Humans of my life- Anupa

Anupa Patel


It was a random evening in the Fall of 2000, barely a month into my starting as a graduate student at Florida State University. I finished my dinner early and cut across from the fence behind my apartment to the engineering building to check my emails. That building had everything my apartment did not have- reliable AC, heat, and most importantly, access to a computer and the internet. I was thanking my lucky stars when I found the lone computer station in the students' lounge vacant. I hurriedly opened my inbox to see if Bachi (Bhaskar Mandala), my then boyfriend, had sent me any emails, like he normally did at that time of the evening. I was disappointed to not see an email from him, but was more horrified to see an email from someone at a1b2c3d4e5@yahoo.com.

*******
Everyone on campus calls you Savam (dead body). You never smile at or talk to seniors. You never hangout with anyone. Everyone hates you. Heard you have a boyfriend? How could anyone love a girl like you? I pity him. I hate to f*** you.
********

I had lots of hopes and aspirations stepping inside this country, of pursuing higher education, of launching my career, of clearing all of my family's debts and getting my parents into a more comfortable home, of living the American dream. That email pretty much instantly destroyed all positive mojo I had. I was petrified and became too numb to fully comprehend what I had just read. Exactly at that moment, like an angel, Anupa, my classmate, barely an acquaintance at that point, walked through that door, saw me pale, and asked me what happened. The screen in front of me still had the email open.

She gave me a hug, comforted me, and immediately ran upstairs to the office of a guy that's known to be good with computers. Within minutes, she had him trace the computer from which the email was sent. She came downstairs and said she pretty much knows who did it (it was a fellow grad student, a Telugu dude in fact). She let me borrow her cell phone and call Bachi. She helped me report it to campus security, offered to host me at her apartment that night.

That was the first of many instances over the next couple of years Anupa came to my rescue. My roommates had ratted me out to my parents about Bachi, after his visit over the holidays, and created a major emotional trauma within my family. Anupa helped with my moving out of the apartment literally in the middle of the night, and introduced me to Ysa Carry, our classmate from Spain, who graciously helped me get housed in another apartment on campus the very next day.

I did not own a car until two years into grad school, and Anupa was there to take me to walmart every week, or drive Bachi home from the airport and back. After seeing me in formal pants and blouse at a pool party at Dr. Locke's home, Anupa took me to the mall and helped me make the necessary changes to my wardrobe. She helped me decode Dr. Tellotte's accent in Thermodynamics class, and she introduced me to the comfort of bagel and cream cheese on lazy Saturday mornings. She had her mom bring me an idly stand from New Jersey, seeing how typical a south Indian I was. I have that idly stand to this day and I think of our beautiful friendship each time I make idlies at home.

Anupa is one of the biggest reasons I survived everything that the first few months of grad school threw at me. It is her birthday today, and I proudly cherish the beautiful person she is, on her very special day. Happy birthday, Nupee!

P.S:

The 43yr old me is in utter disbelief for how threatened and crushed the 20yr old me felt from that stalker's lunatic email. I guess I am truly older and wiser! :)

Humans of my life- Shankar

There are plenty of people that remain as acquaintances, nothing more, even after decades of constantly crossing paths. However, every once in a while, we run into a contrary, and make lasting impressions from a fleeting moment. 

Raaga and I were in the bay area recently to help host the finals of Telugu spelling bee competition organized by Silicon Andhra Manabadi. It was an eventful weekend, complete with a brief visit to Stanford campus, downtown SFO, Pier39, and a sunset cruise that was rudely interrupted by my freak knee twist, and of course, the awe inspiring younger generation, impressing one and all with their native language fluency. 

Any memorable weekend, though never ceases to exist on our minds, does come to an end in real time, and it was time for us to return to Portland. We were told that a volunteer, a local Manabadi parent, was assigned to give us a ride to the airport. 

The said volunteer was at the hotel lobby, 15min earlier than scheduled time, pinged me to say that he arrived, but also asserted that he's in no rush, and that we should absolutely take our time checking out of the hotel. 

We finally met him outside of the hotel, 10min after the scheduled time. He noticed my crutches, and immediately ran to drive his car out of the parking lot, and brought it closer to the ramp. It took me a while to get into the car, and position my knee in a meta stable state, and we were finally on the road. San Jose airport was only a 15min drive from the hotel. It is the conversation we had in those few minutes that made this an unforgettable encounter.

