19-06-2025, 04:31 AM
The morning of her first day dawned bright and hot, the air already thick with humidity that promised a sweltering afternoon. Devika rose before her alarm, her body humming with nervous energy. She bathed in water that never quite reached the warmth she preferred, then stood before her wardrobe contemplating her choice of saree.
The deep blue Kanchipuram silk called to her – a gift from her mother when she earned her doctorate. Its border gleamed with intricate zari work, temples and peacocks rendered in gold thread that caught the light. Too ostentatious for a first day? Perhaps. But she needed the armor of beauty, the connection to home.
She dbangd the saree with practiced movements, pleating and tucking with precision, the muscle memory of years guiding her hands. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind – "A properly worn saree tells people who you are before you speak a word." The weight of the silk against her skin was comforting, a whisper of identity when everything else felt uncertain.
Her reflection showed Professor Devika Nair – composed, professional, the small bindi between her brows a perfect circle of vermilion, her hair swept into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Only her eyes betrayed her, dark pools of apprehension that no amount of practiced confidence could disguise.
The college campus was a fifteen-minute walk from her apartment – another small mercy in this upheaval. The morning air carried the scent of jasmine from a vine climbing a nearby wall, a familiar note that steadied her breathing. Students streamed through the gates, their chatter creating a background hum that reminded her of data analytics – information being processed, connections forming and dissolving.
The administration building rose three stories, its architecture a blend of colonial influence and modern utilitarian design. Inside, a receptionist directed her to the Science Department on the second floor with a disinterested wave of her hand. Devika climbed the stairs, her heart keeping time with her footsteps, quickening as she approached the department office.
The door bore a nameplate: "Prof. S. Krishnamurthy, HOD – Biology Department." She smoothed her saree, took a steadying breath, and knocked.
"Come in, come in!" The voice from within carried an impatient edge.
She entered to find a man in his early fifties rising from behind a desk cluttered with papers and forgotten coffee cups. His remaining hair was gray and combed carefully over a prominent bald patch, his glasses gold-rimmed and sliding down his nose. What struck her immediately was the red stain at the corner of his mouth – paan juice that he had failed to wipe away – and the faint, sickly-sweet odor that accompanied it.
"Ah! You must be Dr. Nair. Welcome, welcome." He moved around the desk, his eyes performing a quick but thorough assessment that made her skin prickle. His gaze lingered on the curve where her saree blouse met her waist before returning to her face. "I am Seenu Krishnamurthy, Head of Department."
"Thank you for the opportunity, Professor Krishnamurthy." She kept her voice steady, professional, though her instinct was to step back from his advancing form. "I'm very pleased to join the faculty."
"Call me Seenu, please. We are all informal here." His smile revealed teeth stained from years of paan chewing, and his breath carried the distinctive aroma of betel nut and tobacco. "Such a pleasure to have someone of your caliber joining us. And from Kerala! Your reputation precedes you."
He gestured for her to sit, then perched on the edge of his desk rather than returning to his chair, a position that placed him uncomfortably close to her. "Your work on cellular adaptation to environmental stressors was most impressive. We rarely get such distinguished researchers interested in our humble institution."
"I was drawn to the department's focus on applied genetics," she said, keeping her gaze steady despite the discomfort crawling up her spine. "The opportunity to develop new research while teaching seemed ideal."
Seenu nodded, though something in his expression suggested her academic interests were not his primary concern. "You'll find our facilities adequate, though perhaps not what you're accustomed to. We make up for it in other ways – collegiality, community." He leaned slightly closer. "You're married, I see." His eyes flicked to the gold chain around her neck.
"Yes, my husband works in Dubai as a financial consultant." She kept her tone neutral, informational.
"Ah, so you're here alone." A statement, not a question. "That must be difficult. We must ensure you don't feel isolated."
Before she could respond, he glanced at his watch and straightened. "But let me show you to the staff room. Your colleagues are eager to meet you."
They walked down a corridor lined with classrooms, students parting before them like water around stones. Devika was acutely aware of Seenu's gaze on her back as she walked ahead of him, his eyes a physical weight between her shoulder blades.
"Our department has grown considerably in recent years," he said, his voice too close to her ear. "Though finding quality faculty is always a challenge. Most young people want corporate jobs these days – better pay, less responsibility."
The paan smell grew stronger as they walked, and Devika noticed dark red splashes on the floor near the walls – more evidence of the habit she found so distasteful. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily.
