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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