Deep-Sea, Dark Space, Aryan Khan's Bail Hearing And Urdu History
Sea level—perpetual flux. There is a micromillimetre on the surface of the ocean that moves between sea and sky and is simultaneously both and neither. Every known life-form exists in relation to this layer. Above it, the world of land, air, sunlight, and lungs. Below it, the world of water, depth, and pressure. The deeper you go, the darker, the more hostile, the less familiar, the less measured, the less known.
A splash in the South Pacific, last June, marked a historic breach of that world. A crane lowered a small white submersible off the back of a ship and plonked it in the water. For a moment, it bobbed quietly on the surface, its buoyancy calibrated to the weight of the pilot, its only occupant. Then he flipped a switch, and the submarine emitted a frantic, high-pitched whirr. Electric pumps sucked seawater into an empty chamber, weighing the vessel down. The surface frothed as the water poured in—then silence, as the top of the submersible dipped below the waterline, and the ocean absorbed it.
Most submarines go down several hundred metres, then across; this one was designed to sink like a stone. It was the shape of a bulging briefcase, with a protruding bulb at the bottom. This was the pressure hull—a titanium sphere, five feet in diameter, which was sealed off from the rest of the submersible and housed the pilot and all his controls. Under the passenger seat was a tuna-fish sandwich, the pilot’s lunch. He gazed out of one of the viewports, into the blue. It would take nearly four hours to reach the bottom.
Sunlight cuts through the first thousand feet of water. This is the epipelagic zone, the layer of plankton, kelp, and reefs. It contains the entire ecosystem of marine plants, as well as the mammals and the fish that eat them. An Egyptian diver once descended to the limits of this layer. The feat required a lifetime of training, four years of planning, a team of support divers, an array of specialized air tanks, and a tedious, thirteen-hour ascent, with constant decompression stops, so that his blood would not be poisoned and his lungs would not explode.
The submersible dropped at a rate of about two and a half feet per second. Twenty minutes into the dive, the pilot reached the midnight zone, where dark waters turn black. The only light is the dim glow of bioluminescence—from electric jellies, camouflaged shrimp, and toothy predators with natural lanterns to attract unwitting prey. Some fish in these depths have no eyes—what use are they? There is little to eat. Conditions in the midnight zone favor fish with slow metabolic rates, weak muscles, and slimy, gelatinous bodies.
After two hours in free fall, the pilot entered the hadal zone, named for the Greek god of the underworld… Past twenty-seven thousand feet, the pilot had gone beyond the theoretical limit for any kind of fish. (Their cells collapse at greater depths.) After thirty-five thousand feet, he began releasing a series of weights, to slow his descent. Nearly seven miles of water was pressing on the titanium sphere. If there were any imperfections, it could instantly implode.
The submarine touched the silty bottom, and the pilot, a fifty-three-year-old Texan named Victor Vescovo, became the first living creature with blood and bones to reach the deepest point in the Tonga Trench. He was piloting the only submersible that can bring a human to that depth: his own.
That’s from a more than year-old piece at New Yorker, one of the most satisfying texts I have ever read.
I have spent most of my life by the sea and river. On our yearly visit to an island when we would occasionally spot a dolphin or if very lucky a whale, I would always wonder about the depth of the ocean, what would it be like if I could see the ocean bed, what was the deep-water ecosystem like, and what if a whale just overturned our boat, I would always always make sure I had sight of the nearest shore, the direction of water current, which way would it be easy to swim, was there anything on the boat that I could pick that would ease my way to the shore. Kid you not, when you are in the middle of the sea with such depths, there is so much under you that you are unaware of, not those that might be but also that you don’t even know exists but surely does. The danger is always just a millisecond away. It’s frightening and in equal measure exciting. And so, now and then, just like the Little Prince, I go back to this piece and read it randomly. It is especially satisfying when you’re sitting by the sea. If you needed some view, here was mine a few days ago from one evening. No filters.
Just like the deep sea is unexplored and largely unknown so is outer space. There are things there that which we don’t know about, things we still haven’t found explanations for and things we don’t even know exists.
