tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52997755331213242382012-02-16T14:39:11.401+05:30metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.comBlogger241100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-32633139420991490142009-12-07T08:11:00.004+05:302009-12-07T08:19:10.661+05:30

"As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods,They kill us for their sport." -- King Lear Act IV, scene i, 32-37

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-22057405426905348422009-06-16T03:22:00.025+05:302009-07-13T05:17:39.801+05:30

A newspaper cartoon, published a couple of years before Independence*, seeks to represent the subservient position of the colonised mockingly observed by figures signifying British and American imperialism and (most significantly) an indigenous oppressive power group which aligns itself with them. Considerably, the state of subservience of the colonial people is represented through the figure of

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-33234925222433506112008-01-23T17:18:00.000+05:302008-01-23T17:26:02.390+05:30

I don’t think I’ve been very fair in my comments on the book. Just saying something equivalent to “I like it” is hardly literary criticism. In my defence, of course, that was not what I was trying to do with that post, but if taken as criticism, it amounts to the worst possible kind. So, one way among many in which the text works: In those few crucial moments of decision in the novel,

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-15329685008816446812008-01-19T12:40:00.000+05:302008-01-19T13:02:32.384+05:30

“The starting-point of critical elaboration is the consciousness of what one really is, and is ‘knowing thyself’as a product of the historical processes to date, which has deposited in you an infinity of traces, without leaving an inventory.” – Antonio Gramsci, Prison Notebooks Edward Said quotes the above in Orientalism along with another important observation: “The only available translation

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-16666736349445001502007-12-30T12:29:00.000+05:302007-12-30T12:32:11.202+05:30

...mundane things like Exams would not threaten to take over one's life. Alas!

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-75975883653165237032007-12-30T11:52:00.000+05:302007-12-30T12:29:27.396+05:30

Has the initial shock worn off? Not quite. The media reactions are worth examining. After occurrences like the assassination of a political leader, what does the media do? Try to fit things into discursive model ‘stories’ already available. There will be speculation about how exactly she may have died. (link, link, link) Or gossip about who exactly is responsible. (link, link, link,

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-84249492570629857912007-12-19T17:34:00.000+05:302007-12-19T18:10:58.475+05:30

I have been reading Abha Dawesar's Babyji. What is so wonderful about it is the nonchalant manner in which it questions deeply entrenched notions about sex, sexuality and morality typical to an urban Indian middle class. It is provoking as it brings out in the open things propriety would dictate taboo. In short, I love it! And yes, there are several things I find problematic in the novel, but '

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-50746262935990108492007-12-10T19:24:00.000+05:302007-12-10T20:21:16.710+05:30

A few days ago, on the radio, the RJ remarked on the “nuisance of beggars” at street corners and red lights and asked for listeners to phone-in with entertaining ideas to “tackle the problem”. The RJ’s own suggestion was to apply some sort of check (visa was her word) on immigrants into the city. (Because, of course, beggars = immigrants. Also reminiscent of certain international immigration

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-7173619044073362322007-12-09T18:53:00.000+05:302007-12-10T19:23:59.400+05:30

This is pure terror. Especially for someone planning to take up the same career. With shortage of jobs and cutting down of departments, of course, Persian, Urdu (Tamil, Hindi, Bengali, Gujarati, ...) would be the first to go. And with them research on various literatures which some would insanely consider precious. Of course, we don't need PhDs on Persian poetry. Milton will do for now. And

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-58959442850959820102007-12-08T16:46:00.000+05:302007-12-08T16:54:05.918+05:30

...up here. Worth a look. More about the Feminist Carnivals here.

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-53821559385073521982007-12-03T16:45:00.000+05:302007-12-03T17:41:36.360+05:30

I have two pending posts, neither of which I can seem to conclude. So till the time I can figure out my dilemma, I’m going to fill this place with one of my favourites: Saadat Hasan Manto. Below are some really short pieces of his writing (translated from the Urdu by Khalid Hasan, Mottled Dawn). Some basic things to be observed:-- The depiction of horrifying violence and insanity which informed

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-90950713226586956072007-11-30T17:56:00.000+05:302007-12-10T20:21:50.815+05:30

Under the category of 'Daughter of', while filling up a form for obtaining a Voters' ID, I chose to write my mother's name instead of my father's. I may now not get that Voters' ID. A Voters' ID. Something that Vimla, who acts as domestic help for a lot of neighbours, had to convince a very reluctant official to obtain. "What's the point? Doesn't your husband have one?" Her husband. He had

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-55982872563379012222007-11-24T14:53:00.001+05:302009-07-13T05:21:37.981+05:30

It's quite amusing to stumble on to this only days after writing the last post. It illustrates the point I was trying to make about how a majoritarian nationalist rhetoric does not serve the concerns of underprivileged sections of society. I'm quoting in length Ania Loomba's Colonialism/Postcolonialism where she's dealing with an extract from a story by Mahasweta Devi: "In a moving story 'Shishu

