Pages are left blank sometimes and it can take ages to fill them. Like the riddles caused by life. However when there is constant inconsistency in the rhythm of life then riddles tend to evaporate fervently leading one to the seat of the Other. Sometimes being in the space of An-Other, all the discussions in different lingual structure sounds like mumbles. I scribe mostly in English language. Apart from all these regional, national and communal love-hate relationship, the English language has been the only one that can be formally or informally treated. My very own way of handling this language is to find a way to express ungrammatically. Also i take the freedom of spelling it wrong. I take the freedom of not making sense and effortlessly appear gibberish. At the same time I am able to design a sensible sense out of this outfit. My internal thought process inevitably turns into English and even at times my thoughts function more in visual perspective than verbal. I don’t expect an expert’s evaluation in judging the senses. I don’t wait for that. As long as I am able to express my perspective, that becomes enough for me. I don’t so far give more emphasis on mother tongue or father tongue. What matters to me is the tongue that helps to give ornamentation to the voice and sound. Important thing is to communicate. Therefore if the language is not of much help there are other ways to express one’s feelings and emotions. We know that there are also gestures, actions, mediums of expressions like Art , Performance or music. I also practice the most ancient form of communication, drumming. A simple knock at someone’s door step is enough to pass a message where some kind of response builds up. A clap with both hands works both as a sign and expression of catharsis. Other forms of communication is embedded in the vocal expression of gasping, sighing, yawning, etc. Then there are gestures as well popping out of one’s body language.
Coming back to the question of “The Other”, I think the Otherness can also reflect in the personal “me”. Yet I am concerned of the pathway that accommodates “An-Other”. The space between, the void that elastically behaves to render the duet of difference. But I am seeking for the space between, that connects to diversity and not difference. However diverse the pattern of the stream’s flow, still it joins the river; however grim the pattern of river, still there is the ocean to receive it. Although this has a poetical expression, there-withal lies the truth. The truth is not only a sovereign right for eyes, ears and mouth since there are very many ways to relate to the truth and observation expands from here. The trails of observation also are vulnerable, since as an observer one has to know the difference of the words ‘ to stare’, ‘to gaze’ and all that falls on the tool kit of this process. Observation varies from ethnographers to commoners and all those categories to follow. I chose not to categorize my ways of observing and i sense it in my scribble notes opening the glimpses of change in each process of participatory observation. Beyond the framework of formal prospects of mapping that is usually depended on measuring syndrome, the specific “Other”, can also be a personified concept. And so it follows………………………..
I am sitting down facing the FOREX counter in the railway station where the money encounters, values of its own. Money in its passive appearance is an instrument to make “the Other” and “An-Other”, taste the velocity of acceleration in the mechanics of connectivity. I am observing here people’s expression, filled with anxiety, anxiousness, anguish and hope. I turn my thoughts and vision to those who are sitting beside me. I realize and comfort myself by repeating the proverb- “change is the only permanent thing.” But even this change although predominant here, I have been looking for a bridge between. The question strikes me again- Am I looking for a connectivity or am I trying to find the end of both means? In this juncture to move away from questionable frame the vital fact existing here is to observe. While I am observing I think of forming a structure to the way i look, to the way i go for bodily writing, to shape in or out of academical flavor.
What is evident through my observation is the existence of cue. Lines for receiving, achieving and constructing dreams from several angles. Lines open up certain kind of glamour, attires that fulfills individual’s interest. There isn’t any lack of fashion, however sweaty the forms can appear. Lines that are labeled with the massive baggages containing individual’s trio-needs (necessity, comfort and luxury). These lines shorten to extend again with next bunch of living histories. In some occasions lines play with space giving space to the passersby passengers and pedestrians. Nearby i see a suitcase, large enough for my physical feature to accommodate. The suitcase seems like a planner where a routine life is designed or may be inside it there are bunches of nonsensicalness. I am observing the opposite phase of the FOREX booth, where the motion is constant. Shoes never remain the same in appearance, in size, style and shape keep on shifting characters. This opposite phase is the ticket counter. In a satirical observation its so very prominent that the money after coming out of the FOREX booth returns to the Ticket counter. Tokens of evidence here is coated in the printed identity. Even though its momentary, it exists. This printed identification begins at one point and ends in another destination. The identification which is not your own but purchased. It is satirical isn’t it? However we also know that identification engraved on a stone epitaph may get demolished in some kind of natural or man-made disasters. Therefore in some cultures corpses meet there end to the dust by transforming as ash. It is strange how the natural elements take over the intelligent ego of rational and irrational existence. How then, the “Other” and “An-Other” fills the gap? That is where I am seeking through my observation. I am constantly in the process to surf the durational moments in my performative action of seeking through seeing. This space is not acquired as a predictable set as there are visibilities of fragmented phenomenology.
On this journey sitting inside a commuter train I got trapped in my blue ink. The blue ink. I avoid it. Reminds me of blue blood, a status which is associated with differences that scream through the terminated mind of human existence. Here i am taking a small break from regular academical ritual and the story starts shaping in another presumed classroom situation. I will be handling a performative notion so it seems. At this moment I am packed up in an upright position with little or no place to lean on. I sense some perfume out there. This time it is evolving from the butt of “the Other” passenger sitting beside me. The action that the perfume brings up, it is invisibly silent yet visibly displaying the perfume-manic notion. It is difficult to figure out the typography of the fartistic display as to what caused it. Whether it is vegan oriented, meat effect, vegetarian or eggitarian, it is hard to diversify? Anyways I don’t want to loose my energy in evaluating the sovereignty of someone’s fartistic complexity. I begin to concentrate on the notion of observation and then I find out, that I am being observed. Now I am being observed in my coloured appearance among discoloured temporal community. They look at me with curiosity and there are others who pretend not to look at me. The truth is that the circum-navigational activity of the eye can never escape gaze. Even in its pretentious display, the coloured is always noticed. The gaze transforms easily into the mind to form an image.
But then the butt perfume is making the temporary territorial dispute evident and i kept musing that hopefully this person didn’t consume an entire turkey, since just yesterday it was Mother’s day. I keep hoping that within an hour and forty five minutes time, I will soon reach this friendly town where the classroom situation is not the same. And now only if the butt perfume exits from its practical feature to a more theoretical plane, I guess i will be able to breath honestly. But hopefully there is this white pan opener, it can be a good solution as a confession box to own up all anxieties that resides in the butt-house. Now then, I have to train my nose not to notice and yet i have to breath. Well the silent butt symphony continues and only thing I can do now, is to go on writing by shifting my eyes to the window side.
It seems the time has come to catch up with the next train to cover the half way distance of the destination. So the situation seems to be at ease now after the butt symphony evaporated from the space. Now am left with only the gazers beside me, who are eating crispy bites to keep themselves busy at the same time. This is how i find myself enjoying the playfulness of writing when I encounter things and kinds in live happenings. To express so, I take enough freedom from the constitution of four walls that dictates methodologies. The methodologies that expand and contract just as the fart charges out of the source when the tummy fuel leaks out. To discover humour out of any simple situation is a therapeutic act. We all need to explore in the way we like, in the way we can, in the way we do, in the way we perform, in the way we proceed, in the way we fart. Life is a prose and poetry in the fashion that we apply as humans. The creativity remains permanent like the permanency of change. The chance and choice challenges each other and there forms a story to tell. There is no margin but we like to create it, since we all love to operate certain things that convinces us, in the choice we make or in the chance we attempt to. We are here to perform and this will evolve into another form, another content, another idea, another An-Otherness to renew the card of the self and the Other. Therefore we perform and we don’t need to rehearse, as we just fart – we just perform.