Speaking with the Heart and Listening with the Mind

 

‘The art of conversation’ might be an old phrase, almost cliched but time-tested. At its simplest, a conversation requires at least two people to speak and listen in turn. But it becomes an art when the two are interested in what the other has to say and wish to come away enriched at the end of the conversation.

While speaking and listening are two integral parts of a conversation, listening somehow takes precedence for a conversation to be truly enjoyable. More than a skill, it is, in fact, an art that is honed with time. But one needs to stop and observe this art before desiring to master it.

We live in times when we want to become performers, vying for those 30 seconds of attention as it were. And we rarely come across people who can listen. This scarcity of listeners perhaps stems from the fact that many of us are lonely, stuck in a hamster’s wheel of routines. As a living, breathing, thinking species, we have so much to say, with barely anyone having the mindspace to listen. Of course, most of us have been both listeners and speakers depending on where we were in life… times when we longed to be heard and times when we listened with patience.

Oftentimes, those who struggle to listen do not have the vile intention of hogging the limelight but a hunger to be heard. Now, this hunger creates what I would call the ‘speed talker’. We’ve all met one. You meet them at the coffee machine and ask them how they’re doing, and by the time you’ve stirred your coffee, they’ve already stirred up three chapters of their life, and only then ask how you’ve been—if at all.

A speed talker, as only a patient listener would know, is always in a race. What if the listener loses attention? What if there is no second chance? The anxiety is perhaps less about being heard and more about not being heard. The talkers somehow manage to pull a thread out of the listener’s muslin inputs and spin a tarpaulin of their own. The listener’s thoughts get folded and tucked away unnoticed. The listener says, “I’m learning to play the ukulele,” and the speaker takes off, “Really? Do you know the Ukulele originated in Hawaii? I’ll never forget my trip to Hawaii. What a disaster it was! But then we travelled back via Japan…!” By now, the circumnavigation is well underway.

The listener eventually sits back and gives up participating in this phantom conversation—sometimes out of genuine interest in the speaker, sometimes out of self-doubt and often out of weariness. The self-doubt comes when the listener begins to believe that their thoughts and ideas can never be as important or colourful as the speaker’s own.              

The speakers, be it the boastful or the mournful kind, always have a way to make the conversation about themselves. Picture this. A small group of friends meet up after years, each with several years of a rich life behind them. But one of them becomes a self-appointed TedX speaker and makes the evening all about what they do, how life has shaped them, their criticisms, their opinions and so on. The listeners at the end of the meeting come away often feeling tired and empty, wondering if they were even required for the conversation to happen.

What is required for a conversation to be rich is perhaps not words but pauses. Pauses to listen, to ask each other questions. These pauses breathe life into the conversation and show that one cares. A good listener grants dignity to another’s story; a mindful speaker offers a thread worth holding. When both meet, conversation ceases to be a mere exchange but becomes meaningful time spent.

Pic Courtesy: La Conversación by Étienne Pirot (Etienne), Plaza de San Francisco by Havana Abderrahman Ait Ali, via Wikimedia Commons

A Master's Degree finally

Happy to share that I've completed my Master's in English from EFLU, Hyderabad.

Ironically, academics drew me in when I was a little too old to be a collegiate—first the Diploma at 31, and now this Master’s degree at 51. (. (I think I did well with a Gold Medal in the former and a 7.88 GPA in the latter.)

Barely 21 years old, I was restless and raring to go; I jumped into a job within months of my undergrad Exams. I stood my ground despite my father's requests and assurances that I really didn't need to work. Then, from one job to another, I went where life took me.

The decision to pursue postgraduate studies was neither an impulsive decision nor a pandemic-lockdown hobby. It was more than a bucket list item. I’d been bothered about missing an opportunity to study further for many years now.

So, after some research into different syllabi and wise guidance from a trusted few, I zeroed in on the English and Foreign Languages University, Hyderabad—a decision I’m glad I took for various reasons. Even before I signed up, I felt this course was brilliantly structured, extremely interesting and relevant.

The entire experience was as enriching as the course itself. I had to spend 15 days away from home every semester—something that I wasn’t aware of when I enrolled. This was probably the hardest part of the whole deal. Every semester exam would either coincide with or fall very close to my husband's or my child’s birthday or a work deadline. Prioritising work and family, I decided to skip two semesters, but I came back with gusto to complete the course. A few people in my circle believed I would drop off at that point, and many made fun of this "unnecessary" stress I had taken upon myself.

