Again Thinking

Thinking of the past always raises questions of culture.


For example, what is the culture of one who is born in one place, heir to a culture thousands of years old, who goes as a child to another place and is thrown into at least three other cultures, one of which is that of the colonial rulers and two others equally as old and vibrant?

And who as a result writes in a language not his own as if it were, since he was educated in it.

But can barely read and write his mother tongue?

They say we live in a global society.

By which they mean we can wear western clothes, eat hamburgers and watch BBC and CNN, reruns of american movies and sitcoms in a billion homes and hotels and aspire to this diaphanous thing called democracy, this illusion that it is each individual who has the right to choice.

Within limits, of course.

So what is culture? Is it dance, music, language, history - The syntax of all these set in patterns of right and wrong and sanctified by longevity?

Once upon a time culture aslo defined race but that is unpolitic now with global migration. so what is the cement of culture?

Will future multi racial generations be able to avoid anomie and a sense of unbelonging?

Otherwise the only things we will be able to call our own will be jingoistic appeals to your country right or wrong.

When we start speaking of axis of evil because others do not believe exactly as we want them to, maybe it is already too late.

A poem that is one part of my culture:


ajanta

caves, like minds, have finite depth
yours squat under malignant rock
offer us dead spirit and dying beauty.
but our sun has grown cruel
and hunger has little beauty.
we cannot bear reality or paint
forget how caves grew large
as handheld chisels tore solid rock
to document this serene face
whose dark eyes awake from innocence
into despair


from After the Hard Hours, This Rain
Woodrose Publications, Singapore , 1975

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