Sitara Tales

This tale begins at the tender age of five. We finish the plate of rotis and most likely our routine dinner time special of cabbage sabzi (bandha gobi tarkari in Odia) in our three bedroom apartment above Papa's office room in the heart of Dar es Salaam's industrial area, Kurasini. As Mama begins clearing the table, I am already strapping on my sandals and Papa is getting up to wash his hands. Shortly after, Mama is at the door with us and we are walking down a corridor towards a mesh gate on the first floor of the building. Upon stepping out, we arrive at a balcony. My tiny legs barely let me see what lies above the concrete barrier and Papa gently scoops me in his arms. In the distance, I see some distinct buildings in the 2006 skyline of Dar. I can see the Twin Towers, and the PPF Tower. I see the national port's cranes just barely grazing my view at the edge of the highway. I hear some lone cars drive by and see a couple of askaris, security guards, walking throughout the empty yard  directly infront of us. I probably see two trucks parked, with a couple of containers in the workshop bays. Despite this, the parking yard is still fairly empty and to me, it is my paradise. What can be more exciting than watching trucks with cars on two levels, walking joyfully with Mama Papa after dinner, and watching the stars above my head? 

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Back in 2006, and to a fair extent even today, the night skies of Dar es Salaam were a skywatcher's delight even from the heart of the city. From the truckyard in Papa's office compound a couple of miles from the city center, dusk meant virgin skies. As we walk several rounds around the ground, I seem to be captivated by something in the distance. Something far beyond my reach, Mama's reaches, and even my superhero Papa's reaches. This entity has captured my curiosity and I can't seem to get enough of it. Mama and Papa soon realise that their knowledge of this object is running out and my thirst is not quenched. Every night, every walk, drew me closer in. Each day my questions multiplied. Then one day, Mama handed me a book. It was called "The Universe".

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It might be cringy if I said I held 'The Universe' in my tiny hands that day. Maybe I did. As a five year old in first grade, I was overjoyed at my newfound love of reading. The hundred page, hardbound book about the enchanting night skies that captivated me was a treasure trove. It took me a month to read all of it. Even today, I will say that that was the best book I have ever read. It was the book that changed my life. 

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As the years in primary school progressed and I stepped into seemingly 'happening' world of teenage, despite the fluttering emotions, there were a couple of things about me which remained undeterred. At the top of this list was my love for the skies which only thrived as the days went by. I navigated my way through the 'thrills' of high school as I navigated the strange emotions of experiencing attraction for the first time, asking myself, is this normal? Looking back at pre-teen me, it is impossible for 20-year-old me to not giggle a bit at her innocence. Simultaneously, 20-year-old me proudly smiles at 13 year-old-me remembering her focus and love for family. Teenage is entertaining, but had it lasted any longer than it did, I would surely have lost my mind. 

Book stores in Dar es Salaam though quite cozy (my favourite one being Novel Idea at Slip Way, Oysterbay), were often filled with books on lifestyle, wildlife, literature, culture and fiction. During our weekend getaways to the seaside shopping complex at Slip Way, I would slip away into Novel Idea and look for science books, often to little success, but I did find some poetry and animal photography gems instead. My introduction to popular science physics books was no less than a dramatic Bollywood movie script. This next phase, set the foundation for where I am today. 

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It was around 3 am and I think Mama and I were at Mumbai airport. Our annual trip to India, visiting relatives and friends in all corners of the country, had come to a close. I enjoyed our trips, and though exhausting, the long drives to the airport to catch our return-flight filled me with nostalgia every single time. The fun afternoons with cousins, the long hours of laughter at lunch with all my Mammus (uncles - Mama's brothers), the bittersweet goodbyes which I tried not to recall, zoomed past my mind in a flashback. I felt ready to go home. Yet every time, I felt a sense of unfamiliarity, wherever I was. Dar es Salaam will always be home for me, but I don't look Tanzanian. Walking on the streets, speaking Swahili with a slight foreign accent, it is evident that I am a somewhat outsider. India, though my birth-country, always felt a little distant. I was hesitant walking on the bustling streets, crossing-roads gave me heart attacks every time, relatives often chuckled at my slightly odd Odia accent, and general public behaviour confused me many a times. My unbiased, judgement-free abode were Mama Papa and physics. 

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With four 23kg bags, two 7kg carry-on bags, a backpack and purse, and sleep-deprived irritation at the oddly-timed Emirates flight, Mama and I completed check-in. We had done this countless times, yet each time, I was excited for the journey - because transits in Dubai meant chocolate shopping! 

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Hardly sleepy with the lively duty-free shops surrounding me, I tried walking through the countless aisles of luxurious goods keeping my hands to myself - which was not too difficult for the shelves of perfume which seemed to be endless. Then, like a breath of fresh air, like that gust of wind which blows a bollywood heroine's hair away, I crashed into the hero. Our eyes locked, I couldn't turn away. On one hand our boarding gate had opened and the boarding calls had begun while Mama tried getting me to come with her. But my love-struck heart refused to budge. I was enchanted. This was love at first sight.

Gently grasping my hero, I knelt. At that instant, I knew I had finally found what I had been seeking for a long time. My hero was 'Black Holes and Baby Universes and other Essays' by Dr Stephen Hawking. Next to him, was another dashing hunk - Professor Brian Greene's 'The Elegant Universe'.  

As the flight took off after the long haul, my heart felt a previously unfelt sense of fulfilment. In my backpack were two pieces of scientific literature which spanned nearly every thing the universe has to offer. As the cabin lights dimmed and the twinkling city lights faded into the distance, the rumbling engines reminded me that I would not set foot in the country of my birth for another year - and I was okay with it. Soon I would begin hearing gentle and occassionally startlingly loud snores. Next to me, Mama has dozed off listening to Jagjit Singh's ghazals on Emirates' impressive entertainment system. But my mind is far from exhausted - it feels like I have only just started living. 

