Shine, Along

Turn the winds if you can,

Turn em to the direction that wasn’t, and 

Bring back the gone, the known

Run along the river and never look back, You

Had enough of your body lamenting for

It’s own godforsaken maladies, So,

Hold the sun tight in your palms and let

The rays pierce through your

Fingers, 

For you know,

You’ve got to shine 

 

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How My Old Clothes Saved Me From Depression

On 25th March 2016, around 24 hours before my 21st birthday, I made a very important decision for myself – a decision about clothes. It was not about what I’m going to wear the following day or the days after that but about what I will not wear now onwards; that was a new piece of cloth. 

As I was grappling with recurrent feelings of self-doubt and uncertainty about the future, I thought of diving deeper into what I thought constitutes me, rather than drifting away from it. There was a need to associate myself with my belongings; no matter how much they’ve been neglected since then. In a constant rush of ‘becoming,’ I had diluted the significance of what unifies me with my innermost wanting and never asks anything in return. What is it that embraces me the way I am and never looks down upon me for what I choose to be? This pure and natural bond of being an association I could only find in a lifestyle that moves away from modern consumerism; a freedom that could only be found in living in the shadows of what shines.

17 months later, now that I think about it, my little pledge to myself, that I so proudly fulfilled, was something more than a decision I took to reorient myself towards what mattered. What may have been a sudden ripple of my subconscious brain now seems to me an escape through which I saved myself, or more like got myself protected. I think I saved myself from the Diderot Effect.  

Diderot, a French philosopher, wrote an essay titled Regrets for My Old Dressing Gown, in which, while lamenting, he explains how the glitter of new things makes us look at the things we already have with disgust. The ‘new’ may symbolise the chronic consumerism of the day, the ‘old’, our neglected possessions, and the process of lamentation may well as be the pain of breaking away from the unity and bond we had imbued with the possession that evolved with us through the thick and thin. Such was the artificiality of the superfluous joy of hoarding new possessions, that Diderot said the following for his new scarlet gown: “I was the absolute master of my old robe. I have become the slave of the new one.”

The state of mind I found myself in 17 months ago, such a decision may have been nothing short of a survival instinct. When everything around me fashioned its wickedness and boasted of its self-constructed significance at the same time, going back to my humble haves and letting go of my have-nots came across as a blessing in disguise. As Diderot said it, poverty has its freedoms; opulence has its obstacles.

A lot has happened in the past year, things that were good and things that weren’t. However, this little promise that I made to myself, and being able to fulfil it, gave me a bag full of positives to rest my future foundations on. What may come across as a minor lifestyle amend, had a much larger effect on how I see my mental phases nowadays. I still have phases of self-doubt and self-loathing lurking inside my head but now every time such thoughts manifest themselves, I’m able to understand that it is just a phase which deserves a brief and limited period of grief. The grief may be temporary but the sense of control of taking decisions about your own life is permanent.

On Regrets in The Process of Becoming

We ponder upon regrets, or more like let them linger because we see ourselves in this journey of becoming. Like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle, we see our present as a part of a larger destiny; an element in the life optimization process. 

Transcience, as preached by Buddhist philosophy mojo, is the only reality of life. The only thing that never changes is the change itself. When life is lived in moments and every passing moment is marked by a sense of decay, every thought about the ‘decayed’ is just a hindrance to the process of becoming. When we regret, we force to recollect and relive the moments we will never capture again. Such is the weakness of regrets. 

When Edith Piaf agreed to perform at her last concert after the death of her most beloved person, she chose to perform a song titled non je ne regrette rein – which translates as ‘I have no regrets left’. It’s fascinating to see a person who has met with such a profound incident of loss denying even an atom of regret in her system. Edith tells us that regret is not natural and is definitely not connected with our material reality; it’s never about what we have become. Regretting is a hedonistic activity of indulging oneself in the artificiality of the past. Such is the frivolity of regrets. 

So as I was talking about life goals with my dear friend and a fellow law student, my only advice to his long drawn out plans was to move away from the linearity of these very plans. It doesn’t matter how you would feel about your career when you are 90 because the happening of that very event in future in nothing more than a contingency. If we will dwell in anything other than present, we will be taking away our energies from the phase that matters the most in the process of becoming. And that is – now! 