Getting away was the biggest challenge, but thanks to my employers and family, I managed to do it. And once I got there, I lived a story-like parallel life that felt surreal.

I roomed with girls less than half of my age and lived like a 24-year-old. All I had to do was take care of myself and study all day. The days were very long, with me waking up to chilly sunrises and hitting the bed a couple of hours before sunrise. My day involved attending six to seven hours of classes, and the only time I stepped out of my room was to drag my feet to the Hostel Mess (dining area), without bothering to change out of the PJs and flip-flops. A good day would have me doing the laundry or taking walks around the sprawling, gorgeous, green campus, smiling at lovebirds, the feathered and unfeathered kind.

Of course, there would be the remote handling of my own home thousands of kilometres away, be it ordering groceries or firefighting a teen’s emotional outbursts.

My batch was an interesting bunch of students: the mind-bogglingly hardworking, already armed with multiple degrees, aiming for more, driven by undeterred focus; some studying only to make their families happy, and a few, using the time to do something productive while waiting for the right job.

Especially interesting was a group of youngsters who had orchestrated a fine balance between the chaotic clamour of the head and the heart. I met students who pursued their academics and professions with the same passion as their other interests, like music, writing and stand-up comedy—interests that were more than just a ‘hobby’. This probably wouldn’t have worked during my younger days. My generation was predominantly driven by the head, always ready to drop their dreams at the whisper of a demotivating word or thought. As an aside, I want to say at the cost of repeating myself that now is a great time for youngsters willing to pursue multiple interests simultaneously, without being pigeonholed into one job.

Though I was one of the oldest in my batch and the other batches as well, I was glad that I wasn’t the only one. There were senior and retired professionals who were there just out of a passion for the language or a desire to learn something.

The rest earned after the struggle is sweet, but I will miss the moments of losing myself in the world of language and literature, the hours of focused study, the excitement of learning something new, the thrill of being able to memorise something, and the days of ‘me-time’ without much guilt. And yes, like I always say, success is a kick that drives you to more rounds of the fight. God knows what the coming years have in store for me, but I wait with a twinkle in my eye, with or without the cataracts.

Much like catching up with an old friend

This song popped on the Jatin-Lalit playlist that I pick up on those rare days when I’m feeling a little relaxed.

I’ve loved this song ever since I first heard it on CIBACA GEETMALA and it gives me a similar kind of joy each time. Listening to the song yesterday felt like I was meeting an old friend after years.

What strikes me this time is that this song is rather basic. We have a series of electronic beats supporting a lilting melody, beautifully sung (Kavita Krishnamurthy and Udit Narayan) about a sweet romance.

The arrangement is so simple that it seems innocent. It is this innocence that makes this song still endearing—an innocence that we can relate to...innocent hearts enchanted by the fast, yet steady change in the world of the 90s, much like the tempo and beats of this song.

I can actually imagine the young Jatin and Lalit experimenting with their Roland or Casio keyboard in their home studio. I’m sure many kids in the 90s, fascinated by the preset beats and sounds of the electronic keyboard, tried at least once to put those sounds together and imagined for a few minutes that they had a gift!

While saying all this, I don't mean to take away J & L’s talent. They poured romance right into our hearts for many, many years and we all know it.

In Bin Tere Sanam, they combine the fast homemade beats with strong “catchy-matchy” vocals and that’s what made this song stand out then and keeps it fresh even today. If you know this song well, you exactly know where the beats change and will wait for it! Of course, the loop of this song is its signature and makes it instantly recognisable even years later.

I was recently chatting with a good old friend. Growing up together, we had shared our love of Bollywood music and a whole of other things. The feeling this song gives me is just like those chats. 

