It is now three A.M. as I settle in for a long session at the console. From my window I can see the snow falling in large gentle flakes, brilliant against the backdrop of the night. I type in my password and the computer tells me that I have mail. It is Vawani, on the west coast; he is excited about his plans for stopping by in Korea on his way home. Also, there is some stray mail on the IITnet - another newcomer wondering if anyone knows the whereabouts of such-and-such, his classmate from IIT Kanpur, batch of '83.

I type in `who' to find out who else is using the system now. Barun, Stuart and Hari - a typical nightcruising crowd. Stuart, who comes on his motorcycle even through the winter months, works on the Butterfly project. He likes nights for the peace and quiet. Barun and I, we are regulars - both refined procrastinators, we do it from necessity. We usually have breakfast together before he leaves for home around six in the morning. Hari is an occasional, he works nights only if he has to. A deadline must be near.

I put a cassette into my walkman. For the last year or so, I have found myself getting increasingly attracted towards Indian classical music; in IIT, I listened to little but the rock groups that were in fashion then - Uriah Heep, Led Zep, Who, Jethro Tull and the like. Today I decide on Bhimsen Joshi, a live recording from the Dover Lane Conference, 1981. This particular piece, an hour-long exposition in Vilaskhani Todi, is one of my favourites, and puts me in a somber mood. Somehow I don't feel like working on my robot simulator tonight. For a while now, I have been thinking of writing this diary, and today everything seems just right. To hell with my various deadlines, and I type in the title.

I am in the final stages of my PhD. I also have a job offer, an assistant professorship in a decent university, which I have postponed twice. Somehow my work never seems to follow the deadlines I assign to it. Maybe it is because I am forever diverting myself with activities like this. Future - thy time will come, but now it is the present moment. Ah, Bhimsen - thou art exquisite!

The machine I am working on has the screen divided into several windows, each of which is like a small independent screen. While I am typing this in one window, a message comes to me on another window from Barun, who wants to know if I am interested in a coffee break. I use a mouse to go to the other window, talk to him over the network, and come back to typing this diary. Yes, let's take a break in about half an hour.

A coffee break means driving down to one of the round-the-clock cafeterias nearby. I prefer Dunkin Donuts, which is a chain of doughnut stores, very bright and sparkling, but somewhat antiseptic. Dunkin coffee is famous, and justifiably so. Barun prefers the more traditional diners, where good greasy food is served by matronly waitresses and jukeboxes whine plaintively amidst the somber decor. After six we have a broader choice, since many places, including the ubiquitous McDonalds, start serving breakfast then. Bhimsen is entering the gat now, and the tabla falls into place smoothly.

Sometimes I wonder why I am here. Even six years back, as a fresh engineer in a company near Delhi, I always knew I would be leaving for a PhD. The reason was simple: I looked upon the PhD as a return to the glorious days of studenthood, and the two years of work was just a taste of another life. Also I wanted to travel in a broader context - to live in faraway places so that the whole experience would have time to sink in and become commonplace. Never did I believe that I was going there to stay, to live my life in a foreign land, and nor do I think so now. The personal sacrifices - a sense of alienation and the lack of security, far outweigh any other advantages.

But my life has changed in imperceptible ways. Maybe I have grown soft and accustomed to a more organised lifestyle. I have developed a slight accent, most prominent when I talk over the phone. Maybe my attitudes and skills will no longer fit into the mainstream of Indian life... only by going back and living in India will I know. Like many before me, maybe I will find a land that is no longer mine. Maybe I shall settle into the expatriate existence, visiting India every two years, and see my children grow up into people I barely know.

Bhimsen has moved into a bhajan - a melodious number, executed with moving grace. A deep sense of peace overwhelms me in my solitude, a tranquil uplifting feeling which grows through the night and transforms into mild euphoria with the dawn. The snowflakes are smaller now, but the lawns, the trees, the rooftops and the roads are all white, a soft yet dazzling whiteness. The sun rises slowly, and paints the snow in the hues of the morning mist. The audience breaks into rapturous applause, as Bhimsen winds up a truly exhilarating performance.

The coffee break beckons, and I must be gone.