The unknown is frightening and in equal measure exciting. Curiosity is what has got us to where we are. Both in good ways and in bad. We are always looking for something new; I for one regularly listen to podcasts while on the go, while exercising, running, or when just getting ready - whenever there’s time to lower other senses and just listen - I put on some podcasts. And during this exercise of going all ears, I have discovered some of the wondrous things. One such happened recently while listening to a Radio Lab podcast.
Radiolab is a radio program produced by WNYC, a public radio station in New York City, and broadcast on public radio stations in the United States. They cover science, legal history and all things under the sun; they ask deep questions and do extensive investigative journalism. Sometimes it baffles me to the lengths they go to do a story. And so their show is quite popular even outside US since most of the topics they cover have global consumption value and so the show is available as a podcast too. Radiolab was founded by Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich in 2002.
Apparently, each astronaut at the international space station can make one request to talk to an earthling of their choice. And for some reason, one astronaut, Mark van der High, chose RadioLab.
Now imagine being in space, you’re basically floating in the ether. If you think of it, even all of us are floating in space right now. It’s just that we all are aboard a large spaceship called earth that is so huge compared to our size and perceptions that it is practically impossibly to view out of the window and grasp at our wondrous travel. But that’s not so with a space station. And so people at RadioLab and this Astronaut in space start talking, on a video call, arranged of course by NASA. Imagine the significance of it. One is in space and one on earth. The vast expanse of nothingness between them and also this ethereal connection through which they were communicating.
Living on earth we simply don’t realise how close we are to space, the dark space. That the people who live on Earth are all actually under a very skinny, protective wrapper. It's been described as less thick than the skin of an apple around an apple. All of us, just a few miles from the darkness. How lucky and precious a world we inhabit.
When you imagine the dark, absence of light, what do you imagine? Most likely you imagine the colour black but you see, the colour black that we usually see is also a product of light penetrating and all the physics. Dark space or deep ocean isn’t dark because of its colour but because of the absence of anything. Nothing exists there. That’s a different kind of dark.
Darkness is an interesting theme in space. Because there's nowhere where the contrast between light and dark is any more extreme.
…
he says there have been times when he's just sort of out there floating in space next to the craft, and maybe the, uh, the ship tilts a little bit, and the wing blocks the light that's coming from the sun or the moon. And it creates a shadow, and he says the darkness of that shadow - Is blacker than any black you thought it could be. Out there in space, the shadow has no light lin it. There's no reflected light from dust in the air, the Earth around you, or clouds. It's just pure, absolute dark. And, you can reach into a shadow so deep, so black, that your arm can appear to disappear. Right in front of your face. Your head is in the bright light, and your arm is in this depth of darkness.
I absolutely loved listening to this conversation. Highly recommend you give it a listen too.
The usual colour black (think black paint) absorbs around 90 per cent of the light that falls on it which enables us to not just see it but also see its shadows which in turn make us capable to grasp depths. But what would happen if there was black that could absorb more than 99 per cent of light falling on it?
Well, play this and see for yourself.
Dune, arguably one of the best sci-fi novels ever written and largely considered unfilmable is showing in theaters now.
'You lead well,' Paul protested.
'You govern well. Men follow you willingly and love you.'
'My propaganda corps is one of the finest,' the Duke said.
'Sir?'
'We mustn't run short of film base,' the Duke said.
'Else, how could we flood village and city with our information? The people must learn how well I govern them. How would they know if we didn't tell them?'
'You should get some rest,' Paul said.
That’s from the book. You see, propaganda is important for those in power and so, you and I must be aware of it and consciously fight its barrage and stay vigilant of the real world.
On a lighter tone
Would you fancy listening to me reading something about Bapu?
The Absurd
This abuse is affecting the young boys. They are college going boys (but) this should not be consideration for bail. I need not tell the court, you are the future of our country. The future of the country depends on this generation.
This is not what our freedom fighters had in mind. This is the land of Mahatma Gandhi and Buddha. The investigation is at preliminary stage, this is not the stage for grant of bail.
Milords may consider it (bail plea) at a later stage but not at this stage. We still have to find out how they are connected with each other.
