Tnahsin Garg's Blog

Mr. Ram was a gifted and brilliant undergraduate student at University of Ayodhya (10.0/10.0 GPA). All the students, staff, and faculty loved/worshipped him immensely and were really looking forward to his graduation. It was an open secret that shortly after getting his Bachelor’s degree, Mr. Ram would be offered a permanent, full-time job in the department. In certain circles, there were even rumors that his position was going to be most senior position ever created, and he would become the kind and generous leader/hero that they deserved. But alas! As the fate had it, even though Mr. Ram was the hero they deserved, he wasn’t the one they needed. Especially, not at that moment, according to Prof. Kaikeyi.

Now, Prof. Kaikeyi was quite hot and had a certain charm over the department head (Prof. Dasrath). So somehow, she convinced him that instead of Mr. Ram, Mr. Bharat, her favorite student, should be given the job instead. Now, Mr. Ram being Mr. Ram, coolheaded and what not, happily agreed to leave Ayodhya for graduate studies in the forests. Mr. Bharat, another old worshipper of Mr. Ram, tried his level-best to tell him that graduate school was pointless if one could get a good-paying job after undergrad only but Mr. Ram didn’t listen. Ultimately, they agreed that Mr. Ram would be allowed to fool around in the forests for about 14 years, pursuing his exotic but unrealistic research ideas. Afterwards, he can come and get the same job in the department which Mr. Bharat was happy to pass on to him anyway.

Thus began Mr. Ram’s painful but adventurous 14-year research journey in the forests. He spent the first 7 years getting an MS and a Ph.D. After that he did not know what to do but still needed to pass the remaining 7 years, so he decided to get a couple of post-docs around the world. Somewhere in this timeline (it’s not clear when), his favorite, most cherished, and pure experimental sample (Sita) gets stolen by a foreign, genius rival (Dr. Ravan). In order to get back his exotic sample Sita, he gathered his collaborators (Sugreev, Hanuman) and laid siege to Dr. Ravan’s lab. Also, I should mention that Dr. Ram’s collaborators happened to be monkeys (bear with me please, it’s all true) and by working with them he also acquired the highly sought-after skills in academia, i.e., teamwork, diversity, and inclusion. Finally, with the aid of a disgruntled ex-group member (Vibhishan) from Dr. Ravan’s lab, his monkey friends, as well as bureaucrats from heaven, Dr. Ram was able to retrieve his precious sample Sita.

Suddenly, everybody, like everybody in the battlefield, even the corpses started giving uncomfortable stares to Dr. Ram as he was about to put the sample Sita in his pristine vial. It was then he wondered aloud, “What if my precious sample Sita has become contaminated?” The only way to sterilize sample Sita was to put it through fire ignoring the possibility that the fire may alter its chemical structure. But lo and behold! Sample Sita survived the ignition test and was made pure again. Afterwards, everybody became extremely satisfied and extremely happy. Then, the whole army jumped into this mind-blowing airplane which could fly forward, backward, and sideways at your will, and flew back together to the University of Ayodhya.

Back in Ayodhya, all the worshippers, Mr. Bharat, and even Prof. Kaikeyi were eagerly waiting for Dr. Ram to come back and bless them. Shortly after his arrival, Dr. Ram was finally crowned as the Head of Department. And everybody, including the burnt sample Sita, went on to live merrily and happily ever after.

A few days after everybody had calmed down, Mr. Bharat pulled Prof. Ram aside and remarked to him,

“Bro Ram! Btw, I told you, you would have got this job 14 years ago anyway. Why didn’t you listen to me back then? Poor sample Sita had to go through all this ordeal of living in forests, getting kidnapped, and then getting burnt.”

“Oh actually, I really like traveling. And I really wanted to go out, see the world, and get some experience abroad. You won’t understand it Bharat. It’s called wanderlust.”

This is not financial advice. But if you’re as ignorant as I am, especially when it comes to finance and investing, you’ll buy into it anyway.