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Page after page, paragraphs melt into sub-topics and then chapters. Late Dr. Hawking's sense of humour and unmatched agility in explaining the most bizarre concepts that physics has to offer, have never stopped amazing me. Black Holes and Baby Universes and Other Essays introduced me to the concepts of negative energy, and Hawking radiation in somewhat detail. For curious minds who are looking for a cohesive introduction to the realm of theoretical physics, this book is the perfect blend of complexity and simplicity. 

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My fatigue finally gives in and a friendly air hostess gently wakes me from my sleep. As the sky blends into shades of orange and pink for a high-altitude dawn, she serves a gourmet Indian breakfast. This is the last meal I will have that was cooked in India until the next year. In nearly every flight, this breakfast has been two puris, aloo masala, dahi, a small packet of Amul butter, a bread bun, a portion of fruit, accompanied by a side such as poha, without fail. While Mama delightfully enjoys every inch of the meal, I have a slight frown as I prefer continental breakfasts on flights - chicken sausages, pancakes, waffles and chocolate sauce are a treat after spending a month with only traditional breakfasts. Living away from home, the present me would probably say the exact opposite. Lost in the fast-paced life in Birmingham, UK, stuck not being able to go home during this pandemic, my taste-buds crave Mama's idli-sambar, dosa-chutney, chole-puri and hugs.

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Reflecting upon my childhood (it is a separate issue that I refuse to accept that my childhood is over, my mind is still as playful as the five-year old me), I now realise that I had a very unique and exciting childhood that allowed me to have visited four continents and some twelve or so countries by the age of eighteen - all credits go to Mama Papa. I am the textbook definition of a third-culture-kid (TCK). I have lived in four countries; each country has moulded me in a noticeable way. India has my roots, Tanzania has my soul, Ghana was the greatest teacher, and the UK is my career cruise. Each country has a story with it. Even if I typed an infinite number of words, the stories would still be incomplete. The next few sections will touch on some of my most vivid experiences in each of these countries. Buckle up! I am about to ignite the engines of a time machine; I will take you to three different continents, over the span of fourteen years, in about twenty minutes.

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Tanzania

It is a hot and bright morning in Dar es Salaam. It's about 10 a.m and we are in the area of Upanga. We are standing in the middle of the basketball court of Aga Khan Primary School. In the distance, we hear chattering murmurs, soft at first, then gradually getting louder. As the murmurs evolve into distinct, high-pitched voices, we see a year group of third grade students approach the basketball court. They walk past us, and into the multi-purpose hall, just beside the basketball court. Their jovial faces are a clear reflection of their feelings - this is not an ordinary assembly at the multi-purpose hall. Curiously, we follow their footsteps and walk through the wooden door - it is rather inisignificant and unappealing for the size of this massive hall. By the back wall, there is a projector set up, and several rows of empty chairs. Next to the wall is stood a middle-aged man. His messy-grey hair effortlessly complements his light-colored formal shirt, neatly tucked into his black trousers. His eyes reflect patience, but fail to hide his anticipation. As he delightfully watches tiny feet trot into the hall, he walks to his laptop and takes a final glance. Today, he is faced with a task. At first sight, it seems deceptively simple but upon inspecting it further, his challenge is not going to be trivial. By the end of his talk, the eight-year olds would have learnt about the foundations of modern-day physics - the universal speed limit, astronomical units, planetary classifications, and the basics of constellations.  

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I held on to my curious fascination as I keenly listened on to his fact-filled talk, transported to a different world entirely. As his talk came to an end, I hurried to meet him. As I waddled my way through his pool of third grader fans surrounding him, I asked him for his visiting card and made up my mind to reach out to him. This was the start of my journey with my first astronomy mentor, Professor Noorali Jiwaji. 

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Prof. Jiwaji and I would meet up countless time during the next decade. With his finder SCT telescope, I would see Saturn and her majestic rings and Jupiter with its Galilean moons, for the very first time. I would finally get a glimpse of the Orion nebula in my favourite constellation. During my years in senior school at the Haven of Peace Academy, I initiated and organised World Space Week events for the entire school, annually and would delightfully welcome Prof. to my school and see the spark that I had as an eight year old, in other young minds. 

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Soon, I had earned myself the most precious nickname amongst the primary school students, I was Space Girl, and my reward for sharing facts about the Universe was numerous hugs every time I strolled past the primary years' classrooms. Few things are purer than feeling the tiny arms and hands of delighted five year olds around your waist, first thing in the morning. Every now and then, I remember their joyful faces and a smile makes its way to my face. These little children are probably in their teenage years now. I wonder if their fascination for the moon and stars is just as strong now. 

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As a curious girl, always looking for something more to learn, with a cautiously rebellious personality when it comes to new science, when I learnt about some of the details of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, quite honestly I was mad at Heisenberg for a couple of days. Surely he had missed something. I simply refused to accept this fact that the rest of the physics community had engraved into its very core. I spent days researching online, looking for any clue on potential ways to prove, or rather disprove, this monumental principle. And that's when I came across some of the intricacies of the Higgs Boson particle. This teeny tiny particle, which some claim to be the very cornerstone of all physical entities, has no spin, which led me to understand that it should unaffected by magnetic fields. This arch nemesis of mine soon became a friend. The more I read about particle physics, the deeper I was drawn into the world of the miniscule. Inevitably, this influenced my choice of program when the time came to apply for university. 

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