Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Sometimes, I don’t understand the point of rigorous scientific studies, like the one referenced in this article. The title of the article says it all - “You are less beautiful than you think”.

Really? Someone would actually go to such great lengths to emphatically state that our perception of our beauty/worth is way more bloated than reality? That we, in fact, look uglier than we think?

That’s all we need today, isn’t it? Someone to justify our qualms that the reflection we see in the mirror is way more unflattering than some of us already imagine.

I see a fundamental issue with this study as well. If you were to tell people that their pictures are morphed and then give them several choices from which they are asked to pick the image that they believe to be un-morphed, of course, people start with a strong bias. All of us want to strongly believe that we look better than how we see ourselves. If a researcher tells us that most images are morphed, we would hang onto that piece of evidence like a life-raft! Everybody innately wants to look good and be their best. Obviously, people would mostly gravitate to a picture that looks slightly flattering, especially if they know the pictures are altered. Nobody would pick a negatively enhanced picture after they are warned by the researchers. Besides, we humans can’t identify  minor differences between images (such as a 10% slight change in facial features etc.). As an objective reader of the paper, even I couldn’t tell the difference between the 10%, 20% and 30% positively and negatively morphed faces.

But, does it really warrant such an extensive study (and an emphatic article) to state the obvious - that we humans like to feel good about ourselves? It’s common sense that most of us don’t like to be masochists. The fact that most participants in the study did not select their original image, but picked an image that was slightly positively enhanced is very telling - most people are not happy with how they actually look and want to believe and hope that they look slightly better. We all nurture the idea (not the belief) of an ideal-self. This illusion of an ideal-self is necessary (to some degree) for self-preservation, and even self-realization.  But it doesn’t mean that we all believe to have already realized this “ideal-self” - we are constantly striving to attain that perfection and idealism, and that’s where the issue is. If women (and men) mostly believe that they are far more better looking and equipped with desirable traits, why are so many of us so insecure and lacking in confidence all the time? Why is every other woman unhappy about some aspect of her physical appearance? Why do brightly lit restroom mirrors scare the living daylights out of (most of) us?

How do such studies corroborate with the realities of the world outside the science labs? And what do they achieve or hope to achieve with this piece of knowledge?

Dove’s recent campaign might be a little stretched. Yes, it has its scientific lapses, but I think it bolsters something way more positive and constructive than certain scientists that resolutely continue to miss the forest for the trees.

Reflections: Room

Jack is a five-year-old who has lived all his life with his young mom in Room - a single 11 by 11 feet room that has a bed, a TV, a wardrobe, a table, a lamp, a bath tub, and sink. To him, anything outside Room is Outerspace, filled with unreal objects and people, like the ones he sees through TV. Room is his sole reality. But when his mom tells him there is more to the world than Room, and that they should try to go out, his precocious little brain turns topsy-turvy. He no longer knows what is real and what is not, what is right and what is wrong, what has rules and what are free, who he is and who he is not. He can’t even comprehend that there are plenty of other humans who share his name in Outerspace. This riveting novel documents Jack’s experiences.

I don’t want to share too much about this book, for part of what makes it special and gripping is its ambiguity and novel (albeit disturbing) plot-line. So, if you would like to read the book (and I highly recommend it), it’s wise to skip the rest of the post, for I may inadvertently spill a few spoilers.

The whole book is narrated by Jack. Emma Donoghue perfectly takes the voice of a confused and innocent five-year-old, who is markedly different from kids his age. Jack is surely developmentally challenged in some ways, and advanced in some other aspects due to the circumstances of his bizarre upbringing. Donoghue beautifully incorporates his unique personality into the narration. I never believed I would read and appreciate an entire novel narrated by a child who is still learning his rules of grammar; even the grammatical errors have been researched to match a five-year-old’s linguistic development (and of course, Jack’s special case). There is so much attention to detail, yet the sentences flow naturally, totally masking the careful effort and research.

You might wonder how a five-year-old’s stilted narration would have captured the dense themes on identity, and existential crisis. Well, that’s the reason why this book is brilliant! I don’t know how, but through Jack’s endearingly simple and honest questions and thoughts, Donoghue has covered a whole gamut of interesting phenomena that isolation causes. Everything about the book is simple, but very deep. I am also amazed that through a few vague, yet vivid descriptions of Jack’s, all the other characters are given their distinct personalities. It’s a feat! Jack’s psyche is completely and realistically fleshed out.

The book is all about how much we take our minds for granted. It’s a reminder that the minds of children are especially sensitive, malleable, and impressionable that even the most subtlest of things alter their ways of thinking. Even our identity as human beings is intrinsically tied to the ways in which our mind shapes, learns, and grows. Although most of our instincts are ingrained, they fizzle out, or are grossly misplaced if they are not cultivated through structured rules that the mind learns and revises through every interaction in the world. Any hitch to such learning and natural interaction, and it’s nearly impossible to re-learn the fundamentals of life and existence. Nearly impossible, not entirely. The mind is so fascinatingly flexible, elastic, and adaptable, that the process by which it reformulates itself to survive and make sense of the world is simply incredible.

Metaphorically, many of us live inside our own version of Room. We each suffer from different forms of the-frog-in-the-well syndrome. Our reality is tightly constrained by what we believed in at one point in life, and what we choose to selectively believe in. It’s not healthy for us to limit our thinking and understanding of the world to a very small fraction of one side of reality.

The book is a moving and fascinating read. It’s a very interesting psychological study. I am so impressed that the book packs so much emotion and thought through a child’s voice. It's one of my most unique and impressive reads.

Reflections: The Enchantress of Florence

A man with cascading yellow-colored hair, donning a multicolored leather coat, strides confidently into the lavish court of the great Mughal emperor, Akbar. He calls himself by many ambiguous names, charms the emperor with his wit, his pleasing scent, and his mysteriously magical stories. At a time when the Emperor is longing for company, and for intellectual discussions on religion and life, the questions of which were stirring his soul, the yellow-haired man makes himself the Emperor’s listening board and confidante. He soon earns the name, “Mughal of Love”. Yet, Akbar’s mind is not at peace, for this strange man was slowly unwrapping a story about his grand-aunt, Babur’s bewitchingly beautiful sister, the supposedly banished princess, the enchantress, Qara-Koz. The implications of the story were profound - it meant that the strange man in multicolored clothes, bearing an Italian name, could be a half-Mughal. The weight rested on Akbar to cull the truth from the story.

The book is no doubt, alluring. It crafts an incredibly imaginative story, combining fact with fiction in a way nobody would have previously considered. The woman who was cast away from the Mughal lineage finds her way to Florence, Italy, after passing hands from the Shah of Persia, who had earlier captured her and her sister as conquests of war. This enchantress, Qara Koz, lights a flame within the hearts and minds of the people of the Mughal land. Merely through a story, whose truth nobody could ascertain, the persona of the enchantress creeps into people’s lives, making them curious, cautious, anxious, jealous, suspicious, and venomous. A mere wisp of a thought floating from a story, had the power to corrupt and fascinate. The Emperor is however, obsessed. He passionately adores his grand-aunt, completes missing gaps in her life and personality, and gives life to the figment of his imagination. To him, she soon started to exist in life, much like his other imaginary, but most beloved wife, Jodha.

This, in essence, is the main take-away from the book. Akbar’s imagination, and the will of his thoughts were so strong and vivid, that he could give life to a fragment of his thoughts. Reality blurred with illusion, the boundaries bled into each other and reversed roles. That which is real, fades away in the background, while the illusion, comes alive. It might seem silly and hallucinogenic, but that’s how most of us live our lives. We selectively snatch aspects of reality and ignore several others. We form a cohesive story out of the little bits of reality we piece together, extend and complete the missing pieces with a favorable, imaginative bent. Once the will of our imagination solidifies, we become blind to reality itself. This is how half-baked, rigid opinions are formed, and then stagnate, impervious to any form of rational intrusion. This is also how  most of our likes and dislikes of people are born.

Surely interesting. However, as an anticlimax, Rushdie’s words were not as layered or deep, and I didn’t  have to wait till the end of the book to glean this. The symbolism or message, so to speak, was obvious from the first few chapters of the book. I relished these initial chapters, and even thought so far as to consider this as one of the best books I would read. But, a huge but at that, I was disappointed. The story meandered far too much. It was convoluted and bizarre, but didn’t convey much, or so I think. There was plenty of potential in the initial part of the book - wonderful questions on God, Religion, reality and the Human Ego, that Akbar muses on. But sparing a few wise sentences, none of the questions were developed or integrated into the story.

The book also hints at the need for tolerance between cultures. The story highlights Akbar’s tolerance and openness (specifically, between the East and the West). Akbar viewed the integration of new ways of thinking and living to be paramount for the development of the human race. Rushdie fabulously portrays Akbar’s progressive attitude. His personality was sketched well, and the Mughal Empire was tantalizingly described and brought to life.

I never thought I would say this, but Rushdie’s prose was a delight to read. I finally understand why he is extolled for his word-plays. His sentences are simple, yet complex, sparse, yet lush. Although I lost interest in the story, I latched onto the book to read the prose. Of course, I also harbored some measure of curiosity to learn how the story ended, if at all Rushdie had a surprise waiting there. But there was none, or so I think. I can never be sure after reading Rushdie’s books.