That’s Additional Solicitor General Anil Singh arguing against granting bail to Aryan Khan who is in custody/jail since the night of October 2nd. NCB apparently based on a specific information it had received, conducted a raid on the cruise ship which was about to set sail from the terminal. Khan was intercepted at the terminal even before he could board the ship and was interrogated and searched by the NCB officials. ASG was replying to Khan's counsel Amit Desai who had argued previously that,
The 13 gms of cocaine are not from Khan and neither are the ecstasy pills, mephedrone. Nothing is from him. He did not have cash. He did not have plans to consume or sell drugs.....They are catching hold of many people which is a good job considering there are many offences in Mumbai, but they cannot bring in unconnected persons and keep others in custody.
NCB is putting allegations of international drug trafficking and they even have foreign nationals. But this 'they' use for conspiracy section... NCB has mentioned many accused in the reply, but there are so many accused. Whom are they referring to? This is an extremely well drafted reply! The NCB reply is saying 'they' have connection and close nexus...but 'they' is who? Khan and Merchant?
What do you see in the above picture? I see five people with north Indian features, three are in saris, one in a shalwar-qameez, and one in kurta-pyjama. Ask anyone what are they wearing and they will likely tell you it is Indian traditional attire. Not India’s member of Parliament Tejaswi Surya and other right-wing looners. This image was posted by FabIndia - an Indian chain store that sources handmade garments from rural India - as part of their new ad campaign titled ‘Jashn-e-Riwaaz’ which is an Urdu word meaning ‘the celebration of tradition’. Tesjasvi Surya - a first-class bigot and MP from the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party tweeted,
Deepavali is not Jash-e-Riwaaz.
This deliberate attempt of abrahamisation of Hindu festivals, depicting models without traditional Hindu attires, must be called out.
And brands like @FabindiaNews must face economic costs for such deliberate misadventures.
This was followed by others in his party and close to his ideology eventually leading to FabIndia buckling down and taking down their ad campaign. But what was this tweet? What was he saying?
depicting models without traditional Hindu attires - What exactly is Hindu attire in his view anyway? Sari, salwar-kameez, kurta-pyjama is not? And what is ‘abrahamisation of Hindu festivals’? The Urdu word and Urdu language? Well, late Sushma Swaraj, one of his parties tallest leaders was in Pakistan in the December of 2015 wearing a green sari. At one venue which had then Pakistani PM Nawaz Sharif in attendance along with other international dignitaries, she spoke in chaste Urdu. Such was her command over the language that Pakistan Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif praised her Urdu during their 40-minute conversation. He said, “Sushma Swaraj’s Urdu is better than mine”. Some in India weren’t impressed. To them Swaraj later commented, “There was nothing wrong in wearing green saree and speaking Urdu as it is one of the Indian languages. What should I speak? Urdu is a language of my nation as well.” And she is absolutely right since Urdu was indeed born in India - some say on the streets of ours capital. Time to dive into some quick history, shall we?
Urdu and Hindi
Urdu has been referred to as Hindustani, Hindavi, Dehlavi and Rekhta at different points in time. It is written in nastaliq/نستعلیق script.
Assistant Professor and Coordinator of Department of Urdu Punjab University, Chandigarh, Prof. Ali Abbas, said that all the historical references indicate that origin of Urdu had taken place in Punjab state of India and the great poet Ameer Khusro, in his book ‘Ghurrat-ul- Kamal’ had written that Masood Lahori (Masood Saad Salman), a renowned poet who was born in Lahore in 11th century) had composed poetry in Hindvi (Urdu), which is also called Dehlavi. This shows that Urdu was very much originated from Punjab as Lahore was the part of greater Punjab only before the partition. In fact in Punjab, all old records in the Revenue Department are available in Urdu language only. The subject, object, auxiliary, verb, grammar, tenses of Urdu are very much Indian and like the Hindi language. “Even if it has derived some root words from Persian and Arabic languages then they were changed into Urdu language in India,” he stressed. He also mentioned that we write it from right to left but the same was the case of Punjabi Shahmukhi language which was also written right to left. It then travelled to other parts of India including in the South where it was developed in the form of ‘Dakhni (Deccani) language’.
Everything eventually can be blamed on the British, if you try a little hard.
