Fear, Terror and Exhilaration of Climbs and Falls -- 11th September, 2011

I was up on rock shelf, 6 feet above the ground (below the leopard) -- a rock jumping off of which a few weeks ago I had injured my heel, causing me to limp till almost now, since then.

I looked down. I knew I could do it. I also knew that I was afraid. Very afraid. Limping until only a few days ago, memories of my last jump from there were still very fresh. I knew that I could step down onto the portion 4 feet above the ground and take practice jumps, but I wanted to do it in one shot -- for I knew that in life I might come across situations in which I will just have to make a calculated jump, based on past experience, rather than have the luxury of a quick warm up. More importantly, I knew that I plan, just for fun, on situations in life where I simply have to rely on my training -- with no scope for training from lower, nor higher -- knowing that a properly executed procedure will ensure fun and safety. So, there I stood. 6 feet higher than the road, and 2 feet away from it.

I visualized my move. I imagined that I would have to launch myself, then reposition my feet in mid air, then land, so as to do a reverse block to send my body forward, and then tuck into a roll. I imagined myself slowly moving through the air, relaxing my legs, preparing to coil them like a spring the moment the ground touched my feet.

And yet, in silence, I stood. I was afraid. Between bouts of when there were lots of passers by I practiced going through my motions with my legs, but my legs felt like they were made of lead, and I hardly got any fluidity out of them. Two cute girls lying on the grass, across the street, were cheering me on, and the passers by were giving me smiles. It was all very nice, really -- both, the young ones, who expected a visual treat, as well as the ones who looked like they had sons my age, and were thinking "I know what you're up to -- I've got boys, myself." Yeah, I loved that knowing look on the latter's faces -- perhaps because the looks on their faces betrayed an air that what I was doing was safe, whereas the looks on the younger women were simply almost alluring and inviting, as if saying "If you survive, you'll get a warm hug to melt you in comfort."

Even some the guys there looked up, like they knew they would like what they would see. I felt like I was entertaining the passing crowd. It was amazing. It was the 10th anniversary of 11th September, and everyone was happy to anticipate a cool looking stunt -- no one showed even a bit of animosity to this fully bearded guy. While I stood there, tensed, and afraid, I was truly joyous at how people felt.

I stood there for what seemed like forever, despite my having gone through phases where I felt ready to jump, and barely stopped short of it, and phases where I simply wondered to myself: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" There were periods when I was calm and collected, and despite feeling my heartbeat, and despite breathing heavily from anxiety, I went through the motions in my mind, trying to ingrain them within myself; and there were periods when I was barely short of freaking out, my heart beating like a powerful hammer against the inside of my chest, my temples beating like the drums of muscles on strike (or the strike at the nearby boat house was getting to me, haha), and the veins around my eyeballs pulsing, so I could tell when my heart beat my when my vision turned blurry (I know, dehydration is a bitch!).

I knew that I could climb down at any moment. I knew that I could simply climb up, then walk around the statue of the leopard, and down the hill, but I stayed. In fact, a guy who was there with the two girls resting across the street talked to my friend, who was waiting for me to finish with my little adrenaline fix, came to me, concerned, and told me about the walk around the hill that I had already scouted. Of course, I told him that I wanted to jump simply because I wanted to. It was very nice, really, that the girls whom he was with were cheering me on.

Of course, these things come down to very personal decisions. The guy who had just come to tell me about the walk around path went back, telling me "Break a leg." He was simply giving me a friendly warning about what could happen. Of course, I knew what I was doing, so I replied "You can take me to the hospital", to which his two female friends, and the passing my ladies and gentlemen started laughing. I knew, of course, from the get-go, that a go or a no-go was entirely my own, and that no amount of sincere well wishing cautions from those not in the know of how to perform these activities, and no amount of cheering from even the most sincere well wisher should be allowed to overturn one's personal decision as to whether or not to go ahead with the 'trick' (for lack of a better word), for it is one's own well being that one is dealing with, and weighing the risk of getting hurt versus the reward for pulling it off is a very personal decision, and only the one committing the act can know how well he/she can perform the act, and how much he/she has himself/herself under control. In moments like this, it all comes down to feelings -- how well does one feel about the jump? If one feels well, then he might be able to control himself through the motions, keeping his head cool, and his self safe. If one is hesitant, then he might do something wrong, as part of a reflex, and severely jeopardize his well being. Superstitious as this may all seem, one's thoughts govern one's subtle actions,  and hence, one's well being.