"Not a fan of paan, Dr. Nair?" Seenu asked, catching her expression. "It's quite the tradition here. Perhaps an acquired taste." He chuckled, a wet sound that made her spine stiffen.
"I'm simply not accustomed to it," she replied diplomatically.
The staff room door stood open, revealing a large space furnished with worn sofas and desks. Several men looked up as they entered, their conversations halting mid-sentence. Devika felt the weight of their collective gaze – evaluating, speculating, stripping away layers of her professional identity to focus on the woman beneath.
"Colleagues," Seenu announced with a proprietary air, "I present Dr. Devika Nair, our new Associate Professor of Molecular Biology. Dr. Nair comes to us from Kerala with an impressive research background."
The men rose, offering varying degrees of welcome. Most, Devika noted with growing discomfort, directed their attention to her saree-dbangd form rather than her face. One younger lecturer stared openly at the exposed midriff between her saree and blouse until an older colleague elbowed him.
"And here," Seenu continued, guiding Devika toward a corner where a woman sat marking papers, "is Professor Sharada Desai, our senior most faculty member and the department's institutional memory."
Sharada looked up, her sharp eyes taking in Devika through stylish glasses. Unlike the men, her assessment felt clinical rather than lecherous – no less invasive, but driven by different motivations. She was elegantly put together in a muted gray silk saree, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an immaculate bun, a single strand of pearls at her throat speaking of understated wealth.
"So you're the new blood," Sharada said, rising with fluid grace that belied her sixty-plus years. Her handshake was firm, her palm cool and dry against Devika's slightly damp one. "Sit with me. Let these men return to their important discussions of cricket scores."
The men laughed awkwardly, but dutifully drifted back to their previous positions. Seenu lingered, clearly reluctant to relinquish his claim on the new arrival.
"I'll leave you in capable hands, Dr. Nair," he finally said. "My door is always open should you need... anything at all." The pause was deliberate, laden with implication.
After he left, Sharada made a small sound of amused contempt. "Seenu has always fancied himself irresistible to new female faculty. You'll develop calluses to his attention soon enough."
Devika settled into the chair opposite Sharada, arranging her saree carefully. "Thank you for the welcome, Professor Desai."
"Sharada, please. We don't stand on ceremony here, despite what our esteemed HOD might prefer." She studied Devika with bird-like intensity. "Kerala to Pune is quite the cultural shift. What brings you so far from home?"
"The position itself," Devika replied. "The opportunity to establish new research while teaching."
"Hmm." Sharada's expression suggested she found this answer incomplete. "And your family? They supported this move?"
"My parents still live in Kerala. They're both retired teachers."
"And the husband whose chain you wear? He didn't mind you relocating alone?"
The directness of the question caught Devika off guard. "He works in Dubai. We're accustomed to separation."
Something flickered in Sharada's eyes – recognition, perhaps, or calculation. "Accustomed to, but not necessarily comfortable with, I imagine." She leaned forward slightly. "Marriage and career rarely follow parallel paths for women in our field. One must often choose which to nurture."
The observation hit uncomfortably close to the doubts that had plagued Devika's sleepless nights. Before she could formulate a response, Sharada continued.
"You'll find Pune different from Kerala in ways both obvious and subtle. The students here are... less disciplined than you might be accustomed to. The men, as you've already witnessed, are less subtle in their appreciation." She gestured toward the male faculty members, who occasionally glanced in their direction. "But there are compensations. Freedom has its own flavor."
"Freedom?" Devika repeated, uncertain of Sharada's meaning.
The older woman's smile contained secrets. "Distance creates space for growth, Dr. Nair. Away from the watchful eyes of family and community, one can explore aspects of oneself previously kept dormant." She patted Devika's hand, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. "We should have tea sometime. I know all the finest places in Pune – the real Pune, not just the university bubble."
Devika found herself nodding, drawn to Sharada's confidence despite an instinctive wariness. "I'd like that. It would be good to have a guide."
"Excellent." Sharada's smile deepened. "I think we'll become fast friends, you and I. Every transplant needs someone to help them take root in new soil."
As faculty members began filtering in for the morning meeting, Devika felt herself suspended between worlds – Kerala behind her, Pune unfolding before her, and these new colleagues circling like curious fish around a foreign object in their waters. Seenu watched her from across the room, his gaze a persistent pressure. Sharada observed her reactions with analytical interest.
