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My matchbox Maruti 800 (AD: 2000 model) has her parking slot in what is termed B-2; meaning two floors below sea level. As I start her up, she groans and lurches, and as she finally crawls up to the ground level, she has to pass below a Security Boom...I mean a Security Chap sits at one end of the gate in a raised chair and pulls or releases a rope tied to one end of a colorfully painted bamboo pole to raise or lower it. The other end of the boom pole is hinged and weighted so that when the chap eases his rope, the pole rises up to an angle of around 30 deg with the horizon to let cars pass through it.
I have noticed that whenever I drive below the pole, I bow my head down onto my steering wheel as if to help clear my car's ceiling pass through the barrier. And as I pass on, I laugh at myself and decide that I won't do this foolish maneuver next time around. But, as I am always lost in thought, I forget my own admonition and bend down once again reflexively. Nowadays I like to do it. Because, I have found that every time I bend my head down, the Security Chap bends his head down, thinking I am wishing him: "Nomoshkar!"
I thought a lot why I keep doing this childish act. And found out the reason...it has indeed to do with my childhood. Whenever we kids used to cross the closed Railway Boom in Nellore on foot, we used to bend down below the pole, run, and get across to the other side effortlessly...grownups couldn't do it and so used to curse us.
This is an example of what I call phantom reflexes. Like phantom pains felt in an amputated limb that is no longer there.
Phantom reflexes are typical to retirees. Though they quit their jobs long long ago, they carry them in their heads and act once in a while as if they were still working.
Retired Doctors go about prescribing ancient out-of-date drugs to whoever opens his mouth and complains of ache this or ache that unwisely. One of my uncles (80) still advises everyone in the family to drink one spoonful of Waterbury Compound every morning. And follow it up with Cod Liver Oil.
Lawyers of course never retire. Here it is from: "You Are Old Father William":
The saddest case among retirees is that of IAS Officers. They are trained at Mussoorie for all of one year how they are different from and superior to the lay public they administer, how they can manage everything from a Zoo to an Airport, and how they should never ever be the first to extend their hand to shake with anyone but another junior IAS Officer, and what is the Protocol when a young Sub-Collector meets the wife of an old Fifth Additional Judicial Magistrate and stuff. So, after they suddenly retire, they have nothing to do but ruminate on their good old times...and whenever a Retired Professor happens to meet one of their kind at a Party and smiles, they are in doubt whether to smile back and if so by how many millimeters.
When I was an Associate Lecturer at IIT KGP and rather proud of it, I happened to sit by the side of a young IAS Officer friend at his Residence (never 'home') as his honored guest. A young Cub Reporter came in and wanted to interview the IAS chap fancying his 'column' would appear in the Hindu in toto. After a few pourparlers, the Cub asked the IAS chappie:
"What is your hobby, sir!"
and got the instant reply:
"Reading"
The Cub took it down briskly in shorthand and turned to me (I had been introduced to him by then):
"And yours, sir?"
"Thinking"
My IAS friend never forgave me to this day...he deemed it a grievous breach of protocol on my part.
The other kind who keep wearing their uniform under their skin long after their retirement are the military folks. There were three of them in our Phy Dept at IIT KGP. All of them had stints of service during World War II and were demobbed when it was over. And joined IIT KGP as Technical Assistants. Two were in the Army and one in the Air Force. When I was introduced to them first, our colleagues took care to say: "Meet Major Mukherjee" et al so as not to wound their feelings, since a useless Associate Lecturer like me drew more pay than any of them. And Major Mukherjee would open his chest like an inflated football and give a clipped military handshake instead of the default Nomoshkar. They were all very friendly guys and were very nice to me since I took care to salute them whenever I met them. And helped me several times in and out of the Dept. When I wanted to gift a good Ambassador briefcase to Dr and Mrs Dr Kohili of the BNR Hospital who refused to take the usual fees for a surgery they did on my wife since she too was a medico, and I couldn't afford it, the Air Force (Retd) Mukherjee brought one for me at half the price from the Air Force Canteen at Kalikunda.
But one thing I noticed was that for all those decades there, I never saw the three together...they certainly avoided one another...I don't know why.
Here is the only instance I know when a Professor and a General got equal respect:
...Something else happened at that time which is worth mentioning here. One of the questions the rabbinical students and I discussed at length was why it is that in academic things, such as theoretical physics, there is a higher proportion of Jewish kids than their proportion in the general population. The rabbinical students thought the reason was that the Jews have a history of respect for learning: They respect their rabbis, who are really teachers, and they respect education. The Jews pass on this tradition in their families all the time, so that if a boy is a good student, it's as good as, if not better than, being a good football player.
It was the same afternoon that I was reminded how true it is. I was invited to one of the rabbinical students' home, and he introduced me to his mother, who had just come back from Washington D.C. She clapped her hands together, in ecstasy, and said,
'Oh, My day is complete. Today I met a general, and a professor!'
I realized that there are not many people who think it's just as important, and just as nice, to meet a professor as to meet a general. So I guess there's something in what they said...