At one point the girls across the street even brought out a camera, and that made it very tempting to jump, but I eventually got a hold of myself, for I was still having muscle hesitations right as soon as I placed my center of gravity near the brink.

I made many, many attempts to smoothly, and willfully, clear the brink, but each time I failed, and had to take a rest while letting passers underneath go by. Eventually, I made eye contact with a lady who seemed wilder than me. She was on a bike, with a friend (who was also on a bicycle), and she had a wild look in her eyes, like she was excited at the prospect of what she was expecting to see, while her face showed an expression more akin to "I've seen my own sons do stuff like this, young man; now, let's see if you can be charming with what you can do." It was almost as if she would have a smirk on her face if I failed, for she despite the approving smile I could see a hint of a challenge in her face. For her, I truly wanted to jump, but even then my better judgement held, and I refrained, and she paddled on.

Right after she had passed, of course, I went through my motions, again, visualizing exactly what i would do at each point, and then I jumped; by then, she had turned around to backtrack on her friend, who had fallen behind. I knew that she had watched me as soon as I saw her approaching bicycle, approaching from a slight distance, as I came out of my tuck and roll while hearing a joyous shriek. It had not been my best landing, given that I had almost hit that tarmac with my right knee (I actually felt a slight touch, and almost panicked), but I had not hit any part of myself hard, certainly not my heels. At that point I was far happier that I had made her happy with my jump than I was at having entertained two very pretty girls lying comfortably in the grass -- for I think that for that one moment I had the attention of a like minded individual.

After this, of course, my friend and I headed to my favorite 'rock face' in Central Park (New York, New York) -- the back wall of Belvedere Castle. I had only planned on traversing the rock, from side to side, but somehow I managed to reach (with my hand) the semicircular looking barrier-like artifact, perhaps 12 feet off the ground. Of course, I did try to traverse, but eventually got exhausted, and had to abandon my effort when my right hand cramped up and gave out. By then, I had learned to keep my waist close to the rock wall, looking over my shoulder for find footholds for my down climb; I had started re-learning (from my trips to an indoor rock-climbing gym) techniques of pseudo stemming with my hands, which is very useful in places without a satisfactory ledge to hang from, with the finger tips; I learned that an untrained spotter (my friend) had to be told to request people to not walk right underneath me -- and I learned that a spotter with no experience in things like this also needs to be told to stay out of the possible paths that I would take if I fell, and needed to land into a roll; I learned that I did not yet have the stamina to free solo into high places, and I was seriously thinking about the importance of climbing with a rope, in case I fell, and I was also considering doing the 'hangdog'; I learned that while climbing I was relying too much on my fingers, and too little on my legs, and that that needs to be corrected, for that is becoming a severe handicap; I became acquainted with the terror of the intimate and present danger of slipping off the rock, and falling too far to do a safe landing, given my free running skills; I thus learned the importance of turning back before exhaustion (and I was breathing very heavily to keep my arms going -- hoping that I would be providing my arms a boost in blood oxygen levels as the lactic acid levels built up and started 'burning' through my forearms) compounded the risk of calling, and thus, of serious injury -- for falling while dazed and unprepared would hardly leave a tired me in a position to reorient my body for even an attempt at a proper landing; I learned how to coaxingly caress the rocks, hoping that they would provide some new place to hold with my hands, so that I could grab hold, while still keeping my limbs moving, so as to not get cramps; and I learned the meaning of exhausted anxiety while still on an adrenaline and endorphin high, up on a high. I slowly came down, and not finding too many good hand holds and foot holds, I jumped off when my feet were 4 feet off the ground -- this landing was pretty smooth, too; though it was much more flawed than the one from earlier today, but it felt good in the sense that I was able to walk away without the slightest injury.

