Love is Blind

I tried posting a video, but somehow, like all other things in my life, the attempt failed. It was taking too long and I realized after much confusion that the posting wasn't happening.

That didn't deter me at all. I think it's worth a peek as it confirms the big saying--

LOVE IS BLIND.

The link? All you cynics and frustus out there....brace yourself. HOPE HAS FINALLY ARRIVED. LOVE IS IN THE AIR!!!!!! (Kissing too)

See this: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3063185788863095747&hl=en

Resolutions

This is not New Year, I'm not dieting and I'm not out of love. Even though these are reasons and times to make resolutions,I hardly do/did make resolutions in these times. I make resolutions when something hits me hard.

Like last night, it did hit me after watching "Black Friday" that I waste too much time watching and being involved in activities which cannot possibly be categorized anything better than "trash". So, this day of February, bloggers witnessing, I take a resolution # 1: of not being involved in activities which give me even the slightest idea beforehand that they are not worth me. (Yes, that's one long twisted sentence, but I prefer saying it all, than saying half-truncated stuff)

Resolution no. 2: Never tell people how you had been doing. How you are. People are not interested. So suck up to them and tell them what they would rather wanna hear: that I am very fine and up and kicking. So all you folks down there....I'm fine. Thanks for your insensitivity. You rock at it!

Resolution no. 3: Never expect anything to change. If anything does, you have your free dessert of the day. Otherwise, continue with your share of the veggies.

Amen.

Research and the precious contribution

A little while back, I and Supratim (my husband) were having this intriguing and rather depressing conversation—which did not start that way—about research and contributions of research. It started from the fact whether, IF, we were not doing whatever we were doing right now, that is, being involved in these academic careers, doing research, (mark that I’m not using any adjectives here, which are marks of cheap styles of writing, but which I use anyway), would it change anything at all…..to the world? Quite obviously, being humble humans, we knew the answer. It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t create any gap, any vacuous space if we were not doing it. Or, for that any matter, if a lot of friends and colleagues were not doing it.

We, with all our best bets, pompous promises and presumptuous poses, do not matter; cannot change the world.

Though I do not understand Chemistry beyond grade 10 level (the level up till I studied that is), I vaguely understand the fact that Supratim works in Cancer drugs and their delivery. That is a hot field….numerous research papers are published in the field, seminars held, conferences called, and papers presented. But at the end of the day, what happens when someone we know has cancer? Sympathy from friends and acquaintances and Chemotherapy from the doctor. That’s what happens to them. Because, things are still in a testing level. Has Cancer treatment changed for the common people in the last 10 years? Yet, we go on with our pretentious levels that we are PhD students, doing our bit. We are putting our scratches….doing our cumulative bit, which does build on and reach our target audience. After all, what can we do? We can only try, and keep on trying, rather than doing nothing!

Granted. But we do know what we are doing, don’t we? We know that it’s a “publish or perish” world. We are here by our own choice. We are here because we believe we can do something for the people, as well as feed our own stomachs by being paid by it. Because possibly we can’t do anything else. Because possibly, we can’t visualise ourselves anywhere else. We are the academicians, and academia is our temple.

We worship the scientific vocation and the general public basks in the academic benefit. Which is why, we demand that special respectful look when we acquire our Ph.Ds and never forget to mention that dear “Dr.” before signing and introducing our and our colleagues’ names. Because we respect, and are bound to respect, the labour, the motivation, the skill and will of our fellow academicians. If we were not there, there would not be the protectors of the world. United we stand, hail us O public! Recognize the fact that we are different from the techie people…..our efforts are intelligent and meaningful.

Meaningful, of course. The proof if it lies in us being so highly funded. Even though people are homeless, we get fed by sumptuous and gourmet lunches and dinners, thinking about what causes homelessness. How can people be housed? Who are the homeless people? We cater to people…especially in Sociology, the discipline for the people. We deal with life’s problems. We shout at the world telling people that social capital is a good thing….the more trust you place on neighbours, the better connected you are, the better off you are with a valuable resource. We declare in seminars that burnout is as much a subjective and individualized condition, as much as it is a structural condition. And then take a break so that we don’t have burnout ourselves.

