Atticus, New Haven

This is what happens when you want these things even when you dont need them. Photos after photos of simple, beautiful things I saw at Atticus, a book store-cum-coffee shop in New Haven, attached to the Yale British Art Center. 

I observed the messages, typographic appeal, artistic quality, paper quality, size, neatness, packaging, content of books, ideas behind presenting them, form o the books, postcards, cartoons, innovative cards -- so much. For a moment, it felt that I could make some too, but the more I absorb, the more I get stuck, since a strange feeling keeps paralyzing me. I keep thinking: "Wow, is this also done?"

Many of the seemingly witty messages on these cards/books are quite wise actually. They are pretty deep. There were interesting books that I would have bought. The drawing book, "712 More things to Draw" certainly. It is a blank book with a word and space for it to be expressed visually. I have often done that exercise for myself without such a book (or sometimes done it as exercises in my graphics representation classes back when I was teaching at AoA). But it was refreshing to actually see it into a book form. Another was a book that had no writing at all, rather icons through which you figure the message. I found it equivalent to the modern day heiroglyphs. And also, it connects to the numerous puzzles that are forwarded over applications like whatsapp where a string of icons are being asked to decipher different messages! Hasn't emoticons already begun to take a prominent place in our day to day messaging over electronic interfaces? I found it fascinating to have a whole book of merely "emoticons".

The two small postcards with cartoons are actually from The New Yorker. I clicked one for the form, and the other for its content. "The only thing we didn't plan for was Love" - that nearly killed me for it's message. I could write an essay on that image, for it brings business and emotion together, modernism and irrationality, objectivity and subjectivity on the same plane. The cartoon on 'Useful Degrees' is more of a cultural statement for the US, but applies everywhere, and well said too.

But then I decided, that even re-doing them by myself would be an interesting exercise. So I took pictures to remind myself to go ahead and get myself in action. There is still a lot to learn, if not to be done.

As one of the books spells: "Do one thing every day that scares you." (the book is a diary for the year to note down what scary thing you did each day, with interesting quotations all along).

Translation: Jeevan ki aapa-dhaapi mein

जीवन की आपाधापी में / Jeevan ki aapa-dhaapi mein / In the hustle & bustle of life

by Harivanshrai Bachchan

Listen Audio by Amitabh Bachchan

जीवन की आपाधापी में कब वक़्त मिला

कुछ देर कहीं पर बैठ कभी यह सोच सकूँ

जो किया, कहा, माना उसमें क्या बुरा भला।

जिस दिन मेरी चेतना जगी मैंने देखा

मैं खड़ा हुआ हूँ इस दुनिया के मेले में,

हर एक यहाँ पर एक भुलावे में भूला

हर एक लगा है अपनी अपनी दे-ले में

कुछ देर रहा हक्का-बक्का, भौचक्का-सा,

आ गया कहाँ, क्या करूँ यहाँ, जाऊँ किस जा?

फिर एक तरफ से आया ही तो धक्का-सा

मैंने भी बहना शुरू किया उस रेले में,

क्या बाहर की ठेला-पेली ही कुछ कम थी,

जो भीतर भी भावों का ऊहापोह मचा,

जो किया, उसी को करने की मजबूरी थी,

जो कहा, वही मन के अंदर से उबल चला,

जीवन की आपाधापी में कब वक़्त मिला

कुछ देर कहीं पर बैठ कभी यह सोच सकूँ

जो किया, कहा, माना उसमें क्या बुरा भला।

मेला जितना भड़कीला रंग-रंगीला था,

मानस के अन्दर उतनी ही कमज़ोरी थी,

जितना ज़्यादा संचित करने की ख़्वाहिश थी,

उतनी ही छोटी अपने कर की झोरी थी,

जितनी ही बिरमे रहने की थी अभिलाषा,

उतना ही रेले तेज ढकेले जाते थे,

क्रय-विक्रय तो ठण्ढे दिल से हो सकता है,

यह तो भागा-भागी की छीना-छोरी थी;