Even now, 9 hours after the climbs and the falls (jumps) I can still see in my mind's eye what I saw as I went through the air during both my dismounts. I can see the world floating by, underneath, then getting closer and closer, and then myself blanking out, only remembering a slight touch on my right knee (almost as soft as a Mother's loving touch) as I went into the roll, and hearing the joyful, wild lady's scream as I came out of it. For the roll at Belvedere Castle, I can remember the ground getting closer, and closer, until I rolled to a side -- now that think about it, the roll's lack of smoothness might have been due to the fact that I had neither decided beforehand, nor pre-ingrained in myself whether I would be using a variation of the forward roll, or the back ward roll, and the staccato nature of my roll might even have been due to my perhaps trying both ways at the same time (at this point, of course, I can no longer really be sure).

These activities did not leave me exhilarated, nor does the thought of doing these things get me excited -- any more. I just happen to enjoy them when I am in the midst of doing them. To create a very crude, and tasteless, analogy, it is almost as bad as doing research work like it was mindless sex (but not quite), not even due to liking it (yeah, I know, what would I know, right? Haha), and not really expecting to enjoy it, but rather, only being grateful on the few occasions when one just happens to enjoy it (yes, you guessed it: I feel that studying physical phenomenon from text books is akin to mental masturbation).

So, perhaps life is more than just a bunch of administrative hurdles, punctuated with bouts of pre-planned pleasure -- perhaps life has more to taking the time to enjoy things by doing them, rather than simply expecting a quick high out of them. Just a thought.

Rain Songs, Measures of Dreams -- Friday, 19th August, 2011

Swimming in Schlieren

Saw the rain and couldn't stop thinking about swimming in schlieren.
The thickening layer of such smooth transition between water and the heavens.
A restive cushion beneath, and a tumultuous pelting above,
Tempered by a thin haze, a fizz
So much more invigorating than a shower
And yet, so unlike the torment beneath a waterfall.
A sensation of floating without feeling a surface;
Poking right through, to breathe
And yet, not feeling that tension when falling back in.
Water above, water below.
Stark sounds above, a subdued, misty trance below.
A cold spa above, and a relaxing lull below.
An invigorating gusto to breathe
To breathe among all the splash and water
And yet, to float without that sinking sensation.
It is indeed the measure of a dream.

Torrents in the Rain -- a Walk to the Prayer Hall.
Saw torrents in the rain, flowing down pavements like tributaries down the hills.
Saw lightning brighten up the earth and the sky with an eerie blue delight.
Heard thunder roaring triumphantly,
Making the pouring rain sound cold as dead stones.
Saw a joy through the soaking wet, a serenity in motion, when the want of that motion would have caused despair;
For my destination I knew, a place to give me calm, and the walk was like a carefree little adventure, over calmed pavements and heavy traffic.
It was a serenity without despair.

P.S. I know that I first posted the above two to my Facebook status, but this way they are indexable, and for future reference, far more accessible.
P.S.S. I know these are not songs, but I needed a name, and these thoughts, for me, have a musical quality.

Sweetheart, you are my drug!

Hello Sweetheart,

I was talking to our cousin, yesterday -- the one who just got engaged. I was telling her about how my Mom (back, before my kindergarten days) used to sing that old Bengali song
"Orey Mamoni
"Amar Cho-kher-o pani
"Anchol diye muchey diye jaash Mamoni"
(I never quite figered why her fixation with that song, given that she has no daughter)
and my annoyance at the words
"Tui je hobi por
"Jokhon Ashbe-re tor Bor"
because you were always on my mind (and let's face it, I was hopelessly in love with you; and -- in a fraternal way -- I still am) and I did not like the thought that after you got married you would not be part of our family, any more. For many years, after you got married, I rejoiced because I figured that I had been right, and my Mom had been wrong -- after all, I got a DulaBhai to talk to (personally, and professionally), and you did not stop being my Sister (cousin, but I don't know any better). Right then, however, I stopped, just as I got to the words
"Amar e-ghor shunno korey jabi onno ghor"
because it was then that I realized that you had left a void in my life -- you left a certain sense of emptiness.