So last week when the mass hysteria about investing in bitcoins penetrated my Facebook account, yours truly too caved into the “fear of missing out” phenomenon and jumped on the bandwagon. My monthly salary had just dropped in, and instead of putting the leftovers (money left after paying my rent, bills) into my Bank of America Savings account like a nice boy, I decided to burn some cash. Specifically, in a moment of uncontrollable lust, I downloaded the App Coinbase on my phone and purchased the cryptocurrency Ethereum worth $100.

Now, you may ask, why I purchased Ethereum instead of Bitcoin? What’s the difference between the two?

I wish I knew.

Rather, I wish I was able to understand. All I knew was that Ether was cheaper, had gotten better returns (~6,000%) over the year, and it sounded cooler. That’s it. That’s the level of understanding I have about blockchains and cryptocurrencies. And with this limited knowledge, if I can be tempted to burn my hard-earned money, it is likely that many others are doing the same. Which means, this phenomenon is indeed a bubble.

But before it bursts, it does offer a thrilling ride for anyone who chooses to ride it. On Nov. 30th when the price of bitcoin dropped from $11k to $9.5k, I knew it was not too bad of a time to invest, and that’s when I threw in my $100 bucks. Now, over the course of three days, I am seeing weird but exceptional returns on that investment because of the recent bull run. At the time of writing this post, my humble $100 have turned into $109, giving me a 9% return over the short span of 3 days. Comparing this to <0.1% that my savings account in Bank of America gives, that too over the long span of 365 days, these cryptocurrencies really turn me on. At least for now. Also, considering the potential for investors to conduct private (illegal? money laundering?) transactions that avoid borders, governments, and middle-men (like big banks), these currencies may provide further pleasure.

Allow me to inform you that I neither possess an MBA in finance nor a strong background in mathematics. But, if you’re tempted to go and burn some cash, feel free to use the following tips which have been shaped by my long and extensive experience (full 3 days) in dealing with cryptocurrencies:

1)      Choose an amount that you’re OKAY to burn. An amount your family won’t get mad at you for burning or an amount that you can easily hide from them.

2)      Try to hit “buy” when you think the prices are sliding down instead of creeping up. Monitor the trend for at least a full minute before you empty your wallet.

3)      Use a popular and trustworthy site for conducting this business. I’ve heard that Coinbase is the most popular, and if you use my invitation link, you get $10 bonus once you spend $101 or more. That is an immediate 10% return.

4)      Finally, if you lose money or your family gets mad at you because of this blog you’re legally entitled to blame everyone except me.

When I was small, my parents took me to the Mansa Devi temple, in Chandigarh, every year. At each visit, they would religiously prepare prasad (food) and then distribute it in one of the dining halls where langar (free meal) was given. I would often help them serve and distribute this food to countless devotees sitting on the floor. At the end of our visit, we would stroll by those countless small shops outside the temple and buy cheap collectibles and toys. At that time, my understanding of this whole annual, temple-visiting exercise was limited. For me, therefore, going to Mansa Devi was always about getting a brand new toy.

I did not understand then why should we bother with pleasing a goddess that seemed too unpredictable in the first place. I had prayed and requested several luxurious, impossible gifts from her, and she did not deliver on several occasions. Also, I used to wonder why should we go about feeding the poor and hungry when every donation you made seemed to land in a bottomless pit. What I got in return for my silly questions was that “Good Karma must be done. You will be rewarded, sooner or later.”

Fast forward to present and here I am, smiling at my foolish, younger self.

Thousands of miles away from Chandigarh, here in New Jersey, and decades later, it seems that I am getting rewarded after all. My wife has recently gone to visit her parents back home in India, leaving me behind, literally poor and hungry. Luckily, however, there’s a Durga temple right next to where I live, and they happen to offer free food every Sunday evening. So, yours truly, goes there every Sunday, very religiously, and reaps his rewards. So much so, this devotee has even optimized the timing of the entry into the dining hall so that not only I get a full, free dinner but also an extraordinary quantity of left-over food which I can take home. This left-over food that I bring home lasts me for several days and before it’s too long another Sunday pops by and yours truly lives to tell the tale.

