Showing posts with label Education. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Education. Show all posts

Friday, February 24, 2012

Spaces for Culture beyond Cultural Clichés

Culture is never static or monolithic. This is a disclaimer offered in any discussion around culture these days. But, I am amazed to see how  these discussions invariably end up portraying culture in  blatantly static and monolithic terms. Is it the fascination for the word 'culture' that invokes sentiments of presenting each and every narrative in a 'good and acceptable' light? And is it the contradiction between what appears and what does not conform to 'good and acceptable' leads us to pit one norm against the other in absolutist, essentialist terms?
The discussions around Chinua Achebe's masterpiece 'Things Fall Apart' offer a similar picture. While it was undoubtedly one of the first non-racialised accounts on Africa that brought forth an African  story in African voice, I believe we have moved on from that. I do not discount its contribution to our understanding of Africa, but we now need narratives that talk about 'finer' details.
'Things Fall Apart' subtly rebuked the White man's interpretation of the Dark continent. It told us that the tribes do not grunt and make noise in a language-less world, but possess a vast resource of language and literature preserved in folklores, proverbs, songs that are exchanged in day to day life. It told us that there existed a self-sufficient community with varied problems, consisting of real people with diverse personalities and was not just an untouched landscape waiting to be explored by the colonial settlers. It tells the story of how colonial domination came as a torrent of unstoppable force that swept everything away, the good and bad, leaving the vestiges of what was rich, prosperous and evolved through ages and centuries. We needed this narrative to be empathetic, we needed it to understand certain lives better, to appreciate some valuable stories that were seldom told earlier. However, it is not enough. While all the above is said and done. We now need to find out more stories to fill the gaps this one has created.
No matter how much we resist, but it offers a picture that men beating their wives and children to assert masculinity and power was inherently acceptable by the 'culture'. It makes us believe that religion and culture sanctioned killing twin babies and young boys for various reasons. And this makes us secretly hate the 'culture' itself. We then end up taking either of the following two stances. We either dissociate ourselves from 'them' and from a safe distance celebrate the richness of diversity and respect for 'difference'...Or we hypothesize that the dominant and the more righteous prevailed in the clash of cultures (Christianity could obtain a stronghold because it attacked the 'weaker' links of the previously existed norms, it appealed to the outcasts and the vulnerable ones). While it is difficult to completely refute or invalidate both the stances, the latter undeniably offer a singular interpretation of culture. They overlook the fact that the dominant version of culture might not be the entire truth, it might just be a reflection of existing power equations.
Were there no voices of dissent against what we might term inhuman today? It is inconcievable that the woman who turned to the Church to save her twin children was the first one to try to save her newborns. What happened to the dissenting voices before the Church came into picture? I need stories that talk about them to complete the picture....or perhaps create new gaps! If Chinua Achebe's narrative scoffs at colonial, racial, monolithic accounts of Africa, the alternative stories that talk about dissenting voices within the dominant culture will seal the fact that cultures evolved continuously and could not possibly be fit into a few narratives.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

'Soul' and Consciousness in a Language-less world

I began my journey of language with Hindi, my mother tongue. I guess I became quite good with it (if appreciations are a measure of that). I used to write poetry in Hindi, I used to think in Hindi. And then English came along. In the wake of the 'competitive' English dominant world outside, I was taught to speak, write and think in English. It was difficult initially, but gradually thoughts came along unabated, getting manifested in words that grew more and more ornate with time and effort. Then came the time when I perhaps stopped thinking in Hindi. A friend of mine, upon hearing this, told rather disdainfully, " तुमने अंग्रेज़ी को अपनी आत्मा बेच दी है (You have sold your soul to English)". It was disturbing. Nevertheless, I continued writing 'soulless' poetry in Hindi, for poetry never came out in English. I continued fighting with words to churn out poetry (शब्दों से लड़ लड़ कर कविता लिखती रही). But, yes the poetry was soulless.
And then this question occurred to me, "where is my soul"?
It is definitely not with English, for I still struggle to express myself coherently when I talk in English. I do think in English most of the times, though, and formulate arguments, discuss 'issues'. Majority of my readings are in English. Most of my writings (including this) are in English. But, everytime I hear my favourite Hindi song, my heart skips a beat. Everytime I read a poem by Mahadevi Verma, I am carried to a distant world, from where I do not wish to come back. Everytime I watch the outburst of OmPuri in the climax of 'Aakrosh' and the stoic expression of Smita Patil in 'Bhumika', I forget every English movie I ever watched.
My soul might be wandering in a language-less world, my heart still lies in Hindi.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Journey....my experiments with life!