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-28974485887956780192007-11-21T18:18:00.001+05:302009-07-13T05:21:53.803+05:30

Much of feminist theorising in India, with its insistence on historically locating various feminist movements, has felt the need to examine the nature of women’s movements during the struggle for independence from British imperialist rule. What has also, most pertinently, been taken into account has been its relation to the prevalent Indian nationalist discourse. Sarojni Naidu in the midst of a

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-43557936406031957822007-11-17T16:27:00.001+05:302009-07-13T05:23:51.120+05:30

"Why is life so tragic; so like a strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end. But why do I feel like this? Now that I say it I don't feel it...Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don't I write it down oftener?" -- Virginia Woolf (The Diary of Virginia Woolf vol 2 1920-24. Ed. Anne Olivier Bell)

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-48230212059299751592007-11-11T17:13:00.000+05:302007-11-11T18:02:26.462+05:30

I would wish to believe that an awful completely forgettable week, certain disturbing patterns of behaviour and a broken foot are excuses enough to allow for a mini-rant. I'm pretty sure this would seem to be terribly uninteresting (if at all coherent) reading. I am usually against blogs which end up resembling personal diaries/ letters to Agony Aunt, etc. But things have bothered me enough now

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-83864560249817199542007-11-01T19:24:00.000+05:302007-11-11T17:59:49.771+05:30

Sometimes asking questions is more important than answering them. Sometimes answers are urgently required. Sometimes the need is to find the adequate question; the appropriate 'Why?' Sometimes questions answer more than answers do. Sometimes answers can be questions. Sometimes there are no easy answers to simple questions. Sometimes difficult questions may have the easiest answers. But sometimes

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-2245931340320586772007-10-31T19:51:00.000+05:302007-11-01T19:30:55.668+05:30

I’ve changed the title of the blog since, as a friend put it, I wasn’t really “examining much whyness”. The current title comes from Alexander Pope’s An Essay on Criticism, albeit slightly distorted to suit the purpose. (Next person to mention the name “Elvis” dies.) And speaking of titles, why are posts (or any other mode of writing) expected to have titles? Giving something any particular

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-56427864054879276472007-10-26T17:39:00.000+05:302007-10-26T17:56:41.583+05:30

I happened to stumbled upon what seems to be some sort of an over simplified 'reading guide' for Derrida's "Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences". I'd almost given up reading when I read this: Many people lament the decline of the humanist model, and the rise of poststructuralism, because poststructuralism throws out ideas of God, truth, self, and meaning and replaces

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-49989244459174749732007-10-25T17:33:00.000+05:302007-10-26T18:04:20.022+05:30

I know this and this are old news now but I think the issue deserves attention still. This is especially so in the light of the telling responses it has evoked. A lot of cricket fans have retaliated by insisting that Symonds' shouldn't be the one complaining since racism exists in Australia too. While most others have dismissed it as not racist at all. A few very passionate cricket fans in the

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-88824113992209534062007-10-21T17:49:00.000+05:302007-12-19T18:07:17.925+05:30

To talk about other things, Rowling has declared that Dumbledore was gay. I suppose I should celebrate considering how I had always rooted for the Sirius/Lupin, Sirius/James, Parvati/Lavender pairings as a counter to the more popular speculations about Ron/Hermione, Neville/Luna, etc. It is wonderful that there can be character with an 'alternative' sexuality and yet not be caricatured on the

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-85428941060987939272007-10-21T17:28:00.000+05:302007-10-26T18:05:13.830+05:30

“how chose/ Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?/ Betray them both, or give back/ what they give?” -- Derek Walcott, ‘A Far Cry from Africa’ It is interesting to think how something like an informal discussion in class about Walcott’s poetry could teach me the extent to which certain types of criticism can be damaging. The thrust of the discussion was on the poet’s sense of

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-19589168290205760092007-10-16T19:42:00.000+05:302007-10-31T20:20:51.523+05:30

[I haven't yet been able to write what I'd originally intended to post. The following is something I wrote quite a while ago. I don't particularly subscribe now to everything said below, but I'm still somewhat attached to this piece. It is, of course, not a critical analysis of the writer’s work but, among several things, a personal response which was evoked by a re-reading of some of his writing

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5299775533121324238.post-86533990594296214892007-10-14T09:14:00.000+05:302007-10-15T09:28:24.102+05:30

I thought I'd post this before progressing to more serious discussions. (Or not. They may turn out to be frivolous ramblings. Time will tell.) I imagine this to be a good way to siphon thoughts which otherwise would stay muddled in my head. And it would be fabulous if I can simultaneously improve the way I write. Formation of consciousness and ideas, it has been said, happens by way of dialogue.

metaphysicallycomplicithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10763398678632415648noreply@blogger.com0