And who are we telling? Our peers, of course! The people can’t read our jargons, but it will get to them, somehow. For the moment, let me write my paper, please! Because, if I do not write it, I’ll be erased from my peer’s memory. If I don’t write it, I evoke some rival to take my place. If I write it, I call upon other rivals to negate it, and take its place. This is how we build on knowledge, or science. This is the scientific endeavour.

It is different from doing other things…..like being a clerical worker, being a secretary, being a driver, being a homemaker. We write Papers. If we didn’t write it, nobody would remember us after 5 years. Not to mention, even when we write it, nobody would remember us on the basis of it after 5 years. Hot names in hot discipline, change fast….much unlike change in the real world.

This brings us to the same question—what would it matter if we were not doing the thing we were doing…. If we were writing and checking files instead of academic papers? Honestly speaking would it matter?

Would it matter if there less mediocrities out here and out there? Would life be less beautiful? Would people be less obese? Less insecure? Less hungry and starving? Less terrorizing? Less depressed?

Would life’s problems be less?

If we believe we can bring change, could we produce a map of how it could be?

Could we produce a map of touching base? If yes, can we sell it to the woman who sells fruits on the streets, the man who works in the cash counter in Walmart, our grandparents, and the kid who works as a child labourer?

Why pretend we are working for the people, when actually we are working for a target audience, that audience being a specific group of peers, who like us, are involved in the academic game, because that’s what feeds them and clothes them and makes them.

D'uh!

I'm pissed with myself to the level of eternity.

Because, I finished something way before deadline. Because I gave up relishing the weekend. Because it reflects my stupidity not to check deadline dates.

Damn!

Cravings

Currently craving for:

1. Heavy Rain. Monsoons.

2. Calcutta Bookfair

3. Undrugged Sleep

4. Girlie 'Adda'....the ones of hugging pillows and knowing giggles

5. Eating Oranges (or tangerines....whateva) on a Calcutta winter afternoon

6. Reading 'Robibasoriyo' (with its hilarious 'patro-patri' classifieds) on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

7. Sunday evening Doordarshan movie and tea.

8. Fairs.

9. Chaats and Jilipis in fairs.

10. Indian TV advertisements

11. Rashbehari to Gariahat

12. Travelling by a private bus in Calcutta.

13. 'Jhalmuri' of Trains (going towards Bolpur)

14. Desh. (the magazine)

15. Life.

16. Ma-Baba.

And, Somebody.

Of Heartbeats and skipping and beat

Valentine’s Day is over.

Has anything changed from 1992 to 2007? When I first came to know about Valentine’s Day, it was through Miscellany of “The Statesman”. Before this, I couldn’t answer for my life what it was (like many others of my age, under my age, and over my age).

And then, “Dil to Pagal Hain” created history. As much awful the movie was, it opened a whole new world to the Indian junta.

Calcutta is still the Calcutta it can be. Can’t say whether it’s better or worse….this city never ceases to surprise me, confuse me, confound me, irritate me……as well as make me smile when I think of it. We all know it’s Calcutta, with its Marxism, its warmth, its unbeatable humour, its message of never-say-die and its legendary conservatism to love and sex. That is Calcutta, leave it or take it. That’s the whole package….and you can’t have parts of it.

In this blog, I would attempt to create a montage of the “love scene” (hehe……!!hahaha….this is so Calcuttan…) of Calcutta.

Scene 1.

Place: Nandan
People: Me and Supratim
Day: don’t remember….some day in January.

We didn’t go to college that day. It was a Saturday and both of us told our respective family members that we have some special classes. Our respective parents possibly understood what it meant, but being worried Bengali parents, they cannot say NO to educational endeavours. We all cashed in on that. From the last we heard, people still are doing that.