We talked about our respective careers, our connection with Manabadi, kids, and all the usual questions that fly around within the first few minutes of any first meetings. 

The routine broke when he mentioned his wife wanting to get back to work force. He asked for my opinion on what he can do to be a more supportive partner and a more involved parent. I am not an expert on the matter by any means, but I shared my unvarnished opinions anyway, the details of which are not relevant here.  It is just that, in my 18years of being a working woman, 13years of being a working mother, and almost 8 years of working directly with dozens of kids and parents on a weekly basis as the Portland Telugu school teacher and coordinator, never has anyone, let alone a male, ask me such a sincere and vital question, and I could not help but admire the man's love for his family!

We arrived at the departures terminal, and realized that we had already passed the Alaska Airlines gate where we were supposed to get off. Raaga and I offered to get down there and walk back to Alaska gate just a few meters away, but he dismissed the idea right away. When I apologized for not being more attentive and making him drive around the busy terminal again, he simply smiled and said he is glad it gave him a few extra minutes to continue our conversation!

He eventually drove us back to the terminal, stopped right at Alaska gate this time. He talked to the security to let him park the car at curb so he could walk me in, brought our luggage in, ensured that I got a wheel chair, before bidding us adieu. 

When I think of him, I think of the most beautiful family, thriving in love, empathy, and unconditional support. When I think of him, I think to ask the question- "what can I do to  make things a little bit better for those I care about?".

Humans of my life- Keertana

Kicking off my "Humans of my life" series with

"Sattiraju Venkata Anjani Naga Sai Sree Keertana"

The moment I heard this cutie's long sentence of a name, I knew we'd hit it off! I have that in common with her (my name is Vemuri Naga Yagna Siva Jyothy- for those of you curious :)), and our birthdays are four days apart. Go scorpions!

It was 2004 - I was single, new to town, just moved across the country after grad school. The Sattirajus were my first friends in town, and Keeru became my very first Portland baby!

I was a regular at the Sattiraju household, often showing up at random times, unannounced, just 'cause I was hungry or bored. In these 18 years, I don't think I ever went a month without visiting them! For five of those years, I was the girls' Telugu teacher. I saw Keeru and her baby sister Mahathi every Sunday for five years straight. Though there were many Keeru gems from my teaching years, one that stands out is this:

Me:
అన్నదమ్ములు- దీనికి విగ్రహ వాక్యము, సమాసము చెప్పు?
(what kind of a combination word is "Annadammulu"?)

Expected Answer:
అన్న మరియు తమ్ముడు, ద్వంద్వ సమాసము
(Older brother-anna AND younger brother-tammudu, a tautonym)

Keeru:
అన్నము మరియు దమ్ములు, ద్వంద్వ సమాసము
(food-annamu AND smoke/weed-dammulu, a tautonym)

I laughed till tears came out that day.

Keeru went on to complete the rigor of 5yrs of Telugu school with flying colors, and even paid it forward by volunteering as a teacher- her students remember her as the crazy akka that loved her bujji meka (little goat). She played volleyball in high school, volunteered at Kaiser Permanente and at a medical office. She learnt Carnatic music, Piano, and Kuchipudi dance, among many other cool things high schoolers these days do!

The little baby in this picture is my earliest memory of Keeru. From then on, I had a front row seat to her formative years and it has been a privilege seeing the beautiful and compassionate young lady she has become now. She stopped by recently, before heading off for college, just to give me a hug and say bye, and I am still tearing up as I write this.

Here's wishing Keertana the most enjoyable and enriching college life!

Keertana with Raaga and Taara at a Manabadi outreach event

The note from Keeru before she went off to college

My earliest memory of Keertana

An afternoon with the global guru!

"ఎంతమందికి అర్థం అయ్యింది?"

(How many of you understood?)

It is a phrase our light music guru Sri Ramachary garu often says in class, and our entire class raises hands enthusiastically on screen. For the past two years, the tiny zoom window sir teaches in has become our Zen space. Today, I got to jump right into that window, live, and experience the magic in person, making it one of the most memorable musical afternoons of my life.

From the moment I entered sir's home in the surprisingly quiet alley way off Kondapur main road, I felt as if I became his family. I was greeted by an entire wall of awards, mementos and pictures of sir's accomplishments. Sujatha madam read my mind and offered to click some pictures.

