A kind of social awkwardness

The other day someone, a person I'm acquainted with, who, according to social protocol, I should feel more comfortable around but don't, asked me what my dreams in life are.
I was a little startled at first because I haven't been asked that question in...well, since I was 6? Maybe 10, if I was pushing it. I have been asked what I want to become or where I think I'm heading or what I want to achieve but those are questions that are easier to answer. When someone demands you to spill out your dreams, they're either trying to corner you into some vulnerable spot of yours which they can then feel triumphant about or, conversely, they mean business.
Is it more worrying to realize that this question is really a test you must pass in order to fit into some position in the order of the world?  Or for it to hit you that people truly care to know what you imagine and desire? Which would be the scarier of the two - to belong or to be understood?
So when I was asked this question a few days ago, I didn't quite have the time to mull the response in my head and plan it perfectly before replying but I did immediately freeze and wonder the true intent of this question. It was odd timing and there was a certain urgency in the person's tone that took me by surprise. If there was a quiet interested edge to the tone I would have perhaps relaxed my shoulders and opened up a little bit but there wasn't and I was reduced to a stammer and a quick attempt at salvaging myself from appearing either like a boring person who has no dreams or a naive child who knows nothing about reality.
I hate having to feel awkward or too concerned about appearances. I feel forced to do that around most people and society because I really don't feel comfortable with being too honest with everyone. The problem with this is that at the core of it all, I'm a really honest person so the constant push and pull makes the whole situation frustrating in a dramatic sort of way.
But if I were to be absolutely honest, as I would be around someone I connected with at multiple layers of our existence, I think I would still be forced to contemplate and stammer out a shoddy answer not because I'm scared to be honest but rather because I don't really know how to summarize my answer in a way that seems legible to someone else. Because the truth is that I have both beautiful larger-than-life dreams as well as an inclination these days to take each day as it comes. Literally, breathe each moment in the most full way I know because I'm realizing that the momentum required to allow one moment to smoothly flow into another is something that I must find, create, harness by myself rather than believe that it exists solely within the moments themselves. But I myself sometimes feel like such a volatile substance that finding the momentum all the time, every time is like a hit-and-miss sort of situation. So the most honest, most grounded, most real 'dream' I then have is to hope to make it through this moment on to the next and feel happy while doing all of that. The larger-than-life dreams operate too in some portion of my head but in the face of the small happy getting-by that I'm inclined to engage myself in now, they take a partial backseat.
The point though is that they exist together.

And this is why honesty is a slippery thing even with those who truly care about your heart.

A long hiatus

I'm prone to long hiatuses in life. It's not just this blog as most might assume (since blogs can be quite arduous and pretentious to be regular with) but other things too, of varying enormity.
I often take breaks from the things I love, like writing or reading interesting stuff or people and talking to them or running around town or being happy.
I also take breaks from the things I passionately dislike, like washing my hair, or writing or reading interesting stuff or people and talking to them or running around town or being happy.
Sometimes I long for a nice holiday from life. I've wondered, utterly subconsciously, what that would like. The closest to it that we seem to have come to is the passenger spaceship on which Madonna has already booked her seat. But I don't think that quite categorizes as a holiday in my book. Sometimes I think dreams edge towards the ways in which I think of 'the' holiday but even that, really, is like the brightest of the illusions, so bright that it can trick you into believing that it's not exactly what it is - an illusion.
So great is this affection for hiatuses that I also tend to - thanks to my mind that doesn't quit ticking - wonder and question why I seem to gravitate towards them, even actively look for them, as I go about living my life, doing my thing.
I don't have an answer just yet but the more energy I put into looking at this tendency of mine, I realize that it's the only thing (so far) that makes me experience utter longing and genuine devotion. And for that maybe I'm grateful.

Because maybe, maybe, there's a chance for some kind of union?

Things we wear

- Jeans
- T-shirts with graphic designs
- Glass bangles
- Shapeless skirts
- Tweed jackets
- Moonboots
- Belts of dead animals
- Piercings in the side of your nose
Your tongue
Your eyebrow
- Tattoos on your ankle
The back of your shoulder
The nape of your neck
- Paint on your nails
- Fingers that hold your nails
- Hands, legs, arms
- Lips, ears, eyes
- Skin
- Muscles under the skin
- Bones and blood
- Sweat, sometimes
- Expressions that elicit sweat
- Things bubble-wrapped in insecurity
- Smiles, laughs, frowns
- Nakedness

That which never dies

I'm reading a lot of Urdu poetry these days courtesy acquaintances and new-found friends and I can not begin to express my absolute love for the drama, the wonder, the reality captured in those words. I'm not even going to try. I'm just going to post one that I'm in love with. Thank you Iqbal:

Teri ishq ki intahaa chahataa hoon/ I want the depths of your love
Meri saadhagi dekh kya chahataa hoon/ See my simplicity, see what I want