Lingering Thoughts

Like I shared on my WA status last Saturday morning, for some strange reason, "Edhedho Ennam" from Punnagai Mannan was ringing in my ears and I just had to listen to it. Enjoyed this Chitra's song immensely. It has a very one-sided-crush feel (if you what I mean); brimming over with love but a tad clingy... needy. The situation in the story was such, no?
So, one thing led to another (as it happens in love), and I found myself listening to "Vaan Megam"". I always loved this song but I now realise what a departure it is from "Edhedho Ennam"! Just like the two characters (Rekha and Revathi), these two songs have a completely different personality. Apart from the fact that it is chirpy and sprightly, it sends across the effect of a "full fruition". Isn't it what the storyline is all about? I have neither the knowledge nor the courage to analyze or applaud the genius of Raja sir. Everything lays out the mood so clearly--the words, the young synthesizer music and of course, the vocal dynamics of Chitra, who sang both of these songs---one of longing and the of attainment.
Listening to "Vaan Megam" brought a tinge of rose to my sullen face.
1. As I closed my eyes while listening, I remembered most of the words and most of the choreography, including Sundaram master's little ditty. As a teenager, I had often imagined myself in those rain-soaked canvas shoes of Revathi for more reasons than one.
2. The nimble fingers playing all those bubble-like keyboard notes, might be those of this young boy with a mop of curly hair who would go on to steal my heart a few years later. He is also known as the Mozart of Madras.
Here's the song.  https://youtu.be/2oHNn37iRn8

Functioning Without Labels

 

I recently came across these terms: hetero-romantic-asexual, ethical polygamy, polyromantic, graysexual, demisexual… I was quite fascinated by this new-world jargon. Broadly put, these terms are for people who look at relationships differently, away from the formula. This is like a make-your-own-salad counter. There’s the salad leaf—you can add just tomato and zucchini; choose feta or cheddar or no cheese at all, and maybe throw in some egg if you really are up to it. Google up these terms to know what I mean. (No, not the salad recipes!)

So, you may ask, “Why complicate things?” I may say, “On the contrary, it is a step to simplify our complicated lives.” The above-listed thought patterns aren’t new. It’s just that the labels are. People have always tried to force-fit themselves into prescribed social notions, believing that is how they ought to live—almost like a sombre fictional dystopian society, the members on autopilot, blindly traversing from one role to another, unable to escape the loop out of fear of punishment.

I have always believed that humans are like butterflies—a million varieties, with two million hues, some frail, some monarchs, but each with its beauty. Of course, humans are famed to categorize everything but fortunately admire aberration in nature. The same aberration among themselves has never been understood, appreciated or acknowledged.

This is because of the generations of conditioning that frightens even those with strong personalities to step away from. 

Why label a pupa even before it hatches? We, humans, are programmed to follow notions of milestones, religion, gender, sexuality, and more, right from birth. These notions end up shaping us like wet clay in the hands of the potter-society. Every little break from the preset mould is tied with anxiety. Anxious to get the best education, the best job, the best possible partner, the best possible children and the wheel continues. This anxiety leads to panic, leaving us with no time to introspect. Who are you? Do you want to learn this? Do you want to do this job? Do you want to get married? What kind of relationship do you want? What is best for you? These questions never get asked or answered. Sometimes the mundane aspects can be worked around, like switching streams of education and careers, of course after a lot of heartache, confusion and misgivings. But sadly, no attention is paid to matters of the heart. This leaves us often in a maze of unmet and unresolved emotions, with rarely a workaround solution. Any expression of individual choices gets labelled as weird, selfish, amoral and illegal.

This brings me back to the question, “Why complicate things?” Yes, we have complicated our lives due to assumptions—“If Tom and Jane are happy with this arrangement, Harry and Joan should be happy too. If they aren’t, they must try harder.”

What if we step out of the societal and moral matrix? Chaos and anarchy, you fear? I don’t think so.

Wouldn’t the world be more like a large, peaceful garden of butterflies if we are allowed to pursue the flower that we like? And not pursue any flower at all, if we don’t want to. Tom, Harry, Jane and Joan should have the courage to find their own little gardens. 

We have brought ourselves to a position where we need to invent new labels for what is already safely ensconced in the hearts of thousands. One might think these labels will only help a small fraction of elitist urbanites in finding themselves. The rest of the world still struggles and will continue so for a few generations.

I say, label or no label we are who we are/what we are.

So what do we do? Basically, let people be who they are. Don’t change a thing. Simple, no?