 

Inside, the two moms (sir's mom and MIL) were chatting and eating their meals- they just looked so happy and content! Positivity must run in their genes! As I was walking around, taking it all in, I found the familiar sofa in the balcony, with LMA sign on the back wall and the harmonium on the front. It is the visual we see in our weekly zoom classes! I pulled out my phone again and was about to click pictures to brag with my classmates when sir offered to make it even a sweeter deal. Just like that, I had my very first 1:1 light music lesson, sitting next to sir, learning my absolute favorite Malaya Marutam song, no less!

After the brief lesson, Sujata madam offered me lunch which I politely declined, for I greedily wanted to bask in the brightness that surrounded me and not waste time eating. Sir and madam brought their lunch to the living room, and we kept talking, about music and life. I was as comfortable in their company as I am with my closest cousins, and yet, I felt as if I was in the company of a spiritual guru. I was both enlightened and blown away by sir's simplicity. At one point, sir enticed me with fresh aavakay annam. I was genuinely tempted (come on, who says no to aavakay and annam!) but I tried to act all cool. Sir saw right through me, and fed me a bite of rice, with his own hands, then one more, and then another. Not sure if it was the freshness of the aavakay, love of the musical family that surrounded me, or the sweetness of the hand that fed me, but I knew I'd never eat a tastier, more soul-quenching three bites of aavakay rice ever again in my life.

Sir showing the aavakay pickle piece that's left after I polished off the rice from his plate

Sir's phone was ringing throughout my brief stay at their home, and he was obviously stretched thin. I got up to leave, so he can get back to the million things that awaited him but he insisted on driving me home himself. "You won't put me in a cab when I come to the US, would you?", he said. 

Just like that, sir became my chauffeur. Hyderabad roads were jam packed, traffic seemingly ganging up from all directions. He sang many ghazals and honored my request to sing a few of my favorites. He savored and devoured every word and every nuance of the poetry and composition as he sang. Intersection after intersection, he navigated the traffic's maze, armed with his smile and his beautiful voice. I asked him about how he is able to stay cheerful and positive every waking minute of his every day. He said he keeps his mind clutter free, and that he only chooses to be in the company of those that give him positive energy. When mind is free of clutter, body follows suit, stays young and energetic. Saying thus, he resumed singing...

అనుక్షణమూ నీతలపులతో నీవైపోయిన నేను

నిను చూడక క్షణమైనా నేనింక గడపలేను

I selfishly wished for us to encounter more traffic just so I could hear sir sing for longer! After we eventually made it to my home, he obliged my family's request and sang a beautiful melody for us. 

పాడుతా తీయగా చల్లగా

పసిపాపలా నిదురపో తల్లిలా 

బంగారు తల్లిలా...

We all felt so privileged to have sir's precious company. Even our four year old felt that she was the most important person on the planet for sir, when he joined her in singing a few verses of Srivalli!  

Visionaries like Ramachary sir don't sit and preach. The way they drive their life in itself becomes text book for others to follow. If I could distill my epic afternoon, and channel my inner Ramachary sir, I would say- Age is just a number. Sing with your heart, follow your passion, and avoid negative people and matters. Surround yourself with positivity.

"ఎంతమందికి అర్థం అయ్యింది?"

(How many of you understood?)

Leaves of loss and life

It was early June and the school year was drawing to a close. I decided to accompany my 6th grader on her walk to school again. As much as I tried to keep the spirits up at home, it was just three weeks since both in-laws succumbed to Covid, and the mood at home was hopelessly gloomy. These walks to school with my youngest best friend were a big part of what kept me sane in those days. Sometimes we talked endlessly- about friends, school, good, bad, life. Some other times, we just quietly walked, as we did that morning. Just as we got on to the narrow metal bridge, a few yards from the middle school, we both heard a clunk. The sound was very distinct, metal on metal. My hands instinctively reached for my earrings. Sure enough, one was missing. We looked for it on the bridge for a few minutes to no avail. Soon, the middle schooler left, so she does not get a tardy, but dejected because those earrings were her x-mas present for me from two years ago. She did not know then how crestfallen I was too with that loss. I spent nearly an hour after she left, looking for that lost earring, even going under the bridge and rummaging in the dirt, in the hope that the earring fell through the gaps- no luck. I put the lone earring away in a drawer upon reaching home and avoided thinking about it again.

A few weeks later, as I was doing the dishes, I noticed that the bonsai tree that my husband got me for that same Christmas two years ago was losing leaves in a hurry. I probably did not water it for several days. I read the care instructions on the plant - and it did say that it was typical for it to shed during fall, although that did not happen the prior two years. By September, it became totally bald, dry and lifeless. I left it on the kitchen window sill, as if I deserved to suffer by seeing every night, what I did to the poor tree. 