Now I know the depth and profundity of that holy exercise. Now I understand what Karma is. Now, after all these years, I know what they meant by the words: “Good Karma must be done. You will be rewarded, sooner or later.”

Twenty-eight is a dangerous age. The syllables themselves, when pronounced slowly, t-w-e-n-t-y-e-i-g-h-t, hint the beginning of an ominous era. This era, inches away from the age of twenty-nine, is your one-way, non-refundable ticket into the downward spiral commonly known as “The Thirties”. 

Try it, my friend. Say it out loud. Lay it out slow. Twenty-eight. No other number comes even close. I know you’re gonna say, “How about twenty-nine?” At twenty-nine, you see, you have lost the right to complain. By that age, you pretty much know you’re quite deep into this abyss. You signed up for this. It’s like complaining about a terrible movie when you’ve already suffered halfway through it. Either you quit early or you stay till the end. Don’t complain halfway, alright.

And the elderly folks, who at this point are seriously perturbed, shaking their head, muttering, “Boy, you don’t even know what thirty-four, what thirty-eight, and what forty-four feels like..”, do inspire sympathy in my heart but I’ve only this to say in return, “Yes, you’re right. I don’t even know. Because I’m not there yet. All I know is how twenty-eight feels like, because it happened recently, only last month.”

In the mornings, there’s this occasional gray strand of hair that stares back at me from the mirror, arresting my thought-process, disrupting my toothbrush’s rhythm. In the evenings, a weariness begins to grow over me, precisely when the clocks strike ten as if time and slumber had a secret collusion of their own and their sole motive was to lull my life into a peaceful, eight-hour long death. No more can I push my sleeping patterns beyond the respectable and appropriate routine prescribed for adults, no more can I afford to die for less than eight hours every night and still carry on the show.  No more.

Twenty-eight, my friend, is a dangerous age.

However, you made it this far, safe and secure like a carefully wrapped present, sent from the past, so a person can also argue that it may not be that bad of a thing, after all. And this very person, this devil’s advocate, could further argue, in an interfering but polite manner, “Why, sir? Why do you discount the privilege of making this far? Why, do you not appreciate the beauties of this cosmos that you were allowed to stumble through and the adventures that are waiting to receive thy presence? Why sir, why discount all these in such a convenient yet thankless manner? Twenty-eight, and every age, in fact, is a beautiful age!”

I won’t argue with my devil’s advocate because firstly, he may actually have a point and secondly, he’s a little too persistent to be argued with.

So, you, yes you, dear reader, dear friend, help me out. And help me decide. At twenty-eight, should I be scared or should I be grateful?

If you can’t choose a side, consider pronouncing the following syllables: “twenty-eight”. Say it out loud. Lay it out slow.

It’s only been two weeks since I moved to New Jersey, US and I already have a premature opinion about the place. Being a researcher, I’ve never complained about a lack of intellectual stimulation in my professional life - there’s always enough and sometimes a bit too much - and my new work is quite satisfying. Its my personal life that has gone through dull periods, primarily due to the nature of places I’ve been before. Luckily, this time, it seems, not only my personal but also my artistic life, may find a silver lining in this brave new world.

Today, I visited the township of Edison where once Thomas Edison had a research lab but now is a place brimming with Indians. In a population of 100,000, 25-30% of residents are Indian American - highest percentage of Indian origin people in the US. It’s a big deal, if you ask me. 

Commonly known as Little India, or the Indian capital of NJ, the town is like an advanced, futuristic version of an Indian city. Ranging from Reliance’s Big Cinemas where you can find all Bollywood movies to Patel’s and Patidar’s grocery stores which have delicacies imported from several Indian states - there’s everything for the Indian inside you. And restaurants? Let me just say, “Hazaaron khwahishen poori hongi”, whether it is a craving for a jalebi or a paan. 