...Feynman Joking
...Posted by Ishani
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My matchbox Maruti 800 (AD: 2000 model) has her parking slot in what is termed B-2; meaning two floors below sea level. As I start her up, she groans and lurches, and as she finally crawls up to the ground level, she has to pass below a Security Boom...I mean a Security Chap sits at one end of the gate in a raised chair and pulls or releases a rope tied to one end of a colorfully painted bamboo pole to raise or lower it. The other end of the boom pole is hinged and weighted so that when the chap eases his rope, the pole rises up to an angle of around 30 deg with the horizon to let cars pass through it.
I have noticed that whenever I drive below the pole, I bow my head down onto my steering wheel as if to help clear my car's ceiling pass through the barrier. And as I pass on, I laugh at myself and decide that I won't do this foolish maneuver next time around. But, as I am always lost in thought, I forget my own admonition and bend down once again reflexively. Nowadays I like to do it. Because, I have found that every time I bend my head down, the Security Chap bends his head down, thinking I am wishing him: "Nomoshkar!"
I thought a lot why I keep doing this childish act. And found out the reason...it has indeed to do with my childhood. Whenever we kids used to cross the closed Railway Boom in Nellore on foot, we used to bend down below the pole, run, and get across to the other side effortlessly...grownups couldn't do it and so used to curse us.
This is an example of what I call phantom reflexes. Like phantom pains felt in an amputated limb that is no longer there.
Phantom reflexes are typical to retirees. Though they quit their jobs long long ago, they carry them in their heads and act once in a while as if they were still working.
Retired Doctors go about prescribing ancient out-of-date drugs to whoever opens his mouth and complains of ache this or ache that unwisely. One of my uncles (80) still advises everyone in the family to drink one spoonful of Waterbury Compound every morning. And follow it up with Cod Liver Oil.
Lawyers of course never retire. Here it is from: "You Are Old Father William":
'You are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak---
Pray, how did you manage to do it?'
'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak---
Pray, how did you manage to do it?'
'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'
The saddest case among retirees is that of IAS Officers. They are trained at Mussoorie for all of one year how they are different from and superior to the lay public they administer, how they can manage everything from a Zoo to an Airport, and how they should never ever be the first to extend their hand to shake with anyone but another junior IAS Officer, and what is the Protocol when a young Sub-Collector meets the wife of an old Fifth Additional Judicial Magistrate and stuff. So, after they suddenly retire, they have nothing to do but ruminate on their good old times...and whenever a Retired Professor happens to meet one of their kind at a Party and smiles, they are in doubt whether to smile back and if so by how many millimeters.
When I was an Associate Lecturer at IIT KGP and rather proud of it, I happened to sit by the side of a young IAS Officer friend at his Residence (never 'home') as his honored guest. A young Cub Reporter came in and wanted to interview the IAS chap fancying his 'column' would appear in the Hindu in toto. After a few pourparlers, the Cub asked the IAS chappie:
"What is your hobby, sir!"
and got the instant reply:
"Reading"
The Cub took it down briskly in shorthand and turned to me (I had been introduced to him by then):
"And yours, sir?"
"Thinking"
My IAS friend never forgave me to this day...he deemed it a grievous breach of protocol on my part.
The other kind who keep wearing their uniform under their skin long after their retirement are the military folks. There were three of them in our Phy Dept at IIT KGP. All of them had stints of service during World War II and were demobbed when it was over. And joined IIT KGP as Technical Assistants. Two were in the Army and one in the Air Force. When I was introduced to them first, our colleagues took care to say: "Meet Major Mukherjee" et al so as not to wound their feelings, since a useless Associate Lecturer like me drew more pay than any of them. And Major Mukherjee would open his chest like an inflated football and give a clipped military handshake instead of the default Nomoshkar. They were all very friendly guys and were very nice to me since I took care to salute them whenever I met them. And helped me several times in and out of the Dept. When I wanted to gift a good Ambassador briefcase to Dr and Mrs Dr Kohili of the BNR Hospital who refused to take the usual fees for a surgery they did on my wife since she too was a medico, and I couldn't afford it, the Air Force (Retd) Mukherjee brought one for me at half the price from the Air Force Canteen at Kalikunda.
But one thing I noticed was that for all those decades there, I never saw the three together...they certainly avoided one another...I don't know why.
Here is the only instance I know when a Professor and a General got equal respect:
...Something else happened at that time which is worth mentioning here. One of the questions the rabbinical students and I discussed at length was why it is that in academic things, such as theoretical physics, there is a higher proportion of Jewish kids than their proportion in the general population. The rabbinical students thought the reason was that the Jews have a history of respect for learning: They respect their rabbis, who are really teachers, and they respect education. The Jews pass on this tradition in their families all the time, so that if a boy is a good student, it's as good as, if not better than, being a good football player.
It was the same afternoon that I was reminded how true it is. I was invited to one of the rabbinical students' home, and he introduced me to his mother, who had just come back from Washington D.C. She clapped her hands together, in ecstasy, and said,
'Oh, My day is complete. Today I met a general, and a professor!'
I realized that there are not many people who think it's just as important, and just as nice, to meet a professor as to meet a general. So I guess there's something in what they said...
...Feynman Joking
...Posted by Ishani
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