Guilt stricken from the bonsai fatality, I brought all my potted plants indoors as the weather cooled down. Lemon, Jasmine, Mango, Curry leaf, Holy Basil (Tulasi)- all debuted at my backyard this summer. Some of them storebought, some given by friends with green thumbs, now resided in my house. I was religiously following watering instructions for them, chose well lit locations, ensured that the temperature never dipped low enough to distress the plants. For a while, the plants did not seem to mind the maneuver- jasmine and lemon bloomed. Mango and curry leaf plants sprouted new leaves. Tulasi added inches to several stems. I was finally getting over my plant killer's guilt, until the November nights came along.

Mango plant was the first to depart. The new leaves dried out. The two established leaves fell. It went from life to lifeless in a matter of ten days. My PTSD from the prior losses kicked in. I frantically searched up on the internet for salvaging the remaining plants. Ordered fertilizer pods for lemon tree, but that appeared to be too little too late. By the time the fertilizer made it in, the plant had shed 75% of its blooms and leaves. Ones that remained on the plant were rapidly turning brown. Curry leaf began shedding too. Jasmine started wilting. Tulasi started browning. On a whim, I got grow lights for the plants and set them on a 12hr timer. Watered them a few times a week with a spray mist. However, I started working in the living room and generally avoided seeing the life from the plants slowly slipping away. It was as if I maxed out on grief for the year and could not handle any further losses of any kind, living or shining.

December was upon us and we made last minute plans to go on a cruise for holidays. A week long voyage to Cabo, Ensenada, and back, plus a couple of days in bay area with friends- we were gone for almost ten days! While on the ship, like a wuss, I decided to never keep any plant that could die around the house, ever again, much like the moratorium I set on future pets, after I killed our betta fish, Maxine, back in 2014. As much as they brought me joy when they lived, the devastation from their loss had been unbearable. The cruise trip gave me a much needed pause and reset. Listening to the waves every night, looking into the 360 degrees of darkness, was therapeutic, and, waking up to our bright and shiny star brought back some rays of optimism that had abandoned me, several months ago. 

It appeared that my optimism wasn't unfounded, after all! I was greeted upon our return by new life in my abandoned room of plants- curry leaf's new sprouts, lemon's baby blooms, and Jasmine's new leaves. Such was the high from those new green beginnings that I did not flinch at the discovery of our broken water heater right on New Year's Day- I happily challenged myself to a cold shower, and even took the opportunity to help my kids experience the stove-top water boiling for baths, like we did back home! I overcame the self-coined taboo of doing only the 'good' things on the first day of the year, and split a gallon of milk (to make Ras Malai the next day). It is as if those new leaves gave me a new lease on my positivity and optimism. When the mind's at peace, so's all else! Remember my 'lost' earring under that bridge? Even that's at peace, having miraculously found its mate in an adjoining drawer, just in time to lounge on my earlobes and ring in the new year together! Maybe the Bonsai will spring back to life too, who knows?! It would absolutely make my day if it did. If not, well, that's OK too!

Fab-ulously home!

For the first 16years and 3months of my career at Intel, walking into the fab wearing a bunny suit was just my daily routine. Only after moving on from it did I realize that it truly became a proud piece of my identity.

I correlate working in cleanroom with the most sophisticated sense of equality. I enjoyed that the fab did not differentiate the technician driving a solvent cart from the senior program director running the ship. Employees of all genders wore the same suit, hoodie, booties and gloves, and, regardless of how popular you were, you still had to make your badge visible. And EVERYONE had to walk the mile or more back to the gown room to degown before answering the nature calls. :)

That sense of uniformity and equality forms just the surface of my admiration for fab. Once inside the fab, the enormousness of these machines and their multi-million dollar price tags, contrasting with the ever-shrinking feature sizes on the chips, is simply astounding. The robots, the wiring, the quartz, the magnets, the chemicals and the light and the invisible software that all come together to make sub-atomic precision possible- it truly is a wonderland in there!

