26 June 2009
Ha-ha...
25 June 2009
Curious expectations
A rather curious experience in the outside world makes me write this post. I’ll write a post about teaching some other day. In some ways, this incident has little to do with my being a teacher although I do wonder how I can get some sort of a positive message across without sounding as though I am preaching or trying to force people to act, behave or think in a certain way.
Fairly recently, I remember people (who are in gender studies and have gotten their PhDs) say “Figure skating is a flagrantly sexist sport.” Ice skating as a sport apparently serves some sort of a patriarchal interest and indulges some sort of a male perversion and was being held up as an example of institutional discrimination and male domination. I had replied and quite cheerfully that a) both men and women participate in figure skating b) it is an aesthetically appealing sport c) I liked watching it every now and again when I could and had always watched it as a kid and d) I was neither a pervert nor a male and hadn’t been either – not in this lifetime at any rate. I don’t remember whether I’d been subject to the patriarchal hegemonic discourse lecture that time around.
For some students who are specializing in gender or queer studies or race - everything in society can be boiled down to patriarchal domination or discrimination based on sexual orientation or racism or some form of a combination of all these ills. The ones who see this priceless combination of discrimination (race, gender and sexual orientation) are viewed as being utterly remarkable because they have been able to locate all the important social links that cause all the ills in this world. Some graduate students have even told me that according to them – all White students should experience absolute guilt for their treatment of Blacks (African-Americans). It doesn’t even matter whether these White students have never felt anything but goodwill towards Blacks in general and are also aware of how racism functions in the current United States society. They must still experience guilt and feel the absolute shame. They must carry the guilt of their predecessors.
Sometimes, like it or not, people may also be prejudiced. Prejudices for the most part are based on stereotypes. This is a good time for a Soc 100 quiz question to get my own frames in order: what is prejudice? In short, it is the collection of often irrational and preconceived notions (which are sometimes resistant to change even in the face of new and incoming information) regarding an individual but more often regarding a group of individuals based on some social identity. Prejudice, much like stereotypes, can be both positive and negative. But whereas positive stereotypes exist for both out-groups and in-groups – prejudices more often than not remain positive for the group one is in, that is the in-group (more likely than not), and negative for the other group, the out-group – whichever group that may be.
The irony is not completely lost on me. All along I had been quite sure that a group of people who belonged to the same social category would respond in the same/similar way (as though belonging to a particular social category bestowed on them some identical characteristics, tastes, and dispositions) to certain social processes (in this case legal and/or social discrimination). Why on earth should they? It's been an eye-opener to me for sure....and in more ways than one.
Mixed Bag of violence
21 June 2009
Love and Prayers
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand....
I have often smiled wryly on reading about this or that person who has been able to live a "normal" life when he should not have been able to do thus. One of the most recent examples came in the form of a man, now in his late 50s who had a lobotomy, when he was 11 years old (this was some time in the 1960s). After going through a very troubled adolescence, he stabilised himself and then got some jobs before getting a permanent job driving a bus and he has been driving around for some time now. He also has normal levels of intelligence, is socially adjusted, and has a wife and a couple of kids. I have seen documentaries and read books about similar such people. People who were able to lead "normal" lives; when being normal becomes something of a miracle.
That's all well and good. Fine and dandy. Yet on some rare occasions in my life I have yelled out to God saying, "Blast it. What exactly do You want?...How much do You expect a person to put up with and still keep walking along? And why do You then bless us in some ways and seem to handicap us in some bizarre ways?!" Indeed, if truth be told there have been some rare occasions that I have yelled at God out of sheer frustration - certainly not hate. I can count the number of times - but I have. Over the years though I realised and knew that there was no point in yelling at God or being frustrated with Him. One can't really. It makes no sense. And I had stopped. No matter how grotty things got some years ago...I had stopped getting frustrated with God for my own shortcomings or for the bumps that I faced along the life that I had in some ways at least chosen or for the mix of my shortcomings and my karma. In any case as I always reminded myself - I had my limbs and all my other physical faculties in place.
Yet now I almost feel at my wits ends again and have been feeling this way close to a year now (which isn't a very long time at all I know), and some minutes ago just as I was about to say with absolute exasperation and desperation "...but it's not for myself this time around, God. You know that. What more can a human being do?Can't You do something..." - I stopped myself short. What am I trying to do exactly - fool both myself and God? Technically speaking I'm not praying for myself nor am I getting frustrated for myself - but when I pray for this other, I pray for myself....and when I do get frustrated with God (of all things) - it's because sometimes I can't see a way out.
If it weren't for the presence of a couple of other precious, significant and splendid beings in this world as well, I would most likely in a sudden moment have prayed to God begging Him to whisk this specific human being up and away and right next to Himself. How much can a human being take, I wonder. I've prayed for lots of people to meet with painless deaths - yet the only other human being, I have (in the same or at least similar spirit) ever wished dead, is myself - although I had made no plans of seeing or being with God. And I had not taken a millionth of what I had imagined in my batty head.
And as I wonder about this human being, I know that inspite of all the tales of horror and sadness, grottiness and terrible agony that I've read and come across I have wondered in a similar vein and with a similar consistency about only one other human being - maybe not with the same intensity, depth, and feeling though it may be - and no, it's certainly not myself that I'm talking about, but for some reason it's Tagore. Maybe it's because Tagore inspite of all his heartache, his agony, his acute sensitivity, and his repeated losses carried on and gave so much of himself. I don't know how he managed to do thus or what gave him the strength. I don't know what made him write, compose, share, and create, and keep thinking, reflecting, doing and acting with such boundless love, compassion, kindness, energy, and wisdom - but there it is. He did. And I don't know whether he did it all for himself or for others or whether it was one of those rare instances when doing for one's self and for others merges into one. And it amazes me. For amidst the depths of suffering and haunting loneliness - there is such brilliant splendour and grace that I - standing on the sidelines - cannot but weep, smile, and feel at the same time. From the very little bit that I know about Tagore and of him through his writings - that's how I feel. So maybe in some fundamental ways Tagore reminds me of this other so terribly unusual and precious human being just as this one unusual human being reminds me of Tagore in some ways, and means more to me than I can possibly say.
And so I pray and love (for as the unusual human being reminded me a week or so ago, we poor human beings can only love...the rest is up to God), and do what I can do - which is so woefully little that I can only grimace and like my younger self from close to two decades ago make deals with God or insist that a deal was made in the past, and I can but simmer and wait in my own pot.
Beyond that... what else?