All of us must stop for a while and breathe. Think for ourselves who we are and what we want. Sadly, it might be a little late for adults already caught in the wheel but I think we should be very conscious about passing down unnecessary mindsets. Time-sheets and log-books are for factories; formulae are for laboratories. Not our hearts. Let’s not force our lambs into herds and make more lambs. Let’s not trample the beauty of relationships with our presumptions and anxieties. All it takes is a bit of maturity, a bit of trust and oodles of respect. As long as we teach them to love themselves and not hurt another living being, our children are sure to discover the earth, on their own beautiful wings, without having to struggle with labels.           

Images: 

Fujishima Takeji (1867-1943), Butterflies (1904), Wikimedia Commons

colorful butterfly PNG Designed By 大洋 from Pngtree.com

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬

The pandemic didn't have an adverse effect on Neil's career, but the changing trends were appearing, like silent patches of seepage on the wall. An upgrade seemed inevitable.
And then, there was Natasha. Texts had progressed to video chats. There was still a starchy newness to the relationship. Neil hoped they would soon break through the two cold, glass screens that separated them.

 
"What next? How soon? What does the future have in store for us... for me?" A syncopated rhythm of questions rang in Neil's head.

 
That winter evening, Neil sat down with his favourite drink, neat, the way he preferred and began browsing the internet for music. He always loved exploring new artistes and new genres, but, suddenly, he wanted to listen to songs he knew, songs he could sing along with. Neil sank into the wrinkly sofa and into the playlists comfortably. In a while, his duet with Bryan Adams came with familiar ease as they chorused, "It isn't too hard to see we're in heaven."

Is this how we mine our joys from the tiniest of crevices?

Song: Heaven - Bryan Adams https://youtu.be/s6TtwR2Dbjg
Pc: Saatchi Art (Moreaux, 2014)

99 Songs!

 Just finished watching 99 Songs and I wonder why I didn’t watch it earlier.

                                                 

Since the story has been written by A R Rahman himself, it obviously ought to be about music, but this film has got so much more. Simply put, it is about Jay's quest for a song that leads him to many other revelations. Just like the fugue that is referred to in the film, the one-note story opens out to touch art, surrealism and different forms of relationships. I’d perhaps call it a fairy tale of sorts with fairy godmothers included. I could see beauty across every inch of the film. A beauty that only an artist is capable of imagining.

 

I know writing a story is no mean effort. A R Rahman, the musician, has poured every bit of himself into writing this story and with absolute honesty. He has put in everything that’s touched him, everything he feels passionately about. Though it was a film, it felt as though I was reading a book with audio and special visual effects playing in front of me. 

 

Many years ago, when I read Vikram Seth’s An Equal Music, I wished there was some way the prose and the music could be played together. And I somehow managed to make my own arrangements. 99 Songs gives almost that kind of a delight. A character's physical challenge in this film also brought to mind a parallel to An Equal Music. 

I tip my hat to Vishwesh Krishnamoorthy. He has done his best to put several abstract ideas into a visual medium with much grace and beauty, through his screenplay and direction. Maybe there aren’t grand dialogues or nuanced characters, but I would let that go because we are looking at people who are not bona fide story writers. We have someone who has just written a story and another who has transformed it visually. Having grown up on a staple of K Vishwanath’s films, I found this a completely different approach. Strangely, it always seems easier to make films about the struggles of a gangster than making films about the struggles of an artist. 99 Songs might not earn the appreciation of a film aficionado or a critic. Thankfully, I am neither! 

 

Like I said earlier, I did not find anything pretentious about this film. Casting would be an example. Ehan Bhat mirrors the simplicity and sincerity of the character that’s been written. Tenzing Dalha is such a pleasure to watch. Unable to forget him after Axone, I was happy to see him in almost every frame of 99 Songs. And then there are the surprising appearances of musicians in the cast that makes one exclaim in delight. 

 

(Still sticking to the book analogy) There is a tiny chapter on Jazz music that Rahman had to definitely write about and I am so thankful he did it. Like I have said in another post, Rahman has been exploring Jazz music like no one else in the film industry. And I’d love to sing the Jazzy lullaby chorus to an infant if I ever get a chance! I am not saying anything about the music in the film because that is what it is. I’m unable to split one from the other. The OST has much more variety than that featured in the film. 

 

Maybe I am dreamy-eyed, maybe I’m biased towards Rahman but I would say it was a Saturday afternoon well-spent. Ha! 

Image Courtesy: https://www.moviecrow.com