So we thought we wouldn’t go to college as usual, and behave like other “normal” couples in love….go to some place where lovers actually go! It was an unusual cloudy winter day…I was wearing Salwar Kameez with a very colourful Naga Shawl and Supratim was in his usual attire….nothing breathtaking!

So we took the Metro and arrived at Nandan. Found a place and stationed ourselves. I was trying to assess how good the place was…and I saw a couple kissing. (Kissing! Kissing!! Kissing!!!!!!! Oh My God!!! This was me thinking then. That was my first live witnessing of kissing. It was very very unusual.)

Both of us got somehow very uncomfortable seeing that. Kind of embarrassed.

We were talking….and then after 5 minutes, I saw a policeman approaching us.

My spirit just made a dive and sanked. I thought this is it….today we are going to jails for breaching the notorious “decency and morality act”. Why did we even come here?? How can I even face my parents??

The policeman came to us.

I tried to think of the reasons why he was coming to us….(we were sitting quite apart) and the excuses I could possibly give if he asked us anything.

And asked me in a very polite voice: “Didi, aapnake ekta kotha jigyes korte pari? Aapni ei shawl ta kotha theke kinechhen?”….ami eirokom ekta shawl er khoj korchhi amar bou er jonyo kintu shilpo mela teo pelam na…tai aapnake jigyes korchhi”

(Sis, [usual address among strangers in Bengalis] can I please ask you a question? Where did you buy the shawl from? I’m looking for this kind of shawl for my wife….I even looked in the Trade Fair, but couldn’t get it there….so I thought I would ask you” )

My heart started beating again, and I replied “ami to kinini eta….aamake ekjon gift diyechhen” (“Oh…I didn’t really buy this,…someone gifted me”)

So, that was one such occasion of skipping my beat.

Scene 2

My heart had skipped a beat as soon as entered a classroom in Presidency College, one fine morning…..when I heard something from someone.

The reason had to do with a young first year undergraduate male kissing another young undergraduate second year female.

Needless to say, I belonged to neither.

But their kissing had brought about a revolution, which made my heart skip a beat. It wasn’t the act per se, but the consequence.

The traditional Portico would be demolished, as it has become the hub of “indecent and immoral activities” in the college. The first year young couple had committed the act of kissing in the portico and thereby vilifying it.

In two or three days we saw the Portico where we discussed and shared our crushes, our dreams, our frustrations, our covered cynicism, our diplomacies, our heated debates, ….the portico where we found solutions to puzzles, questions, love questions, and answers that changed our lives, being crushed and demolished.



Scene 3

A group of students…some 15-16 of them became silent as a particular someone was seen to come in s distance. That someone was a young Indian male, wearing glasses, carrying a suitcase (!) (yes, in college), and had an almost indiscernible but can’t-miss-that sign of a smile. Some six months back, this young man was one of those who were anxiously looking over and fanning a young female undergrad, lying unconscious after a blood donation. When the female opened her eyes, the young male caught her attention and remained in her attention forever. He had a short and stocky figure and he was thought to be quite cute.

As soon as the young man came quite closer to that hostile looking silent group of students, they did what they were waiting to do. They called him a name. A name that he was given, a name that he was aware of, and a name that meant more than one could catch from its apparent meaning.

They shouted and called him “Shortma-a-a-an!”

As a result, two people missed their heartbeats.
The young man, and that young woman who was quite silent in the group, but who wouldn’t forget “Shortman” in her life to come.

And all of the silly and outrageous things happened in the name of Love.

The Canadian Multiculturalism

Last Saturday (Feb 10th), I found a paper cutting on the cardboard board in the laundry room. The Title got my attention, and I guiltlessly brought the paper thingy put up by the rental agency, into the comforts of my living room to pry over.

It was a column by someone called "Don Martin" and the newspaper was "National Post".

The Title was: "New Here? Learn the game's rules".

I would suggest that before you read any further, just take a look at the scanned image. (I couldn't do better, and I don't have photoshop...but I guess you can figure it out ---how to read that thing)

Reading anything is a reflexive action and the effect would vary from person to person based on our dispositions and the current mood level, but it succeeds in literally boiling my blood EVERY time I read it.

