Musings of a bored grad student

I sit writing in my lovely little office on the third floor of Alumni. It's a glorious autumn day and through my window I see giant oaks, their leaves still green as the summer. But here and there a little golden leaf drifts down, the sun catching its final dance. But reminding me that there is beauty beyond the realms of nature is the Corinthian pillar that stands so close to my window. Its curlicue tops almost within reach--the only thing that redeems this otherwise unremarkable building of grayish yellow. All of this seems like an indulgence amid my prosaic pursuits of the day: more drafts of pithy abstracts and proposals that attempt to play mind-games with over-worked reviewers. The pointlessness of this exercise is not lost on me. How bizarrely conceited I feel...pimping my research, worrying about my Dickensian writing, dotted as it is with passive -voice and an over abundance of clauses.
I crave moss-covered silences. I crave a place where my deadlines and my rejected proposals do not chase after me; where the stillness of a moment is not interrupted by the guilt of unaccomplished goals, the pestering of tasks left undone. I am no longer the Ulysses who craved the roiling waves of an open ocean; I want to linger with the Lotus Eaters, content in the languid warmth of each day.

Spore sets our view of humanity back 150 years.

The new video game ‘Spore’ is the talk of the town in gaming circles these days. At the heart of this game (created by Maxis of SIMs fame) are evolutionary processes. The game starts with a strange planet where a little microorganism has just landed piggy-backing on a meteoroid. The fate of this little critter rests in the hands of the player who has to choose various mutations, deciding which direction this organism takes in its evolutionary path. The game has been commended by biologists for introducing the concepts of contingency and randomness as important factors shaping the evolution of any particular species.

The problem is that the game doesn’t stop at biological evolution. Tied into this game is a fundamental presumption that societies also follow these progressive evolutionary patterns. Once the organisms in this game have reached a level of sentient intelligence, the players have the option of moving them on a path of supposedly increasing cultural sophistication from “simpler” tribal societies of hunter-gatherers to space-travelling species.

This view of societal “progress” and “evolution” sets our view of humanity back a hundred and fifty years to the time of early anthropologists who presumed that non-European, non-urban cultures were naturally more primitive and less-evolved. These early thinkers placed tribal populations the world over, who were contemporaneous to urban Europe, at an inferior intellectual strata, marking them with labels of “savage”, “barbaric” and “backward”. It was a teleological view of the human species with more "primitive" peoples climbing a ladder of progress towards technologically sophisticated civilizations.

Spore gets things wrong at two fundamental levels. One, its very premise—of placing cultural and technological difference as a difference in rank as opposed to a variation in type—is faulty. Anthropologists in the 20^th century have worked over-time to correct these presumptions of their predecessors only to be confronted by techno-geeks in the 21^st century falling back on the same fallacy. The second way in which Spore messes things up is by presenting (biological) evolutionary time as being of the same scale as cultural and technological change. Evolutionary time spans millennia; any given mutation requiring unimaginable quantities of time to transform into visible special differences. Technological changes within human communities, on the other hand, are incredibly fast and short-lived in comparison to evolutionary time. For the creators of Spore to speak of technological change in the same breath as evolution gives players a distorted sense of time, with eons of evolution occupying the same scale as decades of technological change.

As a gamer, Spore is incredibly exciting to me. As an anthropologist, it makes me shudder.

Priding and Parading in New Delhi

Never in my life had I even imagined that I would participate in a Queer Pride parade in India. But it's happened. On June 29, 2008 New Delhi (along with Bangalore and Calcutta) witnessed a spectacular show of pride on the part of the Queer community and their supporters. There were Gays and Lesbians, Bis and a good number of Transgendred and Transsexual folks. And many, many straight people who'd "come out" in support of the Queer community.

The organizers initially had hoped for a turnout of around a hundred people. Amazingly, though, the group that marched from Janpath to Jantarmantar numbered a little more than a thousand! Provision had been made for those who wished to remain anonymous: Rainbow striped masks were available for anyone who wanted it. I showed up at Janpath with a friend expecting to see a small sombre group of masked individuals. Instead, we found ourselves in a festive sea of smiling faces, chanting and hooting, waving rainbow flags and carrying banners up high. I expected police aggression and some right-wing Hindu groups to show up and set things on fire...but all I saw was immense enthusiasm. The cops looked amused and happy, the spectators looked genuinely interested, the press was respectful and we encountered no hostility as we made our noisy way down one of Delhi's busiest streets.
My friend and I walked with a banner that read "Delhi be Proud", and chanted "Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Isaai, Hetero, Homo Bhai-Bhai" (Hindus, Muslinms, Sikhs, Christians, Heteros, Homos: We're all brothers!), a take on India's favourite national diversity slogan, and sang "Hum honge kameyaab", the Hindi version of "We shall overcome". We also called for the legalization of Queer behaviour (the offending Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code being the object of our collective ire).

