The Landscape of Excess

I was intrigued to hear a strong buzzing sound under an electric pole while walking on the pavement the other night in New Haven. While I wondered what created this buzz, my friend Anwar walking alongside me informed me that it was the sound of the excess current flowing through the wires. The sound was enormous, as if a thousand honey bees came to attack you at once. In the same imagination of the attack, Anwar further said that if that wire, by any chance fell on a human, it would burn him/her out in mere seconds. As much as I was convinced that it was the noise of electricity, I was also amazed by the immensity of the energy it carried. The excess was immediately evident in brightly lit up campus, the illuminated buildings, as much as the pavements and the roads. In fact this instance merely strengthened my perception of the abundance that a developed country like the US enjoys, well evident in Yale's campus.

Coming from a developing country, the display of excess in US for me is generally exacerbated. The over rationing of energy and resources in most aspects of American culture is overtly evident. An everyday experience for a person like me in the US is navigating through a landscape of excess, and also wondering about its potential wastage. There are so many examples one could count where such over-investment of resources is disappointing. 

The lights in the Yale School of Architecture never go off - they illuminate the building 24x7 throughout the year. In addition, the building is mechanically ventilated and the temperature is more or less maintained throughout. The windows of the buildings remain fixed, and closed, unlike earlier when they were openable. The light quality of most classrooms and studios are mechanically controlled. You can blind yourself from the outside at any given moment and switch on a dimmer. Each desk has a private lamp, in addition to the brilliantly lit studio. 

Each station is equipped with a double monitor computer screen, and the whole space is enabled with wifi, along with the ethernet connections on their CPUs. A typical scene in addition to these screens would be to find students reading through their i-pads and browsing facebook on their phones. Big and small screens inundate the entire studio space, overflowing the whole world into your eyes. This is primarily enabled through the resources made available to everyone at Yale.

A popularly exploited the facility from the library is the Borrow-direct: a service that essentially allows you to call for a particular book from any other member library in the North-East region in the US in case it is not present in your own library. Students, invariably use this service many a times without bothering to find if the book is actually available within their own premises. They wouldn't wait for the books to be recalled if issued by another patron. They simply call for it from another university. Borrow direct vans run along the different universities in the north east shifting books physically from one place to another based on urgent patron requests in different places. One of my program mates once revealed: "I don't bother to look into the Yale Orbis Library Catalogue, I just order it from Borrow Direct." 

The enormous receptions after the weekly Thursday lectures at the School are another display of the richness of Yale. A wine and drinks reception in the art gallery generally follows the talk, where students and faculty are invited for an elaborate socializing session. Caterers feed the chaotic crowd within the gallery and snacks on the table are kept to go along with the different varieties of alcohol. The left over from this session often is discarded. For example, I once saw the caterer winding up the session to collect the bowls of left snacks, and promptly throwing them into the dustbin! She did not even think twice before dumping them away...

But I believe this is the general rule for most of the eateries here in the US. Coffee shops, bakeries and restaurants throw away all their left over unsold, unconsumed stuff. Their law does not want to chance the risk of getting people ill off consuming old food products. A large amount of food thus goes into the dustbin every night. While the beggars remain homeless and unfed outside, the shop owners are casual in performing their dutiful jobs. For them, being on the right side of the law is more important, not obeying which would deprive them of their sources of livelihood. The vast amount of coffees that go into the gutters is disgusting. They make mistakes freely and those are even paid for. Under the pressure of time and work, if they ever get a wrong order for a coffee, they promptly dump it into the waste bin. Such orders are not preserved for any customer who may later favour for it. 

It is the vast corporate chains of these shops to whom such amounts of waste do not matter in the differential economics, and eventually make it permissible. Capitalism, in most instances, looks at the larger scheme of things. The everyday does not really figure in capitalistic processes, everyday is not the prerogative of capitalism. 

People in the US are brought up in such culture of abundance and excess. To them it is absolutely normal to throw out a glass of freshly bought coffee if it is not as per their taste. Resources, when in such large quantities that the hint of scarcity is not even an faraway imagination, are absolutely taken for granted, and even wasted further. I have been living in this overly resourceful landscape for two years now, and I cringe at every moment when in the architecture school, people throw away huge chunks of model making or printing material without even giving a second thought to pass it to a poor school near by. To be able to make such donations, special drives are conducted. Thus, they don't happen by themselves, rather need to be formalized through another agency.