You see, you did a lot more than just take me out and buy me candy (when I learned to walk) and play "guess who's the pretty girl covering your eyes from behind your back", and sit me in your lap and trim my nails -- you created a persona that traveled with me far and wide -- for even in my darkest days and loneliest nights your thoughts brightened my horizons, and in a sense brightened my skies. You see, when my Mom and I first left our home country, to live with my Dad, I suddenly lost everyone I knew, and I figured that people only came into my life to go away, and that no one was going to stay, and by the time I started kindergarten (at age 5) I was of the mindset "If people are going to come into my life just to go away, then why bother making friends at all?"

Even during those days, however, your thoughts would brighten my days, and I would cheer myself up as I fondly remembered the times that I had spent with you -- something that I ended up continuing to do, without even thinking about it, long after I had started school, and my Mom had successfully forced me to make friends. From what I remember of that period of my life, there was a chunk of time when you were the only positive thought in my life. Sure, as I grew older I got more experiences with things that I liked -- like riding my bicycle -- and the need for thinking of all the times that I had been around you reduced, but it never quite went away. In fact, even when I was an undergrad (i.e., I was doing my bachelors) years I often wanted to tell my Mom "I don't EVER want to like another girl that much again -- but if I do, then I'm going to marry her."

No girl has ever really filled that void that you left behind, and perhaps I have even been the Wandering Aengus about this, but the fond memories of the relaxed times that I have had with you I shall perhaps have forever -- for you gave me a tranquility, a peace of mind from the things that caused me to stay on edge long before I was five (things like how I was treated by my Dad's side of the family and how they behaved with my Mom; things like how our Grandma treated her daughters; the fact that there had recently been a divorce in the family and that since the divorced Aunt was someone my Mom could have a long conversation with I had figured that my parents were next; the fact that my paternal cousins had not changed their attitude towards guns and that I thus risked getting shot at again; the fact that I could not trust my Mom to keep herself safe, given how she had gotten into your pond -- and I had not known that it was too shallow for her to drown in, and she did not tell me that for about 17 years, despite all my complaints about recurring nightmares -- without knowing how to swim, and thus, apparently, risked the life of the person whom I cared about most in the world; and things like how my seemingly sadistically sarcastic Mom used to taunt me about being mad, every time I goofed up on an academic question, thus increasing my, then seemingly rational, fear that I would be sent away to the Pabna mental ward, where I would become like the escaped psychopath whom I had seen from about 33 feet away -- you never forget eyes like his), a longing for human contact that gave me comfort despite my unease with the people and things around me. I suppose the closest analogy that I know of is that famous line from the movie Casablanca: "We'll always have Paris."

Well, a lot has changed over the years. Thoughts of longing for human company have evaporated, and I have found joys in the pursuit of things that I had perhaps forever thought unattainable by me. When I feel a certain sense of serenity, however -- sometimes even mixed in with a slight bit of tension -- I remember you, and all the times we had. It's like peace of mind and you are some times inseparable. You can't exactly blame me for it -- because during my formative years your company was pretty much the only kind of serenity I had ever known. Over the years I have tried many things that I have found extremely pleasurable, and some of these (sports and intellectual activities) have granted pleasures that are not just cerebral, but extremely guttural, and border-line carnal; but while with the years pursuits and sources of pleasure come and go I am left with the thought that you remain like a constant -- not like an evening star that comes and then goes away but, rather, like a navigational constant.