Finally, we stopped near Jantarmantar, paid our respects to those whose circumstances would not permit them to participate in the parade and lit candles in a silent vigil. When everyone began to disperse and we walked back down for some coffee, we saw the street strewn with rainbow flags, we passed outrageously made-up hijras twittering and laughing about the few incredible hours we had all just spent, and all seemed right in the world.

What's morality got to do with art anway?

A month or so ago, after the Grammies, I heard a lot of talk about how giving Amy Winehouse an award only legitimized her drug use. Really? I wonder how true that is, and more importantly, if it is true, does it matter? Does our appreciation of a work of art have to be contingent on the moral rectitude of the creator? I say no. And not because artists are some how exempt from a culture's moral code, and neither because it is an impossibly high standard to keep up for too long. I do think that the aesthetic value or the deep meanings inherent to art constitute an entirely different cultural entity from the artist who has created the work. I am not asking that the artist not be judged for his or her moral and ethical failings; what I am saying is that the work of art itself ought not to be indicted for the sole reason of its creator's flaws.
Take the infamous Wagner, for instance. A member of the Nazi party, a man committed to the Aryan cause and the the genocide that it entailed, Wagner is perhaps the poster-child of this debate. But how much ever I abhor the man, his actions, and what he stood for, I cannot and will not say that his music does not move me. I will admit that not having personally experienced the holocaust and never having known anyone who has, my reaction to Wagner, while very strong, is not visceral. His music does not immediately bring to mind concentration camps; it brings to mind Valkyries and Saxons! But having said that, I do not feel that knowing his past, I must be compelled to condemn his music along with him.
When we create works of art, we bring into the world what is in some measure, the best in us...what is most human in us. And having created art, it is no longer merely of us but of the world. When we create a work of immense beauty, or something that speaks to a certain truth that dwells within humanity, we unwittingly create a being that reflects what we perhaps could have been. Surely, art is bigger than we are, more sublime, and more human than we are? Should it not be judged as such?

Brown peoples in boxes

We were in New York in December and while there, we visited the American Museum of Natural History. I love natural history museums...those huge bone-sets of dinosaurs and mammoths, whales precariously hanging from ceilings, elk and egrets staring at you with glassy eyes that betray no hint of resentment. Takes me back to my days as a little kid, wandering the halls of Bombay's natural history museum, spotting Great Indian Bustards and White Rhinos. Imagine my utter dismay, then, as I saunter through the Museum in New York, walk past the gallery with the orangutans and the lemurs, and find myself confronted by a semi-naked brown man blowing darts at an unseen victim. I had never before seen a fellow brown man in a glass box, and needless to say, though he was made of wax, the effect was jarring. It did not stop with the semi-naked man blowing darts. The Museum is apparently full of glass boxes with brown peoples of all shades in them--South American, Polynesians, East Asians, South Asians, Africans, Arabs, Plains Indians, Coastal Indians. Where, I wondered, have all the white folks gone?! There is something profoundly disturbing about seeing a flock of curious ruddy-cheeked, blue-eyed kids gather around a glass box with a brown person in it. Some colonized, brown core of me balks, my inner knee buckles. Surely, if peoples of other lands and cultures were interesting enough to put in a Natural History museum, then why not throw in some Bohemians, some Teutons, some Gauls. I'd have loved to see a diorama of a smoky Parisian cafe (with a label about how with the recent smoking ban, this little scene would soon be extinct)? Or a snapshot of the running of the Bulls in Pampalona? A scene from Oktoberfest? A few Vikings thrown in for good measure? Nope...none of that. Only brown folks. I could have accepted prehistoric brown peoples, but there were exhibits from the not very distant past and the 20th century-- a diorama of Samakhand complete with Persian carpets and hookahs, or the box with the Mongolian yurt, for instance. What we're seeing here is the classic association of the non-"Western" with nature and with the past. The brown person, placed in a glass box flanked by Mammoths and Orangutans.

Back to sexy songs in India

So, the last time I talked about sexy songs in India, it was about movie songs and the euphemistic sexual motifs they borrow from our folk and literary traditions. This time round, I delve into the sensuality of Indian classical music...particularly, the sensuality of the viraha vedana mood or rasa of song and dance.

The viraha vedana style embodies moods of longing, sexual and emotional desire, and almost always reflects the longing of the woman for her beloved. This woman is the virahini (Hindi speakers may know her as a birhan). Songs in this mood can be sung by either men or women, but the narrative voice is that of a woman.

