One of the coveted prizes of an academic life is the visiting fellowship/professorship, that plump offer of a time and space away from the routine of one’s regular job, away from the politics and pressures of administration, teaching and advising. This is given in the assumption that it stimulates reflection in an environment that allows for varied intellectual discussions and possibly (for the Indian academic, particularly) access to resources and people who can help fill the gaps of one’s research.
These ‘visitorships’ come in different forms. Some require that you contribute to some teaching or even teach an entire course, but the attraction of this is the opportunity to try out your skills and ideas in a foreign environment and thus learn something new about pedagogy. Others might relate to an ongoing research project or collaboration and specify goals and outcomes for the visit. But there are also those that simply offer a protected stint, with access to all the possibilities that a university space holds: libraries, seminars and lectures (that you are not responsible for), museums and exhibitions, serendipitous interactions with bright young minds and seasoned older ones, and (depending on where in the world) lots of quiet.
If you are not from the world of academia, these stints can seem quite mysterious, the object of much envy and curiosity. "So what will you be doing there?" "Will you be teaching or giving talks every day?" "What work will you be doing?" We all have a fairly set view of corporate travel--meetings all day followed by official dinners. But academic travel (other than conferences)? And that too trips that last several weeks, if not months? What do these people do, really? The notion that academics need a break in order to think, to write, to discover new ideas or flesh out old ones...it's hard to explain how it all works, especially if there is no book at the end of it!
I’ve been fortunate to have had a few of these more unstructured fellowships, and now, in the middle of one such, am struck by how different yet similar an experience each has been. Each University I’ve visited has had a distinctly different environment and culture. I’ve learned that what you get out of such opportunities depends on many things, the most important being your own motivation, preparation and expectations. Add to that your ability to make sense of the host institution and understand how to build relationships with people there. But most importantly, such retreats force you to construct a discipline that is not imposed on you externally, and find a creative workflow that is internally driven. Some host institutions will have a broad plan for you while others do not, but almost all will expect you to work yourself into their rhythm—or work outside it. As far as they are concerned, this is your time, and all they have done is give you the space—and a couple of keys that open some doors.
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At the University of Sydney, doors to faculty offices were usually ajar; one could hear cheery g’days and banter in the hallways and there was almost always a bunch of people chatting at the coffee machine. It helped that I had met a few of the people in the School I was visiting before I arrived, so there were familiar faces and names. I spent my time reading and collecting information for a paper and scheduling meetings to discuss possible joint projects. Now, five years later, some of those have matured into funded projects, and the association has been cemented with an honorary professorial fellowship at The George Institute for Global Health. Over several cups of coffee and tea, I exchanged ideas with researchers and got to know how they worked. While I did not finish any writing while in Sydney, the ten weeks were rejuvenating in many ways, both academic and personal. As it happens with many of us Indian teachers, the unlimited access to library resources and the wide comfortable spaces of library reading rooms is a huge treat in itself. The ability to walk everywhere along tree lined avenues, sit in a park with a lunchtime sandwich, or relax with a book on a campus bench without worrying about being somewhere on time, or to stumble into an interesting special exhibit on everyday objects at the university museum—these are precious gifts.
And then there was the Fulbright stint at MIT’s Media Lab. The Center for Civic Media welcomed me into their quirky corner even as the Comparative Media Studies department helped orient me to the Media Lab’s enviable space with all its futuristic projects. The four months in Cambridge gave me a sense of what it means to live within that bubble of academic privilege, with all the opportunities it offers to regular students and to visitors, if they care to look. The Pulitzer Awards held their centenary celebrations the year I was there, and I was quite the fan girl when I shook Bob Woodward’s hand in the hallway as he made his way out after his talk. The evening after the 2016 elections, Harvard held a panel discussion featuring some names most liberal arts academics are familiar with, including postcolonial scholar Homi Bhabha. It was easy to become familiar with Boston because I had friends and acquaintances who eased me into its academic and cultural life, from Melinda Robins who helped me find an apartment, to Mary Gray who invited me to become part of the Microsoft Research Group’s book club while I was there, to William Uricchio who showed me the ropes at MIT—and facilitated access to the coffee lounge. The design of the Civic Media space, and the weekly open meetings where members of the wider community participated, encouraged the exploration of collaborative relationships—and one of these resulted in a series of workshops in Hyderabad two years later.
And what did I achieve in Cambridge/Boston? I did a lot of writing, both academic and professional, restructured a syllabus, and made considerable headway on a longer term research project. And between all this took long walks along the Charles River and in the Harvard arboretum, and attended late night events at the Museum of Fine Arts.
So now I find myself at the University of Bremen, in a country where I do not speak the language and in a city where I did not know a soul, having had email exchanges with just one person. I am here on a visiting research fellowship that has two stated outputs: to offer a research seminar and to produce an article from ongoing research that will be published as part of a working paper series. I was excited when I left, looking forward to interactions with faculty at one of Europe’s prestigious research centers, particularly in terms of new media studies. I was familiar with the work of Andreas Hepp, whom I had met briefly at an ICA preconference over the summer, when we exchanged no more than five words. But I really did not know any of the others.
I arrived on a cold and grey Sunday morning, and realized, on landing in Bremen (which actually does have a very small international airport) that I was for the first time going to be spending time in a country where I did not know the language, and where I had no familiar interlocutor. I went in to the Center promptly on Monday morning, and met my ‘primary correspondent’, the friendly Dr Leif Kramp, who gave me my keys, showed me to the room I would share with other fellows, and got me to sign the paperwork. I was then left to myself, with Internet access but little else in terms of orientation. The corridors were quiet and most doors closed. Leif told me that most faculty do not come on Mondays. The next day, I met the other visiting fellow, Jens Pohlman, from whom I learned a little more...about the Centre and its expectations (none, beyond the two stated), and of course a bit about his work.
It is now close to two weeks since I arrived, and I have so far met only one other professor, who is to be my point of contact for academic matters, and with whom, over lunch, I have had the only other extended academic discussion since coming here. I have exchanged smiles with others in the hallways, a couple of handshakes, but little else. My talk will happen next week, and I expect some conversations will open up.
But until then, it depends on me to initiate any kind of exchange. The structure of the centre is rooms on either side of a corridor, with a small pantry where coffee is brewed, and this does not really make for impromptu gatherings (as around the coffee machine in Sydney or the round table at MIT’s Civic Media). To enter into the life of the Centre, I must find a way through conversations with individual faculty members—by knocking on doors and introducing myself. And that’s something I find hard to do.
My presence in Germany did occasion an invitation to speak at another University, in Munich, and that has been an added bonus. I met a group of very animated scholars and enjoyed an afternoon walking through a beautiful park on a rare sunny afternoon.
Back in Bremen, I do have the time and space that I so dream of when I am at home. I have days that are entirely my own, and no unexpected knocks on my office door or meetings to attend. Of course, I can also finish all those other projects that the routine in Hyderabad keeps me from focusing on.
But for now, all I have to do is give that talk and write that paper. And maybe visit the Christmas Market in Bremen Town Square while I am at it.
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