My Home Isn’t A Zip Code, It’s A Feeling

 

My early childhood took place in a small village near the Seoni area of Madhya Pradesh in rural India, the inspiration for Rudyard Kipling’s “The Jungle Book.” The village does not exist on modern maps and forests, wild animals, gurgling rivers, marble rocks and misty waterfalls surround the landscape that I called home.

My parents were doctors for the Indian government, serving their tenure in rural India. There were no schools and no rules: a dream life for a kid! But that changed too soon.

When I was old enough to go to school, I moved to a town called Jabalpur where I lived with my grandparents for the next several years. My grandparents were raised in Gandhi’s India and worked their way out of extreme poverty. They espoused the values of hard work, integrity and education, and operated with strict personal discipline. My grandparents instilled these values in me to create a foundation that still supports me today.

Even with these important values at a young age, I became aware of gender discrimination in my society. Girls did not have the same opportunities and privileges as boys. This enraged me, but it also fueled me to forge my own path to freedom and equity. I found a lifeline in education and committed myself to it. Eventually, I gained admission into the mechanical engineering department at a premier engineering school, Visvesvaraya National Institute of Technology. Then, all hell broke loose.

Mechanical engineering was not for girls — or so I was told. I faced tremendous resistance through bullying, harassment and even threats to personal safety. My family, faculty and friends were all worried, and debate raged to encourage a switch to another discipline. I considered it briefly, but a stubborn streak took over: This was my seat, I earned it on my own merit and I would not give it up.

Once I stood up for myself, others stood beside me. I made friends and found advocates, and they helped me through; they supported me not just throughout my time in college, but also encouraged me to pursue higher education in the United States.

I came to the U.S. in 1998 and joined the University of Minnesota to pursue a master’s degree and PhD in mechanical engineering. This was a different world. As Marvel film fans would say, I found a wormhole into the multiverse! I learned, grew and formed deep friendships that still tether me to this world. One such friendship turned into a commitment to share our laughter and tears for the rest of our lives. I met my husband Suvo, and we’ve been married for 21 years. Our beautiful children, Diya and Aadi, are our pride and joy, as well as our guides into western culture. Today, I live in Southeast Michigan, and my work “home” is GM’s Milford Proving as an executive director within GPD.  

I frequently get asked, “How often do you go home?” This question baffles me because home is not a zip code for me — it’s a feeling. I have travelled thousands of miles, across oceans and into alternate realities, and I still find myself at home on a nature hike, in the effortless company of friends, within cuddle time with my kids or when reading an engaging book.

Mostly, I discover home in the tastes and flavors of my childhood: the sweetness of cardamom Chai, a crunchy bite of Masala Dosa and the spicy depths of Biryani. These transport me back to my childhood, and bring me “home” anywhere, anytime.

(Published within GM on 5-16-22)

Long Way Home

(shared at work) 

My early childhood was in a small village in India. The village does not exist on modern maps, it exists in stories that we know and love. I grew up near the Seoni area of Madhya Pradesh, that was the inspiration of Rudyard Kipling’s ‘The Jungle Book’. Dense forest, wild animals, gurgling river, marble rocks and misty waterfalls dotted the landscape that I called home. I fell in love with nature.

My parents were Doctors in the Indian Government, serving their tenure in rural India. There were no schools and no rules – dream life for a kid! And that changed too soon. When I was old enough to go to school, I had to move to a town, called Jabalpur, where I lived with my grandparents for next several years. My grandparents, who were raised in Gandhi’s India, and had worked their way out of extreme poverty, espoused the values of hard work, integrity & education. They operated with strict personal discipline and inculcated the same into me. This foundation stills supports me.

This was also the time that I started becoming aware of the gender discrimination in the society. Girls did not have the same opportunities and privileges as boys, and that enraged me, as well as, fueled me to forge my own path to freedom and equity. I found a lifeline in education and committed myself to it. Eventually, I got admission into the mechanical engineering department at a premier engineering school, Visvesvaraya National Institute of Technology (VNIT). All hell broke loose – mechanical engineering was not for girls, or so they believed. I faced tremendous resistance – bullying, harassment, and even threats to personal safety. My family, faculty and friends were all worried and there was much debate for me to switch to another discipline. I even considered it briefly, but a stubborn streak took over – this was my seat, I earned it on my own merit, and I would not give it up. I stayed. And that changed everything – once I stood up for myself, others stood behind me. I made friends and found advocates – and they helped me through not just the rest of my time in college but encouraged me to pursue higher education in US.