The weight of the marriage chain around her neck seemed suddenly heavier, a tether to a connection growing more tenuous by the day. For the first time, Devika wondered if distance might indeed create not just space for growth, but space for fundamental change – cellular adaptation at its most profound.
The deep blue Kanchipuram silk called to her – a gift from her mother when she earned her doctorate. Its border gleamed with intricate zari work, temples and peacocks rendered in gold thread that caught the light. Too ostentatious for a first day? Perhaps. But she needed the armor of beauty, the connection to home.
She dbangd the saree with practiced movements, pleating and tucking with precision, the muscle memory of years guiding her hands. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind – "A properly worn saree tells people who you are before you speak a word." The weight of the silk against her skin was comforting, a whisper of identity when everything else felt uncertain.
Her reflection showed Professor Devika Nair – composed, professional, the small bindi between her brows a perfect circle of vermilion, her hair swept into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Only her eyes betrayed her, dark pools of apprehension that no amount of practiced confidence could disguise.
The college campus was a fifteen-minute walk from her apartment – another small mercy in this upheaval. The morning air carried the scent of jasmine from a vine climbing a nearby wall, a familiar note that steadied her breathing. Students streamed through the gates, their chatter creating a background hum that reminded her of data analytics – information being processed, connections forming and dissolving.
The administration building rose three stories, its architecture a blend of colonial influence and modern utilitarian design. Inside, a receptionist directed her to the Science Department on the second floor with a disinterested wave of her hand. Devika climbed the stairs, her heart keeping time with her footsteps, quickening as she approached the department office.
The door bore a nameplate: "Prof. S. Krishnamurthy, HOD – Biology Department." She smoothed her saree, took a steadying breath, and knocked.
"Come in, come in!" The voice from within carried an impatient edge.
She entered to find a man in his early fifties rising from behind a desk cluttered with papers and forgotten coffee cups. His remaining hair was gray and combed carefully over a prominent bald patch, his glasses gold-rimmed and sliding down his nose. What struck her immediately was the red stain at the corner of his mouth – paan juice that he had failed to wipe away – and the faint, sickly-sweet odor that accompanied it.
"Ah! You must be Dr. Nair. Welcome, welcome." He moved around the desk, his eyes performing a quick but thorough assessment that made her skin prickle. His gaze lingered on the curve where her saree blouse met her waist before returning to her face. "I am Seenu Krishnamurthy, Head of Department."
"Thank you for the opportunity, Professor Krishnamurthy." She kept her voice steady, professional, though her instinct was to step back from his advancing form. "I'm very pleased to join the faculty."
"Call me Seenu, please. We are all informal here." His smile revealed teeth stained from years of paan chewing, and his breath carried the distinctive aroma of betel nut and tobacco. "Such a pleasure to have someone of your caliber joining us. And from Kerala! Your reputation precedes you."
He gestured for her to sit, then perched on the edge of his desk rather than returning to his chair, a position that placed him uncomfortably close to her. "Your work on cellular adaptation to environmental stressors was most impressive. We rarely get such distinguished researchers interested in our humble institution."
"I was drawn to the department's focus on applied genetics," she said, keeping her gaze steady despite the discomfort crawling up her spine. "The opportunity to develop new research while teaching seemed ideal."
Seenu nodded, though something in his expression suggested her academic interests were not his primary concern. "You'll find our facilities adequate, though perhaps not what you're accustomed to. We make up for it in other ways – collegiality, community." He leaned slightly closer. "You're married, I see." His eyes flicked to the gold chain around her neck.
"Yes, my husband works in Dubai as a financial consultant." She kept her tone neutral, informational.
"Ah, so you're here alone." A statement, not a question. "That must be difficult. We must ensure you don't feel isolated."
Before she could respond, he glanced at his watch and straightened. "But let me show you to the staff room. Your colleagues are eager to meet you."
They walked down a corridor lined with classrooms, students parting before them like water around stones. Devika was acutely aware of Seenu's gaze on her back as she walked ahead of him, his eyes a physical weight between her shoulder blades.
"Our department has grown considerably in recent years," he said, his voice too close to her ear. "Though finding quality faculty is always a challenge. Most young people want corporate jobs these days – better pay, less responsibility."
The paan smell grew stronger as they walked, and Devika noticed dark red splashes on the floor near the walls – more evidence of the habit she found so distasteful. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily.
"Not a fan of paan, Dr. Nair?" Seenu asked, catching her expression. "It's quite the tradition here. Perhaps an acquired taste." He chuckled, a wet sound that made her spine stiffen.