I will tell you precisely in which points and why. don't ask me how, please.

The first and the "golden" rule: It's Canada first, wherever you came from second. Emigrating here is not about acquiring a second home, it's about embracing a new life. The minute citizenship is conferred on you, the Maple leaf is your flag, if not your hockey team. All other nations are secondary.


My only question is: how human or intelligent is it to ask adult people to forget certain symbols, embracing the new life (and please,... what is that new life?? getting fucked by the "Canadian life" and meeting the "Canadian look" on how they have done you a favour by tolerating you in the public spaces/offices/schools? ) If one just imparts one sensible minute to the process...we cannot embrace anything until we clean and make some space for it. Embracing the Canadian life (can someone tell me what does being Canadian means, apart from being a thesaurus synonym of those people who are alike and would like to be called, but are not called, and regret thereby , AMERICANS ? [read the question again, in case you didn't get it] )....does being Canadian mean being Caucasian and loving Tim Hortons more than Starbucks? )
so yeah...i was asking....does embracing the Canadian life imply you leave being Black? stop speaking Mandarin and preferring rice/noodles over pizza? dress in incredible pink? forget about who you are? Why should an immigrant's identity need to be erased to be "welcomed and accepted" in Canada before being TAGGED as an "immigrant" by "mainstream Canada" (--> Caucasian immigrants who came some hundred years back and plundered and killed the aboriginals so that they could settle and monopolize in this awesome land) ?

Second Rule: Religion here is about customs, not conflict. ...........Burkas, being the mark of an oppressed woman, are strongly discouraged, even as Halloween costumes.

Excuse me??!! What gives you the privilege, Mr Martin, to pass a judgement on the Burka? and that, it is the mark of an oppressed woman??
Would you consider me oppressed? Because, whenever I go the gym, I dread of going to the locker room of the gym (and so keep my stuff in the lockers outside) as that would entail looking at hairless and haired female genitalias of different sizes, and hanging and tight breasts, --these almost making me feel like vomiting. Because of this sight pollution, to which I'm not accustomed, being raised in India, I feel oppressed, .... of the right to use the locker room, although a part of my fees are paid for its maintenance and upkeep.
Would you please label me as oppressed as I have to undergo looking at cleavages of obese women (even when it's snowing outside)....and libido-driven individuals who could have sex anybody and everybody as long as the guy looks passeable and supposedly has a long apparatus?

I consider myself oppressed. These things put me off. These things remind me and make me pity these Canadian women who are compelled to think of and dress accordingly to be "sexually attractive" and so objectified? (by your society)

Please, if you could allow horrible looking cleavages to frequent just about any public space, then I have one suggestion for Burkas:- just close your eyes and think the Burkas don't exist. In case, ....they hurt you so much.

Third Rule: Canada is safe for same-sex marriages but no place for arranged marriages.

I get that one. This means that marriage practices of Europeans and Americans are okay; marriage practices from the Indian sub-continent are not.
By the way, do you even think of Europeans and Americans when you pronounce the word "Immigrant"? Are the former brothers, and the latter aliens, and thereby, rivals?
And I can also perfectly understand the fact --that you can live with arranged dates and have sex and kiss people without knowing their favourite childhood memory, but why you can't go for arranged marriage.

Fourth Rule: If your religion calls for a pilgrimage, consider another to the country you call home. A coast-to-coast tour would help you appreciate your vast, diverse new homeland.

Hahahaha...."diverse"?? Where the fuck is the diversity here?? It's always "US" Vs "Them" (the exotic people and people who came late. you see, we came here first (the aboriginals didnt exist) and built up these beautiful industry, land, malls...(sucking on so-called "globalization" and ahem....colonization even before) and these dirty minorities come here and adulterate the fun. )

And, "home"? Can a place that tags, issues sanctions to forget your past (and future as well) and has an uptight ass attitude,....ever be HOME?