Common motifs employed in songs of viraha vedana are the monsoon rains (which are symbolic of growth, fertility and mating) and the sexually heightened state of the woman (often represented by images of untamed beauty). Very common to this style is the use of the Radha-Krishna motif, where, Radha, separated from her lover, calls out to him.

The monsoons are used in these songs to create a sense of irony and contrast. As mentioned above, they are symbolic of fertility and growth, but are seen here as heightening the lonliness and desparation of the the virahini. That is, the monsoons, which quench the thirst of the parched soil, only serve to leave the virahini thirsty for her parted lover, hunger for his touch. The drops of rain that cool and soothe the earth, set fire to the virahini's desires. You can see this motif in the following verse, which is reworked into many a classical song:

The gusts of cool wind , the drops of rain

Are like arrows on my skin.

My tears flow and smear the kohl in my eyes,

Setting my soul ablaze.

The torment of the monsoons is a sweet torment though, as it is laden with anticipation of imminent union.

Other than the image of rain as a tormentor, elements within the monsoons too carry a lot of meaning. They are, for instance, messengers. This image is deeply rooted in the Indic cosmology where the clouds are seen as messengers to the gods, or meghdoot (literally, cloud-messengers). This representation continues in songs of viraha vedana, in which the virahini sends messages to her lover through the rain-heavy clouds. Even birds commonly associated with the monsoons, like the parakeet, are addressed as messengers. Here's a good example of the monsoons seen as a conduit of love and longing:

Oh clouds go to my lover

Rumbling and thundering, go to the land of my lover

My soul is tormented, and I long for him

Go, clouds, and bring back his message to me.

These songs in the viraha vedana mood also contain some of the most beautiful representations of female sexuality and sensuality. This sensuality is usually represented by descriptions of disarray in the woman's dress and appearance. The woman dresses and awaits her lover; but as their separation is prolonged, her appearance becomes disarrayed and untamed in the throes of longing. Thus, the woman's appearance as a virahini is antithetical to the woman's appearance in the sringara rasa, where the woman adorns herself in anticipation of her lover. This motif is one of sexuality and sensuality because it mimics the state of a woman after the act of consummation. So again, there is a use of contrast and irony. The woman's sexuality is heightened, but there is no lover to give her release.

Here's an example of a typical verse that exemplifies this motif:

My tresses have come undone,

My eyes are now kohl-smeared,

The flowers in my hair now lay scattered,

Oh my love, where are you.

Also important to the viraha rasa is the motif of the Radha-Krishna pairing. In this motif, the lovers have been parted, and Radha longs for her lover Krishna, who is often depicted as being neglectful of his lady-love. Meera Bai, the 16th century poetess and devotee of Krishna, has written beautiful poems in this mood. In these poems, Meera Bai situates herself as Radha and sings of her longing for Krishna. Here's one:

Oh I am one mad with love,

No one knows my pain

Only the wounded know the pain

Of I who am wounded.

or

With anklets on my feet, I dance

I am a slave to my lord of my own volition.

And so am I mocked, called mad!

Songs of viraha vedana are set to beautiful raagas like Gaud Sarang, Gaud Malhar, Malhar, Maru Bihaag, Bilahari, Han etc. I highly recommend these raagas for anyone just starting to explore Indian classical music (both North and South Indian styles). In dance, these songs are accompanied by stylized hand gestures that reflect moods of longing, love, anticipation, joy and sorrow. This is more apparent in South Indian classical forms such as Bharatanatyam and Kuchupudi and the East Indian dance form of Odissi, as these are dance-forms which lay a lot of emphasis on hand movements to convey meaning and mood.

Why the big fuss about Michael Vick anyway?

Don't get me wrong. I think dog-fighting is awful. But honestly, aren't most of us who are outraged by Michael Vick just being a tad hypocritical?
Those of us who've ever eaten or used any animal product scarecely think of where all these products come from. I'm not talking about controversial, high-profile products like veal or foie gras or mink coats. I'm talking about the usual stuff... frozen chicken drumsticks, eggs for decorating at Easter, Nikes, dog-food, ice-cream...almost all of the animal-products we consume come from places where animals' lives echo the words of Hobbes: nasty, brutish and short.
Sure...liberals, left-wingers, tree-huggers, hippies...we talk about it, we think about it. But this regular mass brutality towards animals rarely generates the sort of outrage that Michael Vick's actions have.
The mainstream is quite happy getting outraged by one or two cases like this, while everything else is swept under the rug...it's convenient to not have everything around us prick at our oh-so-sensitive conscience.