I must admit, after seeing so many Indian things here, I’m a little overwhelmed. And hence his blog post, which basically grew out of a FB post that was becoming too long. 

These past two weeks in New Jersey already seem richer than the 2 years I had in Iowa. (And let’s not even talk about the 3 years in Denmark!). The only good thing about having lived a difficult life in remote corners of the world is that you begin to appreciate the true value of a good, comfortable life. 

There’s an exquisite glory in the life of a man who has lived in extreme poverty. For when he is lifted out of poverty, and brought into the land of the rich, he experiences a joy which is not only overwhelming but also rare in the life of the privileged.

As the air quality index of New Delhi breaks new records, two highly-opinionated-but-otherwise-useless-citizens spare their deep minds on the issue.

Gareeb_Intellectual: Yaar, don’t you think its interesting that the chief minister of one of the most polluted cities in the world himself suffers from chronic cough?

Ameer_Intellectual: Haha, that’s mildly interesting. What’s even more interesting is, that every time he speaks (and coughs), he literally spreads-

Gareeb_Intellectual: Awareness?

Ameer_Intellectual: Exactly. 

Gareeb_Intellectual: But jokes apart, I think his governance isn’t too bad. A problem came up, and he immediately announced specific solutions to solve it. Whether they work or not, time will tell. 

Ameer_Intellectual: Arey ghanta they will work. Just hassle for us. A real solution would be to build huge glass domes to cover selected neighborhoods of the city, and you know keep the air inside the dome regulated 24x7, and -

Gareeb_Intellectual: And your daddy will pay for it?

Ameer_Intellectual: Money is not the issue. The issue is that you can’t put the rich and the poor together in a bus. They are two completely different species - they can’t co-exist like that. It’s so goddamn dangerous.  

Gareeb_Intellectual: Don’t worry dude. Of all the people, you will be fine. The poisonous air won’t get to you, there are many in line before you. Just prop up a bunch of air purifiers in your villa and get additional cars, and don’t step out much, that will -

Ameer_Intellectual: I know, I know man. But still, all these pollution-related news really upset me. I mean, how can these poor people be so stupid. Damn these truck drivers and trash burners. Why should we breathe the toxic air they create? Why should we suffer? Anyway. I need to calm down. Do you have a cigarette?

I am not experienced enough to properly write on this subject yet but after spending considerable time visiting my partner’s extending family, I do have some rare tips which maybe of of some value to the like-minded, inexperienced, and Shy Jamai. And by the way, I’m back in India and have successfully grown a belly. Things couldn’t be more swell. 

Tip #1

In the usual event of being overfed at an invited lunch or dinner, the Shy Jamai may assume the ‘Hasta Bandhasana’ pose at the dining table. It involves wide spreading of your hands over the plate, fingers parted, with backs of the hands facing upwards. Simultaneously, the overfed yogi must shake his head sideways intimating his polite refusal. It is of utmost importance that no kind of eye contact is made with the over-excited host, who is intent upon attaining the sinister pleasure of over feeding a young Jamai by employing various matriarchal and/or patriarchal forces.

Tip #2

In an odd situation where the

Shy Jamai

is trapped between a bunch of brothers and uncles from the Other side, the inevitable need to make small talk may arise. Please note that an expression-less face and nominal silence may be mistaken as arrogance. So if small talk is difficult for you, consider smiling and laughing heartily (if possible), at all jokes and characters present. Good conversation starters with random dudes and chachas/taayas can include asking their name and occupation, and then hoping that the magical thing called “conversation” will happen. If it doesn’t, don’t worry, somebody will break the ice and begin to overfeed you.

Tip #3

In the event of a violent clash that may erupt between the hosts and guests over the exchange of shaguns (envelopes laced with Mata Laxmi), find yourself a quiet corner and hide until the kids stop crying. Don’t even think about getting into it, as it involves highly complicated economics. You must have been provided with a complimentary coconut by this time, so try to play with it, and pretend you’re unaware of whatever stuff that’s going on. This way you will be left alone with your coconut, and you might even escape unscathed.

