Yesterday, my social media feeds were flooded with appreciation for Kalki Koechlin's new video: a poem on the rising influence of media and social networks, podiums that have now become opportunities to hype and fabricate events, reducing concern to simply a straight face staring at a screen, typing away, desperate to be a part of the global conversation that's nothing more. The rising influence of media that objectifies, ridicules, and embarrasses women who have an opinion, and judge them on the basis of their "desirability". The rising influence of narrow minds, ironically resulting from an environment where individuality was meant to flourish.
In simpler words, a rise in the influence of other people's opinions.
'Chrrring out the marks of sin
Cut out of the clothes you're in
The men with whom you've been
The colour of your skin'
The world's now become mistaken for a money making machine, where numbers mean more than humanity, and words speak louder than actions. A truly selfish world, where we live in our own heads, and lift our noses up from our screens only to put them in someone else's business. A world where you can't differentiate between truth and dishonesty, because after all, our alter egos seem to easily manifest themselves when we're tapping mindlessly, immediately fading away when we're truly alone.
'Our machines sing obliviously
Chrrring magazines
With shiny sheens
To accommodate setups socially serene
A world we can buy into,
A dream we can hang on to,
A love that divides one into two,
Values that depend on what others think of you.
And you know the tune,
You are what you say and not what you do.'
All we need is the word "exclusive" for our eyes and ears to take notice. They say news spreads like wildfire, but aren't we the "curious" tinder it feeds on? Behind all the yelling and badmouthing, we end up celebrating crime because it gives us an opportunity to be relevant; to be considered as someone worthy of listening to.
'Until our existence becomes just a little series,
Of dailies, weeklies, stories that become our histories.
Which, in the irony of all ironies,
Will one day reveal,
How our great Indian heritage
Fell to its knees
At the mercy of innocent
Little
Printing
Machines.'
Negativity has found its way of seeping into our daily lives and brainwashing us with baseless stereotypes and obligations. And I am in no way denying that I am a part of this superficial society, but at the same time I can't say I don't have a problem with it. Triviality has begun to starve all and any authenticity of air, choking it until it blends into the standardised community we live in. But, Kalki's beautiful poem is an example of the miraculous survival of such authenticity and rawness, and I'll definitely keep an eye out for what she has to say from now on. Simply because, she gets it.
And I hope you get it too.
And don't forget to check it out: