Archive for February, 2010
A New Relationship to the Urban
Sorry for the crass (and, for those of you on Twitter, the repeated) self-promotion, but just a short post to link to my most recent column in This Magazine. It’s about how the mobile web, in things like Foursquare and Yelp, may help reconfigure our relationship to the urban, bringing to light the hidden corners of cities and, one day at least, fostering something like cultural exchange.
The Trouble Translating Sound
Posted by Nav in Immigration and Diaspora, Pop Culture on February 16, 2010
“Translation is treason.” – Old Italian proverb.
Like so many other 2nd and 3rd generation immigrants, over the past few years I have made various half-hearted attempts at learning my parents’ native tongue – which, in my case, is Punjabi.
No, wait: maybe I should type ‘Panjabi’.
Which is correct? No-one knows. Or, at the very least, nobody agrees. See, in the specific instance of P… – well, that language from Northwestern India and Eastern Pakistan – there is no explicit vowel between the the ‘p’ and ‘n’ sounds in the name of the language. It’s implied. In fact, probably the best way to type the word in English letters would be “P’njabi”. I think.
Which, when you’re slightly OCD about rules in language, is awesome. More to the point, it means that when we are called upon to translate how words sound, most of us are totally at a loss.
Why the confusion? Well, unless you count obscure and difficult to learn phonetic alphabets, there is no easy yet systematized set of rules that state clearly which letters in the latin alphabet signify which sounds in non-latinate languages. And as we see increasingly more examples of linguistic and cultural overlap, where learning languages and translation across cultural lines is a necessity, this feels like a problem that needs solving – ’cause what we have right now is a mess of inconsistency.
Bollywood is great for examples of this. In the word ‘kuch’ in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the ‘u’ stands for a short ‘oo’ sound, as in ‘look’. Yet, in the song “Ishq Samunder” the ‘u’ signifies the same vowel sound as in ‘hut’. Similarly, the ‘a’ in Samunder is pronounced like the a in ‘ago’, while in ‘gham’ in Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham, the ‘a’ stands for a long ‘ah’ sound like in ‘car. Oh, settle in – we’re just getting started.
Sometimes this long ‘ah’ sound goes by a single ‘a’, but at other times it is indicated by ‘aa’, which is why you get both ‘dal’ and ‘daal’ on restaurant menus, and why most non-Indians pronounce – erm, dhaal? – as if it were the first syllable of the word ‘Dalhousie’. Fun!
More complicated, however, is that in… - crap: P’njaabi? – and hundreds of other languages, sounds exist which latinate letters can’t explicitly designate. Going back to ‘dal’, the first sound of the word is a soft d, formed by pushing the tongue against the fleshy bit just above one’s teeth and flattening the tip, making a sound halfway between ‘d’ and ‘th’. Because of this, many words with this soft d sound have it written as ‘dh’.
Trouble is, one has to distinguish between the aspirated and non-aspirated versions of the sound (i.e. the ones with and without ‘a strong exhale of breath’). The… fine! P’njahbee! – word for cilantro starts with the aspirated form of the ‘soft d’ syllable, which you make by placing the flattened tip of your tongue against the spot where the roof of your mouth and teeth meet and then exhaling air with the production of the sound (while, naturally, you spin anti-clockwise three times, glancing up at the sky at those times the moon is in the third quadrant).
So, when using latin script, some write the word for coriander as dhhania, others as dhania and others, most confusingly, as dhdhania, where the repetition indicates the aspiration. Keep in mind that that ‘a’ here is now the same sound as the ‘u’ in ‘cut’ – but that when you put ‘dhhania’ into ‘dal’, the a in ‘dal’ which should be better written ‘dhaal’, sounds like the ‘a’ in ‘czar’.
What? That’s totally clear. Or not.
Of course, one could object to a call for formalisation and systematization, claiming that it unnecessarily restrains creativity and play. But trip-ups in language are only fun when you’re in on the joke. To wit, linguistic slippage is entertainment to word-nerds, but just frustrating for everyone else.
