while at one department can blossom into their full potential in another department with a more supportive work-place, or where they have people to talk to and collaborate with, or where they simply feel happy. It is difficult to see a review as something temporary, especially if it is negative: human nature is wired to hold on to criticism, and overcoming this tendency feels like a task of Yogic proportions. 

In the context of academia (as perhaps also in the context of a vocation based on the creative arts), a safe coping mechanism to handle reviews of all kinds (good, bad, non existent) is the way of authenticity. What our work means to us and how we want to do it can only be determined by us; it has to be anchored in our own sense of self, our own honest self-evaluation of our work, and our own innate desire to grow. With this in place, an external review, if provided constructively, can bring more clarity in how we can do our work better. It can be a means of encouragement and even inspiration. If the review provided is not constructive, but well-meaning, it may not be as effective, but certainly deserves a sense of gratitude for the reviewer who spent time and energy trying to provide one. 

Handling malicious or unethical reviews is a test of resilience. Here, I am referring to situations where the review cannot be ignored, comes from a party that wields a position of power over you and is not immune to misusing that power to your detriment. I still don't know how I would handle such a situation. Maybe, I won't know until I find myself in one. May we all have the strength, the gumption [4], the resources and the support to handle such a challenge without giving up on ourselves, our values and on what we love. 

[1] For starters, it brought out (or reminded us of) the exuberant, childlike enthusiasm that brought us to mathematics in the first place.

[2] In my own case, by adult life, I mean life after starting an independent faculty position. 

[3] One of these days, I should do a focused, self-therapy session to figure out where this "fear" has come from.

[4] Gumption, not defensiveness.

Where there is structure, there is victory

We all have been coping with several work-life balance issues during the pandemic. While people have to balance their professional and home responsibilities even in ordinary times, the pandemic created a situation where the latter skyrocketed with children having to be home schooled and domestic work having to be managed without any external support.  A colleague of mine once said with exasperation that in the midst of sweeping and mopping, the latest literature in his field had started evading him. The hours that many people typically spent doing their academic work had to be recalibrated as their children were no longer going to school. My former postdoc mentor, Matilde Lalin wrote this lovely article describing (in "real time") how mathematicians like her conducted their research during COVID times.

Some of us found ourselves away from our families for a long period of time due to the unexpected lockdown announcement. In my case, all other parameters were fine. I was in good health, safely placed inside the IISER campus and assured that my family members, though far away from me, were safe and healthy too. When the first lockdown was announced, the solitude promised to be a golden opportunity to concentrate on learning and writing. With no possibility of traveling in the upcoming days, I was all set to put the song "Mono Chalo Nija Niketane" (translation: "Let us go back once more, O Mind, to our own abode") into action [1]. I was only going to step out to get groceries from a store in my building and spend the rest of my time in "Nija Niketana" doing Mathematics. 

A few days down the line, I realized that my grand plan was failing: Nija Niketana was turning into Netflix Niketana and the monster was starting to occupy more space than bargained for. What exactly went wrong? I had lots of goals to work on and lots of time. Had I lost the ability to focus on research and writing? Was this the end of everything? 

Soon, I realized that I was not alone in this predicament. Several people in my situation were facing this challenge. In this context, I heard about an acquaintance, who was all set to go on a sabbatical when the pandemic struck and messed with his plans. Unable to travel, he had two options. One was to continue his sabbatical at home, work with collaborators online and not have to worry about teaching. The second was to cancel his sabbatical and get back to active university duties. He chose the second option and requested the university to let him get back to teaching that semester. He recognized at the outset that all alone in his apartment, in the event of not being able to make a research visit elsewhere, he needed the structure provided by a regular university schedule to function optimally. I was encouraged to hear this story and also got an idea of how to proceed: I had to build a structure around daily activities.

A large chunk of time in solitude is undoubtedly a golden opportunity to concentrate on learning and writing. But, it can also be a double edged sword: our teaching duties, seminars/colloquia, interaction with students and colleagues provide a structure around which we can organize our daily activities in a time bound manner. In reserving time blocks for these activities, we also end up reserving time blocks for research work. There is little leeway to move around the time blocks for activities like teaching, talking to collaborators/students and attending seminars (more generally, any activity which requires a commitment to another human being). We therefore stick with the research time blocks because we must. In other words, for many of us, to be able to make the most of research time, there needs to be a structure to the day that involves a healthy dose of other meaningful activities like teaching, seminars, regular workout sessions and pursuing hobbies.