 

Picture: Regrets by Jasper Johns

Film Analysis: How Okja Shows Us Rising Emotional Decadence

Okja is undoubtedly a reflection of Bong-Joon Ho’s evolving auteur. A mouthpiece of environment advocacy shied down by wry humour and avant-garde character design. As any film review would define it, Okja is a story about the journey of a young South Korean girl who fights against all odds to get a genetically enhanced pig which does not belong to her either physically or intellectually. The movie never deviates from its central plot and each shot is quite smartly put to create a fast moving progression of the primary storyline; something which really fuels the existing anticipation. However, despite its strict editorial work, there are few shots in Okja that really stand out for reasons other than the central narrative. These shots are not about Mija (Seo-Hyeon Ahn) or Okja; rather they come across as a didactic commentary on a post-modern understanding of human relationships.  

Hayao Miyazaki, a Japanese anime giant, has given us a dreamlike depiction of Mija’s life in the hills. The sounds of running water and breaking branches engulf the viewer in the serenity and simplicity of a life closer to nature.  In almost all the shots we see both Okja and Mija developing a personal relationship not between themselves but also with the natural bounty around them; whether it be the giant rock or the flowing streams. We hardly see any sign of modern technology but there is contentment abound. There’s a prevailing of a selfless yet a settled sort of a happiness which is not dramatically over joyous or unnecessarily indulging.  

And then we move to Seoul; a city to its every definition. Suddenly, we see panoramic and aerial shots being taken of the herd of people moving towards the railway station – just like the ones showing the hills in the beginning of the movie. These shots sort of reintroduce the viewer to the narrative of the film, maybe emphasising on the shift in the storyline. However, I also see them as a conscious effort on the part of the director to showcase a distinction, and that too of a stark one, between a rural and an urban life. However, this distinction is not just physical but also emotional. The aerial shot of the herd of people moving towards the railway station focus only on the quantity of the subject matter and not the identity. So, we just see a faceless crowd moving uniformly towards a common destination reflecting the growing mechanisation of human activity. This is in complete opposition to the free-moving and unregimented movements of Mija and Okja on the hills. 

This regimented and mechanised ‘city-life’ is shown to have a distracting capability of its own. On one hand, we have a determined Mija trying to find a familiar face and on the other, we have an association of beings spatially so close yet empathetically so separated. This brings me to the second most profound didactic theme – alienation. 

When Mija reaches the Mirando building in Seoul she is met with a surprisingly empty office and a lot of glass walls. One of these glass walls separated her and the receptionist who then asked Mija to use the telephone placed on the other side of the glass wall to communicate to her, ignoring the most obvious of Mija’s signals. That glass wall represented the alienation that has become a characteristic of the urban milieu where people are more comfortable in communicating digitally. This also stands in contrast with the kind of communication and understanding Mija shared with Okja despite not understanding each other’s language. This sign of digitally induced alienation is also visible in the scene where a girl who is running away from Okja in a supermarket chooses to make a Snapchat video rather than actually experiencing the feeling of being afraid. 

Within the scenes of Korea, we see another sign of post-modern emotional deficit – Animal Liberation Front. This sign is very subtle and confusing for it operates in overlapping meanings. Modern day organisations walk the line between being phoney and being relevant. And then sometimes we come across organisations or people who cannot fight a cause until it is contextualised; neither can they connect on emotional levels without putting that connection under a contextualised category. ALF failed to grasp both the emotional simplicity of Mija’s relationship with Okja as well as its own decaying ethos – respecting the animal life. Though their understanding does change in New York when they are faced with some disturbing visuals and an unknown fact from the past, the way they operated as an organisation as a whole does reflect a sort of contextualised understanding of animal rights.  Their faith in non-violence and ecological conservation did become a part of Bong’s wry humour but it also reflected as to how modern day organisations have become increasingly normative; vying for immediate short term impact rather than aiming for long term structural changes. 

Okja is not a narrative with explicitly enlarged sub-narratives. These sub-narratives are very subtle and can be subjected to interpretations. However, the use of camerawork at certain shots forces a viewer to delve further into the intentions of the director. The central narrative may or may not promote vegetarianism or at least the abandoning of corporate food processing units, but it sure does try to create an awakening about the rising emotional decadence in the digitally connected urban beings. 

Middle Name

One day, or

Most of the days, I’ll 

Walk out of that door without saying 

A word

Not to you; not to myself, I’ll

Take my old leather satchel and that pair of blue denim

On me, And 

Maybe, 

I’ll leave the door half open, or 

Half closed. 

Those will be the days when you won’t

See a much of me or what

You think was made 

Of me, you

Will not wake up to what you had of me for

So many years, or months

You might hear a little humming for a while, but

Maybe that neither. 

One day, or

Those ‘most’ of the days,

When you see me leave, or just realise it,

Please remember that I 

didn’t leave from what I thought I didn’t want, but

For what I don’t have, or I

have but I don’t know

I’ll be gone,

I hope not for long

Not for the end or the start

But for the middle,

Of self 

 

Conversations: On Internal Conflicts and How I Perceive Them

He: Why did you disconnect the call for like 5 minutes? Was there something important? 