Sitam ho ki ho vadaa-e-behijabi/I don't care if you maltreat me or promise to unveil your beauty
Koi baat sabr-aazamaa chahataa hoon/ I want something unbearable to test my fortitude

Ye jannat mubarak ho zaahidon ko/Let the God-fearing be dwelling in heaven
Ki main aapka saamana chahataa hoon/ I just want to be face to face with you

Koi dam ka mehmaan hoon ai ahal-e-mahfil/I'm only here for a few moments, like a gust
Chirag-e-sahaar hoon bhuja chahataa hoon/Like morning star I will fade and vanish in a few moments

Bhari bazm mein raaz ki baat keh di/ I disclosed the secret in public
Bada be-adaab hoon, sazaa chahataa hoon/I should be punished for being so rude.

For this I feel grateful.

I'm also tempted to post another poem here. It's by Neruda and my friend sent it to me the other day after one of our long conversations about life and living and going crazy. It's so beautiful.

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and I lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips :
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off: it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Waking from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood-
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

I read it and read it and re-read it. And started falling in love with the forest. To be lost in it is perhaps all that I desire now from life. For this I shall not apologize. I'll ask for the grace to encounter my twigs and maybe I'll encounter little drops of sun too. Or better yet, maybe I'll be to the twigs the light that it needs.

After all, fireworks are wonderful, but they can't compare to the sun.

Mysteries

There are secrets within me. Because I am aware, I try and unravel them. I try and unravel me, I try and unravel the world, I try and unravel people. The elusiveness of secrets fascinates me. I want to know more. I want to know everything.

But my mind alone can not will everything into reality. My mind can not engage with these secrets. No, it is not enough, it never was, it never will be. My mind is the most useless tool in this regard.

For these secrets need all of me. In effect, they need the parts most sacred to me. The sacred ones are the most sensitive ones, yet they're not strong enough.

And the only way of strengthening is an absolute complete shattering. The most sensitive must be thrown into all the turmoil there is out in this universe. Only then perhaps will the secrets become remotely familiar.

I imagine

What did I imagine as a little kid? Of course, I had to have imagined for isn't that what little kids are best at? But I think at that young, tender age, I imagined of the most impossible fantasies, the most unreal stories, like little butterflies growing out of my pillow. My imagination had no bounds.

But even with that boundless imagination, not once did I ever fathom the possibility of a reality I now live. I could not imagine these things, maybe because my mind was obsessed only with the most unreal of sagas. And this right now is real. Me, typing on my Apple laptop, in my bed on the floor is real.

Wait.

Is it?

No, this isn't a trick question nor am I pretending to be smart. All I am is deeply curious about the possibility of this moment right now being merely a figment of my imagination. No, not the fact that I'm sitting because, yes, I am sitting. I am typing. That, I agree, is very real. But this context, everything around me right now which is not me seems merely an extension of something that I once imagined. For in a way, am I not in this little messy college room because I had once imagined, dreamed so much that I willed it into reality?

Maybe I had imagined many other things that do not exist in any real shape or form now but I don't remember those things anymore. The process that transformed my imagination into my reality was so gradual and insidious that I can't trace its progression. So insidious that I wonder if it even matters what I had initially imagined or when or how or why. That slow process which transformed my imagination into a full-fledged animal has made those initial details irrelevant. All that matters now is this big animal that sits in front of me, around me, in me. Even athraaf, as we'd say in Urdu. This big animal called Reality.

Yet this big animal right now that is making me consciously type furiously can't stop some part of my brain from imagining and dreaming completely unbeknownst to this conscious, furiously-typing me. The imagination is happening, regardless of Reality. And the slow process with which it transforms into Reality is also happening.
But of course I don't know of it.

Yet tomorrow Reality is going to strike again. The big animal that some part of me is creating right now is going to hit me like it's something new and unfamiliar. And it is. It is an entirely new being but its disguise of independence can not hide its humble origins, can not untie itself from the imagination, the part of me that created it. So I feel like I have a right to know, because a part of me already does. I have a right to know what tomorrow shall hold for me but my boundless imagination, cultivated ever since my days of childhood, shall not tell me. It says, "Have patience, Aditi. Have patience. Wait and watch."

There is no other time when my being feels as incongruously assembled or disjointed.

For this is how it must be

Everything seems to be a flight, a phone call or a few mouse clicks away.

Does that reduce insecurity or merely the distance?

My friends on the side of the world see me on Skype, in BBMs, in the Mango store near their home. But I am 1000s of miles away.

Shall we simplify, forget complexity, collectivize our experiences to feel some proximity?

I walk in the snow, pass people and smile. Sometimes we pretend not to have seen each other. Sometimes we are too busy.

Shall I sink into a sea of faces for the sake of assimilation?