British Raj in India commenced in 1858 catalyzed by the First War of Indian Independence/بھارتی آزادی کی پہلی جنگ which was fought in the previous year. This meant a few changes. British had transitioned from Persian to the more indigenous Hindustani in 1837. Written in Nastaliq, this language was used by both Hindus and Muslims, in addition to English, in the Indo-British civil service. This decision to promote Hindustani rather than Persian functioned as a way for the British to differentiate themselves from the long shadow cast by the Mughal Empire. It was during this period of British Rule in India that the controversy we now think of between Hindi and Urdu began. Urdu was by then the most spoken language, the language in which most newspapers were printed, the language in which most people read about the atrocities of the British Raj. Although Hindus at this time commonly learnt both scripts, Nastaliq and Devanagari (descended from Sanskrit), in primary school, it was the scribe caste of Hindus, known as Kayasths who truly benefited from the British promotion of Hindustani in Nastaliq as they were the most highly literate Hindus at the time and were able to take up government employment that required such high levels of literacy in numerous scripts and languages easily. Similarly, they made up the vast majority of Hindu scribes during the Mughal Empire as well. Many great writers (مصنف/musanif) we think of today, such as Hindi writer Mahadevi Varma and Hindi-Urdu author Munshi Premchand, hailed from this caste (ذات/zaat).
However, the highest caste of Hindus, the Brahmins, were snubbed by these policies and suffered due to consistently low literacy rates, especially in Nastaliq. Thus, it was primarily this group, especially in Northwestern India, that argued for a change in policy that administrative business is conducted in Devanagari, a script with which they were more comfortable, instead of Nastaliq. Gradually, many groups became involved in a push toward a division (تقسيم/taqseem) between the Hindi and Urdu components of Hindustani, with Hindi becoming progressively more Sanskritized (and thus supposedly “purified”) and Urdu becoming more heavily influenced by Arabic and Persian.
This reading of history while true of Urdu is not entirely true of Hindi. This reading propagates the idea that Hindi is as old as Urdu and that they were kind of both born out of Hindustani or a product of Hindustani languages. Let me confuse you further by saying that this is both right and wrong. Following will help clear the air of confusion.
The early texts of what is now called Hindi literature were written in Braj, Bundeli, Awadhi, Kannauji, Khariboli, Marwari, Magahi, Chhattishgarhi and numerous other such dialects that, in many cases, Hindi has since subsumed. What we know as Hindi today, written in the Devanagari script, is a relatively recent creation. The poet Bharatendu Harishchandra, celebrated as the father of modern Hindi literature, lived in the second half of the nineteenth century. The historian Sumit Sarkar, in his Modern India: 1885-1974, writes that literary Hindi was very much “an artificial creation closely associated with Hindu-revivalist movements.” Bharatendu, Sarkar notes, “combined pleas for use of swadeshi articles with demands for replacement of Urdu by Hindi in courts, and a ban on cow-slaughter.” Around the same period, a historian and linguist named Shivaprasad was promoting another link language, Hindustani. Where Bharatendu’s Hindi was highly Sanskritised, Shivaprasad wanted something closer to the languages already popular at the time. The champions of Hindi were especially offended by Hindustani’s incorporation of Urdu elements.
Hindi carried Brahminical and communal impulses from its inception. Later, its installation as a dominant language came to be a demand in the nationalist movement, though even then this was highly contentious. Anil Chamadia, a veteran journalist who has taught at Mahatama Gandhi International Hindi University in Maharashtra, told me that Bharatendu’s language prevailed because it appealed to the emergent, Brahmin-dominated nationalist movement and administration. The dominant castes, he said, saw in the Sanskritised tongue a tool to further their varchasv, or dominance, over society. Sanskrit, of course, had earlier served exactly that use. Chamadia described Hindi as “varchasv ki dhara”—a stream of dominance. Today, he said, those who control the Hindi language are the same who control the dominant societal narrative.
You get the gist. If you wanted to read further on this aspect of Hindi, do read - Biting My Tongue, What Hindi keeps hidden
We have almost reached the end of this. Wanted to finish it off here but then I’m tempted to talk of one show I remember seeing years ago. It’s a thriller, crime show but with a twist and a great premise. How I discovered this is another great story revolving around a bad date and a lot of beer bottles. But even bad has a silver lining somewhere and this recommendation was that. Please catch this funny riot when you’re ready.
That’s it. See you around with the next one, pretty soon.
In the meantime, look after yourself, stay hydrated and if not too inconvenient, please subscribe and share this with your friends. Thanks.