I really find this stint of mine with 'education' (studying development in Manchester) perhaps the most engaging and enriching one since my school life. School life is still much more closer to heart, owing to the fact that I made wonderful friends, met remarkable individuals in the form of teachers and in its true essence started the process of self-discovery...not ignoring the fact that I was in the cossetted abode of my family. So, in short, there was love everywhere.
My first encounter with 'hatred' and 'harsh reality', as I understand these terms today and what makes all the previous notions I had about them seem so benign, was when I entered NIFT. I do not want to paint it all in black and white, for surely everything was in varying shades of grey and a spectrum of several other colours. But, the most important contribution that my stay at NIFT made to my life and my journey was to toughen me and prepare me for challenges to come. It not only made me test my patience and stretch my capacity to endure pain beyond any known limits, in this process it also gave me an undeterred, endearing optimism, undying faith in goodness that I carry with me every moment.
Work, I admit, seemed much easier than I expected after surviving and not 'succumbing' to NIFT. And of course, work, unlike NIFT, was a much more informed and conscious choice, the first of its kind. So no doubt it was extremely satisfying, enlightening, sobering at the same time. Thanks to NIFT, the greys seemed much less daunting and there was a realization that this learning would never stop, come what may. I gradually started to enjoy this 'answerlessness' till it struck me that I was not moving anymore...neither a step further nor a step back...neither exploring nor reflecting. The awareness of the fact that one might never reach an answer seemed to start rusting my consciousness and perhaps my soul (whatever that is). I knew I had to overcome this inertia. There was no way out.
And now I am here. Studying again. The answerlessness remains. In fact it is somewhat celebrated here. But, this place has given me a chisel to critique this answerlessness from all sides. And something rather strange happened that I did not expect. These chiseled edges of my 'answerlessness' started hurting me. The one definite thing that my life till now had  taught me, the lesson of the inevitability of answerlessness, does not seem to let me be at peace with myself anymore. There is restlessness and there is contradiction. Isn't the very purpose of knowledge to arrive at answers. The improbability of finding answers does not mean that the purpose is lost. When did we give up on knowledge? When did we meekly submit to the fact that since finding answers is not feasible, the most convenient option remains to understand, critique and stop at that juncture? Losing or abandoning the very intention of finding answers, and thereafter covering this cowardice or failure in the garb of a higher intellectual and academic pursuit seems to me the sheer arrogance of knowledge and nothing else.
I feel an imminent need to smoothen the edges with answers, hypotheses, solutions. And I am ready for criticism, I am ready to take up the chisel again and again, endlessly if needed, while smoothening again and again, till I reach a core....if there is any. And if there isn't, it will at least be a shape I will be proud of.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

For Srujanika

"मर्त्य मानव की विजय का तूर्य हूँ मैं
उर्वशी अपने समय का सूर्य हूँ मैं"

(I am the symbol of victory of the mortal man...I am the sun that shines in my era)

The above lines were written by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar, known as 'Rashtrakavi' or the 'National Poet' due to his rebellious nationalist poetry during the pre-independence days.

Poetry evokes myriad sensations, at times so powerful that it can move masses and bring about revolutions.

Going further back in history we find someone who challenged hypocrisy borne out of religion, caste and power dynamics in practically every realm of life...

"दुनिया बड़ी बावली पत्थर पूजने जाए
घर कि चक्की कोई ना पूजे जिसका पीसा खाए"
- Kabir

(It is a crazy world that worships idols made of stone but nobody worships the grinding stone that feeds the world)

Kabir's poetry is an epitome of stark simplicity and this is where its beauty lies, for it reaches you at your naked consciousness, makes you think, re-think and question.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

ज्ञान वीथी में दीप जलाकर
स्वागत है नवनीत कुसुम का
जिसकी सुरभि बाँध ले मन को
ध्येय बने वह अखिल विपिन का

जो अपने जीवन का मोती
इस पथ में बिखराता जाए
उसे नमन उस कालजयी को
जो यह गीत सुनाता जाए

गीत ज्ञान की अमित सुधा का
गीत विनीत समस्त वसुधा का
आज भारती के प्रांगन में
स्वागत है इस अजेय प्रतिभा का

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Where the mind is without fear....

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow
domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought
and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

The lines still evoke the same tingling sensation in the spine as they used to five years ago, when recited in the morning assembly as the Monday prayer by Col.(Retd.) B.R.Sharma.