Decoding magic...or maybe not.

This time of year, oh this time of the year.

Holiday food, fatness, snow, or simply cooler weather, family, friends, get-togethers, the start of a new year.

I love the first the few hours of January 1st. The world is alive with activity but also sleepy, like a period of time that doesn't quite have any real meaning. Like a lull. Like frozen time. Like it wouldn't make a difference if everything started or ended.

Of course, there's hope just thinking about the possibilities within the new year, like writing a new numerical digit in the date, like feeling old, like being astonished. But in those few hours, there is a spacey nothingness. Every year when I go to sleep at around 2 am (or later) on 1st of January, I wake up to a whole new day, feeling new in many different ways, even though it's all completely psychological. And when I wake up I attempt to do all those things that I'd like to do in the rest of the year. It's my aspiration day and I have as much fun planning it as much as actually living it out. The most beautiful thing about the aspiration day though is simply living it out and then at the end of the day looking at it and seeing whether any of it really matched the trajectory of the year I lived out.

So as this year sort-of-ish ends I'm thinking of January 1st 2010. A three-course dinner to bring in that night, a little bit of tipsiness for reasons unbeknownst to me (I was alcohol-free, I promise), a leisurely day by the beach in Santa Cruz. It was beautiful. And now, I'm looking through the journal I started that day. I wrote a post about fear, about being scared of the possibility of never being scared but I also feared tremendously the possibility of never being able to rise above the fear. And in that submission to fear, I had a weird realization about the vulnerability of humans and human bodies. I wrote of feeling suddenly aware of my muscles and tendons that stretched and turned and played around. Looking back now, I realize that maybe that was the day I made the decision (albeit an unconscious one) to submit to my humanness. In some ways, that has been the entire year for me - a submission to my inner writer, my inner wanderer, my inner risk-taker, my inner meditator, my inner human who stops isolating herself from the world around.

Maybe this is me reading meanings into everything in life because, honestly, that's something I'm great at. But a part of me genuinely believes that this is merely the result of my true being merging gracefully, honestly with the divine of the universe.

How then can I not believe in the possibility of subconscious requests to the universe fulfilling themselves?

Can the poets please stand up?

Conflict, peace studies, militancy, violence, sociology, hegemony, colonization, revolution.

Bas. Bahut ho gaya. Enough with the political jargon, I say. 

Or rather, can the political jargon please coexist with literature? 

I've been reading news articles and scholarly journals, books and opinion pieces and all of them shed so much light on the world, its issues and mankind in general. But today, upon someone's suggestion, I encountered work by Agha Shahid Ali, a Kashmiri American poet and was dazzled by the intensity of reality and emotion that the paucity of words can lend to understanding. Poetry has the ability to touch heart strings that we don't even think exist. So can we please begin meshing creativity with what we deem to be intellectual or expository or academic instead of confining issues into boxes? Can we make space for a revolution in education/knowledge-gaining through creativity? 

Here's a poem. It's long but please read it, absorb it, let it seep into you. And then tell me: can a person walk away from this? 

Farewell

          - Agha Shahid Ali

At a certain point I lost track of you.
 They make a desolation and call it peace.
 when you left even the stones were buried:
 the defenceless would have no weapons.

 When the ibex rubs itself against the rocks,
 who collects its fallen fleece from the slopes?
 O Weaver whose seams perfectly vanished,
 who weighs the hairs on the jeweller's balance?
 They make a desolation and call it peace.
 Who is the guardian tonight of the Gates of Paradise?

 My memory is again in the way of your history.
 Army convoys all night like desert caravans:
 In the smoking oil of dimmed headlights, time dissolved- all
 winter- its crushed fennel.
 We can't ask them: Are you done with the world?

 In the lake the arms of temples and mosques are locked in each other's
 reflections.

 Have you soaked saffron to pour on them when they are found like this
 centuries later in this country
 I have stitched to your shadow?

 In this country we step out with doors in our arms
 Children run out with windows in their arms.
 You drag it behind you in lit corridors.
 if the switch is pulled you will be torn from everything.

 At a certain point I lost track of you.
 You needed me. You needed to perfect me.
 In your absence you polished me into the Enemy.
 Your history gets in the way of my memory.
 I am everything you lost. You can't forgive me.
 I am everything you lost. Your perfect Enemy.
 Your memory gets in the way of my memory:

 I am being rowed through Paradise in a river of Hell:
 Exquisite ghost, it is night.

 The paddle is a heart; it breaks the porcelain waves.
 It is still night. The paddle is a lotus.
 I am rowed- as it withers-toward the breeze which is soft as
 if it had pity on me.

 If only somehow you could have been mine, what wouldn't
 have happened in the world?

 I'm everything you lost. You won't forgive me.
 My memory keeps getting in the way of your history.
 There is nothing to forgive.You can't forgive me.
 I hid my pain even from myself; I revealed my pain only to myself.