Coming from a culture of the developing economy, perhaps I was unable to enjoy, or even exploit this excessiveness. I perhaps didnot know what to do of so much resource - may be I was dumbfounded! Was I truly able to indulge in this luxury of Yale? Did I exploit its resources enough? May be it's too late to ask this question. And now, even if I didn't, I certainly paid for it. A life time of money that goes into maintaining this prestige, reputation and glory of Yale, accrued through enormous installments of wasted resources. I may not be completely wrong in attributing much of such phenomenon to the US. It is a place where people live in the oblivion of abundance. A lot more stories, need to be written for such landscapes of excess.

New Questions from Thesis

How do we read such masala buildings? What do we do with this masala? How does one identify its use? How do we make it more interesting and engaging? How do we make the reading of these building more meaningful? What cultural value do they hold? Should we even consider them? If we choose to, how do we talk about them? What are the ways in which we can address such imagic practices? What are the ways in which we can interpret them? What kind of aesthetic trajectories do they indicate? Is this the way to be global? Is it important to appear global in order to be global? What does being global mean for architecture? Does it mean to create a new masala, how is it to be prepared? Does it need to be mixed consciously? Or does it just happen by itself? Which masalas become acceptable? Which ones get rejected? What after all, should be the framework to appreciate this masala?

On Day-Dreaming

I still get up every morning, have my bath, and as I recite my prayers ritualistically, I stand at the window gazing at something for a long time, that turns into nothingness, eventually traversing myself into a known or unknown past or future. The word "still" is important because I have been engaging in this kind of "dreaming" since a very long time. When I was at home in Mumbai, I would stand every morning at my balcony (un)looking at the busy traffic on the road that my balcony faced and spent long time just thinking. Thinking what? Hard to describe, since these thoughts are never graspable.

Day dreaming has become a ritualistic part of my everyday - something that my mother extremely disliked when I was back home. My mother used to wait to worship the Shiva deity together with me every morning. She would push me to have a bath quickly so that I could join her simultaneously while she was still finishing her worshipping of Krishna. Thus, the worshipping of Shiva and Krishna, in her logistical line of things, would be better if completed together. My dreaming irritated her, since it delayed her flow of activities. She would frustratingly ask me what I was dreaming, and I would never be able to answer. Moreso, I wouldn't want to answer. My day-dreams were too personal to be discussed. In order to prevent her from invading further into my dream space, I would decide to hold, or discard the continuity of my thoughts and get to worshipping the Shiva deity.

She, or any one in the family for that matter could never follow why it was important for me to day-dream... In these sessions of deep dreaming, I think of many things about the past, present and future. There are moments where I transcend time magically. I "dream", rather engage in deep thought of what I have done by far, and what I need to do next and so on. A process of rationalization takes place, a conscious effort to understand the logic of decisions that I took by far. I make new promises to myself every day, and then evaluate the consequences of the actions I took based on them in the subsequent day-dreams. These moments that I spend on dreaming every morning are thus self-revealing. They are moments through which I try to find myself, project myself and thus ground myself in the present. The dreams are thus a way to understand the multi-dimensionality of the human condition.

Day-dreaming completely transforms the experience of time. It no longer follows the regulated minutes or hours of the watch. The notion of time gets re-calibrated to one's own body-clock, or even mental-clock on every such instance. The speed at which thoughts come by or the pace at which you allow them to be processed by your brain is completely controlled during these moments. I like to dwell on certain ideas that occur during this process of dreaming, while leave others for a later contemplation. In the scientific way of measuring, these durations of thoughts are never the same, they never come together. They vary in lengths, as well as their intensities. The way in which the mind regulates densities of thoughts re-orients the understanding of time.

The transitioning of the mind into the space of the dream as well as coming out of it is phenomenally difficult to track. For example, you can almost never ascertain when your gaze at a particular scene of the reality disappears into another reality. There is suddenly a reversal - a point when you are seeing outside and gradually shift to the space of the inside. It is here that you are projecting the self onto the reality that you are seeing outside. The notion of reality completely changes, or is even destroyed. In the same way, when you are being pulled out of a certain dream space, the way it blends back into reality is almost magical.

This morning when I was uninhibitedly dreaming while at my large window of the small room, I was scared for a moment. Where on one hand, I reveled my freedom to dream for as long as possible being away from home having no one to interrupt or feel frustrated over my dreaming, I also cautioned myself of its habituation, for perhaps the freedom may not last for ever. And there are many other reasons that I felt mild fear - for I may never be able to justify why it is important for me to day-dream, and yet not share it with any one else. Rather, I can not, because once I am back in the space of reality, I lose my thoughts from the dream space. My inability to retain the realities of the dream space will always hold back people from understanding the relevance of my day-dreaming. And for the functional, utilitarian world, everything gets measured through the regular tick of the clock - that which just can not encapsulate the value of my transcendental experience.