Structure is also the best antidote to anxiety. I started working to incorporate a daily plan in a way as to not procrastinate during the day time and then, feel empty and anxious in the evening (which leads to another cycle of procrastination). Making a ``formal" commitment (even if to oneself) by writing to-do lists and following through on it by writing "got-done" lists goes a long way in making sure that we don't postpone something just because we can.  My efforts to avoid empty "got-done" lists were centred around three tiny principles. I had heard of these before, but was forced to implement them diligently upon realizing that the pandemic was, indeed, playing havoc with my mental world. 

The first principle is that of showing up. When pulling the mind out of inertia, it is important to avoid an all-or-none approach. For example, if unable to start some planned work at a certain time, it helps to "show up", as long as the time planned for that activity is still left. Consistently noting afterwards how much of the work could get done instead of writing, "I got nothing done" uplifts the mood like nothing else, and with each passing day, one starts showing up for more and more tasks at the allotted time. Here, I am referring to tasks that are most in danger of getting postponed: ones that do not require coordinating with another person and have no immediate deadline.

The second principle is to give precise instructions to ourselves. Showing up on time for a task, but without a clear idea of what is to be done is a recipe for not getting it done. So, goals like "typing" or "typing Section 2" got converted into goals like "Write Lemma 3", "outline the proof of Lemma 3", "arrange the index of notations" etc. Much to my surprise, in a project where I had been suffering from a serious writer's block for weeks on end, I saw progress to the tune of 15 pages in 6 days. It is, of course, not always possible to count the output of work done in terms of pages. It is also not easy to come up with precise goals when starting to explore a research project, which is why people end up procrastinating the most at this stage. But, it does help to isolate exactly what part of a problem or project one wants to explore and stay focused on that. 

The third principle is to get work done on the go.  At some point, we all make peace with the fact that we want to do (or need to do) much more than we have time for. It is not a moral defect, therefore, to allocate short bursts of time to activities that we enjoy or care for, but which get relegated to the background as we seek to fulfil more urgent responsibilities. These bursts of time can be snatched from other things that are happening around us. I have managed to read, for example, two volumes of Shri Harivansh Rai Bachchan's autobiography over the past few weeks while waiting for the geyser to heat the water. Occasionally, I have also planned some work within the time that the washing machine takes to complete a wash cycle [this puts a nice timer on the activity concerned as well]. Sometimes, the time period can be as short as the 2 minutes during which a meal is being heated up in the microwave. This blog post has been written in the last few days in similar situations. In fact, this particular paragraph is being written up as a friend, who joined me for coffee, has stepped out to take a phone call.

This would be a good place to conclude the blog post. After a wholesome Sunday spent reading, preparing for classes, reflecting on the importance of structure and finishing this post, it is time to lock all doors of my abode and truly go within.

I would love to learn more productivity/structure tips from readers.

[1] This song is famously recognized as the song which Swami Vivekananda sang when he visited Shri Ramakrishna for the first time.

Keeping the head down

Several years ago, I started my first faculty position. Like many others in this position, I faced a wide variety of situations for the first time: developing an independent research programme on my own, balancing research and teaching with service duties, being responsible for students as their advisor, juggling administrative committee work and learning to interact with colleagues (the nice ones as well as the not-so-nice ones). While navigating this new territory, I learnt a lot of things, made progress, but also slipped, faltered, took wrong turns, not infrequently. In sore need of an outlet to express and make sense of it all, I started writing this blog pseudonymously.  The blog found a handful of readers [mostly young postdocs in North America], who engaged regularly.  For a year or so, I don't think that anyone outside of this small group knew about it. My colleagues certainly had no idea.

Then, thanks to a rather kind post by Professor Abinandanan from IISc (the author of Nanopolitan, one of the most popular academic blogs in India), this blog suddenly saw an exponential increase in engagement by an Indian audience who could more easily relate to what I was writing about.  Blogging became an enjoyable activity amidst the isolation imposed by being at a temporary campus of a new institute in rural West Bengal.  I continued to document several experiences, including the move to IISER Pune and starting all over again.  By then, it no longer made sense to keep the blog "anonymous".   