Your company was perhaps one of the few pleasures that I had known in life that did not also accompany pleasure's flip side -- pain. When I ski up a hill I actually have to be at it all day in order to feel the endorphins going; when I look down steep ski slope, or a fall, I have to work for months to ensure that I will survive when I am there; when I feel that tingling sensation, that twitching of my eyelids, that dancing of my eyebrows, that pleasure of elongating my breath through that asphyxiating feeling from a shortness of breath, I actually have to have worked for months to get to feel that excitement that I get when I am finally able to make sense of a physical concept or phenomenon. The pleasantness that I felt from being around you, however, I did not have to work for. Sweetheart, I just realized this, you are my drug -- and I had never thought I would ever condone anything that would confer pleasure without effort, but like a narcotic that delivers a high without the effort of climbing a rock face, remembering you some how delivers a calmness without the pain of working for me -- though thinking about those times just comes to me, under certain (perhaps triggering) conditions, and this is not something that I actively pursue. Come to think of it, that ability to relax to that extent was something that I could perhaps only achieve around you -- and whenever I am reminded of times that I spent with you; no amount of extreme sports, neither any amount of academic pursuit, has ever delivered something like that. I just thought I would share that with you.

I don't know if you can exactly relate to what I mean (well, I hope you can, but from a more accessible source -- especially given that you live with immediate family) but this song, the tune, was one recent thing that triggered your memories, and that is why I felt the need to write -- the song conveys the mood, and the video shows something that I would love to do.

Wingsuit proximity flying by Jokke Sommer

Regards,

The boy who could have fallen asleep in your arms.

Who's afraid of the big vargulf?

Dear Kids,

A certain professor tells that you guys are afraid of pursuing a PhD after seeing the kind of life I lead. Now, hear this: like this I am, and like this I have always been. I was like this even early into my bachelors, long before I started pursuing a PhD.

Unlike me, most of you guys have access to immediate family, so you guys have other things to do besides pursuing side quests of gaining esoteric knowledge for the gory details, not just the nitty-gritty.

At the end of the day going home is something you guys can look forward to. For me, it is something that I dread -- for you guys have a sense of longing, while for me, it is just agonizing loneliness, and despair.

Better to collapse in the middle of a math problem than to sink deeply into needless thoughts. At least problems, whether mathematical or physical, have a way of delivering their own rewards.

So, pursue whatever it is that you want to pursue. Do whatever it is that you want to do. Don't bother with whether it is easy, or whether it is hard. The fact that you like it should be the only thing affecting your decisions, not even fears about not having the academic smarts.

Remember, unlike me, your struggles will be known to your immediate family, and with intimate knowledge of your blood, sweat and pain they will be a willing audience when with your stories you want to have them regaled.

Never again give off your lame excuses, for they are moot. Don't get scared away by this big bad vargulf.

--Thursday, 12th May, 2011

My Colleague Called Me A "Hard Ass"

This is a sanitized and updated version of what I wrote to AE Dreyfuss (of http://www.pltl.org) on 6th December, 2010:

My colleague called me a "hard ass." She said I was too hard. She said I forced students to work too much and solve every assigned problem during (Intro Chemistry) workshops. She said I had no heart (or something like that), that I showed no lenience. She said I rode my workshop leaders hard and made sure they solved every assigned problem, lest they become lenient (she was referring to the time when I was her workshop coordinator).

In my defense, I had the best intentions in mind. I had chosen problems (working with the course' professor) that would expose the students to a range of problems, so that they would be fully equipped with the tools that the course was supposed to confer to them by the time they were done with it. A little lenience, as I saw it, could make a student a friend, but it would result in the students' suffering from a lack of a tool in their belt later down the line. The students' not realizing what tool was missing, or how they were misusing it, would cause them further pains. That is a message I could never get my workshop leaders to understand.

Right now, that workshop leader and I are both grad students in the EE Department. What's more, my first assigned undergraduate helper says he first saw me when I barged into his workshop leader's session (no, his workshop leader was not the one that called me a "hard ass," but he was a student in the same time frame) to give some instructions about some question. When I see how hard working he is, and how much he had to struggle because his workshop leader had been 'nice' and had skipped certain questions -- despite my explicit instructions -- it just makes me mad. A person who works so diligently, and perseveres in the face of extreme academic and work pressures should not have to suffer because his instructor decided to play the nice guy.