Digested Thoughts: It is worth reading the first 100 pages of the book - for the clever writing, and the threads of wisdom and wit. Beyond that, I found the story stretched out and without much meaning. Qara-Koz’s tale was enigmatic, and incestuous. I don’t understand the need for, and the import of the latter part. So, in comparison to Rushdie’s other works, I would rate this book as surely not as interesting or deep. If you’ve read this book, please share your thoughts and educate me on the other aspects I’ve missed. 

 

Reflections: One Hundred Years Of Solitude

This much glorified piece of epic literature was on my indefinite wish-list for years together, until recently a dear friend of mine was clairvoyant enough to realize that it was about time I read the book, and had it knocking on my door. The last several days with this book have been a very interesting and exasperating experience, as I still try to pull together enough thoughts to cogently convey my reflections. I guess this is what happens when you start a book with high expectations, and mount double the amount of expectations on you to be able to gather every ounce of brilliance that the book has to offer.

The synopsis is seemingly simple - too simple, as a matter of fact. The book traces seven generations of the South-American Beundia clan, through their trials and tribulations, in the mythical village of Macondo. It might seem like just an epic family saga, but no, the idiosyncrasies of the characters and the magical-realism that is threaded throughout their tales, open multiple vistas of thought and wonder. It’s been discussed that the tale’s newly discovered village of Macondo, with its raging civil wars, and its baby steps towards civilization have parallels with Latin-American History. Just as History repeats, the Beundia family traits are inherited and repeated across generations. But unfortunately, I know nothing of Latin-American history to have grasped the underlying symbolism of the characters and the occurrences, which is perhaps one of the reasons I am still beating around the bush trying to define the tale or the book. If I’m begged to not over-think it, I would say it’s a tale which vividly sketches both the intensely mundane and the extremely profound aspects of humanity. The tale is a mixture of everything stark and contradictory about human nature, and the journeys we undertake.

However, my biggest angst with the book is that I couldn’t orient myself to a theme...a nice sturdy one to anchor myself to the tale and let the words guide my exploration. I’m not sure if my lack of historical knowledge or my needless pressure to find a profound theme has left me floundering in the depths of this book. Books dealing with magical realism tend to cause such a reaction in me - I’m never sure if I am reading too much, or too little into the tale, the symbolism, and the metaphors. I’m left nervous like a school kid trying to decipher a cryptic puzzle, which only the smart kids can solve. Surely, a Nobel Prize winning book has much more to say than humanity’s weird afflictions, and repeated patterns? It surely has so many more rich layers which have completely bounced off me? If I had induced myself to forget the book's phenomenal accreditation, I might have simplified the experience of reading this book, and maybe even unraveled more from the tale.

But these are just frustrations with myself, not necessarily with the book. The brilliance of the prose, the beautiful imagination, the creativity of the narration and its psychological preciseness leave one spellbound. The tale’s mysticism and eroticism are bewitching, making the reader hang on to hypnotic words which move in and out of the lulling mundanes of the tale.

Without the fear of being labeled a simpleton, I will venture to say that to me, the book spoke a lot about the significance of solitude (how easy, let me run with a theme that the book’s title has). Every character went through their lives with their flaws, acted rashly on instincts, fed their irrational fires, and kept occupying themselves with ignorance and the desire to evade their inner-self, until the ruins of old-age and loneliness left them to their own solitude. In solitude, understanding dawns, wisdom sprouts. It disconnects people from reality, but keeps them within a safe distance, to judiciously help them understand the boundaries of reality, and their place in it. When solitude is shared between two people, nothing gets them closer - emotionally and mentally. I truly believe that silence conveys more than words. Each character vacillated in and out of solitude, trying to grapple with the illusions in their life, and the realities of their existence. Some choose to stay in their world of illusions, for reality is far too boring and mundane, while others nourish their understanding of themselves by actively seeking solitude.

And while history definitely repeats itself in the Beundia household, so it does in the grand scheme of humanity. For centuries we have done the same things, acted on the same impulses, lost on the same instincts, won on the same shrewd  territorial games, disguised as higher, nobler causes. The cave man ate, drank, mated, reared children, brought home material, fought, made mistakes, and grew up in much the same way as the present generation does - the means maybe different and “sophisticated” now. But we are driven by the same forces, and we act on them just as our ancestors did, eons back. In that sense, what really is progress, from then to now? As the wheels of time circles on, where is the peak, the end? Do we ever break out of the cycle? How dramatic should a change be to reinvent the scales of progress, and the ways we lead our life?

The book has assuredly sparked such interesting questions, but for the most part I’m still disconcerted that I have missed plenty more. If you would care to enlighten me on other aspects of the book, I’ll be much obliged!