अब मुझसे पूछा जाता है क्या बतलाऊँ

क्या मान अकिंचन बिखराता पथ पर आया,

वह कौन रतन अनमोल मिला ऐसा मुझको,

जिस पर अपना मन प्राण निछावर कर आया,

यह थी तकदीरी बात मुझे गुण दोष न दो

जिसको समझा था सोना, वह मिट्टी निकली,

जिसको समझा था आँसू, वह मोती निकला।

जीवन की आपाधापी में कब वक़्त मिला

कुछ देर कहीं पर बैठ कभी यह सोच सकूँ

जो किया, कहा, माना उसमें क्या बुरा भला।

मैं कितना ही भूलूँ, भटकूँ या भरमाऊँ,

है एक कहीं मंज़िल जो मुझे बुलाती है,

कितने ही मेरे पाँव पड़े ऊँचे-नीचे,

प्रतिपल वह मेरे पास चली ही आती है,

मुझ पर विधि का आभार बहुत-सी बातों का।

पर मैं कृतज्ञ उसका इस पर सबसे ज़्यादा -

नभ ओले बरसाए, धरती शोले उगले,

अनवरत समय की चक्की चलती जाती है,

मैं जहाँ खड़ा था कल उस थल पर आज नहीं,

कल इसी जगह पर पाना मुझको मुश्किल है,

ले मापदंड जिसको परिवर्तित कर देतीं

केवल छूकर ही देश-काल की सीमाएँ

जग दे मुझपर फैसला उसे जैसा भाए

लेकिन मैं तो बेरोक सफ़र में जीवन के

इस एक और पहलू से होकर निकल चला।

जीवन की आपाधापी में कब वक़्त मिला

कुछ देर कहीं पर बैठ कभी यह सोच सकूँ

जो किया, कहा, माना उसमें क्या बुरा भला।

Transliteration:

Jeevan ki aapa dhapi mein, kab waqt mila
kuch der kahi par baith yeh soch sakoo
Jo kiya, kaha, maan usmein kya bura bhalaa.

jis din meri chetna jaagi maine dekha
main khada hua hoon iss duniya ke mele mein,
kar ek yahan par ek bhulaave mein bhoola
har ek laga hai apni de-le mein
kuch der raha hakka bakka, bhauchaaka sa,
aa gaya kahan, kya karu yahan, jaaoon kis ja?
Phir ek taraf se aaya hi toh dhakka sa
maine bhi bahna shuru kiya us rele mein,
kya baahar ke thela-peli hi kuch kam thi,
jo bheetar bhi bhaavon ka oohapoh macha
jo kiya, usee ko karne ki majboori thi,
jo kaha, vahi man ke andar se ubal chala,
jeevan ki aapa dhapi mein, kab waqt mila
kuch der kahi par baith yeh soch sakoo
Jo kiya, kaha, maan usmein kya bura bhalaa.

Mela jitna bhadkeela rang-rangeela tha,
maanas ke andar utni hi kamjori thee,
jitna zyaada sanchit karne ki khwahish thi,
utni hi chhoti aphi jhori thi,
jitni hi birme rehne ki thi abhilasha
utna hi rele tez dhakele jaate the,
kray-vikray toh thande dil se ho sakta hai,
say to bhaag-bhaagi ki cheena-chhori thee,
ab mujhse poocha jaata hai kya batlaaoon
kya maan akinchan bikharta path par aaya
vah kaun ratan anmol mila aise mujhkho,
kis par apna man praan nichaavar kar aaya,
yah thi takdeeree baat mujhe gun dosh na do
jisko samjha tha sona, vah mitti nikli,
jisko samjha tha aasoo, vah moti nikla.
jeevan ki aapa dhapi mein, kab waqt mila
kuch der kahi par baith yeh soch sakoo
Jo kiya, kaha, maan usmein kya bura bhalaa.

main kitna hi bhooloon, bhatkoon yaa bharmaaoon,
hain ek kahin manzil jo mujhe bulaati hai,
tine hi mere paanv pade oonche-neeche,
parti-pal vah mere paas chali hi aati hai,
mujh par vidhi ka aabhaar bahut si baaton ka.
par main kritagya uska is par sabse zyaada -
nabh ole barsaaye, dharte shole ugle,
anvarat samay ki chakki chalti jaati hai
main jahan khada tha kal us thal par aaj nahi,
kal isi jagah par paana mujhko mushkil hai,
le maapdand jisko parivartit kar deteein
keval chhokar hi desh-kaal ki seemayein
jag mein mujhpar faisla use jaisa bhaaye
lekin main toh be-rok safar mein jeevan ke
is ek aur pehlu se hokar nikal chala
jeevan ki aapa dhapi mein kab waqt mila
kuch der kahi par baith yeh soch sakoo
Jo kiya, kaha, maan usmein kya bura bhalaa.



