Not Satisfied With Language

Often times I am not satisfied with words or terms we have. For example, I often think, the word racism is too paltry to describe the immense horror that empires have unleashed on peoples and communities throughout the world. In the same way, sexism doesn't do it for me in most contexts. I want something more, something more specific which will allow me to express the complexities of it all. I am often suspicious of using terms like "strong women." In the same way, I am wary of the term "intelligent." In the first case, I want to ask, Strong yes, but in what way? I know lots of women who are strong, who manage their families with iron-hands, matriarchs so to say, and they very strongly defend and reinforce patriarchal norms in their spheres of influence. So, whenever anyone uses the term "strong women", I gently want to point out, "strong doesn't necessarily mean de-stabilizing patriarchy. Women can decide to be of service to patriarchy in very very strong ways." And in case of "intelligent", too, I want more qualifiers. I don't think "intelligence" and "intellect" are the same. I am someone who values intellect much more than intelligence. And even in there, I want to think of the kind of intellect one possesses, its social, historical, ideological implications. If there is one thing that comes out of it, it is this: I am dis-satisfied with everyday language. I want to push our everyday language to explore the complexities of human histories a little bit more. The older I grow, I think, it is my lack of contentment with everyday language and its ability to explore the deeper realities of human life that I am propelled towards literature, towards theory, and last but not the least, to write myself. Stories, poems, memoirs break open terms like racism, sexism, homophoebia...I mean, the words which have evolved primarily out of a human rights based approach. Rights discourse is a beautiful thing, I don't want to live in a world without it. But I also don't think it expresses adequately the immense complexities of systemic oppressions, resistances or even human existence in general. So we write. Create art.

Lemon Rice

Yesterday I was too impatient to put up the recipe of the lemon rice I had cooked. So here it is:

Ingredients

Basmite Rice

Butter

Lemon, 1

Paprika

Coriander Powder

Cumin

Chicken Stock

Salt

Sugar

--Melt the butter in the pot.

--Sprinkle all the spices, leave them for a little while. Occasionally stir. Soon enough, they will begin to emit a beautiful smell.

-- Now squeeze in the lemon juice from the lemon.

--Let the juice mingle with the spices.

--Pour the rice. Stir, until the spices get well mixed with the rice grains.

--Keep stirring for 5 mins or so.

--- Mix water.

--Let the rice boil.

--- Now eat.

The Poem Sequence II

I have finally finished the sequence of poems I had been trying to write on the history of reception of the fairy-tales. Today I need to type them and save them as files in my computer. What I realized while writing this sequence are:

1. I am trying to problematize the exoticization of "folk-poetics" that has been an integral part of an older process of male, bourgeois class-formation in nineteenth century. It is coming back big-time in our neo-liberal era in modified forms.

2. In lots of ways, this exoticization comes very close to a museum aesthetics. This particular aspect opens up some more space of subsequent exploration in my manuscript.

3. My poetic sequence is trying to imagine certain things, certain spaces, certain voices. There is no trying to capture the "authentic" in here.

4. I haven't lived through the partition era myself. Neither have I lived through the immediate post-Partition era, the attempts of my parents' generation to piece together a life from very little. These periods came to me through stories that circulated around me, through silences, through books. That is, my own perceptions of this period is extremely mediated. I am trying to bring alive on page these many forms of mediations than any "authentic" voices.

5. I am more interested in showing the problems in the process through which this "folk-voice" has been put together rather than bringing this "folk-voice" into the page.

6. I know this sequence is far from complete. But I can rest for now. I need to do a little bit more research before I can write the other poems. In short, this is going to be a LONG project. Will need lots of patience, perseverance and er, hard work.

Nopales Con Pollo

I want to write down this recipe before I totally forget it. A couple of days ago, I bought some cactus from the store. This is my first time experimenting with them.

Ingredients:

Cactus (chopped into small pieces)

I Medium-sized Tomato, chopped into small pieces

10 pearl onions, chopped

Chicken Sausage, shredded

Mushrooms

Garlic, 4 fat cloves

1 Green Chili, slit in the middle

Dil Leaves Powder

Oregano Powder

Parsely Powder

Cumin Powder

Black Pepper Powder

White Pepper Powder

Chili Powder

Shredded Cheese

--Heat olive oil in a pan. Then pour some parsley powder, oregano powder, cumin, black pepper powder, paprika, chili powder. Let the whole thing mix for like 20 seconds.

--Then throw in the tomatoes, the onions, the garlic. Saute. Let the whole thing turn into a mush.

--Add the slit green chili.

--Then throw in the sausage. Stir the whole thing together.

--Now throw in the shredded cactus. Stir.

--- Add the mushrooms. Depending upon how seasoned you like your food, sprinkle some more of the spice powders.

--Stir the whole thing for around 5 minutes. Or until all the ingredients get mixed beautifully.

--Then cover the pan with the lid. Do not add water. The cactus pieces will bleed enough moisture. So, unless you want it real soupy, do not add extra water. Let it cook for 15-20 minutes.

--Then turn off the heat. Put the whole mixture in a glass pot. Cover the surface with shredded cheese. I used cheddar, because that's what I had in the refrigerator. Anything else will be fine too.

--Bake it in the oven for 10 mins.

I ate it with Lemon Rice. I believe it will go well with ordinary white rice or other varieties of rice too. It was GREAT!

