Sunday, August 05, 2018


I admit it. I've been unfaithful, and so many things have happened in the wake of my infidelity. For one, identity theft on this blog and then its return. Yes, my name got stolen. (So I forgot to renew my domain name. But that's a  small matter). While I procrastinated on administrative efficiency as I am wont to do, some cunning person of seemingly human proclivities bought my domain name. Now why someone who is not called either Mathangi or Krishnamurthy or a combination of the aforementioned would want a domain name called is beyond me but such are the ways of the world, with its hoarders, speculators and name-stealers. So then I contemplated chin in palms (both), for suitable alternative domain names, and then a year passed, and then said stealer let go, so here we are back in gloriously full nomenclature.

What other acts of perfidy have I performed, ask you? Well, I wrote a book. On second thoughts, I should have stuck to the blog. But ah well, I wrote a book. And then proceeded to use it as an excuse to not write a word for the next six months.

You can buy the book here, should you so be moved and there is a review to be found here, in case, like me, you are permanently suspicious and never quite an assertive consumer. There is also a very kind goodreads review here.

The book was launched in January of this year, and there is detailed pre-release interview here, and a launch description here. That's that. I have now officially sung for my supper. Sort of.

Ahem, if any of you do read it, please leave me a review either on Amazon or goodreads; or even better, send in a book review to the journal of your choice. You get publications on your resume, I get a testimony; satte pe satta and other such. (Ignore shady reference)

The beginning of the semester is upon us and I am inundated with deadlines, unfinished papers, incomplete syllabi, and fragmented class notes. Some weeks it takes effort to conjure oneself into the world. At the beginning of Tom Ford's beautifully photographed film, "A Single Man", the character played by Colin Firth, guides viewers through his morning, little by little assembling his armor of self, declaring how, it takes him a while each morning, to become himself.

My days usually begins slowly. Things work on automaton mode until the injection of caffeine. Much like my scooter, I choke until I can start.Momentarily and paradoxically, memories bind oneself to the moment. Montages of different times. Vague, and shimmery. It must be the antihistamines. Did I mention that I got bitten in the foot by a forest ant? And that my foot ballooned. One moment it's my foot, and five minutes later, it is an alien body part of a larger being. Gigantic. I didn't realize that I had this much room to expand.

I have a whiteboard and it bears lists. It summarily induces artificial order. A few hours later, order recedes and artificiality intercedes. We are back to a state of endless ennui. The mind is throwing an Everest-sized tantrum and nothing will tranquilize its will to be tranquilized.

But for today, I am satisfied because I have a composed a syllabus, a lesson plan and a reading list, and these are nothing short of works of art. This is one of the beauties of a teaching job; to be able to formulate and forecast a weekly plan that displays some modicum of orchestration and rising beauty. One week must lead to another, fugue-like, and together they must produce mellifluousness, if not learning.  And this I have done. Hallelujah. Sunday. I leave you with my current song of the day.