And, Mr Martin, do you know what "pilgrimage" means? Ahhhh.....How would you even know? you don't have that thing in your religion. So why even bother to pass comments on other religions just because you think that you know all about that, as well as define multiculturalism?

Fifth Rule: .....................Afghanistan is the real war against Terror, not the contrived conflict in Iraq.

Right! Killing more than 10,000 civilians, poor, starving, unharming, unaggressive, simple, innocent Afghanis help eradicate terrorism. How would you like it Mr Martin, if your 14 year old son was going to get some movie from the videostore in the neighbourhood, and gets bombed by a flying airplane and loses one or more organs? organs like legs, hands, hands, .....?
Afghanis don't even have Blockbusters. They just go by their days trying to get some meal to eat as dinner. I'm not even rating what kind of meal is that. Afghani meals. Not roast beef, mashed potatoes and vegetables with fruits, milk and ice cream to follow some time later.

Sixth Rule: Minorities should live in mixed communities. There's an obvious temptation to cluster in districts with those who have shared traditions, languages and social norms. But sadly, ethnic isolation has become the incubator for home-grown fanaticism and terrorism. Residential integration is the key to a successful resettlement here.

I just have a few questions:

1. Is there any obvious temptation, by the Caucasian, to cluster in districts lived by fellow-Caucasians to buy real estate and while renting to live? Would you like your Chinese neighbour, Mr Martin? Would you call your Indian neighbour for your Christmas Party? (without regretting, that is) We do celebrate Christmas in India, you know. It's not a religious festival for us.....it's a happy festival for us. And we don't hate our Christian friends. We call them as much as we do our Pujas and Eid-s, as much as they call us in their Good Fridays and Christmas-es. Is the obvious temptation to talk to like minded people and people who have a shared history and past,.. a crime in Canada? Does it hurt too hard to have diasporic people in your land, Mr Martin?

2. Define fanaticism and terrorism for me. I hope your definition does not include that those who are Muslims, are terrorists. That's not politically correct. And, when you are speaking in media, at least there you need to be politically correct, if not anywhere else. Or do you think being politically correct would not portray the emotions felt and wanted by your daily readership?

3. How can ethnic clustering of living arrangements incubate terrorism?
By that definition, would predominantly white neighbourhoods also be terrorist? You guys are also waging war on several places in the world, you know....like Lebanon, Iraq, Afghanistan...........what did you say? You are not waging it, the USA is doing that? Ohhhhh.......I was thinking that your ethnic and religion identity are the basis of judging people. So you are not terrorists. I get it!

Then what are ya? Racists, possibly?! you see, I need to put you into a category, just as you do that to me.

Haven't you heard--As you sow, so you reap!

There are many more rules (in the newspaper column) like the ones posted above. Go back to the scanned image, (if you click on them, they will get bigger and clearer) and if you still haven't looked at it, and are hurt by my comments, then I urge you: PLEASE, go and have a look before you pass your precious judgment on me.

The fact that saddens me and adds to my alienation is the acceptance of these golden rules and presumptions by the general Canadian public /people who have written back and congratulated Mr Martin on his profound writing; the fact that the rental administrative thought this was just as normal.

I'm afraid, that some of you even might think so.

This is just a piece of "Multiculturalism" I see everyday in Canada. I see it in derogatory remarks thrown at me, by unexplained and regular rude behaviour I encounter on a daily basis.
My husband doesn't like the Canadian Gaze (as he refers it) when he comes to meet me here. (He lives in the U.S, and says the hatred is not such explicit and bold there).

Previously, when concerned professors had asked me when I'm applying for Immigration in Canada (as that would mean eligibility for a sea of scholarships, from which International Students are exempt, and half the tuition fees), I had politely replied....not in one or two years.

Now, I have made a decision. I'm glad that I made it.

I will never ask for Immigration in Canada. I cannot possibly call this place as my home....this place where these kinds of newspaper columns are usual and not uncommon.
But, where these kind of rantings are uncommon. Because WE (the exotic and strange people) live in a constant dread of being tagged as terrorists and hatemongers, if we choose to show our independent opinion and deploy freedom in our daily activities.