Tip #4

If you, dear

Shy Jamai, don’t like meeting a lot of people, and happen to be a struggling writer, these meetings with your new extended family may be of some use after all. For e.g., pay close attention to any interesting characters that you might come across. They may fit nicely in your next novel! 

But don’t overdo this novel plotting thing as it may sometimes leave you staring into nothing. And if your field of vision, somehow, by some ill-chance, ends up being directed towards the bosom of an aunty or a parayi woman, things could get pretty dangerous. Trust me on that one. So, be careful out there.

This post is long due. I’ve been wanting to do this post since March, when I returned from a month long trip to India, but other, seemingly important things like finishing my PhD degree and defending my thesis came in the way and so I was not able to get to it until now. Luckily, the storm has passed away and I have survived (to tell the tale). I have a plenty of time now because basically I’m unemployed I’ve a few months of vacation - a scenario I could abuse to do some soul-searching trolling, blogging, and maybe write that goddamned novel. 

But oh, enough about me. How are things with you, you non-existent readers? 

Travelling in India in Feb-March, 2015 I was bombarded with so many small stories and incidents that I couldn’t help noting them down. After living about five years abroad, I’ve unknowingly developed an “NRI attitude” and thus things that appear interesting to me maybe downright offensive silly and trivial to the average Indian reader. Having said that, here are a few “recollections”:

1) After some deep introspection, I’ve come to the conclusion that my love for India is a direct function of the emptiness level of my stomach at any given moment. On a full stomach, I seem to care little about the country, and I plot ways to stay abroad and live a comfortable life. But on an empty stomach, India suddenly becomes a solution to all problems, and I begin fantasizing about all that street food one could devour in a lifetime and how having eaten lots of good Indian food in one’s life would be a greater achievement than anything else. 

So, every time I ate something exquisite on my trip I suffered a existential crisis. I asked myself, “Why? Why have I spent five years of my life living in remote, desolate villages places of Iowa and Denmark? Has it been worth travelling and living abroad and missing all that good food that could have been eaten?” Then I began to ask even more trippy questions like, “Do we make our choices or our choices make us?”

2) I met this waiter at the Calangute beach in Goa who was extremely intelligent and hospitable. As I chatted with him, I figured out he had a Masters degree in History from University of Calcutta, and was unable to find a better job in Goa. There, in front of me, stood a live victim of academic inflation. It made me wonder if I too would suffer a similar fate, one day. 

3) I’ve grown up in Chandigarh and lived there for nearly 18 years before moving out. But it was the first time on this trip that I actually noticed the homeless people on several traffic lights and junctions. I’m sure they have been there all the time but on this trip their presence suddenly became too noticeable. They were no more a part of the background noise; they became, as I looked left and right from the safe, confines of my four-wheeled metallic box, the rising heroes and villains of the road. 

4) In India, there’s the complicated economics of exchanging envelopes of cash upon meeting with relatives. Previously, when I was a kid, I viewed the chaotic spectacle of adults thrusting cash in each other’s hands/pockets only as an outsider. It often used to terrify me, and I would worry that some sort of a fight has broken out between the aunties and uncles of the family at the end of the meeting and winner of the battle would be the team which ends up transferring more net cash to the other. Although, paradoxically, receiving much more than what you have given or receiving much less than what you have given are also not the desired endings of the battle. Unfortunately, this time I was not a kid anymore, and I found myself inside the battle with little knowledge of the unsaid rules. There are no strict rules defining “who” one should consider giving money and “how much” the amount should be. Such decisions are mostly taken upon a whim and based upon vague concepts like love etc. 

5) At the Mansa Devi Mandir, which has been a popular hangout place for many citizens of Chandigarh, religion and business still goes hand in hand. On one side are the countless people crouching over the feet of deities in search of some hidden treasure and on the other are the rows of shopkeepers who thrive on the expense of people buying gifts to please the all mighty. While the demands of bhakts have not changed much - all they want is to be smacked in face by a bit of good luck - the temple has undergone a major technological evolution. The prashad in the form of misri (crystallized sugar, a substance our brain loves) now comes in fancy colored pan-masala type sachets - which one should still accept with both hands. The donations are now computerized, and CCTV cameras are abundant throughout the complex. Finally, at strategic corners in the temple, you may now find the new age bhakts taking selfies with their favorite gods.  