 There is everything to forgive. You can't forgive me.

 If only somehow you could have been mine,
 what would not have been possible in the world?

-- Agha Shahid Ali

Bombay calling

How I miss my city as I stare out of the window into the cold streets and the snow covered sidewalks and the bare trees. How I miss my city as the sun sets and night takes over at 3pm.

For my city is unique. The sun sets and night approaches but it doesn't have to mean a wrapping up or the end of another day in our lives. No, it merely means that another universe has taken over for Bombay at night transforms into something brighter and more beautiful.

The lights around Marine Drive light up and sitting by the sea near Walkeshwar in those quiet moments of night reinstates a belief in the beauty of life. Sure, the cops might come and shoo us away, tell us we're women, we ought to be careful roaming around at 3 am but they haven't snatched the beauty away. They can not.

My city buzzes with people, with life, with humour, with joy, with dirtiness, with deceit, with anger, with frustration and with successes. It is magical not only because it claims to be but because it is a land of infinite possibility, just waiting to be discovered.

And maybe the fact that it's at a tipping point, that point where it's just about to enter greatness, makes it even more exquisite. Because being at this tipping point gives all us Bombayites (don't call yourself a Mumbaikar unless you are willing to submit to the games of the Shiv Sena) the honour of the challenge to plunge this city into greatness. A greatness devoid of the clanging loneliness of the New Yorks and the Tokyos but full of liveliness, gladness and a hope in life.

I keep my ears open as I walk this perilous path

These last few weeks I've been reading a lot about famous people. But not famous as in those that made it big from a capitalistic point-of-view but those that chased these huge abstract ideas and tried to ground it in a reality they themselves were struggling to accept.

Of course Nehru was first on my list for I can not imagine today's India existing without him. The 21st century Indian breed has quite readily forgotten his painstaking role in creating our secular nation. In fact, I sometimes wonder if he lives on more in the hearts of the Pakistanis albeit in a derogatory manner than in the consciousness of Indians. Martyrs are forgotten in today's swiftly changing world.

But then there is his legacy too. Indira Gandhi, a woman who remains an enigma to me and Rajiv Gandhi, an honest loving man who tried his best. But perhaps most fascinating is Sonia Gandhi, as she continues to rule the roost in her frank, if not blunt, manner. A young girl from a town in Italy chances upon a handsome guy in London and follows him to a country that ends up taking his life and along with it, all that she could have imagined for her future. Yet, she stays on and runs the show because she has found the courage to love.

There's Aung San Suu Kyi and Irom Manu Sharmila. There's Mehbooba Mufti and Nelson Mandela. There's Gandhi and the Dalai Lama.

Each one of them fascinates me because they make me wonder about the inherent strength of humanity that keeps them going as they struggle in a world attempting to prove them wrong. Who cares for them as they worry for their lives and their families and their freedoms? But it isn't about them. It never was. It was never about their limbs or hands or minds or bodies. No, for it was, they would have accepted defeat. But they don't. Suu Kyi doesn't as she is released from house arrest with no guarantee of a future or a life. Indira Gandhi didn't as she felt positive that she would be assassinated. No, it isn't each of their lives that is as important as...what?

It is difficult to articulate that commonality that binds these people together in their quest for freedom. It is difficult to truly understand their spirits. But it isn't impossible because I'm realizing, and I truly believe, that all they did was follow an inner voice, their gut, their instincts, their intuitions on a path of thorns. But the thorns could not deter them as they submitted to this subliminal meta realm and allowed the path to take them wherever they had to go.

They make me believe that there is strength in our capacities and hope in our futures. For hope and the earth is all we have to live by.

Happiness

To me, summer seems just around the corner. Truth of the matter is that it it's both very close and exceptionally far away.
I have numerous plans. Volunteering in Kashmir (fingers crossed), interning in Delhi, traveling around India. No, wandering, wandering around India. This latter is pretty much what has kept my spirits up all of today.
I was sitting with friends in a coffee shop planning out summer (because they want to visit this country I keep talking about) when I struck upon an idea for wandering. I guess I was planning to not be too planned.

For an entire month (July 2011, I'm thinking), I want to wander throughout a part of the India that I haven't visited. Which is a lot. The possibility of seeing an entire new aspect to my country is the most exciting thing possible right now.