People need to learn languages – and just as importantly, they should learn languages. The era of monolingualism should end; to speak only one language seems out of touch with the global future offered by the internet, particularly if we want to avoid online monoculture and foster something like real cultural exchange.
And in order to begin learning a language, I think some translation from one script to another is necessary. It’s all well and good to insist one simply learn a new script, but it’s not an easy thing, and represents a hurdle that slows fluency considerably. If one can use a phonetic spelling of another language, you can get going a heck of a lot more quickly. And if translating sound is a necessary intermediate step, then we really need to figure out how we’re going to do that.
So, who’s up for the challenge? ‘Cause, I’ll be honest – I could really use some help with this P’njaabee.
Coraline: The First Film Actually “Like a Video Game”?
Posted by Nav in Culture of Technology, Video Games, Wax Reel on February 14, 2010
Coraline came out some time ago, but I was watching it again recently and decided to quickly jot down these thoughts that I’ve had for some time now.
Film critics love to insult a movie by suggesting it’s ‘like a video game’. I will (in this post, anyway) stay away from everything that’s wrong with that sentiment. But what if, rather than imitating the ethos of an action video game, a film was formally put together like one?
(Erm, spoilers ahead? I mean, Coraline is a kids film, so you know how it all pans out. But it’s so good – if you haven’t seen it, maybe you want to go in surprised?)
See, before I saw Coraline, my friend emailed me a note with that exact sentiment: “You should see it, Nav. It’s the first film I’ve seen structured like a video game”. I didn’t quite know what he meant – but it certainly intrigued me.
When I saw the film, I understood. There are two worlds in the film; one is a copy of the other, but both full of slippages and also glimmers of how it all, at any moment, might fall apart. This other world is sustained by a set of rules, an it is structured so as to entice Coraline to move through it.
The other world becomes a place where a quest must be played out. What does our heroine have to do to succeed? She must collect glowing red orbs.
Most interesting to me, however, is the following: Coraline is beckoned into the other world by a Coraline doll – a copy of herself that is both like her and not like her. It is the copied self – the avatar – that becomes the linkage between this world and that other one.
It is Coraline’s avatar that links her to the virtualised version of her life.
Maybe it’s just me, but I think there’s something neat about that.
(Though I should note, I don’t think it’s quite as neat as the film’s completely delightful soundtrack.)
Inching Toward the Real of Yourself
Posted by Nav in Cultural Theory, Culture of Technology on February 13, 2010
Those lovable far-left loons at The Guardian have recently started an “In Theory” series on their book blog in which they highlight important developments in literary theory. Their first was on Barthes’ and the death of the author; their most recent is on Rene Girard and the concept of mimetic desire:
Girard’s premise is the Romantic myth of “divine autonomy”, according to which our desires are freely chosen expressions of our individuality. Don Quixote, for instance, aspires to a chivalric lifestyle. Nothing seems more straightforward but, besides the subject (Don Quixote) and object (chivalry), Girard highlights the vital presence of a model he calls the mediator (Amadis de Gaule in this instance). Don Quixote wants to lead the life of a knight errant because he has read the romances of Amadis de Gaule: far from being spontaneous, his desire stems from, and is mediated through, a third party. Metaphysical desire – as opposed to simple needs or appetites – is triangular, not linear. You can always trust a Frenchman to view the world as a ménage à trois.
So, fun right? ‘Cause it suggests that the linear movement of narrative is a movement of the protagonist towards an idealised version of herself – or, as I phrase it, that the subject is moving toward the real of itself – through a mediator who almost works as a catalyst: crucial, but who doesn’t get used up in the equation.
Perhaps more interesting though is the notion that mimetic desire is also at work in Facebook and other SM. To wit, “the whole concept of viral, word-of-mouth marketing follows Girard’s principle according to which the strongest desires are those influenced by an admired third party.” Not mind-blowing, but definitely worth a ponder, particularly if we think of social media as the place where we produce, rather than reflect, ourselves.
The Kantian Skyline
Posted by Nav in Cities, Culture of Technology on February 11, 2010
Courtesy of Flickr user Smaku
On a cloudy day in the summer of 2006, I sat on a bench at Harbourfront in Toronto. With me were two of my aunts and two of my cousins. My relations, who mostly live in northern India, were visiting the city for the first time and I, the ever-dutiful nephew, was showing them around.