English Translation:

In the hustle and bustle of life, when did I find any time

That I could sit at some place for a while and think

of what is good or bad in what I did, said, assumed...

On the day I claimed my consciousness, I saw

I am standing in this world-fair,

Every one here is lost in an ambiguity

Every one is busy in one's own give and take

For a while, I remained astonished, bewildered,

Where have I come, what do I do here, where do I go?

Then, from a direction, did come a push

I too began to flow in that surge

Were the mere external chaos too little

That even the internal emotions underwent a turmoil,

Whatever (I) did, was but out of a compulsion,

Whatever (I) said, was but an out-pour of the boiling thoughts,

In the hustle and bustle of life, when did I find any time,

That I could sit at some place for a while and think

of what is good or bad in what I did, said, thought.

As much was the circus energetic (flashy) and colourful,

There was enervation within the soul,

As much as one desired to accumulate,

Smaller kept going one's formed hand-bowl ,

As much one had the ambition to hold steady,

That much harder the surge would push,

Deals are done but with a cool mind

This was a snatch-act of the haste;

Now I am generally been asked, what do I say

of what values did the destitute come scattering on the path

What priceless jewel have I received?

On which I have surrendered by mind and body

This was but a matter of destiny, don't value-judge me

To whom I considered gold, was mere soil

To what I considered a teardrop, was in fact a pearl.

In the hustle and bustle of life, when did I find any time,

That I could sit at some place for a while and think

of what is good or bad in what I did, said, thought.

How much ever I forget, wander astray or be misdirected,

There's somewhere a destination that calls me

My feet may wade through how much ever ups and downs

Still every moment, it does come near to me

I have on me the gratefulness of destiny for a lot of aspects

But I am most thankful of her for -

Whether the sky hails, or the earth spews heat

The mill of time is relentless and keeps on moving,

I am not at the position I was standing at yesterday,

It is hard to find me on the same position tomorrow,

That which transforms it by its own criteria,

By mere touching the limits of time-space

The world must give upon me a judgement of what it likes

But unstoppably, I, in this journey of life

Escape a yet another aspect of life

In the hustle and bustle of life, when did I find any time,

That I could sit at some place for a while and think

of what is good or bad in what I did, said, thought.

translated by Anuj Daga

Phrases in red are approximate guesses of the Hindi words originally used in the poem. Elaboration / clarification by readers will be appreciated.

'The Lunchbox' & 'Queen'

It is almost surprising to observe how convenient films make for us to slip into their projected realities. Sometimes, I wonder if 'slippage' itself is involuntary, or whether it is purposeful? In other words, I am trying to think about the process of placing ourselves in filmic narratives - do we consciously try to identify with characters of a film, or does it happen subconsciously? Because, isn't this process of identification central to our judgement of any film? Essentially, we like or dislike a film based on two aspects - of how well can we place ourselves within the narrative of the film, or otherwise, how much the far fetched reality of the film allows us to stretch / extend the imagination of our real lives. In either case, films are unreal, firstly on the grounds that they are mere representations. Furthermore, they are even imagined representations, mediated by the minds of the agency of filmmakers. However, when consumed through the screen, the reality of films (mind the paradox) almost dissolves any distinctions of fictitious or real characters, allowing our gaze to be unified with the cinema space.

Anyway, I framed the above preface because I saw two films in one day with a group of friends last week - The Lunchbox and Queen - the reactions of which were quite different for me versus the others. It is obvious that both these two films are way different than each other. And the reason I write about them together is simply because I saw them one after the other on the same day with the same company of friends. The temporal sequence of watching the films automatically make them comparable. My critical analysis of the films would perhaps align with the typical academic criticism / acclaim of most such films including The Lunchbox and Queen. A 'typical' academic would favour the subtle novelty of The Lunchbox (analyzed within the given dominating context of Bollywood masala films) while subject Queen to criticisms of stereotyping, use of filmic elements like songs (even when un-required within the narrative), etc and so on.

