Tempest

Friday, 2 March 2007

Under the trees

I've always had this subconscious fascination for the breeze and winds. In my every imagination the breeze has played some sort of role. It comes in somehow or the other. I've been wondering why something in all my posts is so repetitive. Now I have it. I think my fascination was because it gives the feeling of another being or existence on another plane. It is as if the voices or whispers are from somewhere else, yet from within…the feeling that I exist on another plane as well as on this earth and inside my head. Like my head isn't all that you can see defined under the tough skull (and it is tough; proof being my umpteen number of head injuries). Like beyond that in a metaphysical space it extends for miles and miles and even I can't see the boundaries of it. The breeze gives a stamp of justification to my sudden loftiness when I'm out for a walk. It beckons, tempts and tantalises the other mind within my head to fly haphazardly through the mist. I always ask funny questions when am out for walks under trees (Don't snort Musafir!). I love the walks. I never quite manage to answer those questions, only to go back home with more. Maybe am a sucker for confusion.

Lured by the breeze (there it’s back again) I went on another such walk yesterday. I don’t know where the thought came from but it was as if it had been waiting for me to go for walk to pounce on me! Why is the majority so afraid of the minority? Why is it always so threatened by it? I mean isn’t this a natural question to ask when it is said that only the word of the majority works (keeping aside obvious exceptions)? Take the case of trans-sexuals. They don’t even constitute 0.5% of the world’s population. They are biologically neither here nor there. We know it is merely a discrepancy and the species cannot move forward in this way. Yet they are ostracised by every race be it by the whites (no doubts there!), the blacks or the Asians. Maybe it is because of the fear of what man cannot understand. Maybe it is because they aren’t part of the so called ‘normal’ majority. But then again so what? How do they threaten your world apart from your subconscious instinct that this is an abnormal deviance and this is not what ‘man’ is supposed to be? Apart from the bizarre, irrational fear that all of mankind could end up being Trans at some point because of this 0.5% of the population; why else would they be shunned?

Too many thought processes and reasons to be explored here. So, my unintelligent, fickle mind jumped to the other end of the spectrum. Imagine being a teenager and at an age wherein you consciously begin to understand sexuality and coming to realise that you don’t fit in anywhere. Imagine not knowing what you are. Imagine grappling with the most basic ‘What am I?’ question of all which is decided for most of us when we are born! Imagine having to deal with this confounding question without being given space to do so in peace. Imagine trying to understand your place in this world while all the time being told that you have none. I wonder how you have the clarity of thought to pierce through such a fog and make a life and such a decision. And such a simple decision it seems to be of whether to be man or woman. We have trouble accepting a simple fact that all of us have an underlying subconscious homosexual streak in us. At least we know that if we were to have a homosexual partner our like would either be a male or a female! I can’t even begin to understand the pain of such an existential angst.

The funny part is in spite of asking all these questions I don’t think I feel any pity or empathy for them. Like am asking all these questions and I am removed. It is as if I ask these questions only out of curiosity. They are only thoughts and not emotions. Should I be ashamed for not feeling any sort of pain? Am I not part of this world? Do I not share in its pain and the issues that are part of my existence?

I again flittered off on a tangent. I do not really feel bad when horrible things happen. I am not one of the most empathetic persons one could meet. I did feel disillusioned by the way stories are done in journalism today. When I did not go onto studying medicine I pacified myself that Journalism is the only profession that will help me gratify the same needs, intentions. A means of helping people and making a difference. Hah big words! Am not idealistic (alright alright not a blind idealist at least)! I always knew that’s not the way it works. What you see is never what you get and also sometimes what you see is blatantly what you get. Both leave a bitter taste. A journalist is supposed to be a dry removed human being and just do a story for its facts (more so today because of the speed and time factor). He isn’t supposed to empathise and become emotionally moved by the tragedies of life. In fact the word tragedy isn’t supposed to be in his vocabulary at all. A rape must not matter to him. Wounded soldiers shouldn’t matter to him. Grieving families should not affect him. Bombed citizens should just be a story. All this must be recorded in the best ever frame of shots and most hard hitting of words. All this should be first page material and all this should be portrayed effectively enough to be put on prime time 8 pm news. These are just events that happen and he has to record them. Why then does it feel like this isn’t a definition for a human being? Why does it feel like this is a definition for a journalist whose body composition is chemicals alone and is a robotic being from Pluto? I don’t have a problem with him being a hard shell and doing his job objectively without letting his emotions mislead him. I have the highest regard for such men and such an ideology put to practice or even an attempt of it being put into practice. But, I do have a problem with the fact that the intention behind all of this is not to make a difference or to bring out the truth for the world to see but, it is simply just to be part of a profession where you’re striving to be the best in your job simply to climb the ladder and be the on the top. I would say striving for both is an amazing self goal but just for professional gratification? For some reason this doesn’t sit well with me. Not in this field. There are certain things that you do for a different reason. These are the professions that uphold the honour of men. The defence forces, the doctors, the journalists. They do not have a right to de-humanise themselves. The corporate corruption and the two-faced credulity of men in the race to make more money is acceptable in business, engineering, management, in every other profession but not in Journalism. By acceptable I mean it does not feel like an outright blatant crime against humanity. But here it feels like sacrilege. It hurts. It tears apart every belief that you have in the race, in its salvation.

I agree and for my own self preservation vehemently believe that there are still men and women in this profession who pursue it for the right reasons and grapple with the day to day disappointments, hurts and frustrations of following their ideal and meeting road-blocks and half accomplished tasks at every step. I agree that they have to put up with the management and its opposition to the kind of stories they would want to do or the way they would want to treat such stories. But I did not meet many and it hurt too much to have to succumb to the will of management just because I am an insignificant graduate. It hurt too much that I will have to succumb for many years to come. It hurt too much to think that for every one battle that I might win against them in a year I would lose a thousand. It sometimes feels like I chickened out. It sometimes feels like I should have stuck because each one of those rare battles won would have been worth it. But at that time I could not bear to think of the amount of blasphemy’s I’d have to commit just for that one victory. The number of dissatisfactory stories I’d have to live with feeling that I did not do justice to them. I decided to do management in the same field...another stupidly idealistic move. I fell hook, line and sinker for the ‘if you can’t beat the system, join the system’ line. But, the majority works everywhere. I figured the only way you can make a difference is with power. I know this sounds like am a Nietzsche follower but then it is a small nonetheless potent fact of this world. I sometimes wonder if given a chance I’d change my mind and go back to my dream of being a reporter. But I know I have no regrets. I know I couldn’t have continued the farce. I applaud those brave people I know who will strive and I perhaps feel the brush of guilt that I did not stick through it. But I know that I don’t regret it. I wonder what difference I’ll make or whether I’ll make any at all. But I somehow believe that I’ve given myself a fair chance.

Wondering why I made the statement about not being an empathetic person two paras ago? Because I am not. It does not really hurt that bad. Most of the time I think I think of these things simply because I have a brain (most would disagree). Because asking questions is a just another instinct we are born with. Sometimes I think that I do not get that badly affected by what I see then what right did I have to let journalism go?

I’ve been here six months now. I don’t miss home and friends. I mean I do miss them but it’s not like a craving or that I think of them often. I feel that slight guilt then again. I mean how thick skinned am I? I know I’ve been contradicting myself through out. But the fact of the matter is that I really am an aloof removed person. Then how can I say that things hurt me or even talk about morals or ideals?

Lilithian Lady and Musafir....in memory of our many a existential discussions under the trees. I miss talking to you. I wish you would leave me alone in peace.

Prude at her contradicting best.

Posted by Pavitra :: 07:04 :: 9 comments