Imagine the empty parking lot you are staring from your window to transform into a playground of desires, or think of the busy street you look at from your balcony to disappear into a future of your own...These acts are extremely meditative, powerful; those which cannot be measured or understood by the rational world. Often, this rational world overlays its own logic onto the workings of the mind, sometimes discarding the validity of certain actions. The capitalistic world can be extremely rude in discarding your everyday ritualistic activity of finding yourself. It ironically makes you believe that life is not inside you, but outside. The parameters of the outside come to haunt you, to an extent that you can not even own your own dreams. And thus, for no one, can I explain why I still dream with  my eyes wide open at the beginning of every day. I wonder if my mother will understand, and will pleasantly allow me to to take my time to dream...

Master's Thesis Defense

I really don't know what to make out of my defense. Over the 45 minute conversation between myself, Keller and Eeva, the thesis seemed to be just be another piece of work that was to be finished and submitted to the the School of Architecture. You may rightfully judge the above statements as dry. But I really dont know what was dry - the overall thesis, the panel comments, my mood or in general the environment of the space in which it took place.

I reached fifteen minutes early to the space I scheduled my thesis and organized the messy room - aligned the chairs to the edges of the table in the center, pushed the extra ones to the walls of the room. I took out my laptop and kept it on the table, opened my thesis pdf, pulled out my notebook with a pencil and kept it besides the laptop. I set up the entire space perhaps like how Frank Lloyd Wright would! I imagined first to be-seat myself on one of the side chairs, but then changed it to sitting at the head of the setting. I was hoping that Keller and Eeva would occupy the immediate seats on the the sides of the table.

"Are you going to present something on the screen?" Keller entered and exclaimed sensing the formal set up of the class. I immediately cleared that there was no presentation I aimed to give. She occupied a seat two spaces away from mine. And while we waited for Eeva, I asked Keller if my thesis was too late a submission. I had just handed over my final draft to both my readers merely 5 days before the defense today. She replied in a negative, and quipped that she reserves all her readings to her Metro North train journeys between New York and New Haven. To this, I added how mobility always makes wander, pulling my eyes to the passing landscapes outside the train window. I told her how I am never able to do any readings while traveling on trains. Keller had an interesting point to make on this. She pointed how the windows of metro north were awkwardly high - in her rhetoric she meant how they did not make watching the 'outside' a pleasant experience. I was immediately drawn to compare the experience to my train travels in Mumbai. I told her how the windows of suburban trains in Mumbai were low, and that you could rest your elbow against its broad edge. Adding to this, I mentioned how windows of trains in Mumbai were openable, unlike the Metro North that were fixed due to the air conditioned coaches...

And Eeva arrived on exactly this statement, suffusing our dialogue. "I am sorry to keep you waiting..." - she said. And grabbed the seat right opposite to Keller on the other edge of the table. Both, Keller and Eeva where thus three spaces away from me. I could see their faces above the opened flap of my laptop screen. In making a short personal conversation, Eeva mentioned to Keller about some presentation by a colleague to be made on Friday, and they went over it briefly until she realized that she was there for my defense. She sweetly apologized, and Keller briefed up the small talk for me by giving it a preface. It was hardly required since I was not into their conversation at all, and Keller's summary made no sense to me. I smiled and nodded in ignorance.

"So it has been a long journey, and the way we do it is we ask you to summarize how you went about your project, and then we can go over our comments," Eeva stated. I was to go over a journey of two years, briefly and open the conversation to the readers. I find the brief summaries annoying personally - I feel I am never convinced with them since I curate the narratives differently each time for a different audience. I always read multiple themes in my past, and I am never sure which theme makes the most sense in what situation. I rambled thus, something that I had not prepared for. I mentioned how the material was collected over the first two semesters, and was strung together into a larger theme by the third semester. The fourth semester was more about settling and consolidating the work. In mentioning the limitations of the project, I said that the format of the book was constraining and that it made the research very linear. I would have liked to rework, or take up the project of the design of the book itself which makes multiple connections and becomes more interactive. I suggested that I thus wanted to operationalize the object of writing itself. I also added that I would rather have this work as an exhibition, where the spatial layout of the contents of this work could create more amorphous and rhizomatic connections with each other.