But then, pandemic fell upon us, and I felt compelled to do something else, learn something new. I moved out of fab, worked with a boat load of Applied Materials tools purchased by Intel, in conjunction with Intel's TD, GSM and Trades teams. I absolutely enjoyed meeting some of the smartest individuals while on this job, designing, planning, strategizing, purchasing, and building the most cutting edge technology and equipment. I certainly learnt a lot, both about work and about myself. I learnt that work is chaotic no matter where you go, and that I tend to prefer the structured chaos of the factory versus the external unstructured circus that is necessary to support the factory. I truly missed being inside the fab.

When the opportunity of being an ASML EDE knocked on my door that would help me get my feet back in the fab, I grabbed it with both hands. It has been a couple of weeks in my new job, and I already feel like the college student that came home for holidays. I am in meetings with people I started my career with. Two days ago, I donned my bunnysuit again and went back inside the fab for the first time in almost two years. I went to the pole location where Intel installed its very first immersion lithography tool, that I helped qualify with my own nitrile-gloved hands. The tool that once had my name on a laminated sheet stuck on it has been bagged and its parts got repurposed many years ago, but it warmed my heart simply staring at that pole. I thought of the many days and nights I spent right there, under those oranage fab lights and the OHVs zipping by, learning about chemicals, robots, motors, work, working relationships, and life.

It feels good to be back to the structured chaos of the fab that I call home!

Where there is (mom's) will...there's light!

December 5th, 2021

It is the auspicious month, Karteeka maasam, according to south Indian (Telugu) calendar. Throughout this month, many in the region worship Lords Shiva and Vishnu. A key part of these rituals is lighting a lamp every morning before dawn and again at dusk. Today's the last day of this month, and, lighting a lamp, first thing in the morning, is all the more significant because the lamp, lit in banana stems, gets a "send off" in water, so it can head straight to heaven. My mom did this ritual well before 5am local time, and sent us a picture on our family's whatsapp group. I am not nearly as sincere about my religiousness as my mom, and I most certainly did not write a blog post about this before. But...Mom's lamp sendoff this year was no ordinary event!

My sister's family has been living in the northeastern state of Assam and they have not made a trip home to visit my parents in over five months. Moreover, my sister and brother-in-law recently celebrated their milestone wedding anniversary, and it all called for an occasion for the family to meet. For them to meet either in the north (Jorhat, Assam) or the south (Hyderabad, Telangana), it would take three flights and almost the entire day. So the two parties decided on a quick weekend trip, mid-way, at a hotel in Bhuvaneshwar, Orissa, and visit Puri Jagannadh temple while there. The plans were made about a week ago, and knowing my mom's compulsive instinct towards Karteeka maasam, my sister strictly warned her ahead of time against bringing any combustible lamp-lighting supplies on board their 1.5hour flight. Traveling amidst the pandemic is risky enough and they clearly did not need fire hazards to go along. :)

Just as they all arrived in Bhubaneshwar, finished a visit of the Puri Jagannadh temple, and settled into their hotel room, a cyclone warning had been issued for the area and it began pouring down heavily. They were confined to their hotel premises all of the next day. The last day of Karteeka maasam also coincided with their last day of the trip. My dad was in the midst of his anxiety attacks, typical for him  during travel, and my brother-in-law was busy wrapping up the logistics of hotel, online boarding and transportation in the middle of cyclone, etc. Mom not only expertly dealt with my dad, but also completed this ritual of sending the lamp to heaven by 5am, sitting in a hotel room without her usual supplies! 

Mom explained her plan of attack to me over phone after returning home. She made a mini rangoli with turmeric and vermillion that she packed from home- she never leaves home without them. She also packed cotton wicks from home. Traditionally, the lamp is lit in a diya made of banana stem. While at dinner the night before, she saw the hotel staff refilling the lemon wedges at the salad bar. She had asked him to sneak her a couple of fresh cut wedges. She carefully separated the skins from those wedges and used them as the base for her lamp, in lieu of banana stems. For grease, traditionally cow butter or sesame oil is used, neither of them were readily availble in her hotel room, or so she thought...until she saw the small plastic packages of butter served with their breakfast toast. She used the coffeemaker to boil some water and floated the plastic pans of butter in them until they melted. She borrowed some matches from another wait staff at the hotel and finally lit the wick sitting in a lemon shell using the butter from her breakfast and sent it to "heaven" in a pond aka cereal bowl full of water. As the naivedyam (food offering), she had the whole fruits from previous day's breakfast, of course!

She sure was happy as a clam all day! They even visited another local temple while killing time before their flight back home, when the weather cleared up a bit! My mom's grit and commitment for traditions never cease to amaze me!