In Canada, I am not a dreamer, and definitely,... lonely (not the only one).

(God Bless John Lennon. R.I.P)

Stress and Variation

I'm tired and bored to make sense of Bourdieu. Tired to no end.

And I've loads to do before I sleep....notwithstanding the tiredness. To rev myself up, I was thinking of watching a movie. (The only form of entertainment here, apart from looking at particular orkut profiles)

But I don't know whether I would work best after and with some diversion, or work best under more stress. I've had past records of doing well under both the circumstances, making it difficult to grade which one is a better proposition.

No commenters on this blog also adds to the difficulty. *Sigh*

I should get back to Bourdieu. 30 more pages to go.

Feeling like Coffee

I'm feeling incurably low again. It started as a chain reaction, except in the middle, my fantasy man, Srk, did manage to pull it up. But then, after doing the methodology class I fell into my low, depressed state of mind and went back to feeling alienated. I know nobody cares actually about how I feel and writing a blog is nothing but to fulfill some of our ego-boosting needs, ...still we do things we hardly know why we do. And I don't have a reason, neither a clue as to why I'm baring my state of mind here. I'm hoping for a cathartic action but it isn't coming.

I guess it started when the alarm rang at 8 am. I quarter-opened my right eye and saw the nightish sky and thought about the second alarm (which was set at 8:15 am). Then I selected it, edited it, and deleted it. The third alarm would save me, I thought, which was set at 8:25 am.

But the guilty consciousness of this whole ludicrously lazy and procrastinating choice wouldn't let me sleep in. I finally left the comforting haven of my bed at 8:21. Showered and when I came out, it was 8:52.
**Crap! I will miss my bus!** [bus leaves at 9:06 am]

Barely dried my hair and stormed out at 9:07. And yes, I did miss my bus. [I started feeling low...]

But the second one (no. 9) came along at 9:15.

I felt so better and felt jubilant that the day indeed started in such a beautiful way, even though it was looking so utterly gloomy.

I was wrong.

With the coffee in my hand (to keep awake) I reached class at 9:33. lecture had already started. And when the class finished, I felt more certain that I had made a major career blunder by coming to Calgary.

Not only do the courses make no sense, the students don't either. To make matters worse, I couldn't help but remember and notice how they choose to make selective friends and when they make derogatory comments about Asians in their blogs.

All the bitterness came back to me, and I'm feeling like the coffee I usually have. Dark, Strong and Bitter.

However, somewhere I heard that strong and bitter words have a weak cause. I'm not sure whether the cause is weak. Honestly, I'm not. I'm not certain that all the low feeling is a figment of my imagination and not a consequence of the engulfing alienation that I feel subjected to. And that, which I cannot control, inspite of being a thinking, able, and apprently free individual. The rest of the day, as I see it from here would not make me feel any better. I will attend a seminar in half an hour, probably pick up a thing or two from the grocery store on my way back home, or probably not....who cares....do some cooking, eat, watch kbc 3 and do some internal drooling over srk (the wee bit good part of the day) and take the daily sleeping pill and try to sleep. Get up and do some blogging/reading/scrapping, ....feel down even more and probably give in to the drugged effect.

Tomorrow wouldn't be another new day. It would just be a continuation of today. Only that it would be even busier, trying to meet my own deadlines; opening emails from certain friends that complain why I don't come online and chat with them. Or, why don't I call them, ....when I have time to scrap them, the latter being a testimony to the vast leisure of time that I enjoy myself. Apparently. In response, I will probably hit "next" in my inbox (and rarely a "reply") and be convinced of the need not to explain the bad patch I'm going through. People never understand, or have the will to understand. If they did, they wouldn't be People.

Having said all these, even now, I do feel dark and bitter, as I'm not able to precisely express what I'm feeling right now.

An Ethnography of Emoticons

It's 1:27 am, and in spite of taking a sleeping pill, I can't sleep and I'm feeling too drugged to read Bourdieu anymore. And I don't want to talk, so I'm not calling any of my friends or family in India. And weird things are popping in my mind...and so I thought.....heck...let me just get this out. Long live the Internet.