It was here that I decided to stop and pass over the dialogue to the panel. Keller was the first to respond, since she was the reader for my thesis. She went on to say that the way of the first-person voice developed over the entire project was interesting, and that it compelled her to look at Mumbai as my reading, through my eyes. It was certainly a story that was specific to me. She mentioned that I inserted myself in the narrative in very strategic ways, and made the thesis read as "this is not a proof," rather my own journey through the material. She brought out that such a strategy helped me to question myself, the tone of not being sure added to the reception of the work as a journey. In terms of the content, she mentioned that the 4 terms (ref. the 4 chapters themes) that took for analysis 4 different kinds of artifacts for research (namely publications, people, films and buildings) respectively, she understood the first two, but wasn't clear of the last two. The last chapter "leakages" did not mention clearly what exactly leaked, and how. She brought up the concept of Masala (from my film chapter, referring to the masala film) - a concept that occurred to me quite late to explore in its totality for the built environment. I was glad she mentioned that the conclusion could have reflected, rather should have reflected the constitution of itself for the built environment. In this line of thought of the undetailed concept, she said that the conclusion almost fell flat. Where she expected more things to come out of the conclusion, she felt as if it was almost written by someone else. I would go on to agree with her.

She pointed that the theory of hybridity that I was proposing kept on polarizing the image transfer into east and the west, to an extent that she felt irritated. She mentioned how the thesis introduces a multitude of players and is not limited to transfer of images from the west to the east, rather  a more nuanced borrowing. She mentioned that in her reading of the thesis, after a point, she said - "Stop using that word" - hinting that it was not just about the West...Lastly, she added that in this light, there was not a "systematic" way of reading hybridity that I had discovered through the thesis, which I claim in the conclusion, rather, I had found a certain kind of instrumentality in some words that allowed me to engage with the hybrid built environment. "'Systemic'  is a very different thing" she said...

Eeva took the conversation forward in highlighting certain things about the writing. She found that there were certain things about the pace of writing that kept varying along the reading. There were some aspects which successfully created a vivid image of the place I was talking about, but at certain places, it didnot work, in that, they were a bit detached from the visual. On the other hand, the feel of "processing" or "looking" - the inquisitiveness of certain portions of the thesis should shine in the introduction too, she felt. Eeva had made elaborate comments on the document which she was happy to hand me over afterwards. I had anticipated a lot of comments that Eeva had for my work - one of them also being how it would have made a successful reading if the reader did not need to make any reference to the images that appeared at the end of the thesis while reading the text that was in organized devoid of images in the first half (this format was as specified in the M.E.D. reader).

I mentioned that the observation was legitimate, and it reflected the fact that I was not able to visit the field over the last two years, which would have allowed me to make closer observations. A lot of these observations were restricted to merely the photographs, and you can only explain that much with the photographs, unless they are strategically taken. In that, I mentioned how I had to put in so much extra effort in explaining to my family who were helping me source pictures of buildings that I was talking about. For what they considered almost everyday, was something novel for  me... and this communication lag in itself was a signifier of how the hybridity in the built environment has become so pervasive that people hardly questioned it. Perhaps, as the thesis suggests, this is what brings out the willingness of people to mould their identities.

Keller accepted, and encouraged me to take the concept of 'masala' ahead. She told me to make a case why this is the way we should be looking at the built environment and how it gives these buildings another status. It was quite an interesting way to think about sharpening the thesis.

On the other hand, Eeva brought out that there is a lot of anecdotal material that I bring into the thesis - be it a conversation with a family member, teacher, professor or even Charles Correa! The anecdotes, she said, were a powerful instrument used throughout the thesis, and underlines the random nature of the built environment. "As if the buildings were predetermined to happen that way..." she said in clarifying her point. The cast of characters bring out the inconclusive nature of the thesis, a certain kind of invocation. And thus the discussion went on, where Eeva pointed out an exhibition "Transformations in Modern Architecture" that took place in MoMA in 1975 - which she felt did something similar to what my thesis attempted to do.

After pointing out a bit more fine issues, I was asked to leave the room briefly and close the door so that they could decide about the evaluation of my work. I left the room and was called back in five minutes. Eeva announced that the work was acceptable, and that I was passed. Although she asked me to work on comments she had put on my thesis, and that I had enough time to rework the conclusion.

I am not good at concluding things - and they always open up more things than I originally thought of. These themes frame my view of my work, and I will need to find a way to push it in the thesis this time, for I have substantial time to discuss again with Eeva and get it sorted...

And as I began to leave the room, I overheard Eeva confirming to Keller: "Did you hear that Arjun Appadurai's wife passed away?" Keller perhaps nodded, to which I didnot pay heed. Although this is by no means a way to end this post or even bring up this news of someone else's misfortune, and I must state that I am merely stating, I think it was interesting. It left me wondering what meaning to make out of it, for my thesis was based on Appadurai's theory of globalization...

I quietly stepped out of the room to (re)enter my own numbness...

--

The grammatical fallacies of this text have last been improvised on 2nd May 2014. These would keep happening on every subsequent reading, a habit induced by the two year training in writing through the MED program.