The blog was updated for a few more years, but I started falling short of generating genuinely new posts. As I grappled with professional challenges that I was no longer comfortable talking about, this blog started turning into a repository for posts written for other portals as well as guest posts or links to posts by other academics on topics such as science communication, outreach etc. Occasionally, I resorted to writing Scoopwhoop type of posts as well. This was also a time when many people were gravitating towards Twitter for social media interaction and this seemed sufficient for my "self-expression" needs as well.  So, sometime in 2017, this blog was taken offline without much ado. This time seemed appropriate to simply "keep my head down" and focus completely (and silently) on professional goals and challenges.  

Keeping one's head down has many advantages: there is an entire category of Yoga asanas called "Inversions" that emphasize on keeping your head down (more technically, keeping your head below the heart).  The "harder" inversions include shoulder stand, head stand, elbow stand and the hand stand.  Our Yoga instructor ensures that we perform some inversions in every class and also encourages us to incorporate them in our daily practice.  Apart from physical benefits such as improving balance and core strength, learning and practising these asanas also helps to strengthen concentration and mental stability (for obvious reasons: doing a head stand with a distracted mind is not recommended and an inversion can only be held as along as the mind is stable). When she started introducing these asanas in our classes, my first reaction was that of fear. But, we were taught to build our strength step by step. We started off by taking support from props (eg, for the head stand, one learns to position oneself in a door space or between two walls in a narrow corridor).  Then, as core stability improved and the fear reduced, we started requiring fewer and fewer props. Some of us can now do a complete head stand without any wall support, while some require a wall to position their heels. Each member of the class has had a unique learning curve and learning pace in this regard.  Some of us, who would feel dizzy at the very thought of placing the head down, can now hold a head stand for several minutes.  We got here by not giving up and by staying regular with our practice.  In moments of weakness, our instructor ensured that we did not give up. What's more, in this class of responsible adults, we learnt to focus on our individual asana practice without the need to diminish that of the others or comparing ourselves to others.

This has so many analogies with an academic journey.  An academic career (any career, really) is impossible without learning to "keep one's head down".  We build up our "core" research programmes by focusing on our own work and by pushing ourselves forward, one step at a time.  Proper administrative structures and peer support at the workplace provide us with the "props" to do so.  In moments of weakness, some of our colleagues inspire us to continue the journey by providing mentorship or in some cases, by simply lending an ear . With these in place, we just need to stick to our programmes quietly and for long enough without comparing ourselves to anyone else.  Then, we realize one day how far we have come and how much strength we have to move further ahead.  We learn to appreciate our own expertise without diminishing that of our colleagues. Anxieties and fears get replaced by a sense of balance. 

These are some lessons I have learnt in the last four years.  So, the blog is ready to go up again. What occasion better than our 75th Independence Day to do so?

Movers and Shapers - II

[The first past of the following post can be found here.]

Starting a new faculty position is no joke.  Books have been written on it, it is a hot topic on multiple blogs/websites (for example, see here and here) and many institutions conduct orientation programmes for new faculty.  You have become a PI with complete responsibility for your research group, you are on the other side of the class for the first time and you are performing a lot of laborious administrative tasks.  Joining a new institute where you will move labs/offices at least three or four times (either move from one building to another or readjust within the same building as new members join at high frequency) adds further layers of complications.  Even with the best of planning, things can go wrong.

For example, at IISER, through the “moving and shaping,” all sorts of difficulties came up.  There were delays in ordering material and in clearing customs.  Sometimes, enzymes thawed and were refrozen during transport: this caused unexpected results in experiments!  There were sudden pressures, for example, preparing a lab (practically overnight) for a new batch of students.  Sometimes, after a move, people would realize that the power requirements were much higher than anticipated.  Sometimes, there would be water shortage.  In a new building, there could be unforeseen damages due to heavy rainfall.  With many members sharing limited space, there would occasionally be differences and vocal exchange of views. 

All colleagues I spoke to acknowledged setbacks.  But, every single one of them also insisted that they do not retain any bitterness about it.  Many felt that their efforts towards meeting personal research goals created positive energy and this helped them to see difficult experiences as enriching.

M. Jayakannan from Chemistry (joined. 2007) mentions that by the summer of 2009, labs were sufficiently equipped for active research work at IISER.  The first few publications from work done at these labs started coming out by 2010 and since then, all the research groups in chemistry have been productive.  The early faculty hires were very active in publishing, averaging about 4 papers per group every year.  This gave confidence and healthy peer pressure to those who joined later.