Did the above paragraph sound dry to you? Perhaps I should put in one of the emoticons?

My definition of theEmoticon: little handy useful things that have replaced use of punctuation nowadays and serve as a saving grace for our cynic and jealous selves.

I use abundant emoticons myself, so don't think I'm mad at someone and taking this one out and can't sleep for the reason!

Will my reasons translate as the general reasons of using emoticons? Nah...but perhaps people can agree with me or disagree and this way I'll get to glimpse more.

**I almost felt like using one in the end of the last sentence....the winking one. This one: ;) **

So why do I use emoticon? Following are the reasons: (applied not exclusively but rather overlappingly)

1. To show emotions (manifest reason)

2. To graphically show my emotion. (to show that I'm internet savvy and internet literate)

3. To take away, whatever doubt the reader might have of my dark side. This reason applies when I'm using the general smiley thing. This one: :-) or :) I've a feeling that oftentimes this is used when a person leasts feels the feeling. This is just a mask. Those kind: don't get me wrong...but I feel you are a shit, and I still care for you/love you.

4. In absence of my voice, and in risk of being misunderstood, the emoticon comes as a darling, saving grace. Especially the laughing one. (**Hey...this is just in good faith! Don't get me wrong!)** This is the slot where the " :D" and the ":P" falls on. **

I hate seeing and using LOL, and believe all those who use LOLs are shitheads; for people are not really lolling when they apprently mean to LOL and write LOL, but are actually covering up for saying /being something nasty, or taking cover after reflecting meaningless humour. Usually LOL comes after some meaningless dots.

5. Emoticons save typing time and lack in writing skills.

What are your reasons?

Bourdieu and Me

I'll try to walk hand-in-hand with Bourdieu in this blog, because somehow I've started getting intrigued by him. To get back to the story, I was and am reading "Pascalian Meditations". It's only natural that the walk will feature thoughts on that reading and today's theory class. Yeah, this blog does stand the chance of being boring, or what we in Bengali call "aantel", but I would try to relate my lived in experience with Bourdieu's thought as much as I can. And, write in Bourdieuan syntax.

Bourdieu's starts with rather an unusual point--with a self-reflective take on the celebrated scholastic disposition, that, he criticises, grows from a disjointed standpoint, disjointed from history and social conditions, and seeks to study people and its life, like an artist watches over its art, from a distance and being detached.

So this is what we heard in class. We= all the students in union, and heard it from the super A. Frank. He’s one of those persons you will remember all your life. Oh yeah, you do remember the nasty persons as well, all your life, but this gushing about the prof is said without any of my usual and characteristic cynicism. Art Frank does make you forget that you are in Calgary. I think he’s my second favourite teacher, after PR.

It’s not too bad to get carried away for the things and people you care….is it really??

As I was saying…these are the concepts we dealt with in class.
Habitus. Doxa. Illusio. Scholastic Disposition. And the so intriguing symbolic violence. Instantly and funnily it reminded me of Avik’s orkut profile. I think he carries out symbolic violence in some ways. Why and How? I’ll come to that later. Let me for the moment say that I’m not singling him out and drawing any qualitative judgement on this social fact. Huh…..that's so Un-Bourdieuan! Ah well…we CANNOT, for one moment in our lives be free without bias and subjectivity, but subjectivity and bias could emanate without any ulterior motives which are mostly thought about in a pejorative way.

We started with a brief recitation from Tolstoy’s “War and Peace”. And realized how Tolstoy compartmentalizes people whereby mutual understanding and intersubjectivity is radically limited. Reminded me of some orkut scrap exchanges with Arghya where I was exactly taking a Tolstoyan standpoint in emphasizing a key defining characteristic of the individual and he was arguing the opposite….of taking in, of noticing and accepting everything. And I still stand by my own standpoint. Someday I WILL elucidate in detail as to why.

To come back to the concepts….