On Inhabiting Language

I suddenly bounced upon a song from the film Rockstar, written by lyricist Irshad Kamil - "Jo bhi main"; the lyrics of which can be found here. The reason that got me to write this post is quite strange. In the first place, I am not a fan of loud things - loud expressions, loud aesthetics, etc. Thus, a film like Rockstar was completely outside my aesthetic purview. The songs that the film offered, therefore, were simply out of my radar of consideration. In this avoidance, I also kept away (quite naturally) from the lyrics of the songs, and the meaning behind it.

However, on reading this song and further hearing it, it makes complete sense to me today. [I must admit though that I have seen Rockstar before, and did find it more meaningful than the other films I have watched. But I was never able to connect to it fully, so I rejected it and so its music. I had not gone through the experiences depicted in that particular film and so I was naturally not able to imagine it for myself.]. Coming back, the song simply says:

Jo bhi main
Kehna chahoon
Barbad kare..
Alfaz mere

when translated, they mean:

Whatever things

I want to say, 

Get destroyed

By my own words

Listening to this song particularly now gains a lot more meaning for me, specially having written the earlier post (on not being able to put thoughts into words). In this context, the words of the song merely suggest that language is not sufficient to express all the emotions one goes through. To be more specific, communication through words may not always be effective, and as the lines above suggest, words may sometimes almost destruct the original feeling you did want to convey. In the process of verbalizing, you may actually end up ruining a thought. 

I was browsing through an article in a magazine just some time ago today where I read that the noted German philosopher Martin Heidegger once said: "We inhabit language." Heidegger's deeper philosophical intention was to question whether things (objects that belong to the physical world) came first or language? Since a "thing" doesnot exist without it being "labelled" through words of a language, we are surrounded by more language than things. In this way, we are slaves of the languages, since there probably lies no world outside of that defined by language. To put it simply, a world that can not be articulated through language may never be believed to exist. In this sense, as Heidegger puts it, we live within the world created by our language, and thus inhabit language.

We use language only to negotiate meaning. I will not take the reader through the most important linguists from Sassure to Jacques Derrida who have invested much time in explaining the world of words. But to just point things out simply, the connection between a 'word' and a 'thing' is merely a convention used for communication. For example, the fact that we call a "spoon" as "spoon" has got nothing to do with what the spoon does. That the spoon means "something that it can contain" is the meaning that is conveyed for us, to be able to communicate merely the thingli-ness of the thing called a "spoon". Thus, words merely help us to convey certain essential meanings through which we pursue life, or living. 

Having given this background, I now want to return to the song. It goes ahead:

Kabhi mujhe Lage ki jaise
Sara hi yeh jahan hai jaadu
Jo hai bhi aur Nahi bhi hai yeh
Fiza, Ghata, Hawa, Baharein
Mujhe..Kare..Ishare yeh..

Kaise..Kahoon Kahani main innki

when translated to English:

Sometimes I feel that

This whole world is magical

That is and is not

Weather, Clouds, Wind, Springs

They hint to me

How do I tell their story?

Such thought (expressed in the song) may seem quite simple, and often discarded as philosophical. On a trip to an ashram in Haridwar, I was awe-struck by the beauty of flowers in their gardens. I kept taking numerous pictures of these flowers in my digital camera. I repeatedly kept zooming into their petals, their colours, framing and re-framing them. I wasn't sure what I exactly wanted to take, why wasn't I satisfied? What was I obsessed with about them? What made me keep looking at them, capture them, what about them did I want to take back, hold back? My father simply thought I was trying to take a good picture! I told him: "One just cannot capture their beauty in a photograph!" And perhaps he understood but did not want to get into a philosophical discussion, and so he discarded saying something to the effect: "well would (it) work if you (say) so?"

But perhaps my feelings were quite similar to those expressed in the song. I was merely wondering how can one express how one feels about the beauty of the flower. Or, can the beauty of the flower be really expressed in words or captured in a photograph? We only make ourselves happy by mediating the meaning of what we feel about the flower's beauty by putting the thoughts in word. I am doing it right now while writing it. But in doing so, I am actually affirming what the first few lines of this verse say: destroying what I want to actually convey through my words.

In some ways, this does connect to my earlier post. And I have gotten myself in this difficult, quite ironical position of being in the field of 'theory' where language is my domain. In this regard, I do not know if I am expanding my world or putting it within limits of the language, bounding it myself? 

There are several examples to experience the world beyond language of words. Music is the first and most evident one - in which emotions are communicated through sounds / sound waves. Second is touch - through feeling, intimacy, and contact with another body. I have always believed that having sex must be a very powerful way of communicating - where two bodies communicate without speaking (verbalizing experiences) at all. Gestures, evidently are ways in which messages are passed on without speech. And there are countless modes that go beyond conventional spoken language. The question is how sensitive, how receptive are we to these other modes? 