I came to US in 1998 and joined University of Minnesota for MS & PhD in Mechanical Engineering. This was a different world – or as a Marvel movies fan would say – I found a wormhole into the multiverse! The reality I found myself in could not be farther away from the one I came from, and it bent and stretched my mind in unimaginable ways. One hilarious example is that, as soon as I moved into my new apartment, I put up a Swastik sign on my front door, as is customary in Indian households, to welcome good fortune and ward off evil. I was totally oblivious to the symbol’s dark history in the western world (didn’t I say I grew up in the Jungles?!). The curiosity and kindness of a friend came to my rescue when she asked me point blank what nefarious activities I was up to and then enlightened me with her knowledge. We compared our eastern and western notes and laughed and wondered what doorways never open because people make assumptions instead of just asking.

UMN was a magical time for me. I learned, I grew, and I found my ‘global entry’. I formed deep friendships that tether me to this world. One such friendship turned into a commitment to share our laughter and tears for the rest of our lives – Suvo and I have been married for 21 years. Our beautiful children, Diya & Aadi, are our pride & joy, as well as our guides into the western culture.

I frequently get asked, “How often do you go home?”. This question baffles me because ‘home’ is not a zip code for me, it’s a feeling. I have travelled thousands of miles, across oceans and into alternate realities; I find myself at home in - a nature hike, effortless company of friends, cuddle time with kids, reading a good book and the tastes and flavors of childhood. The sweetness of cardamom chai, crunchy bite of masala dosa and spicy depths of biriyani transport me and bring me home anywhere, anytime!

Owning My Narrative

(shared at work)

So – How do I break bias?

Earlier in my career, when I started working towards more leadership roles, I received some explicit feedback from an "expert career coach". He said – "You're Asian, you're a woman AND you have a PhD. You invoke a stereotype of someone who belongs in a 'lab' not in leadership ranks." Then he sheepishly added – "after talking to you for 5mins, you bust that bias". "But you should be aware that this bias exists and that you will have to work to overcome it".

This happened years before we started talking about implicit bias at work, so I was grateful that I got that feedback and became aware of the problem that I needed to tackle. And I tried out many strategies to help address it.

Some were good – like I started reading a lot of leadership books and started building my knowledge base – I realized that this is a learnable skillset!  I also started seeking out assignments away from my core technical area – I learned so much about other parts of the business and got the opportunity to exercise those leadership skills because I didn't have the relevant technical skills for those jobs! These things worked out great for me in the long run.

But I also did some things that didn't work out so well. I tried "blending in" – I changed my appearance, my clothes, my hair; I dropped the "Dr" in front of my name – a title I worked so hard to earn; and worst of all, and this creeped up slowly, almost unknowingly – I started giving vague answers about where I was from. (I mean, it's a lot easier to say I am from Minnesota, than a village in India that is literally not on the map.) In more ways than one, I became homeless.

All this took a huge toll on me. I started feeling fake, and out of place, and weird, and drained. This breaking bias business was breaking me.

Then I remembered the other part of the feedback – "after talking to you for 5mins, you bust that bias" maybe he had meant it as a passing comment … but THAT was the key insight. How did I miss that? How did I get it so wrong? I was focused on changing my own reality, instead of changing others' perception of it. And by doing so, I was reinforcing the bias not breaking it.

So now I take a totally different approach. Now, I ask for my 5 mins. Any time I have a new team, a new boss, a business partner, or stakeholder – I arrange to meet to introduce myself directly and personally … and unapologetically show up as myself. I own my narrative instead of letting it get filtered and distorted by second-hand bias. It has been a game changer.

So this is how I break bias. How about you?

 

Unstereotypically Yours,

Ankur Ganguli

#IWD2022           #breakthebias    #womenshistorymonth

Friends @ Work

(shared at work)

Monday, Jan 3^rd

As soon as the Urgent Care opened, I walked up to the check in counter with Diya (my daughter). The lady at the front desk looked at us and asked, "You guys were here yesterday, right?" "Yes, and the day before", I answered. And even the day before that, I added silently in my head.

