Mourning the Death of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick (1950-2009)

I don't think I'm good with deaths, I don't know whether I am good with mourning either. I barely ever had to experience death. Ghosts is what I am interested in, trace and haunting are what fascinate me.

Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick died last night. So I heard. Suffice it to say that she's been a very inspirational figure in my academic (and social/life) interests? Suffice it to say that if it wasn't for Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire (1985) and Epistemology of the Closet (1990), I wouldn't have managed to write my major research paper that allowed me to obtain my M.A. last year? And suffice it to say that if I hadn't read her, I wouldn't even have called my blog The Queer Behind the Mirror?

I thought that coming to North-America would allow me to meet her at a point of time. I thought I would travel to a conference in NY and bump into her there to tell her about my work, and how much she influenced my work and life. Vivek had met her in Amsterdam last year and he told me of the great figure she is. He had also told me that she was fighting cancer though.

Well, I am now left with Tendencies (1993), A Dialogue on Love (1999) and Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy and Performativity (2003) to read and discover. May be it suffices to say her ghost will be haunting queer studies for generations and generations to come...

An homage to Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick: An Inspirational Figure, for many.

Her Clandestine Bed [fiction fragment]

He called and said he'd come tonight. So she busied herself the whole day:

She started by cleaning off the room-- books back on the shelf, crumbles and left-overs disappeared from her table and gave way to an empty vase that she might later fill with the flowers he would probably get her. She got rid of the coffee stained mugs, washed them while putting the chocolate wraps in the bin. She then removed the bed sheets and the pillow covers, washed them and let them dry in the sun.

And what about herself? She cut her nails, painted them pink (the way he likes them), washed her hair that she dried and brushed. She checked the fridge for the bottle of wine, the cupboards for scented candles, and dropped by the bakery for croissants the next day.

Then she sat reading without registering, restless on a couch as time whiled by. In the evening, she took the sun-soaked linen off the line and smelt lavender as she made the bed and diligently placed the six pillows she always kept. As she made the bed, she sighed remembering the feeling of crisp linen on her skin, a contrast to the warmth of his body, a paradox in this square bed that she looked forward to, along with their passionate love-making.

That's when he called to say he wouldn't come, for he couldn't come. His wife had a harsh week and he needed to be there by her side.

That night she went to bed thrilled by the feel of sun-soaked lavender on her nakedness. That night, she also went to bed thrilled that she had put an end to their clandestine meetings.

A Picture [that speaks for itself]

Time And The Broken Heart [a sonnet]

His boy said: "I'm bored of you! It's time to end!
The story's lasted long enough, goodbye mate!"
He felt the crack in his heart, that he'd have to mend:
"I'll be brave," he thought, "And get my life straight."

He called up his friends, in humbled state:
"I feel distressed" he said. "Seeking words of advice."
All of them replied that, he had to wait,
For time heals it all; time will suffice.

Yes... Time healed it in the past: once, twice, thrice.
He saw hopes ticking a clock on the wall;
Heard the broken heart-- a detonating device.
Waited, till he realized : "Time does not heal it all!"

Along with time, he needed pancakes and maple syrup-- lots!
Plus bitching, crying, smoking and a few vodka shots.

This IS Overwhelming! [a video]

A friend of mine sent me the link to this video some time back, and I must say, it is very overwhelming, close to the most beautiful thing I saw in a long time. As I woke up the other day and watched it, I actually cried throughout the duration of the clip. It just touched me so much, like one of those things that I can't describe, but I ought to share with you, so here it is. Is it the dance? Is it the joy in it? Is it that man traveling the world? Is it just the beauty of the act? I don't know... I think I went through my life crying of grief, crying of pain, crying of stress, crying of dejection, but really rarely did I cry of beauty, and that's what I did when I watched this video.

Let me know what you think and also, do check this website [link here] which explains the entire project-- fascinating stuff!

Small Poem For All Those [Saintly] Work-oholics Out There

When I was a kid,
One thing they did
Say: "Work is worship!"
So I worked, crazy shit!

Now as an adult,
I think of the result:
May be I should
Apply for Sainthood?

The Pink Chaddi Blog!!

I can't believe this! There actually is a Pink Chaddi Blog! I mean, I have been reading about it over the past weeks, and I know that it started as a Facebook group, but that they actually have a blog deserves advertisement! Click here for the link to the blog!
A Consortium of Pubgoing and loose women! :D I feel good and happy about the Campaign. I think it's very emancipatory, but above all, come on, that kind of protest is barely ever seen in India. Cheers to the Pink Chaddis!

The World's Most Famous Video

I think this video is the world's most famous video! It was posted on the 30th of January 2009, and 6,892,881 people so far, rated 24,772 times, commented 16,286 times and above all, favourited (yeah, there is such a verb!) 64,652 times! It's just crazy! I discovered this video last week when Yani (who sometimes shares my office space) showed it to me from somebody who had sent her the link. And today, I had somebody else sending me the link. I can't deny it's hilarious and Yani and I rolled like balls all over the floor and literally cried with laughter. So I thought I should share it: It's a good laugh (though I am sure NONE of us would want to be in that kid's place when he grows up!)

Small Song for the Sun [warm poetry in the times of snow]

Although the spring has far from begun,
I sing of the warmth of th'Goddess of the Sun.
I sing the light drapes that fall from her robe,
And into my room, like a wintry draught, probe.

Oh! Beauty of the beams that filtrate the cold!
The warmth of your touch, fervently behold;
Watch as comes alive the town of Peterborough,
While to the Earth die the drops of melted snow.

I praise you for holding the old tree's demise,
I hail you for the regained smiles in your guise.
I eulogize you for warming us to such a degree*,
That today I finally sit outside and have tea!


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* When I say 'a' degree, I mean it literally! It was one degree today and it felt warm!!

World Aids Day Magnum Photos' access to Life Project

Here is the link to the World Aids Day Magnum Photos' access to Life Project.

They all fitted in two/three categories: either extremely colorful and attractive in nature (so as not to use the word 'exotic' somehow); or faded black and whites that betrayed the feel of winter skies (with the cliched pictures of African children quite obviously, you cannot miss that ever); and a couple had exposed an overwhelming darkness on the verge of taking over the entire frame.

I wonder why is it that the agency dispatched journalists to the rest of the world to go and click pictures of HIV/AIDS infected populations. Wouldn't as interesting photographs be found anywhere in Europe or North-America or Australia? Don't people get infected there, or is it simply an aesthetic route to be able to take on a higher moral stand as to the status of AIDS as taking endemic proportions (in the rest of the world obviously)?

Last week, I had to teach a piece by Susan Sontag on photography to my students and one of the recurring questions that arose was about whether photographs render us sensitive to the situation around us, or have we been so saturated by now that such pictures of war or the so-called Third World for instance would leave us insensitive. Is a de-familiarizing alienation effect (to put it in Brecht's words) still possible when it comes to photographs?

That's the feeling that I had when I saw these pictures. It's all been said-and-done by now. Anything more concrete to follow? Will the world ever begin to genuinely care? That is my question.

P.S: An interesting point that Sontag has on photographers, particularly when it comes to war pictures, is that the photographer while taking the picture of the Vietnamese monk reaching out for a can of petrol to burn himself for instance, or while taking a picture of a child getting shot by a soldier, is in fact acting as an accomplice to the crime (and NOT a witness) by virtue of the fact that at this point, he/she is probably the only person who could stop the crime and save a life. But obviously, that would be at the cost of a sensational picture.