I think it may not be difficult to attempt doing so. May be one way to connect to the outside world is to deeply connect to your innermost self. To find what lies "within" ourselves is almost impossible. Can we even hear our heart beat for that matter? Or can we listen to the blood running in our veins? To know the nature of the "self" is to automatically train ourselves to sensitize ourselves to the world outside. It is then when one can truly appreciate the fullness of life. Or may be I am romanticizing. It is for someone to understand. The ancient Gurukul system worked thus, in my opinion. But well, as much as I verbalize, I will be killing its meaning. Because:

Jo bhi main
Kehna chahoon
Barbad kare..
Alfaz mere

(I would have enjoyed bringing out an analysis of the composition of this song too. Rahman's music does good justice in my opinion. There are meaningless vowels that the song begins and ends with, making it pure music, no real words that denote anything, thus giving the song its true meaning. The single verse in the song almost covers everything, most importantly brings out the key question, or predicament. I could go on. But, just to say, sometimes, a seemingly insignificant Bollywood song can have deep mysteries hidden inside itself.)

The Clarity of Confusion

Reading books authored by my professors here, or around here is extremely satisfying. Before I begin to even elaborate my thoughts further, I must already acknowledge my insufficiency in my own written expression. The reasons are as latent as they seem obvious. If only English wasn't the universally accepted language of expression of thoughts and transaction of knowledge, I could have been better at this post. My expression is divided between English and Hindi because I think partly in both languages. I write in English, but I don't think in the same language. I thus fear to lay claim on either of the languages because my familiarity with the both of them is equally "weak". I mean to say that I am at equal proximities of comfort (or discomfort) in using English, or Hindi (or my mother tongue). This incapability of being able to think coherently in one language, therefore express as beautifully as the people whom I read (mostly British, or American), whose first language is English (the language in which they think as well as express), shall probably make this post as insufficient. However, I am still going to go ahead and attempt articulating out my thoughts.

I feel almost overjoyed, like anyone else, to read something that has been expressed exactly in the way one's mind perceives a situation. To perceive a situation is necessarily abstract, and to express the reality of situation through the channel of language requires a mental effort of translation of thoughts into words. Translation will almost always be incapable of encapsulating the exact feeling of an idea that you want to convey to an audience. There will only be affinities, or likeness to what your mind actually thinks, with what you express through the medium of words. 

There are two issues I want to introduce with the idea of expression of thought. The first is to be able to articulate a thought in words, while the second is to be able to have a discourse around it. These two processes feed into each other. I am going to quickly contextualize these two claims for my purpose and this post. The context I am talking about is the world I come from - Here the notion of the "world" is to be understood as a space of "meaning" that a human being inhabits. This space of meaning is created by several vectors of people, places and the exposure of the reality opened through them. 

In this sense, my world would be constituted through my 28 years of interactions, exposures and dialogues with people, places and things around me. Now that I have very feebly described my context, I must give away the reasons that compelled me to turn to writing this out. I was in the process of reading a book which contemplates upon a subject that is very close to me not only academically, but also personally. The author is a well known theorist, Susan Sontag, writing broadly on the subject of "perception of images." I was almost struck by the clarity through which she articulates the confusion of interpreting images, and the ethical moral dilemmas of understanding any subject, in her writing. The phrase "clarity of confusion" may seem utterly paradoxical, but that is infact the reason that I chose to write this post. 

Coming largely from a society (world) that privileges clarity over confusion - be it family, school, everyday discussion, etc., the reading of the above text allowed me to believe in legitimizing my confusion. That confusion can be a productive process through which subjects can be explored, was hard to come to terms to in my world. I had to almost navigate my confusion on my own terms - be it academic, personal or professional. "Confusions" in my world were certainly not considered to be a motor force of life. Infact, one was always questioned: "Why are you so confused?" And there lies a double paradox in that question - firstly, that it often discards "confusion" as lack of focus or eventually a product of over-thinking, and secondly it attempts to erase it through bringing "clarity". Infact, "confusion" may be results of sharpening your focus to observe the details through which you confront the unknown, or they may be thought processes through which you may attempt to gain firmer control over a situation.

I began to become more confident with my confusions after my undergraduate thesis work (Cinema for the Blind) was nationally acknowledged. It gave me a chance to assert my confusions, and on bringing them out, I realized that perhaps the whole world was as confused,  they merely didn't want to talk about it. Rather, the whole world wants to evade the thought of "being confused" - since it may not conventionally be an attribute that may help you further your perceived goals in a society driven by social and moral codes of capitalism. (But at the same time, I must admit that unfortunately attuning to these social-moral codings become essential for survival.) 