So, my plan is to journey from Kolkatta to Delhi in the span of a month (with friends of course). Yep, this can take 2 hours by flight and a day by train but the idea of doing it in a month makes me so excited. I've already begun looking up possibilities for things to do, places to stay, people to meet. Most importantly, I want to volunteer throughout the journey and do homestays or work with WWOOF (which you must check out, because it's extremely interesting to volunteer with them). There's a system of madrassas throughout West Bengal that has actually been in the news for a while for their secular curriculum which would be a great place to volunteer.
Kolkatta fascinates me. A communist state consistently mired in poverty and corruption, a socially active community, a literary hub, the capital of British India, home to one of the biggest brothel scenes in India - to me Kolkatta seems like an enigma.
And then there's Shantiniketan and the Sundarbans to go to and little villages that I have yet to identify. Next is Jharkhand (I'm not quite sure where yet), then Bodh Gaya, Varanasi, Allahabad, Lucknow, Rishikesh, Haridwar, Badrinath and Kedarnath, Dehradun, Mussoorie and Dalhousie, Shimla and Manali, Amritsar and Chandigarh, and finally New Delhi (where I plan to intern).

Wouldn't this be amazing?

I would love suggestions and ideas, tips and recommendations. No negativity please. :)

P.S. I also read something about Nehru today. He honeymooned with Kamala in Kashmir and during his long stay there, he took off to Ladakh and climbed its mountains with a cousin of his. He wrote,

 'the loneliness grew; there were not even trees or vegetation to keep us company - only the bare rock and the snow and ice and, sometimes, very welcome flowers. Yet I found a strange satisfaction in these wild and desolate haunts of nature: I was full of energy and a feeling of exaltation.'


And with this quote that so beautifully articulates my own experiences in Ladakh, Nehru convinces me that I'm not astray...it's reassuring (albeit I do recognize the absurdity) to feel connected to a dead person who restores my faith and guides me through life.

I'm human, I like things

I go to college. Everyday, I learn something new - things I want to know and things I don't really care about. But everyday, I learn/talk/discuss something about that big bad C word - capitalism. It doesn't help that I go to a liberal arts school. Sometimes, it seems like part of a pointed agenda to bash on this C-word that no one can really (and that no urban individual really wants to) live without.

So I guess I understand the points-of-view there are and often I find myself supporting the cause of the leftist brigade. Then, I come across a wonderful pair of shoes, like the ones in the photo above, I fall in love with them, look at the price tag, feel a bit shellshocked and suddenly remember all those social forces and jargon I talk/study about. For some (sad) reason, when I look at large department stores, expensive things to buy and designer brands, I'm reminded of human greed, capitalism, recessions, currency wars, George Bush. My conscience stops me from splurging when all these thoughts do a little recce in my head but what remains completely unanswered within me is that sinking feeling of disillusionment.

No, I am not upset or disappointed or disillusioned that I can't buy a pair of beautiful shoes or rather, that my conscience stops me from. No, at the heart of it all, I don't really care about those shoes, no matter how beautiful they are. Yet, each time I see a price tag or I look at designer labels, I am saddened because I am reminded of the socialization and connotations that we have all been taught to attach to these concepts. What truly saddens me is the fact that the quest for acquiring things has made us forget the inherent value of beauty.

Each shop, regardless of whether it is a thrift store or a Hermes holds something that has the potential to be beautiful. There is inherent beauty to certain objects and I believe, it is often this beauty that leads us to want to splurge or acquire those beautiful things. But often, beauty has a price tag attached to it. In today's world, owning something beautiful as a means of truly appreciating it comes with a hefty price tag that a majority can not avail of. This isn't to say that inexpensive things aren't beautiful but exquisite items are rare and therefore reserved for a select few. So the lefty Communists stare down at capitalists because they can afford this luxury and indulge in an activity that is so entirely segregated. But don't these two seemingly opposed groups love beauty almost equally, simply because both are human? Does the ability to splurge on luxuries automatically negate the existence of a person's moral compass?

But more importantly I have been wondering as I walk through a shop and discover beauty and art in clothes and accessories, since when did it become so wrong to appreciate beauty? Since when did material beauty become immoral and wrong?

I personally do not believe beauty can create such a rift between humans as it does in the political and economic realms of our lives today. It goes against the very concept of beauty. But what is it about our decisions about society, what is it about our world, what is it about our ambitions that allows beautiful things to become such harsh representations of a human? What is it about us that allows us to degrade beauty in such a fashion?

For most the answer goes back to economics and politics and law. But I wonder if the answer ought to be found elsewhere, if the answer truly ought to be found in the depths of our own consciences. For I believe we must question our own true motivations before we decide to dismiss other individuals, ideologies or ways of existence. Because maybe the challenge doesn't lie in demonizing certain aspects of this overarching thing called life but instead, revolves around something much greater: reconciling the goods and the bads to come to a system that doesn't so cruelly diminish the value of the wonderful things we are meant to and have gained the privilege of experiencing in life.

How to love what we do

Today we had a fancy speaker come to college. She talked about what it meant to work in the public sector, to network, to go to a great graduate school and to have these credentials that makes one seem like a productive, capable, important human being.

It scared me.