"Reading"

Writers need to be good readers. "Reading" is one of those skills that no writer can choose to bypass. As I spend more and more time inside workshops being a student and a teacher of writing/literature, I am learning to identify students who are readers and those who are not. Lack of reading experiences do show up in one's writings in ways more than one. It is not something which I would be able to analyze in perfectly clear terms. Rather, it is one of those intuitive things which jumps at me from the page. But when I say "reading" is an essential skill for writers, I do not necessarily mean reading books and magazines and such. I also mean an ability to "read" the world around, to take apart what is familiar, to begin to see what is not apparent in the naked eye and to put it back together again in one's own text. I would also say this ability to "read" is also another way to think of a writer's sociological eye. That perceptiveness which allows a writer to see the workings of bigger social structures and historical forces within apparently insignificant everyday actions. A lot of it is, obviously, transmitted through details, but I would say, it's more than just details. It's about what one chooses to write about and why. It's about the essential philosophy behind one's aesthetic efforts. I must admit, my own time in the PhD program has been extremely fruitful in that way. I have read things which I would not have read otherwise. I have developed new interests, I have nurtured the old ones. I don't know if my PhD will contribute to anything, but it has definitely made me a better "reader" of things--literary and non-literary.

Turner to Manet Exhibition At Blanton

Just coming back from this Turner to Manet exhibition at Blanton. There were lots of stuff there to think, reflect upon. But for some reason, my mind is stuck upon two paintings I saw.

The first one by Edouard Manet, the second one by Jules Breton. In the first one, there is the dandy and there is his nocturnal adventure. Or maybe not. But these are not the middle-class, domesticated women. But here we have the cabaret dancers, the prostitutes. I am struck by the expression in the woman's face. One can call it despondency.I will call it alienation. Alienation from anything that is going around her. There is a beer mug in front of her, almost full. But her fingers are not wrapped around it. In fact, we cannot see her two hands fully. Title: At the Cafe

The second one is by Jules Breton. Breton has often been called the "peasant painter" and had been criticized for idealizing the peasant life in nineteenth century France. Although, I liked what I see here. Three peasant girls, with carefully sculpted faces. That does not seem that "realistic" of course. But they are not static peasant girl of the pastoral. They are walking, in motion. Not only are they walking, but they are talking amongst themselves, as if sharing a secret. It is this moment of solidarity between these three peasant women that Breton hints at which I liked. I would have loved it more if he had represented them with open lips. But what stood out to me is that the artist here is struggling with the classic pastoral and is trying to do something different. I don't know anything about Breton as an artist. In fact, this is the first time I came across his work. But what I see here is enough to make me want to know more. This is what I came across when I did a search on his name. Well, that will have to wait for a while. By the way, the title of this one is Returning from the Field.

Then there was a lengthy discussion on Impressionism over cappuccino, cheesecake and tiramisu at the Museum cafe. This is how me and my friends welcomed 2011, although none of us, it turned out, has processed 2010 yet. And as for me, I don't think I have been able to process even1492 or 1947 yet

Writing Family

I am getting interested in poetry-projects which explore family as a site of creative exploration. It is difficult to write about family for me, not because my family was abusive or anything dramatic like that, but I find that within families, the rhetoric of love operates in complicated ways. On the one hand, members of a family are supposed to love each other blah blah blah. But also on the other hand, love is the site through which the family performs social control. In fact, I would argue, within families, love operates as a site of domination rather than liberation. Intricately related to the familial rhetoric of love, is also the cycle of never-ending gratitude. Yes, family members help you out during times of stress. In return, they expect eternal gratitude. As individuals, we are often compelled to depend on our family's resources, particularly because there are very few social networks/collectivities which provide us with the kind of support our families do. Yes, I am saying the inevitable. Family is a social mode of resource allocation. In the recent years, I have noticed more and more that people form families and stick to families not because there is a whole lot of great love between them. More often than not, these are economic decisions. I mean, it's not hard to decipher, is it? A cursory look at the tax laws, other economic benefits would prove the point. Of course, not all families receive the same kinds of benefits. Totally truly true. But at the same time, the structures have evolved in such a way that there is no perfect family anywhere. At least I haven't come across any. I have met individuals who demand that their family lives are perfect, but to my judgmental, cranky self, it just appears that most of them are invested in mystifying the process of familial domination, rather than peeling it open.

Writing about family entails that one examine the rhetoric of love that underlies it. It's easier to write about abusive families because they are read as anomalies anyway. I am not saying it's easier for the individual concerned to come to that space where he/she can translate in language his/her trauma of living within an abusive family relationships. But in the last thirty years or so, there has evolved a language in which one can write about abusive family relationships. What is harder is to write about the perfectly normal families, families which are supposedly filled with love. It's harder because one has to break open the love-rhetoric, one has to show how love and domination can and do co-exist. And I will go so far as to say that human beings as a collectivity haven't yet been able to evolve notions and patterns of love which would be free of power and domination. And once one recognizes that, the big question is, how does one resist? How does one snatch oneself out of this eternal chain of familial gratitude which had been evolved to curb individual growth? And in certain cases, even collective growth? My own answer is, well, we need to learn to be ungrateful. But that's fucking hard. None of us (me included) wants to be identified as the ungrateful, irresponsible one. And sometimes, there are real concerns. I mean, I wouldn't like to see my parents or any of my other family members suffer in old age. I wouldn't like to see any of my cousins starving. And if my putting in something will help them, I will try to do that. In my everyday life, I am close to being the ungrateful, irresponsible daughter, sister, cousin, niece whatever. But I am not fully there. I am too polite, too soft to complete the circe of distance between myself and my family.

That's why, in my writings, these days, especially in my poems, I am trying to create this persona who is an ungrateful daughter. She is ungrateful because she dreams of something bigger than familial love, something more intense than kinship. She doesn't expect much from family. She tends to leave rather than stay entangled. It's hard to write about such a persona, because the language is not yet available. I am trying.