We pour ourselves into words. There is a guy talking about how he makes up words and has written an original dictionary of words defining elusive emotions. He says when people ask him if the words he used from that original dictionary are real or not, he replies with saying they are real if you want them to be. But on further contemplation he says to us, that what they are really asking is how many brains will they have an access to if they were to use to open up an emotion. If the key was regularly used one. To which he said that O.K. was a word that could be treated like a master key. It opened up to so many of the brains. Although we do not know and do not care to know what does the word stand for or where did it come from?
It speaks so mych about what meaning we attach to words. We pour of ourselves into and onto the words like they were cups to be filled with labels of the words on them. Like words were nothing real but like cups into which we filled a part of ourselves and kept them stored.
When I would speak to my beloved and the conversation was about to end, especially on a note where we had to end it without wanting to. Maybe in case of making it through the night talking and now it was time for our offices. Or maybe when one of us had to go and we could not continue talking about whatever it was we were pouring ourselves over. Or when we were angry at each other after a fight and yet did not wish to disconnect but were forced to, because two parts of us was at war and the one saying we should stop talking, was winning.
When in such times, the O.K.s we shared were brimming with our emotions. And if the word was followed with our respective petnames, the ones we gave to each other out of love for each other like we were each other’s pets, the Okay seem to swell and engulf both of us in that moment. And then it did not matter if we were 3 miles or 3000 miles apart. We would be together at that moment, aware of the fact that we somehow, digitally, but very really, connected.
The guy from the TED talk also said these habits of people associating things to words on their own, spoke immensely about how we look at language. How words have no meaning of their own. How we gave them meanings. Which is what I told my family too when a lady in the distant family had begun to openly and publicly abuse the family using abuse words and foul language like it was normal everyday language. I asked them to repeat what they had taught me when I was a kid, crying over being abused my odler brother. That abuses do not get stuck to our bodies and even if they did, they could be removed and thrown away.
I am reminded of a scene from The God of Small Things, when the lower caste guy’s love for the upper caste girl was exposed to the girl’s family. And the mother had spat on the face of the guy, who was the son of the house sweeper. The character was shown to have felt as if he was spat onto his insides, as if the head that hung on his shoulders was ripped open and the spit was poured in there. Like the insults hurled at him were deeply intermingled with the existence of the person. Like he was a bundle of threads and the abuses hurled had entwined themselves in a way unfit for disentangling.
We hear about even trees and plants response to the abuses hurled at them from people. The words may not be important, I guess. It must be the negativity, the will for the tree to be broken and swalloed by death and despair, that finally brings the death of the tree. This technique is used by the nomads in a part of the world to bring down the trees to clear off land and grow food. They do not burn and risk the burning of the entire forest. They simply gather in groups of 5-6 or 10-12 depending on the size of the tree and hurl abuses at it. They are pouring their will to bring about the death of the tree to the tree and it picks up the feelings despite not having any chance of knowing their language.
This speaks deeply about the existing consciousness of even the immobile trees and plants that seemingly are the less developed species of life. At least that is what we like to believe, as humans. Yet they share a consciousness that which runs through us as well. The consciousness that we pour into the cups of words and label them with words calling the tea party as Language. The trees may have a different manner of pouring out their consciousnesses, their language may differ. So if we are not aware fo their languages, how can we ever know about us being the more developed species? How did we come to that conclusion?
And thinking of it this way, what does it now mean to be in love? To say that you are in love with someone or something? Why can I not pour my whole existence in a simple word like O.K. and still make the other person feel loved. Without even using the label of the word love. And maybe not pouring my love into any cups but directly into the being of the beloveds. Having it absorbed by them. Having their heads ripped open and poured in, directly?
Woah, so I just remembered there is a silly Bollywood Romantic movie by the name of Ok Jaanu. Now I am sure they did not have the same thought trajectories I just took. In fact I found the movie to be nothing out of ordinary than the usual romantic Bollywood cinema. Well, even my rants cannot escape the movie buff in me!
Although I do post dedicated stories every Mondays and Thursday, I am also bringing in reflective rants on life and everything that it is made up of – love, friendship, language, expression, art etc to be shared with you.