 

Back tracking to Dec 31^st, new year's eve, my husband and son woke up with sore throat and fever and same day tested positive for COVID-19. Diya started showing some strange symptoms the next day, a rash that kept spreading throughout her body over the next few days. We made, multiple visits to urgent care, and many night phone calls to the nurse line -  they all provided lots of assurances that this was just COVID and we just needed to quarantine at home and let this pass through. They were all eager to keep us at home and not have COVID exposed people around in their facilities.

 

So, there I was with Diya, on day 3 of our consecutive visits to the urgent care. But this time, the nurse that took us in did not even attempt to treat her. Diya's condition had deteriorated so much that she told us to go to ER immediately and then promptly left the room and exclaimed "OH MY GOD" as she closed the door behind her. We heard her through the door and my heart sank.

 

I drove Diya straight to Mott's Children's Hospital and within minutes of checking in, she was admitted into the ICU, with the diagnosis of Stevens-Johnson-Syndrome, or SJS, a rare, unpredictable, and serious condition when the immune system reacts to something and mounts an attack on its own body. They did not know for sure what triggered it, but the rash had spread all over her body, not only on the outside, but also into the inside organs. Many teams of specialists were hovering over her, and she was connected to tubes, needles and wires in no time.  There were endless tests being run, statistics and projections, hypotheses and probabilities – if only I could process all this information and digest all the data and find the right solution! @#!@#!!!

 

The next few hours were a blur, or maybe it was few days, weeks? Time warped, and at some point, my distraught mind registered that I needed to inform people. But who? And what was I going to tell them?

 

The reality was that even though we had a diagnosis, there was no root cause, there were multiple theories and conflicting opinions on treatment plans and a poor prognosis overall. We did not know what we were in for or how long.

 

I called home first but found myself lacking in adequate words to describe what was happening. The only thing I could tell my family for certain was that they could not visit her – being COVID positive, they were not allowed any where near the hospital premises. And I could not leave, if I did, I will not be allowed back in, so I was going to stay with her, for as long as it took.

 

I figured I should call at work …. Didn't I have a Staff meeting or something? The whole thing felt so surreal and out of place. I called one of my team members, told him what was going on … I don't think I was very coherent. Being a father himself, he understood completely.  I felt comforted.

 

I asked him to "just take care of stuff" and related "we don't know what we are in for, or how long". He told me to just take care of Diya and not worry about work, the team will figure it out.

 

I called one of my colleagues, there was some program crisis and escalations were starting to trickle in. I asked him to step in. "Absolutely, anytime" he said. 'Anytime' was what I needed to hear 'cause the same haunting words were circling in my mind ""we don't know what we are in for, or how long".

 

I txted my boss, didn't even have the energy to call. I got immediate response "Family First. Health First". That's it. No questions about when I was going to be back or who will cover during my absence. He trusted me. And I trusted my team and my colleagues to help and support and handle things.

 

Later, I called another colleague – this time for personal help. His wife was a Doctor and I needed advice. She helped me sort through the mind-numbing medical lingo and hospital protocols that I was struggling with. I was so grateful to talk to someone who knows the system.

 

Days and nights fused together. Diya started responding to the treatment and started stabilizing. While recovery was still a distant notion, it was a relief to see some improvement. I started breathing easier, I might even have dozed off in that singular reclining chair that I had been camping out on.

 

Diya, on the other hand, started to get worried. Are you going to leave me here and go home? Don't you have to go back to work? How can you take so many days off? You don't even have your laptop.

 

On and on, she peppered me with these questions. She is very familiar with my typical work schedule, so she could not believe that I could just step away for so long. I reassured her that everything was taken care of at work, and I really was going to stay with her – as long as it takes.

 

She mulled it over and then said something truly remarkable, "You seem to have good friends at work, tell them I appreciate them". It was a precise choice of words, and it came from the depth of gratitude of a child's heart. It made me pause.

 

I looked up the word "Friendship" – its described as a state of mutual trust and support. And yes, that is precisely what I received and precisely what I needed during that time.

 

As I think, more broadly, about our current environment, our lives, our work – do we really know what we are in for, and for how long? Who do we lean on, who do we call for help? And who can we offer our friendship to?

 

(As I write this, I am happy to report that the whole family is doing much better and planning for Spring break someplace warm soon!)