My colleague Thomas Pucadyil joined the Biology group in 2010.  As of today, Thomas has a thriving research lab that includes 8 student members. Recently, a publication from his lab, “A high-throughput platform for real-time analysis of membrane fission reactions reveals dynamin function,” authored by Srishti Dar, Sukrut Kamerkar and Thomas Pucadyil has appeared in Nature Cell Biology. 

During a fun conversation over a cup of coffee, Srishti (the first author of this paper and one of Thomas’s earliest PhD students) and Thomas described how they set up the lab and the “assay system” leading to this publication.  For Thomas, the experience of starting his lab with students was full of surprises.  It  required multiple managerial skill sets, which he acquired on-the-go.  Early preparations for this work were started in Sai Trinity Building in 2011: this included visiting a goat market and slaughter house one early morning to acquire the brain of a goat.  They started off with an attempt to extract and isolate a specific protein from the goat brain.  While at Sai, they succeeded in it and knew that their project had passed the litmus test.  This motivated them to develop assays that would help to better streamline the role of this protein in facilitating cellular processes.  A detailed explanation of their work can be found here.

Thomas feels that the composition of his graduate-student-heavy lab played a crucial role in choosing and persisting with this project.  With postdocs, one tends to get results sooner, but postdocs are only present for a short stint.  On the other hand, graduate students are present for a much longer time and this gives you more room to experiment and set something up. In this case, their project took more than three years to develop and the results finally started coming together in 2014.  By this time, they had gone through two relocations, first to G1, a prefabricated lab building in the permanent campus in 2012 and the second, to the main building in 2014.  Their lab is now well settled with its core facilities in place and work done by his group has exceeded the expectations of the institute.

Thomas feels the strong camaraderie among the biologists helped him to move beyond the challenges and establish himself at IISER Pune.  Similar sentiments were expressed by others.  Girish Ratnaparkhi, one of the master planners behind the multiple relocations of the Biology group, mentions that when he joined, he felt energetic and very happy to help.  He remained very involved with the functionality of the department.  Be it preparing indents, supervising the packing and moving, receiving/hosting institute guests or organizing a conference, no work was shunned.  Everything was done in the spirit of service to the institute.

Talking to these colleagues made me wonder: can such an attitude of positivity and service to the institute be developed superficially? Or is it something that stems naturally from a deeper feeling of personal empowerment, which in turn comes from research productivity?

A meeting with the Prime Minister

There have been reports in the media of a meeting of the Prime Minister with around 30 scientists at his residence on 19^th August.  This blog is about my experience and impression of that meeting as (possibly) the youngest person present in it.  As the meeting was organized by the Department of Biotechnology, I thank Professor VijayRaghavan for this truly awesome opportunity. 

Disclaimer 1:  This post is not meant to be a comprehensive report about the event (one can read the news reports for that), but solely my own perception of how it played out.  A lot of it is from memory and some hurried notes I took during PM’s speech: so, I can only paraphrase his statements and not quote them verbatim.

Disclaimer 2: This is going to be a long post.

Although I am not very interested in politics, I have been very curious about Modi government’s thoughts and policies on science in India.  Sadly, be it mainstream or social media, our intellectual elite or journalists, the discourse on anything related to our Prime Minister seems to fluctuate between two extremes: one side considers him as the savior who will solve all of India’s problems in no time and the other side is extremely critical and suspicious of him.  It is very difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff in reading prevalent opinions.  At the same time, as a scientist at a new institute, I cannot help but notice the pressure under which our administration is functioning due to severe budget cuts.  Are the current science funding policies of the government formulated with a view to control the overall government expenditure across the economy or does it have something to do with how high (or low) they place science on their priority list? How does the present regime view science, science in India and the scientific community?  These are questions to which I have been unable to get reasonable answers through our biased (and may I add unscientific) media discourse.  Therefore, when I received an invitation to attend this meeting, I was very excited at the possibility of meeting the Prime Minister and hearing directly his views about science in India.

The agenda of the meeting had been designed carefully.  The PM wanted a discussion on the current state of Indian science and from what I understood in a smaller preparation meeting before we headed out to RCR, he had conveyed his eagerness to hear diverse viewpoints.  The secretaries of the science ministries (mostly scientists themselves), therefore, were to play a moderating role and let the other invitees from the science community do most of the talking.

