Marred by war

I am not a pleasant sight on any given day, but today I would jolt out of senses anyone who has the misfortune of seeing me. I am marred. As marred as you can get sitting in an academic's room.

I always knew that research was tough business. After all, haven't I seen my dad juggle his office work and research (received his PhD though). I carried no illusions about a bed of roses or anything. However, I seriously reconsidered my opinion on research scholars after starting my own in Australia.

My fellow Fennerites (last year) who were doing their PhDs were so totally 'hep'. Nano even had three ear-rings in one ear (and none in the other) and dyed his hair blue one week, pink the other and even orange once. And he was doing PhD in Computational Molecular Biology (or something that sounds like that). The typical image of a PhD scholar with thick glasses, dishevelled clothes, unkempt hair, the word 'GEEK' stuck on his back, talking to himself in Greek (equations) appeared ridiculous. PhD wasn't all too bad, was it? And so I took the plunge. And all was fine. Until...

Until I walked into my supervisor's room today for one of those 'Weekly review' meetings. Frankly I have nothing against supervisors or weekly meetings. God forbid, but if there were no supervisors or weekly meetings, no research would ever take place. I, like most PhD students would be content watching 'Everybody Loves Raymond', reading Dan Brown and blogging a dime to dozen about the quality of films in India or about the certifiably insane reality shows in Australia (I haven't written about it yet, have I? Hmmmm...juicy topic for next week). Weekly review meetings are the equivalent of caffein. Regular doses are obligatory to all researchers.

Anyway, I walked into my supervisor's room. The sky was blue, the air cool and I could see aircrafts taking off from the airport through his window. And more importantly I had done some work. I had three reports. Three very well written reports.

And then came the volley of questions, torrent of scathing remarks, bursts of discouraging divinations and the kind in such rapidity that Kalashnikov would have marvelled at this salvo. Oh! the irony of life. I am supposed to be doing my research on ballistic resistant polymers. But what can stop such fusillade.

My reports (yes, the same ones I just mentioned as 'very well written'), that I had spent all of the week working twelve hours everyday to produce were torn apart, dissected and devoured in a thoroughly efficient manner.

Actually it wasn't too bad. The very 'premise' that all my research rests on has been challenged and for all I know I should be happy that this happened today rather than one year from now, half way through my PhD. Meanwhile, I just have to work harder and more efficiently. A lot more.

So lets say that today was a day of dis-disillusionment - if you know what I mean. Yes, I am marred by war, a war waged by my guide, but to be fair to him its a war fought for me. So chin up and march - left, right, left.