My choice to enter academia was a choice chiseled through my confusion. It was the academia where I was able to engage with my confusion, although merely with my students. I met very few fellow teachers who embraced "confusion" as a driving part of the school I primarily taught in. This ceased to spur any discourses in the kind of questions I wanted to raise for the discipline of architecture - that relating to issues of images. Thus I come to my second point following on the expression of thought. Having spent four years struggling to discuss the questions of my interest in the field of architecture with anyone, the thoughts have only imploded within myself. Implosions are terrible because they manifest through languages that are sometimes unknown even to the author. In such situations, when important works come out, they almost feel authorless, anonymous. 

The accumulated implosions within my mind find words through the authors I read now, or the people whose classes I take at Yale - all that was unavailable to me back home. Imagine wanting to talk about an issue, yet having neither an appropriate 'language' nor an audience to get a feedback such that  you could develop your thought. I found discourse on my subject here. While attending to such discourses in lectures or books, the implosions manifest like internal tickles. I often unexpectedly smile wildly on agreement to a point a professor  makes in the classes I take, or feel to jump when I come across a reading that resonates with my thoughts - merely because they give legitimacy to my own thoughts hadn't been able to take legitimate expression. This brings more confidence to my confusions, and thus make me more clear with them.

Yet, I am not able to bring these confusions out as beautifully as those described by these wonderful authors. The reasons as I have explained - primarily because perhaps my vocabulary is limited to a sort-of-hybrid thinking (a mix of English-Hindi) that fragments my expression; and the other of not being able to talk about these things with anyone so as to expand, contemplate, think, broaden, bring forth and push the boundaries of thinking.

I was a bit worried today to think that this would be my last semester at Yale - or my last opportunity to closely interact with people who probably think like me - or whom I think like! But wasn't I "thinking" like thus even without them, back home? Wasn't then my thought original? Yes, it was, but only in thought. I could never express my ideas in written or verbally - maybe because of hesitation, because of lack of encouragement, or merely absence of a discursive space or loss of appropriate language tools. People I met here were able to overcome all of the above and transcribe their thoughts into words. I will not be completely wrong in believing that such expression would come more naturally and easily for people here for a host of reasons - for they think in the same language as their expression, for the availability of discursive space, for being in an advanced society that has the time and space to ponder over mind's confusion and therefore have a legitimate practice of contemplation...There are many more, but if I begin to list more, I may almost sound like I am blaming them, or myself for the pros and cons we have respectively. But i also know I am binarizing the two worlds here. It probably isn't a question of 'here' and 'there'!

But these are the worlds we occupy - quite different from each other. Although, what when the mind of one world suddenly begins to feel comfortable in the mind of another? However, we are talking only about the mental spaces of two worlds - we still live the world through our bodies, and what when the body wants to live a world different from that of the mind? I think most of us are split like thus today. I wonder if this split widens once I am back to my world, or shall it unite the mind and body? The answer shall never be easy neither immediate, but now is that a legitimate confusion?

First Experience of a Five Star Hotel

An edited portion from my master's thesis. The account recalls my first experience of a five star hotel environment. The writing acknowledges the assimilation of circulating images, ideas and cultures within the Indian built space. The thesis understands five star hotels as the means as well as product of such intensified circulation in the global world.

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Five star hotels were always far fetched territories to experience within the city I lived in. As a simple middle class city dweller, I could not afford the luxuries of five star hotels. One of my first experiences of a five star hotel was when my to-be-brother-in-law invited us for a breakfast in one of the hotels he was staying in, while visitng our city for a business meeting. This was Tulip Star (?). Along with my sister, we chanced upon this opportunity of visiting the five star hotel. My interest was not as much in the breakfast, as much as a legitimate excuse to enter the confines of a five star hotel. I was more excited to find out if such spaces were as grand as their entrances. I was curious to find out what these fortress-like buildings contained within them. What existed behind these seemingly large, elusive backgrounds?

Most five star hotels within the city set themselves back from the main street frontages as much as possible. The entrance to them is highly curated, taking a person through trees, bushes and foliage that are framed through extremely large doors that already announce their grandeur. They almost harbour a sense of surprise that we may encounter leading through colonial classical pathways or driveways that take you to a “drop off” point covered generally by a huge canopy. These canopies are essentially as large to take about 5 rows of cars together, where escorts then take you and your vehicle over.

In such a setting, it almost seemed awkward to enter the premises of a five star hotel to merely visit it, since neither did we own a car, not could anyone amongst us drive. (There were no rent-a-car systems in cities either, and borrowing a car from a friend was pointless given our incapability to drive). We simply took an auto rickshaw to visit the place thus, in our best possible attires. Shoes, it seemed, were an important element of the dress code (not flip-flops or sandals, that are typical to the tropics). Naturally then, formal outfits to suit the shoes became obligatory.