However, this is not how the general audiences view films, and while I went on to rant about the same old issues as above, I was being criticized by my friends of forced criticism for the films. (I am often accused of theorizing all things on the planet). Therefore, this time I wanted to understand the mechanisms through which these films strike with the audiences (probably like the ones I watched them with), and how they operate towards, through and along with their identities. What associations do they allow the audiences, and how do they trigger and bring out certain aspects of their own selves?

The Lunchbox, as many may know, is the story that develops in the midst of the repeated mis-delivery of a lunchbox through the well known agency of dabbawalas in the city of Mumbai. Two individuals within a city - a reasonably young house-wife and an aging soon-to-retire government official get conversing about their personal lives through notes exchanged within the compartments of the lunch box. The letters inside the closed boxes almost talk out the inner voices echoing within their minds. The anonymity of each others' identities allows them to reveal dialogues that can not always be verbally expressed. Between conversations about insecurities, eroticism, betrayal and loss emerges a meta-narrative of loneliness and love. While Ila's confusion about the recent alleged discovery of her husband's extra marital affair is apparent in her lack of confidence to confront this with her husband, she is able to come out with this news quite directly to the stranger who is accidentally consuming her food she would lovingly prepare for her husband. On the other hand, the aging old man is able to share with her, sometimes quite tangentially, his intriguing experiences within the city through which he reflects upon his own self.  For both directions, the anonymity of each other becomes an interesting mirror-of-sorts, allowing to reflect upon their inner thoughts and feelings. While ambiguous and troubled with the suspicion of her husband's own extra-marital affair, probably a physical one, Ila herself falls for this anonymous food-eater who is able to lend an unbiased ear to her dilemmas.

Once in a while, the pragmatics of life become more real when Ila talks to her neighour, invisible to the audiences watching the movie. The voice of the old, experienced aunty makes things objective, clear and rational. Although, this rationality is soon convoluted into the subjectivity of Ila's dilemmas. She continues to communicate abstract thoughts, informed by her real life situations not only through her letters, but also through the food she is lending to this un-named, unfamiliar friend (if we may say so) everyday. One wonders if the tastes of these feelings are negotiated through the description of the ingredients passed along the lunch box. Sometimes bitter, sometimes spicy, sometime salty, sometimes even empty boxes - the lunchbox quite literally holds metaphors for emotional graphs of the lives of these two individuals.

I connected to the film through a different channel though. Last year around the same time, I attended in New York, the release of a book by artist Sophie Blackall called 'Missed Connections'. The book illustrates online story-listings of "lovelorn strangers hoping to reconnect." To me, The Lunchbox was a subtle reversal of the above concept, where the box quite physically becomes the medium of establishing a connection, that was eventually missed. The conversational and public transactions of the city, the collisions within their movements and the numerous bodies which we pass through, check out and sometimes desire - all these ideas subversively connect the story of the book and the film. The film invites audiences to place themselves within its narrative to make a decision. It never shows that the characters meet, therefore leaving the ending open.

Queen, on the other hand, begins in a wedding that has been turned over by Rani's (played by Kangana Ranawat's) fiance. While severely disappointed, Rani chooses to go ahead with her ambitiously pre-planned honeymoon trip to Paris and Amsterdam, all alone to get over her gloomy mood perhaps in the spirit of a cold revenge with her own self (in the dejection of the trust she put into a man who wasn't eventually serious about her). Shown to be a middle-class small neighbourhood girl living in Rajouri from West Delhi, Rani has a family one would typically associate with Delhi. She has enthusiastic parents, grand parents, who quite easily take the blow, and allow Rani to indulge into her post-wedding dream.

Rani's exploration in the foreign land makes the crux of the film. She meets people of different kinds and cultures. Hesitatingly enjoying herself, Rani's character evolves as a simple, open-minded and non judgemental young girl. It is here that I found the character hard to understand. I found the character of Rani quite anomalous, or atleast to me, it seemed contrived. I was unable to comprehend the innocent responses of Rani to several situations. Her innocence is overplayed. It is hard to understand how an adult growing up in a globalizing city of Delhi would behave in sharply conventional (for the lack of a better word) ways in foreign situations.

