I get knocked down...

but I get up again. That's part of the postdoc experience. Your self-esteem will get mangled, masticated and spat out. Then, you get to take the spitball (with little pieces of self-esteem in it) and rebuild it into a rudimentary sense of self-worth. If you do this enough times over, you attain a certain level of confidence in what you're doing. If you can't handle these facts, stick to looking at spreadsheets and adding columns.

Biking with the wifey

Capital Crescent Trail or Rock Creek Trail?

And that's another rendezvous.....

Here's a pledge to these long-lost friends who are very real ghosts in my memory: in the days to come, I will make an effort to find you again. Trailakya, Tushar Mahato, Suvadip Ghosh, Palash, Basu, I have not forgotten you.

She died with her lipstick on

Farewell, grand lady. You belonged to a club that doesn't take members anymore.

Goodbye, handlebar moustache.

You were like all good love affairs should be: fun when you started, then you became too much to handle and now I have fond memories of you.

In my undergraduate days I was proud of it......now I am confused as to whether I should have been. Like it or not, ever since I was about eleven, I've been involved in one controversy or another. Now, at 29, married and leading a relatively sedate existence, I have become nostalgic about the adrenaline rush I used to experience everytime there was a storm brewing around something I said, did or gently set rolling, if you get what I mean. So, here goes my blog, where I