Within the hotel, everything was double or even quadruple the size of a typical setting. The staircases hovered within such grand volumes connecting levels containing different activities, and were coupled with escalators. There were water fountains and even plants as large as trees inside the halls. I wondered if they were real or fake. Reading some directions, we arrived at the information counter and spoke to the receptionist to communicate our arrival to our guest, who was also the host. At the reception, we were greeted by a young lady – wearing semi-western clothes. She looked unnaturally fair, and the make up on her face was evident. “Good Morning, How may I help you?” she spoke in English. Although my sister communicated on behalf of us, it was one of the first times that I felt my English medium education would get put to use thus! It secretly pumped my ego.

The receptionist made a call to the room through the intercom, and asked us to wait, pointing us to the lobby. We promptly moved to a family-style seating arrangement with extremely comfortable sofas. Thinking back, these sofas opened up our otherwise contracting bodies – we stretched our arms to rest them on their arm-rests. Although the seating made us face each other, our gazes were distracted – we looked all around us – noticing the height, volume and space of the surroundings. All of us carefully looked at the minute details of furniture, lighting, cushions and the fountains that lay around. Foreign magazines from different countries were placed on the table. The plants were definitely not Indian – orchids, and exotic flowers were carefully placed within containers that adorned the interiors. Seemingly expensive artworks hung on the walls.

We were soon greeted by our guest and taken to a large breakfast hall. The arrangement was a buffet style organization where one could pick a plate and choose one’s breakfast – certainly quite contrary to what one would have at home – one kind of dish in everyone’s plate; or in a small restaurant – where a couple of items would be ordered and shared. The buffet style made our choices highly individualized. Here, there were choices ranging from various types of milk to breads from different continents. There was butter, cheeses, sprouts, fruits from different continents, along with Indian snacks. In another section, were hybrids: French samosas, American sandwiches, Mexican burgers, Italian idlis, cocktails, and so on...

We had to constantly keep on reading up the names of cuisines and their ingredients to make sure that we weren’t picking up anything non-vegetarian (we being vegetarians). By the end of our rounds, all of us had different things on our plates, nevertheless with some safe choices like bread and butter with mixed-fruit jams! Over the table, we discussed our impressions of each of our dishes, speculating the proportion and mix of ingredients, tastes and textures as well as the way in which they were made. We did multiple rounds of the buffet to experiment with cross-suggestions based on everyone else’s opinions on the various items on the menu. It was almost afternoon by the time we finished our breakfast. “I will have to skip my lunch now” I said. “That’s why it’s called brunch,” my sister informed. I learnt a new word, rather a new concept – that which is in-between breakfast and lunch, morning and afternoon, and perhaps also the East and the West?

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I was too young then. I believed that one could only enjoy the conveniences of a five star hotel if one is living there. That the hotels within the five stars were open to cater to the public, and anyone with spending potential could access them did not occur to me. However, as I grew up, five star hotels opened themselves up to the public in more ways than above. 

Of Unknown Imagic Realities 4

When I entered the room, I saw my mother was bathing a tiger-head in milk. I was surprised, shocked and tried questioning my mother. The act was almost ritualisitic, as if she was worshipping the tiger. On a closer observation, I realized that it was just the head, there was no body. The Head rested in a steel bowl (like a Shiva lingam which I usually used to worship back home), on which she kept pouring milk. She merely smiled and continued to perform this ritual.
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We were driving in a car on a very steep hill. It must almost be a slope of 75 degrees and I constantly feared if we would fall back. The ride was really dangerous since it demanded a lot of control and I wondered how the driver managed it. We passed through residential neighbourhoods laid on this slope, and for some reason, my mind wants to believe that we were in Delhi, or the hill was in Delhi. We finally reach up and park  the car besides a temple. I am relieved to get off the car. As I go inside the temple, I see my maternal grandfather (deceased) sitting as the priest to this Shiva temple. He doesnot talk to me, but quietly continues to worship the diety. The temple is small, dark and simple. Things are quiet and there is no dialogue. I look at him, but he perhaps doesnot. I know him, but he doesnot convince me that he knows me. Our relationship was non existent. The setting seemed to draw attention to the act of worship, while my mind kept be distracted with observing everything else.
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Texas Trip

The post can be found here

and fun stuff here:

And other sounds:

https://soundcloud.com/anuj-daga/banana-pancake

Days of our Lives / Thoughts

Someday you are going to give yourself to somebody who makes those kinds of (lonely) feelings disappear; the way the rest of us just can't do for you.

grandmother to her grandson Will in 'Days of our Lives' on his hard-to-articulate feelings over his life.

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What do you think would happen if we were all happy at the same time?

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