I was not convinced of the fact that she would book a hostel for  living in without researching on the culture of sharing in the hostel. Or for example, her visit to the sex shop without even figuring that she was in one, and still innocently engaging with the toys within the shop as just other domestic accessories was too farfetched. This instance seems specially contradicting in the light of the fact that she was able to sense about the random hook ups of her earlier roommate in Paris, to whom she is also able to offer advise on sex while parting off from her.

On the other hand, I found her struggle with language in the new place (even when the people across the counters spoke English) extremely contrived. While I suspected that she knew how to speak English very well, my friends argued that one could not assume that she was well versed with the language. The communication gaps between French-English-Hindi are bridged by introducing mixed characters who speak different language. To me,  neither did their characters seem convincing. Difficulty in speaking the language almost always becomes the key tool to emphasize the presence of the 'foreign'. But most directors don't handle it well. I remember a scene from Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge where Kajol is stranded on the road without her passport, caught by policemen. The whole situation is so contrived and Kajol's unnecessarily tweaks her language to talk to the police authorities - a scene which looks almost unnatural. I think such situations are forced by the medium of the film where there is no other way of addressing such inter-cultural frictions. One such films that handles it really well is the recent Sridevi-starrer English Vinglish, where more than the language, first time New York visitor Sridevi is baffled by the codes of conduct in language, compounded by her unfamiliarity with English itself. I am reminded of the scene in the coffee shop, where while her attempt to communicate to the person on the counter in English is genuine, she is still puzzled with the tangential mannerisms of greeting, speaking and behaving.

I am wondering about how conscious of our language barriers when in foreign countries, and how much do we prepare ourselves to overcome such situations when going to these places, especially when alone? Rani, for this matter was certainly not prepared, and it is hard to invest in this fact. I wonder if she even knew that people spoke French in Paris! Neither did her parents seem to be bothered how she would move around in the place...Perhaps a lot of such details bother me, and it is these details from where my criticism probably stems. The language conflict in the film certainly doesnot define Rani's foreign experience. Infact, she is far past it. She enjoys clubs, bars and the nightlife of Amsterdam and is able to indulge in different experiences.

I could write a separate post about friction in inter-cultural experiences. But to cut the above story short, I was not able to relate to many of Rani's experiences in the new land. And perhaps the non-resolution of the details of the film was what made me dislike to a certain extent.

I must clarify that I am not demanding details, rather asking for internal logics for the film's narrative through which one doesnot question them. To put it in other words, the technique of film making must implicitly account for details to be evident, which Queen fails to do, while The Lunchbox successfully works out. Probably it is here that differences in our views of films emerge. Everyday entertainment-consuming audiences do not question details, rather accept the constructed narrative reality of the films as a given. Films are measured on their entertainment quotient after all, something that takes away from their reality, into a land acceptably different from that which constructs their own. However, what they do not realize, probably is how such fictional reality is subversively assimilated into their own lives, that appears and operates quietly.

Such everyday audiences do not necessarily want to engage in critical discussions of films (or probably anything!) Gauging from the bursts of laughter between the scenes of Queen, I was able to gauge what kind of humour people enjoy, or are rather made to enjoy. One such instance was certainly the sex shop scene in the film. It is incredible how subversively sex creates humour, desire, lust and even aspirations of beauty through films - something that is shunned from everyday conversation in Indian homes. Nevertheless, hushes and whispers in such scenes are almost overrated. The other bursts of laughter were on jokes on stereotypes, and stereotypical jokes. These included particular mannerisms, tested dialects and rhetorics. Academics generally criticize stereotypes for categorization of characters in a fixed mould. Stereotypes are generally looked upon as a singularized characterization of people, and intellectuals generally look for multi-dimensionality of a character within a filmic representation. In other words, stereotypes are seen as ill-developed caricatures of more holistic beings. More often than not, they are looked upon in pejorative light, for their personal agency is limited by the extents of their culture.