"I'm simply not accustomed to it," she replied diplomatically.
The staff room door stood open, revealing a large space furnished with worn sofas and desks. Several men looked up as they entered, their conversations halting mid-sentence. Devika felt the weight of their collective gaze – evaluating, speculating, stripping away layers of her professional identity to focus on the woman beneath.
"Colleagues," Seenu announced with a proprietary air, "I present Dr. Devika Nair, our new Associate Professor of Molecular Biology. Dr. Nair comes to us from Kerala with an impressive research background."
The men rose, offering varying degrees of welcome. Most, Devika noted with growing discomfort, directed their attention to her saree-dbangd form rather than her face. One younger lecturer stared openly at the exposed midriff between her saree and blouse until an older colleague elbowed him.
"And here," Seenu continued, guiding Devika toward a corner where a woman sat marking papers, "is Professor Sharada Desai, our senior most faculty member and the department's institutional memory."
Sharada looked up, her sharp eyes taking in Devika through stylish glasses. Unlike the men, her assessment felt clinical rather than lecherous – no less invasive, but driven by different motivations. She was elegantly put together in a muted gray silk saree, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an immaculate bun, a single strand of pearls at her throat speaking of understated wealth.
"So you're the new blood," Sharada said, rising with fluid grace that belied her sixty-plus years. Her handshake was firm, her palm cool and dry against Devika's slightly damp one. "Sit with me. Let these men return to their important discussions of cricket scores."
The men laughed awkwardly, but dutifully drifted back to their previous positions. Seenu lingered, clearly reluctant to relinquish his claim on the new arrival.
"I'll leave you in capable hands, Dr. Nair," he finally said. "My door is always open should you need... anything at all." The pause was deliberate, laden with implication.
After he left, Sharada made a small sound of amused contempt. "Seenu has always fancied himself irresistible to new female faculty. You'll develop calluses to his attention soon enough."
Devika settled into the chair opposite Sharada, arranging her saree carefully. "Thank you for the welcome, Professor Desai."
"Sharada, please. We don't stand on ceremony here, despite what our esteemed HOD might prefer." She studied Devika with bird-like intensity. "Kerala to Pune is quite the cultural shift. What brings you so far from home?"
"The position itself," Devika replied. "The opportunity to establish new research while teaching."
"Hmm." Sharada's expression suggested she found this answer incomplete. "And your family? They supported this move?"
"My parents still live in Kerala. They're both retired teachers."
"And the husband whose chain you wear? He didn't mind you relocating alone?"
The directness of the question caught Devika off guard. "He works in Dubai. We're accustomed to separation."
Something flickered in Sharada's eyes – recognition, perhaps, or calculation. "Accustomed to, but not necessarily comfortable with, I imagine." She leaned forward slightly. "Marriage and career rarely follow parallel paths for women in our field. One must often choose which to nurture."
The observation hit uncomfortably close to the doubts that had plagued Devika's sleepless nights. Before she could formulate a response, Sharada continued.
"You'll find Pune different from Kerala in ways both obvious and subtle. The students here are... less disciplined than you might be accustomed to. The men, as you've already witnessed, are less subtle in their appreciation." She gestured toward the male faculty members, who occasionally glanced in their direction. "But there are compensations. Freedom has its own flavor."
"Freedom?" Devika repeated, uncertain of Sharada's meaning.
The older woman's smile contained secrets. "Distance creates space for growth, Dr. Nair. Away from the watchful eyes of family and community, one can explore aspects of oneself previously kept dormant." She patted Devika's hand, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. "We should have tea sometime. I know all the finest places in Pune – the real Pune, not just the university bubble."
Devika found herself nodding, drawn to Sharada's confidence despite an instinctive wariness. "I'd like that. It would be good to have a guide."
"Excellent." Sharada's smile deepened. "I think we'll become fast friends, you and I. Every transplant needs someone to help them take root in new soil."
As faculty members began filtering in for the morning meeting, Devika felt herself suspended between worlds – Kerala behind her, Pune unfolding before her, and these new colleagues circling like curious fish around a foreign object in their waters. Seenu watched her from across the room, his gaze a persistent pressure. Sharada observed her reactions with analytical interest.
The weight of the marriage chain around her neck seemed suddenly heavier, a tether to a connection growing more tenuous by the day. For the first time, Devika wondered if distance might indeed create not just space for growth, but space for fundamental change – cellular adaptation at its most profound.
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