A review of ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’ by Dale Carnegie.

In the beginning, I hated this book. I abhorred it from the depths of my heart. Partially, it was so because I had terrible preconceived notions about it. I had picked this book essentially as a ‘fun’ book in the midst of all that heavy reading, so that I can laugh through the whole text and write a sinister 1-star review at the end. Ripping apart the book and its philosophy in my review would have given me great pleasure. Unfortunately, as I read it through and finished it finally, I’m just unable to exhibit the contempt I had originally planned. 

In the first few pages/chapters of the book, your skeptical self might see the whole thing as a program to turn you into a manipulative creature that considers ‘flattery’ a way of life, the whole theme of this ‘being-friendly’ conspiracy isn’t as bad as you might like to think, especially if you allow yourself to be a little less cynical. The book basically teaches you to be a ‘nice’ person. And while niceness is an inherent quality, sparkled only upon the blessed ones, those individuals who can’t help being ‘not nice’ due to several psychological and societal reasons may, I stress may, benefit from consciously employing some of the tricks explained by Mr. Carnegie. 

But why, you may ask, one should even consider being nice? Well. This is a difficult question – a question I’ve myself puzzled over at various odd times in the night. I think I’m close to getting a tentative answer. It goes like this: The world is full of people. And it is getting fuller and fuller. Look around you, idiot. No matter what you do or pursue, you’ll, ultimately, in some way or manner, small or big, end up with having to interact with these people around you. You can romanticize being a total recluse, you can go to great lengths convincing yourself that you don’t need friends or favors, that you’ll get it all done by yourself and so on – but you will, at some point, find yourself utterly alone and may, may have that tiny little doubt arising in you one more time and asking you, again and again, “Why, why? Why couldn’t you make friends? Why couldn’t you ask for help? Why?” Nevertheless, I salute thee if you do pull off such a life. You might actually get something done that is worthwhile after all. Besides, you don’t have a choice anyway. Nobody does. Moving on, if you’re not that crazy, it will be a good idea to learn to deal with people around you in the most efficient manner. Learn that thing, diplomacy, you see. Politics-sholitics. It will take you places.

Some interesting tactics that I learnt and still remember from the book:

1) On a day to day basis, when chatting with friends/family, seriously avoid getting into debates. Maybe you’re right, maybe you will ‘win’ the debate by throwing all your facts and intellect in the face of the other person, but you might not be able to truly change the mindset of your opponent. Humans tend to nurture their ego incessantly in such matters, and no matter what you say, your opponent is likely to continue to believe what he/she originally believed in spite of all your logic and eloquence. Instead, a better approach, is to first befriend the hostile creature, agree to its diametrically opposite views and slowly and steadily introduce your ideas in its head. Inception, yaar, simple. 

2) Whenever you give a review or an opinion, no matter how shitty the object is and no matter how loathsome it is to you, it is good idea to wrap your criticism in a blanket of sincere praise. Begin and end with praise, for example. In the past, I’ve been guilty of showering my honest opinions on several objects (both living and non-living), and I now realize that I’ve been somewhat stupid. I don’t know how much I will be able to improve myself in the future, but from now on, I can, at least, proceed with calculated stupidity. 

Gawd, I’m tired of writing this now. Go read this book if you are really into knowing these tactics, etc. Don’t make me write all of them for you. 

Final Verdict : The title pretty much says it all. Also, if you think you need a couple of hundred more friends on Facebook – this is the book for you.

Rating: 3/5

“In the Heart of the nation,

a Broom has begun to sweep.

As a storm of dust starts to sprawl

the Hand finds itself buried deep,

and the Lotus prepares to fall.”

- Tnahsin Garg