Around 14 people, representing various fields of science, were to give presentations about the progress made and challenges ahead in their respective domains of expertise.  The meeting was to be conducted for two hours and therefore, speakers were requested to respect the time limitations so that there could also be adequate time for discussion.  Before heading out to RCR, some of the invitees wondered if the PM would be able to follow the numerous presentations and if someone should further summarise the main points of the speakers at the end.  As it turned out, however, Mr. Modi not only listened attentively to each and every presentation, but also kept asking very pointed questions from almost all the speakers.  For instance, when the first speaker presented data about the number of research papers that were published in India every year, Mr. Modi immediately asked how big or small this number was, in proportion to our population.  The very low number of scientists in our country was briefly discussed.  

As the presentations continued, he made several remarks, but I only remember a few.  For example, one of the speakers mentioned that in India, once a faculty member becomes a full professor, the only further possible ``promotion” beyond that is to become a senior level administrator.  This hinders research productivity and he therefore suggested that we create more positions, equivalent to VCs/directors etc, but in which one would only do research.  The PM caught on to this suggestion and requested the speaker to prepare a detailed proposal.  There were several other talks on topics including biomedical research, agricultural research, research in universities, physics, mathematics, research in industry and research in the north east. 

My personal favourite was Professor Spenta Wadia’s talk on physics, in which he beautifully outlined, in simple language, India’s recent contributions to several areas like string theory, high energy physics, condensed matter and materials science, statistical physics and physical biology[*].  I also liked Professor Gagandeep Kang’s talk on biomedical research.  Prof. Mythily Ramaswamy gave a talk on mathematics.  

(* A previous version of this blog post just mentioned string theory.  This is because (as I have stated in the disclaimer), I was writing from (limited) memory and in no way did I mean to imply that he only talked about string theory!  As a mathematician with an interest in modular forms, string theory stayed back in my memory.)

Among his many questions, Mr. Modi had one for mathematicians: he wanted to know if mathematics could solve the problem of call drops in mobile conversations!  Later, when the presentations got over, I made a comment about applications of cryptography and coding theory in communication problems, but that this field is underrepresented in most Indian institutes [please see addendum below for the mathematics behind call drops].  It was only after returning home that I came to know from my brother that the issue of call drops is, in fact, a very contentious issue nowadays and has also been raised in the parliament. 

In most presentations, the presenters explained and emphasized the need for sustained funding in science if we were to continue the progress and not slide backwards. 

After the presentations were over, it was time to elicit comments from the rest of the audience: by this point, we ran out of time.  But the PM continued to listen to the comments and personally called out the names of people who indicated that they wanted to speak  (either his vision is very strong or he had the seating plans laid out in front of him!). 

Since it was well beyond 6 pm, I thought with some disappointment that he would leave and I would not be able to hear his views on science issues in India.  But, he did speak, and from that point, Modi, the orator, took over.

 After addressing us as ``Aap Diggaj Log,” he started his talk with the observation that we cannot make much progress in the current scenario.  The lack of  openness between the cabinet and scientists as well as overwhelming administrative regulations hindered science.  He recognized that research needs flexibility, and while there had to reasonable checks and balances, one could not expect scientists to keep, in his own words, ``pai pai ka hisaab.”   This generated some laughter and applause.

The next point he made was that there was a lot of overlap between the work done by different science agencies, which do not communicate adequately with each other and are unable to work towards common scientific goals of the nation.  He emphasized, as the news reports mention, that instead of working in isolation, scientists have to come together and take a multidisciplinary approach to solving problems.

One point that the PM kept making repeatedly was that the solutions to most of the problems, be it coordination of resources or addressing specific needs of the nation such as Swachh Bharat, cleaning the Ganges, low agricultural productivity, the contradictory problems of malnutrition and food wastage, better utilization of solar energy, the solutions would have to come from the scientists and not the bureaucracy.  ``Can you do it?” he asked us directly.

He also made some remarks about a disconnect between writing research papers and translating the research into technology.  One of the examples he mentioned was why agricultural research has not addressed the problem of poor yield of pulses in India. 

Towards the end of his speech, he said that he has noted our complaints to him: those of science policy, budget and administration.  But, he too has a complaint, namely the scientific community is not broadminded about optimum sharing and utilization of resources.  His wish list for us was sensitivity to India-specific problems, better coordination among science workers and a multidisciplinary approach. 