Now, here's why I'm writing all this: Do instructors who take the time to cover every aspect of what a student should know, and who try to ensure that their students are well prepared, all end up as people whose colleagues call them a "hard ass?" It bothers me. The instructors with the best lectures in the EE Department are not the most popular graders. The most dreaded math instructor in all of engineering school (and one of the students got up in this full professor's class and called him a "jackass") delivers the best lectures that I have seen anywhere -- and yet, I tremble in fear in his classes; I have been more composed walking along the edge of a rooftop:

In fact, I have been less frightened at gun point (though, that happened a very long time ago) -- and his lectures are a real draw (I'm making a drug reference to illustrate my affinity to his lectures). You see the two extremes that I'm talking about?

What I am wondering is what kind of a person will I become? I now also have a new undergrad, from another college, courtesy of a professor who is also on my research project. When I deal with this student I realize I have developed some of the traits that I used to hate in my professors. Some times I intimidate even my friends when I tell them my attitude towards accomplishing certain tasks: "You do it, you live; else, you die." Some times, I feel like my own father, when he calmly just stood back and watched his son swallowing water, and nearly drowning -- simply for a lack of following simple, extremely explicit instructions. I find that I make certain demands of students, based on their past lecture material (i.e., I expect them to recall material quickly, or to look them up -- repeatedly, if necessary -- and solve problems independently), I expect them to fill in the gaps in their knowledge very quickly (it is a demand I make on myself) and I expect them to apply that knowledge towards the understanding of research papers and advanced concepts, as well as the setup and conduct of experiments. I find that unlike the professor who first trained me to work in a lab, I don't like to wade students into the water, letting them adjust their feet to the cold -- I prefer to just dump my students off the side of a speed boat, to watch them struggle, and to push their heads down into the water if they are not struggling enough (I think this is a remnant of my workshop days, when I was only to ensure that they learned to find their way around problems, so that they could solve them, themselves -- I still insist on never providing solutions). I find that I am harsh, I am cruel, and I give them extremely strict rules.

I find that the more effort that I put into presenting material to my students the more demanding I become of them -- and I think my presentation is not too shabby, because my former students still tell me they learned a lot from me, and (while I was not supposed to do this) I still get compliments for giving clear lectures in the area of quantum chemistry -- the students say that I demystified, whereas their instructors had left them convoluted; in fact, I often found that I could not get them to understand enough to solve a single problem if I did not give that lecture, myself. I tend to feel that I deserve the students' attention, given how much effort I put into the delivery of material (and I treat my professors with the same respect), and I think this is part of the reason that, when it comes to theory, I can be rather demanding.

Of course, my being a what my student from the other college referred to as "Army Major" I am not worried about. Given my bad experiences with ill-advised procedures I do not want my students performing a procedure that could very well detonate like a bomb (which could have happened, but never did, thankfully), nor waterboard themselves (in a sink) to wash toxic chemicals from their eyes, nor strip stark naked to check that they did not spill cancer causing, vitriolic chemicals (by nature, not just by name) on their clothes -- I still remember the horror in the eyes of the guy who witnessed me in the act. The way I see it: If it can kill you, then treat it like it will. There's a reason my friends, in the US Marines, have gun rules like (a) treat a gun as if it is fully loaded and ready to fire, unless you have confirmed otherwise (b) do not point a gun unless you intend to shoot (c) do not put your finger into the guard unless you are ready to shoot, so on, and so forth: mishandling can get people hurt. The same goes with things in my lab: the lasers can blind you -- they can also burn you, as I found out the day I saw a Star Wars style space battle being fought on my hand -- while the chemicals can get you light headed, nauseous, drowsy (take my word for it), and high, and can make you pass out, and they can give you cancer, not to mention take away your (at least a guy's) ability to have kids. Not to mention, some of my chemicals are also volatile, and explosive. So, I think I have ample reason to treat the things in my lab as dangerous items that need to be dealt with with due respect. My student from that other college may not understand (or she may not want to understand), but in order to earn my trust, so that I allow a student to work with something potentially hazardous, that student will need to be able to perform tasks at the drop of a hat (and I mean that very, very literally). I have no problems with allowing a student to perform a procedure that he/she has never done before, as long as (a) the student has been briefed about the dangers and (b) the student is able to follow emergency instructions under duress -- if the student hesitates to wonder what went wrong, or if the student feels a personal affront at a snappy instruction (and thus, hesitates) then that is going to be a big problem. I am not willing to loose a perfectly good batch chemicals (one that will last for months) just because one student did not take the instructions seriously, and suddenly stopped and became gloomy as soon as I told her to stop and to get out of the fume hood (the place where we put our hands, to work with dangerous materials). Nor am I willing to compromise a student's personal safety just because she is not willing to take the risks seriously -- now that I think about it, I wonder why she, as a professional model, is not concerned that her mishandling my chemicals could burn her skin.