Habitus: This is knowing what other people would do something for themselves. It’s about knowing beforehand, before another person has actually stated explicitly and done so, of what help one would get. It is about knowing who to stand near—where to put oneself and be durable and transposable. Habitus enables us to know who to stand near to…..When you think of habitus: you know “This was his way of thinking…” Not planning ahead: it’s letting one’s habitus guide them. Being reflexive appears as “epiphany” because we are as much automatic as we are intellectual (p. 12).

Hmmm…..explains why sometimes people complimented me in creating quality fakes. I was able to master a habitus. Good job…..**I pat myself**

Now comes the tricky and depressing part.

In order to know, we need the scholastic disposition.

Refer page 8 of Bourdieu book… “I do not forget all that was do to myself” -”less to do with the understanding as with the will” - less understanding, more the will to try and see. “Often surpised at the time it has taken me really to understand the things I have been saying for a long time” - “rework the same things… it is always in a spiralling movement…”

So we should be careful about what we do, as we might go back spiralling to where we started. **So true of me**

Only that with each start, we seem to lose a bit of ourselves. The point might be the same, but are the entities the same?? (I’m deeply intrigued, hence the double question marks. They are not just the product of careless and aggressive typing.)

The most unexpected relations of the least we want to know, about who we are… tell people the least they want to know. Hence we need the scholastic disposition, the leisure, which removes us from practical necessity.

At this point I identified the root cause of my academic and professional frustrations. I did identify it long back but not in this beautiful language and in such a blithe reasoning. (The adjective does not signify my disrespect for Bourdieu but rather an amazement in justificatory reasoning of ironically, pejorative and helpless academic practices.)

This is where patients / physicians are disconnected. The key thing for patients is that you are left alone with nothing to do but think. The whole act of thinking and reflection takes on different and hitherto unknown proportions. The absence of a certain waiting period enables one to detach oneself from practical necessities and practise philosophical perspectives. The leisure of waiting, no matter howsoever painful and apprehensive, emerge. Hidden selves emerge. The Doctor however is disjointed from this process, even though a part of it. And this is precisely where the break with reality occurs.

This also maps how scholastic disposition works in us. It develops, it is implied, as a characteristic feature of belonging and identifying with an academic discipline. Pretty much like playing a game by its rules. And then internalizing those rules.

The big question now is: do we acquire a habitus or become into a habitus? If it's both, when does the crossover happen?

Scholastic Bias thus leads to errors (It’s bound to, going with the logic.). We assume being “above the world” without being immersed in it. Without taking in and holding the considerations that once we were there. It’s only natural that fundamental ambiguity about concepts and processes would result in a discipline that’s heavily reliant on linguistic rules of everyday life and yet seek to get to a lofty tower high and above everyday life, without being founded on everyday life, but being theorized in them.

Can we get crasser than this?

Turning in the Keys

Ah, well. I arrive.

And plan to document some idle and active, hated and confused and little loved moments of my days. I will try to document, as consciously as possible, the politically correct and don't-care-anymore unconscious me. (through such awkwardly, oh-so-UN-north-American English sentences). I'm not north-American. So that choice, I guess, is not unjustified, given the circumstances.

Idle labour has started, even if it keeps you disgustingly staring on your screen. I don't know which way this blog would go...to the online diary writing way, or put forth self-fulfilling as well as self-effacing philosophical perspectives. Like majority everything elses of our lives, this wouldn't take any mutual exclusive categories. To overkill it in its initiation, let's say it would do "a little bit of both". Or, "little bit of all".

For the moment, I will take a break and go back to read the infinitely boring book I've read till death, I mean, date...."Pascalian Meditations" by yes, Pierre Bourdieu. Like most mortal grad students, I'm subject to certain pompous academic rituals aka tortures. Translated, I've a presentation on this book next week. And I've read only 30 pages of it. 220 pages to go for the book.

So, I'm going back to "Pascalian Meditations" and intermittent meditations of my childhood days. My heaven, and haven......of love and happiness.

It's 11:53 pm, Sunday, February 4th, 2007.