Not because I don't think I can follow that path but because stopping me from actually wanting to follow that exact path she laid out to seem like a surefire way to making it big, was a little part inside of me that was telling me to do something I could wake up in the morning and feel passionate about. And that path, that structure was just not it.

So now as I sit and worry about what I'm going to be and do in the future, a random thought flashes in my head. This is actually a thought I've been mulling over for a while but now given the reality of growing up being plunged in my face, I'm realizing more and more that this world is not as easy as I once thought it was. No. Everything, almost everything, must be fought for. There has to be some degree of violence in claiming what you think it is you deserve.

That's what scares me.

I've always been a somewhat creative person. I love writing. I love reading. I used to play the clarinet. I absolutely love watching well-made movies. I love music. I love how all these different dimensions of art can make one feel so much closer to a divine power.

But I also love politics and world affairs. I love analysing the economy and understanding what went wrong or how things could improve. I love policy and I adore anyone who can appreciate the fine art of productive discussion. Most importantly, I love being able to bring in ideas, thoughts and resources from one end of the world to the other in order to allow social change and transformation.

I'm fascinated by social change. I'm fascinated and in love with ideals, particularly those that the Indian nation was founded upon because the founding fathers seemed adamant on preserving that sense of national values.

So as I sit now and think about how I can go about these three somewhat different passions as potentials for a particular occupation, I wonder about the other possibilities through which this beautiful intersection can be arrived upon.

I'm a little stumped for ideas. It's your turn. Anyone?

As we stop and stare

I'm deeply compelled to believing there is a right and a wrong way of doing things, or even one particular path that will lead to ultimate goodness. In my day-to-day life, I don't think I view situations in such black and white terms but when I think about the world, the existence of humans, the future of our civilization, my subconscious somehow seems to gravitate towards believing in this unclear, unfair dichotomy.

And maybe that's exactly how we were trained to be. For doesn't every unit of social existence depend upon some form of value system, rooted in religion or philosophy or ideology? Hasn't each individual been indoctrinated with some form of moral code. Isn't even our legal system an extension of a larger social morality that obviously exists only because we will it to?

I have no problems with morality or philosophy or religion. In fact I'm fascinated by all of them and believe that they're important in our world. But what hurts my somewhat idealistic view is that these abstract things are so deeply polarized in the way they view the world and suggest how people live their lives. More importantly though, the inherent beauty to each of these 'truths' is lost as we seek to fulfill them solely in their superficiality rather than embrace the esoteric meanings behind their existence. For I do not believe that the commandment 'do not kill' is wrong or unjust yet we approach it in such a passe way that it has lost its inherent value. These values, ideals, these virtues exist not for the sake of existence or because they are right, but because, I believe, there has been deep thought and compassion poured into its evolution. With the intensity and purity of emotion that went into creating these ideals now forgotten, what is the point of even following them?

Yet I have been trained to follow a certain system. So automatically, I have also been trained to recognize, criticize and judge myself and other people who do not seem to follow the value system. It startles me then, to see how a value system, a mechanism that is meant to further so-called good, can polarize people to such a degree, and create such divisions.

As I struggle to understand who I am, who I want to be and how I want to interact with people, I see myself searching for answers in those value systems that were instilled in me but also in books, thoughts, ideas and ideologies that I happen to come across. Yet I'm realizing that everything I can ever do or think is part of a longer trajectory that doesn't ultimately depend on my attempt to be 'good' based on a deep commitment to believing in the 'correctness' of a value system. To believe that it is, would be almost too naive and self-aggrandizing of a perspective. And what is the point of that?

Maybe, ultimately, what can truly guide us is compassion that forms the basis of human virtue. Honest compassion to resurrect the beauty of the world.

The consequences of not understanding ourselves

A friend and I just had a conversation over coffee and muffins. It was a conversation about a lot of things, very Macalester-ish of course, which made me realize the opportunity cost of being here. But our conversation ended almost too soon, but possibly rightly so because it has left me with a new idea that I haven't really thought of too much before.

The future of the West seems to lie in some sort of right-wing ideology that is growing only more extreme. In fact, maybe, the entire world is heading down that trajectory. At the risk of subjecting myself to a harsh leftist discourse, I'm wondering if it would be too naive to term this trend an inevitable result of capitalism. Anyhow, this trend in the West is becoming characterized by racist slurs, anti-immigration movements and laws, Islamophobia and a general fear of the other.

Human fear has always existed, particularly racist, otherizing claims yet in our 21st century world, we like to believe we have overcome these divisive ideologies. And maybe this is exactly the problem - the fact that we believe in having achieved a sort of 'enlightenment' in this realm only because the world is too globalized to be otherwise. What fails to be possibly noticed is the ways in which we view globalization.