Me: No, no! I just had to go to the terrace. I didn’t feel right talking to you with a roof over my head. It just didn’t seem right. 

He: Well..! So, where do you place yourself mentally? How’s everything going?

Me: Well, I’m conflicted as usual! A part of me can’t wait to go back to Pune and start the new semester the way I want to. But, a part of me also wants to stay away even from a glimpse of anything remotely college. The funny part is that I’m aware of the existence of these conflicts within me but I still can’t do anything to resolve them

He: I think it shows your maturity as a person. In your case, knowing that the conflicts exist is mostly an exciting thing for it gives you challenges to prepare for. Something that I know you so passionately adore.

Me: Aaaah… Well, I would put it differently. Earlier, when I had a lack of self-understanding, these conflicts were more like temporary baits that used to lure me and sway my attention towards them; only for me to realise the depravity I felt afterwards. I was unaware of the fickle nature of my overambitious head and that made me feel extremely devastated at times. I was clueless about the reasons behind the things that were happening to me. But now, after years of learning about self, I am at least aware of the nature of these dispensations and the fact that they exist. I know that I as an entity is different from the conflicts that I carry within and thus I should be minimally affected by them. 

He: So you think it works for you somehow?

Me: Kinda! Like now knowing this fact about myself has changed the entire matrix of mental response to the rise of such internal conflicts. As I see them as periodic but inevitable guests of my overly ambitious conscience, I see myself dwelling in peace and calmness whenever such conflicts arise. I no longer panic or enter this horrid phase of self-doubt. I as an individual is above the inhibitions in my psyche. This is a very empowering yet peaceful understanding that I’ve acquired. 

Probably the reason why I’m having this conversation about my internal conflicts while taking a stroll on my terrace with a beautiful blue sky over my head and the chirps of migratory birds dispelling the evening silence speaks volumes about how I see my conflicts. The nature around me is a metaphorical representation of how I feel on the inside – big, calm and purposeful.  

The Monologue

Don’t let me look away from

The gaze I 

Phase out to, you know

If I do, I would know

I would know why the stars fall into

The shapes they do when

we stare up at the sky; together, I would 

Know, you know, that when my

Eyes widen and that smile starts to 

Creep onto my sideway 

Looking face, you know

I know 

You fucked up, but in a funny way

If I could, you know that 

I would,

Look back at least once when I’m walking away from you, you

Know that all I’ll see with my

Longing eyes is your back, moving away

From me.

If I’m moving in a certain direction and I’m

Faceless against the wind, you know

I wouldn’t want to be understood or 

Put under the quilts of someone’s

Love forsaken warmth, but

You know, 

Or at least you did

That if I ever look sideways in a sudden jerk

Of my face with my eyes widened and

That smile creeping onto my

Funnily paused face, that

I know the truth

It came to me as a sudden realisation and what pain it is

That you won’t know, ever

To not to see the same

In your eyes. 

 

The ‘Little’ Ones

If the little world gets too messy,

The little people will wail,

I will see you,

Walking past the 

Last man standing, of,

This little worn out town

I still hear the

Birds singing, the 

Little stars still flicker as

I refuse to blink, and

The night refuses to go

On this little patch of suburban property, 

All I see, are

Your giant footprints, Oh! 

Your big car never

Coming back to these little unquiet streets, So

Will not be seen, 

Your big big smile 

What if

My dried up eyes look upwards and

Find the little blue sky

Shrinking?

There’s music so unusual, so little, so small

What if you never call

Your big big life, Your big

Big flight, moving over

My little, 

Little,

Heart

 

 

Oasis

I measure freedom with the

Stretch of my

Hands, my palms facing the  

Sky, fingers  

Stretched.  

I dance today in my stillness, I fly

With the winds unseen, I give up on the

Retreating rays of sun, in the sky, 

All I see, 

Is Blue.  

I whirl my storms in an utmost peace, the

Silence sings my fortunes

I flow through

My trajectories in every sip of 

My tea

Take me nowhere, but here

Take me somewhere, but there

I dawn my light in 

This evening,

See love,

In nothing

And everything

Little Broken Hearts

Little broken hearts, tonight

strut across the busy streets; fleets and fleets

of lost souls 

Illuminating into a thousand colours as

The yellow flicker lights dance

Upon their bewildered heads

When you see me out there tonight, I 

will be just a face in the crowd

Not rolling along with, but 

marching across

With this army walking the Odysseus’s journey

Together, but alone.