 All in all, I certainly understood the PM’s attitude towards science better than before.  It was heartening to note his awareness of science challenges in the country and that his thoughts on science are not restricted to Ganesha and plastic surgery, as many journalists would have us believe.  But, I am writing as an assistant professor whose research work is mostly of a solitary nature and who does not have to deal (much) with administration and bureaucracy.  People in positions of responsibility, who deal directly with the consequences of budgetary cuts and lack of a coherent science policy would have higher expectations of this meeting and its consequences. 

Speaking personally, I came back with a strong feeling that this government perceives the science community as underperforming and wants it to produce more.  Therefore, it is absolutely essential for us early career scientists to keep improving our performance so that we do not feel unempowered in front of any administrator or bureaucrat.  For a scientist, empowerment comes only with productivity.

  -----------------------------     

Addendum: 

My comment is not entirely accurate.  Professor Vijay Chandru (Co-founder and Chairman, Strand Life Sciences), who was also present at the meeting, pointed out the following in a private correspondence:

``While cryptography and coding theory are at the foundations of computing and fault tolerant communications, the problem of call drops is driven more by cellular transmission capacities (# of cell towers and energy considerations) and protocols for handoff between cells. 

The multiple co-existing cellular technologies GSM, 3G, LTE would also add a layer of complexity. I believe the math disciplines involved would be more like stochastic dynamical systems and congestion modelling.

Anurag Kumar, D. Manjunath and Joy Kuri have authored a nice book “Wireless Networking” that makes these connections."

A bird's eye view or a frog's

Long ago, I was discussing some results from a paper with its author, a prolific and dynamic number theorist who has made outstanding contributions to the field at a relatively young age.  The conversation soon veered towards the nature of research and proving new theorems.  He had something very interesting to say:

"There are two kinds of mathematicians: some fly high like birds and can see an entire landscape.  They clearly see the big picture and know where to fly to.  On the other hand, some are like frogs: they cannot see the landscape and have to patiently make their way through the ground with limited vision.  I am the second kind."

I am sure this classification would hold for the sciences in general.

I have been struggling with a calculation for the last few days.  I haven't made much headway so far, but this conversation often comes to mind and prevents me from giving up.  There is hope for frogs!

Would you consider yourself a bird or a frog, or one who switches from one to the other?

When work becomes Saridon

Today morning showed every symptom of turning into a disaster.  I woke up with a headache.  I was also feeling morose and worried about a certain situation. Saridon lowered the headache, but not the moroseness.

Since I was not in the most focused state of mind, I started out with routine tasks: writing out my annual report and the evaluation report for an external thesis.  This student seemed to have done a very good job in writing up his thesis.  Seeing a write up where all the notations, definitions and results are arranged in a logical sequence can do wonders to one's mood and I was soon engrossed in it.  From there onwards, the day picked up.  The relief at taking care of these things instead of postponing them lowered the "cognitive overload" and helped to get back to research with a renewed mind.

I kept working through the day, with a few short breaks to enjoy natural Vitamin D (our building has a lot of open area where one can enjoy sunlight and breeze), a view of Panchvati mountains and CCD Coffee [1] just one floor below.

By evening, I had typed up two pages of a paper [2].  The moroseness had more or less vanished.  It felt nice to have got some work done.  It seems to me that the most recurring challenge in an academic career is to not give in to despair at the beginning of a day: in the absence of immediate deadlines, it is very tempting to give in and postpone work on days of low motivation and regret it afterwards.  A friend of mine, very productive himself, keeps saying that research is simply the art of showing up at work every day and typing away. "One page a day keeps the counsellor away," he says.

Work really is the best anti-depressant, or for that matter, the "best" Saridon.

Meanwhile, soon after reaching home, I received an email which took care of my worry and entirely dispelled the moroseness factor.  I wonder if I would have felt as relieved had I wasted the whole day.

For people who are reading this post, please do share your motivation and productivity hacks.  Or are you the types who never have a bad day?








[1] We also have a filter coffee place in the same building, but I prefer the Cafe Coffee Day vending machine.  Filter coffee is a treat usually reserved for Prakruti at IISc.

[2] The reason this blog is getting updated almost on a daily basis is that I have set some Math writing goals for each day.  The blog writing is done as a self-reward after those goals are reached :-)