Academic discussions suggest that globalization is not only a transformation of the world economic system to make it more connected but also a force that enables more rapid exchanges of ideas and value systems in order to form a tolerant universal one. But the increase in the fear of the other in the West, particularly, makes me rethink the claim of tolerance and universality. For the state of these trends right now makes it seem like globalization is primarily a new economic system with ideological change only a by-product, almost like an afterthought of the analysis that academics and liberals decide to throw into the mix. Because if ideological change really was as important as the economic one, would we necessarily be facing this increase in fear of the other? Would we have to struggle so much to resist the conservative nature of these value systems?

So maybe, I'm thinking, the world has globalized so rapidly and deliberately in favour of economic progress that people and cultures and traditions have had no time to catch up. For it is extremely challenging and presumptuous to believe that merely the existence of a new economy can provide a liberalization of thought and belief systems. Just because globalization has allowed Indians to study in the US and earn in dollars, and the Hispanics to seek security in the US, and the Turks to find job opportunities in Europe - that is really a bid to increase efficiency with the by-product of providing refuge to immigrants - does not mean that this tangibility of the new economy has really created a shift in the way that we see these communities with respect to our national identities. Our communal immaturity to resist what we do not see as part of a shared understanding can't be erased solely by tangible shifts in jobs, lifestyles and capabilities.

This trend in events then suggests how wrong the pure capitalists are in believing that markets will always create a better ideology for the world to follow. To undermine the prominence of existential questions in society is to strip away the humanity of just living. If this isn't addressed, there almost seems to be no point in contributing to this global economic system that seems to further the cause of the fearful and insecure. So maybe what we need then is not a movement against politics, not a movement against the economy, not a movement against globalization but rather a positive movement for the resurrection of the human spirit, one that allows us to embrace the ideals that govern our coexistence.

Resistance is beautiful, but maybe it's time for something with more constructive elements rather than those that have motivations of opposing or destroying or dividing.

Maybe it's time to create, to spread, to accept. Maybe, then, the responsibility of this generation is to posit construction as its objective of social transformation rather than destruction or overthrow, for that may just follow naturally.

Hopefully the attempt towards having these positive motivations could result in more good than has ever been achieved before.

Let me go

My stomach growls.

I'm thinking about traveling. I want to point on a map, pack my bag, take my friend along and go. If I wasn't a girl, I could possibly hitchhike my way to Mexico. Sleep on the road or on beaches, take rides from random people, be penniless to the absolute depths of what the word means. If I was a sanyasi, I would feel comfortable in my discomfort. If I was American, I wouldn't need a visa.

My stomach growls some more.

Where do I want to go? No that's the wrong question because really I want to go everywhere. Correction: Where can I go? Now, that is somewhat vague too. Possibly the best question to ask then is, where must I go?
Anywhere, regardless of safety, urban civilization, language. Little towns or villages anywhere in the world? No mobile, no money, no guarantee.

I have 30 minutes to class. My stomach just made a very loud noise.

I'm thinking of the exhilaration of fear and insecurity that accompanies any sort of un-structure. I've felt it at US border control, while walking in a dingy alleyway in Ladakh, while smoking behind a rundown building in Veles. They are not all the same though. Fear isn't unilateral.

It is 1pm and lunch is waiting. I must go.

I am obsessed with beauty. I seek it everywhere - in a flower, in a raindrop, in a disfigured smile, in silence, in busy-ness, in almost absolutely everything. I am filled with despair when I feel like my quest for beauty isn't respected. It often isn't, especially nowadays. There is no time to wait for beauty to strike us. Yet isn't beauty characterized by its unwillingness to bloom instantaneously? Isn't beauty essentially beautiful because it manifests completely of its own will? Not enough space for beauty in a world where time is money and money is all we ever aspire for.

I sound utterly disillusioned with the world we live in and the generation I come from. I sound like I'm about to take off on an anti-capitalist rant. In some ways I am. In many ways though, I'm simply attempting to reclaim what is essential to being human, since those are the very aspects that are absolutely beautiful. My life these days is a struggle depicting that reclamation. But when I think back to my teenage days, I recognize that my life has always been that struggle. I have always craved to dwell in a beauty that defies the systematic life we've created for ourselves. From time to time, I've dismissed my quest for this beauty, terming it a fetish, a naive child's romanticism, a teenager's idealism but now, for some reason, I feel like the only way forward is to completely embrace it. My willingness to accept my own search for beauty makes me feel at peace albeit somewhat uncomfortable in the ways of the world. Yet, I realize the absolute worth behind such honest sentimentality when I observe the trajectories of individuals and societies that have dismissed so quickly their own quests for beauty in the human experience.

In a way, the sullenness of the boxing up of the day-to-day makes me believe more firmly in the beauty of the visceral nothingness of moments. It is a feeling I shudder to let go of.

Moments of despair for a person of faith

For a nationalist, the harshest reality lies in the not-easily justifiable inadequacies of your country. Those issues that suggest an underlying conspiracy, a threat to human virtue, an aberration of all that you thought your country stood for, are the worst kind. Sometimes, the harshness stops the nationalist from accepting.