I know I can be very rough when it comes to enforcing rules about safety (personal, as well as the equipments' -- and I would rather cut off a students' access to equipment, rather than allow a careless one to handle them, for those things are the tools that I will use to write my thesis, and the professors have placed them under my responsibility; not to mention, I wish to train my successor to use some of them when I graduate).  I have no qualms about screaming and yelling if I see my student in any sort of danger. Sometimes, I act much like a paintball referee, in this regard. Personally, I think I have a severe disdain for fearless people -- happy go lucky people, if you will. I cannot stand it when people do dangerous things without acknowledging the risks. I mean, if a guy wants to jump off a building, the least he should do is come equipped with a proper parachute which he has ample training with. Any idiot can jump off a cliff, but it takes a smart idiot to make it repeatable. I hate it when people act like dumb idiots [my definition of idiot: someone who does it because it feels good; someone who follows the 'id' -- so, technically, all scientists and engineers are very systematic idiots]! I once went skiing with a friend who did not pay much attention to the risks, and nearly got himself, and a little boy, killed while skiing backwards (care free) into the trees. Personally, when I take a friend out, somewhere, I want to bring this person back alive and kicking -- not in a body bag. I'm not sure, but maybe after watching my friend have repeated near misses that evening I developed an extreme intolerance for people disregarding risks (of course, I had been shot with an air rifle when I was a child -- and I did not think I would survive -- so that intolerance could have originated there, only to be bolstered by my skiing experience). So, perhaps it takes very little to set off my short fuse, when it comes to keeping within certain parameters of physical safety -- not that I am in any way keen to change that behavior, but this does add another layer, bolstering my image of being what my colleague called a "hard ass."

So, I am still wondering exactly what kind of a person I will become. I sometimes feel that I am like the old fashioned teacher who greets the student with a tablet of instructions and says something along the lines of "These are the rules. You will learn them. You will live by them. Under my care you will learn the tools that you will need to survive, while you learn to infallibly follow every instruction, under my watchful eye." In fact, when one of my students flouted one of the rules of laser safety I just burst out: "(You know) the rules. You will live by them. You will die for them." Well, I guess I finally let out how I feel about it, for myself. I actually use my personal rules for safety in extreme sports when I work in the lab. I think it works out beautifully -- until someone starts pretending that the risks are not there; and at that point I become anything but friendly.

Do I think that there is room for being friendly? ABSOLUTELY! Just, that it is very important to remember that an instructor is in charge of getting people ready to do certain tasks (be they doing stoichiometry, or aligning laser beams), and letting a passive attitude get in the way is tantamount to failing that friend that one is training. Under most cases, that student that one has failed becomes someone else's problem; but in some cases that student whom one has wronged becomes one's own problem. So, while it may be okay to add a student to one's Facebook, or other social networks (though I refrained from that until the very end of the semester), and (after discussions with the relevant professor) it may be okay to invite students for skiing trips (which I have done), I don't think being a friend amounts to being lenient. Personally, the more I consider a student a friend, the more I want to treat that student the way I treat myself: I become more and more demanding of them (perhaps my optics lab's instructor's attitudes rubbed off on me, as he was a friend, and he rode me very hard, and given how useful I find the things that he taught me, I truly admire his attitude). In fact, when I got the two undergraduate lab course students (some months back) with whom I had the most fun, I personally asked the professor if I could torture my friends (they were my friends since before that class, so I felt free to do whatever I wanted with them) -- and I ended up having a lot of fun churning their brains, since the professor said "Yes!"