Part of the reason I took them to the Lakeshore was the view you see above. I couldn’t quite articulate why, but something about having them see the city’s skyline seemed important to me. But if I were honest with myself, it’s possible that I just wanted to see it myself too.
You see, I had just returned to Toronto after spending a year abroad. The most recent place I had lived was Conamara, a remote area of western Ireland that had more sheep in it than people. The closest town to where I stayed was an hour walk away, a fact I can attest to with some degree of accuracy, as it was the closest place one could get a pint of Guinness.
Returning to a large city after a stay in such a quiet, empty place wasn’t quite a shock, per se. After all, other than my time in Ireland, I have only ever lived in large cities; they’re all I know. But, with the fresh eyes of my family next to me, it was a chance to reconsider the city, to hopefully, almost, kind of see it for the first time.
As my cousin Shagun and I sat on a bench, sipping our Canadian java, it was hard not to look at the array of buildings before us and consider, in awe, that each window was filled with a person – and there were thousands upon thousands of windows before us. Somehow, as time had worn on, I had forgotten that this space I have marked out as my own – this geographical area called ‘a city’ – was a place I shared with millions of other people. Those windows were just the beginning, too – there were hundreds of thousands more out of view. Even after only three months in the Irish countryside, it was a lot to take in.
* * * * *
Skylines are a chance to take in what cannot, in actuality, be taken in. They are like globes of the world, or photos of Antarctica: graphical depictions of things that cannot be contained in representation. One cannot encapsulate and encompass the modern city. The sheer wealth of life, the incessant pulsing of human activity… in the aggregate, it’s too much to consider. Thought of in its entirety, it would bring one to one’s knees, forcing one’s mind to halt as it found itself suddenly overwhelmed.
* * * * *
I have a habit of wandering through my neighbourhood at odd times of the night. It’s one of the few times I feel alive. Sometimes, as I walk through the dark, quiet streets, it brings a smile to my face to think “I bet you some people nearby are making love right now”.
The city I call home is in the midst of a construction boom. Go any place high and you’ll see the cranes dotting the skyline and everywhere you look, skyscrapers are going up. Some are modest 30 storey buildings that will add a small sense of visual gravity to an area; others, at 60 or 70 floors, will aggressively force their way into the skyline that awaits us in the future. As I watch these buildings creep ever higher, all I can think is: yes; more.
“And when I got there… man! There were people and giant buildings everywhere! And you know, that’s when I thought to myself: this place right here? This is somewhere, man. This is where things happen. This is the centre of something big.”
The skyline is the modern sublime: the view in the face of which one can only acknowledge insurmountable and incomprehensible magnitude. And there’s something to that: to place yourself amidst an inconceivably massive web of human activity is to situate oneself amongst the contemporary, forever slipping into the future.
For years now, I’ve been obsessed with the idea of the public canvas. Perhaps because I’m a minority, I’ve always focused on what it means to see yourself in the public sphere, to be able to think of oneself as a ‘legitimate’ part of a society. I want to look up at the sky and imagine myself there.
The skyline – the grand, collected mess of the big city – is also the public canvas. It’s a visual measure of the scope of potential that lies before one, an aggregation of the human activity immediately available. It is the sign of the big city and its attendant wealth of culture. It is like peering into the mess and mass of a server farm at Google: it’s a symbolic gesture toward the things it produces, the lines of flight that scatter off in every direction.
Courtesy of Flickr user Appleswitch
The skyline is the sign of the new network.
The skyline is the exemplary metonym, and the outline of massive buildings against clouds and sun haunts my dreams.
Wax Interlude: Work Music
Posted by Nav in Music, Wax Interlude on February 1, 2010
So, it’s late at night. You’re working – I mean, it’s really going. You may have a cup of tea next to you, and you’re typing away like mad. And you need something relaxed – but not too relaxed – to listen to. So, maybe you wanna’ throw on this track, by Lucas Santtana, ’cause it helps you stay focused while still keeping your brain enlivened. That’d be good, right?