I follow the situation in Kashmir as closely as I can because somehow there is an intrinsic link between my life and the goings-on in the region. I follow the situation in Ladakh, in Nagaland, in Bihar, in Gujarat, in every corner of India that hurts, for exactly the same reason. I feel sad, I feel distraught, I feel hopeful. But my faith in the Indian constitution and establishment is upheld, possibly because my understanding is cloaked in a liberal optimism. It is somewhat difficult for me to fathom that human rights violations, murders and encounter cases are acts sponsored and encouraged by the Centre. In effect, I genuinely believe that the Centre, those head honchos in the political foray are working for the betterment of India not only to make it seem better at the back of the Economist but to really improve the lives of every human that pays allegiance to the Union. Somewhat naively maybe, I think I believe that the Indian government is inherently prone to fighting for the liberation of its citizens. I see goodness even when parts of the country are mired in poverty and crime.

To accept otherwise, to believe that there are hideous conspiracies of mere self-aggrandizement that colour the character of Indian political figures, as is the case in our neighbouring country Pakistan and many other developing ones, feels like a slap in my face, a destruction of my faith, a reason for endless cynicism for every realm in life. In some sense, it is almost a selfish endeavour to believe naively in life.

Is my nationalistic sentiment, rested deeply in a faith in beauty and life, a mere coverup for the land where none dare go?

Why I write here

This summer (yes, summers are hotbeds for growth) I was sitting with Rachel on the terrace of a restaurant in Changspa, Leh talking about life and school and everything in general, as we waited for our Chinese manchurian with rice. Our conversation that touched upon academics and boys and our futures somehow also got into a conversation about accepting people.

I have a hard time accepting. I don't know if it's because of who I grew up around, some karmic baggage, or just simply, my strong-headed independence. I'm trying to get better at it though and while I was sharing with Rachel my moments of intolerance in close relationships, we agreed that it was essential to be able to get along with everybody, regardless of who or what or why. This obviously seems like a bold proposition as well as one that won't be consciously shared by many. Most importantly, getting along with everyone suggests one must be willing to cooperate even if major ideological divides exist. But underlying society's encouragement to be independent and opinionated individuals, cooperation has become the big bad C-word for how can there be a confluence between being strong-headed and cooperating?

But sitting in that rooftop restaurant I think both of us made that realization that who we are is a multitude of identities. I am multifaceted and unique, just like everyone else. The facet that I project is both embedded and affects the environment I'm in and if I was to be judged solely by the amalgamation of a singular facet and environment, I am not being respected or truly understood.
I recognize my multiple identities and rely heavily on them to justify my actions. I think we all do. But recognizing those multiple identities in others is always a task, particularly one that rests deeply also in what identity I choose to display. While my brain can understand this, it seems a mere rationalization since the actual application of this requires a heart and a soul that is much deeper, much more reflective.

We sat pondering this and hoping silently that we could develop the compassion and wisdom needed to recognize a person as a multifaceted individual rather than a singular entity.

A few weeks later, I read Identity and Violence by Amartya Sen. I was filled with utter happiness when I realized that this Nobel-winning economist had converted my thoughts into an academic argument that was available to numerous people around the world. He took it a step further suggesting that identities must be prioritized based on the situation.

Maybe this is where we clashed.

Because how can the projection of an identity be isolated from the environment? It is only natural that both are mutually constitutive, so how can the projection depend upon the context when the latter also depends on the former? More importantly, how can we prioritize identities because isn't it really the prioritization that has led to conflict? I'm not, even subconsciously, suggesting that each one of us doesn't have one or few dominant identities that define the way we behave. In fact, we are most aware of these dominant identities because we often make decisions from those places. But can't a dominant identity be recognized along with a smaller one? Can't we recognize that both of them must coexist in order for each individual to be? So I wonder, is it really the prioritization of identities or the reconciliation of them? Is it really about making my identity as a woman stand out more than mine as an Indian? Can they not coexist?

From where I see it, recognizing where those two identities meet, and where in fact, all my identities meet, is possibly the only way towards conflict resolution. Too many, too many times people have fought and battled over issues of identity. Sikhs, warriors, Muslims, crusaders - this one identity that is absolutely essential towards being is one of the reasons we struggle, we fight, and we believe we are just in skirmishes.

And this is why I write this blog. As a way to unravel my understanding of my own identities and those of this world and everyone in it that ultimately, hopefully, can help me conceptualize a solidified method of peace construction and conflict resolution. To me, this is something crucial to the world in which we live. We've grown smaller and closer together making it easier to notice differences. How do we, as individuals, as communities, as a world function and cooperate in the face of these differences?

Sometimes, it can all start with a small blog that no one ever reads.