Einstein and Feynman ushered me into grad school, reality ushered me out. My girlfriend asked me that question, after work over drinks at some shiny Manhattan bar, after another stressful day on the trading floor.
How to answer that? I knew she was talking about work, but how unhappy did she think I was? I took a sip of single malt scotch and scrolled back through time in my mind until I had it. An afternoon that I can play back like a home movie.
The sky is blue, the clouds are cotton balls, and sunlight shimmers off the deep green leaves of the grass, bushes, and oak trees of campus, all freshly nourished by the recently melted snow. Undergraduates are out in shorts on the quad, some gathered on steps, others tossing Frisbees, all surrounded by ivy-covered halls of red brick and gray stone, including Bausch and Lomb Hall, home of the physics department. Maroon, I think, bordered by sunlight.
Chandeliers sparkle above. There are seven or eight people sitting around the table, which is set with a white cloth and place settings decked out with multiple forks. A bottle of wine is making the rounds. The meal feels like what it is: a celebration. He wore wire-framed glasses and was smiling too.
Actually Sarada Rajeev was always smiling, although his smile had several variations. There was the default smile he had on now, a smile of surprise that lifted his glasses in synchrony with his eyebrows, and a smile of discomfort where his eyes gave his true feelings away. Rajeev was an assistant professor of physics in his early 30s, just five years older than me. Rajeev had arranged the lunch, having gathered all of his students and postdocs to welcome me into his group.