A lot of times, audiences probably donot relate to stereotypes like the "stereotypical" academic view. Before I go on to put my point, I must caution that a lot depends also on the representation of the stereotype in the film. While some stereotypes may be projected in a way that they are shunned (take for example homosexuals in Bollywood films), others may be presented in a way that they come to define the very audiences. Often the strong representation of a stereotype allows people to own, and further assert their stereotypical identities. Stereotyping in some way, also brings to certain individuals a peculiar kind of confidence. Such representation in fact, legitimizes their everyday behaviour and mannerism by bringing it into discourse and putting it out there.

This is certainly what transpired between the difference of mine versus my friends' opinions about the evaluation of Queen. However, quite ironically, while The Lunchbox which intended to bring people to question or even identify their own selves by leaving an open ending, none of my friends seemed to take that extra step. An open ending stopped their thoughts. On the other hand, Queen, a film with clear ending and nothing to contemplate generated a discussion filled with laughter and reiterations of cheesy dialogues. Perhaps I am wrong in my first claim then, for probably, while my friends in their light-hearted viewing were able to enjoy both the films, I had myself subconsciously slipped into the representational space of these films. In spite of the above discussion, I am unable to understand what really creates differences in my watching of the films versus the others?

And then, what does it mean to be academic about our view of the world, and should it make us more happy or more sad?

Words of Wisdom (for sale)

Taken from an art-store in New Haven.
1209 Chapel Street.

Backstage Babbles

I have been thinking of what I have been thinking. Suddenly I have been wanting to understanding the metastructure of everything. Like the everything of everything. Or the meaning of meaning. How much can you distance yourself from yourself? How clear can clarity get? How confusing is confusion? How comforting is comfortable? The above thoughts have stuck my thoughts.

For the past one week, I have allowed myself to think and do what I want to think and do - well at least, partially. My ramble is not even as interesting as that of Deleuze. In order to escape this self convolution, I started watching things. Not reading. Watching. And I started collecting quotes from things I have been watching. Writing can be wonderful thing. But just like any other art, it has to be inspired by something. Recently I have beein thinking that although I make interesting arguments, I am not necessarily able to articulate them well. Or I may have interesting observations, but I am not able to express them so well. Thus I took a pause to re-consider my past.

Last week I made my website. I think I engaged in a creative activity after a very long time. It took me time to figure a way of presenting myself, for I have forayed into so many areas over the past that I feel bound by none. I am inherently interested in multiple things. I wonder how helpful it would be to keep it so. Vinit Nikumbh, after seeing the website, told me that "it's an interesting way to position yourself" - and I said, " I think i was trying to de-position myself!"

I have increasingly begun to cripple myself of the counter side of every thing I think. And that has been the reason for keeping away from writing for some time in the past. A lot of it is also about the state of mind. When you are happy, you feel like writing, when you are not, you dont feel like doing anything. I have a lot of time right now, but I can not take to writing, because it feels purposeless. What is the fate of this blog afterall? People read it, sometimes they relate to some stories, and write back, and then nothing happens?

This blog itself is so diverse, a life-portfolio of sorts, a back stage, a green room...My website links to this blog, with the fear if it may be misunderstood, or under-valued. Since writings here are not professional, rather rambling thoughts. There have been a lot of times when I have directed people to rambling thoughts on my blog. But how much importance would people in the profession would put on such ideas?

I will attempt to, soon put together the small list of quotes I collected over my past viewings of films in the last few days. May be I can initiate my writing habit once again. Meanwhile, I dont know how incoherent this post is. It doesnot make up for my degree in writing. Or perhaps I am just overworked with writing!

Translation

Movie: Anand
Music: Salil Chowdhary
Lyrics: Yogesh
Singer: Mukesh

Kahin door jab din dhal jaye 
Saanjh ki dulhan badan churaaye, chupake se aaye
Mere kayaalon ke aangan mein 
Koi sapanon ke deep jalaaye deep jalaaye
Kahin door jab din dhal jaye 
Saanjh ki dulhan badan churaaye chupake se


Somewhere, faraway when the day retires
The bride-like evening shys away of itself, quietly coming by
In the court of my thoughts
Someone lights up the dream-lamps
Somewhere, faraway when the day retires
The bride-like evening shys away of itself, quietly coming by

Quote

"We have to pick up our own life, and make something beautiful out of it..."
Kuchh to log kahenge, logon ka kaam hai kehna
(People will keep saying something, its all what they do...)

said Usha Uthup in an interview

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...