Journal articles on the topic 'Sanskrit Songs'

Literatures have been studied orally before taking written form. History makes it clear that such songs were written during the Sanskrit period. These oral literatures shed light on the life and history of a country and its flaws and serve as a mirror that reveals the cultures, customs, and ancient thoughts of the people. Although the study of folk songs on the world stage has been in vogue for a long time, it came into practice in Tamil Nadu in the 19th century and then came into the study. However, it has not been advanced as a separate discipline in the University of Sri Lanka to date. Instead, the study of folk songs is being carried out in collaboration with the Tamil Department.In the case of Batticaloa Tamil Nadu, the close connection between India and Sri Lanka due to migration, migration and migration from ancient times can be seen from the identification of Tamils as the first and last king of Sri Lanka.Therefore, it is possible to realize that folk songs are widespread among the people of Batticaloa as there was not only Tamil Nadu connection but also Indian national connection. The songs are arranged in the form of Ritual, Rain and Famine, Lullaby, Game, love, Marriage, Family, Community, Relationship and Career, Obpari, Swing, Satire, Mother Songs.These songs explore love songs, present the feeling of love found in them, show how they fit in with the general characteristics found in the literature of Sangala Agathi and reveal aspects of the Batticaloa socio-cultural hierarchy. The gist of the song is not to give a direct meaning, but to explain its essence. They are classified as motherly songs, Fatherly songs, Leader songs, Leader songs, Friend songs, and General songs.

Ginan bolore nit nure bharea;Evo haide tamare harakh na maeji.Recite continually theginanswhich are filled with light;Boundless will be the joy in your heart.Ginansare devotional songs rooted in the musical and poetic matrix of Indian culture. The term “ginan” carries a double significance: on the one hand, it means “religious knowledge” or “wisdom,” analogous to the Sanskrit wordjnana(knowledge). On the other hand, it means “song” or “recitation,” suggesting a link to the Arabicghannaand the Urdu/Hindighana, both verbs meaning “to sing.” For the past seven hundred years, Ismailis from the Indian subcontinent (Satpanth Khoja Ismailis) have been recitingginansas a part of their daily religious devotions at the congregational hall (Jamat Khana).

Along with human civilization, arts have developed. Until the last period of the Vedic era no independent texts related to music are available, however, references to music art are definitely found at the place. In the Rigveda, many references are found in connection with the three songs, instruments and dances. In the Rigveda, words like Geer, Gatu, Gatha, Gayatra and Geeti were used for the song. These were all contemporary song types and had the basis of verses and singing style. For the song and its tune, it was also the name 'Sama'. Sama has been a synonym for Dhun or Swaravali. These were fumes sung under erstwhile public music. Vedic mantras were sung on the lines of these. Music was suitable for both Lokaranjan and Ishwar Ranjan, such was the belief of Vedic Aryans. Singing of mantras was considered more effective than simple recitation or recitation of mantras on the occasion of Yajna. In ancient music both words and vowels were considered to be of equal importance. Vedic hymns began to be sung, as words were required to sing the song. In ancient music, the importance of both word and tone was considered. This alliance of vowels and words was called 'Sama'. मानव सभ्यता के साथ-साथ कलाओं का विकास हुआ है । वैदिक युग के अंतिम कालखण्ड तक संगीत संबंधी कोई स्वतंत्र ग्रंथ उपलब्ध नहीं है तथापि संगीत कला के संबंध में उल्लेख स्थान पर अवश्य प्राप्त होते हैं । ऋग्वेद में गीत, वाद्य और नृत्य तीनों के संबंध में अनेक उल्लेख पाये जाते हैं। ऋग्वेद में गीत के लिए गीर, गातु, गाथा, गायत्र तथा गीति जैसे शब्दों का प्रयोग किया जाता था । यह सभी तत्कालीन गीत प्रकार थे और इनका आधार छन्द और गायन शैली थी । गीत तथा उसकी धुन के लिए ‘साम‘ संज्ञा भी रही । साम धुन या स्वरावली के लिए पर्यायवाची शब्द रहा है। यह तत्कालीन जनसंगीत के अंतर्गत गायी जाने वाली धुनेें थीं । इन्हीं के तर्ज पर वैदिक मन्त्र गाये जाते थे । संगीत लोकरंजन तथा ईश्वर रंजन दोनों के लिए उपयुक्त है, ऐसी वैदिक आर्यों की धारणा थी । यज्ञ के अवसर पर मंत्रों के साधारण पाठ या पठन की अपेक्षा मंत्रों का गायन अधिक प्रभावशाली माना जाता था । प्राचीन संगीत में शब्द और स्वर दोनों का समान महत्व माना जाता था। गीत गाने के लिए शब्दों की आवश्यकता होती है, इस रूप में वैदिक ऋचाएँ गाई जाने लगी। प्राचीन संगीत में शब्द और स्वर दोनों का महत्व माना जाता था । स्वर तथा शब्द का यही गठबन्धन ‘साम‘ कहलाता था ।

Sangam literature is a time mirror that reflects life events in languages ​​in which the heroism and generosity of four hundred kings have been described. From time immemorial, the Guru has been revered as a deity after his mother and father as the Guru's deity. The idea that only the Guru can heal the family, the student, and the country has been around. In Sanskrit literature, poets had the right to rebuke the king and to give him loving advice to make the country prosperous for the good of a king. In the late nineteenth century, poets primarily portrayed the heroism and generosity of kings through their songs. Not only male poets but also female poets excelled in this. Songs sung by individual poets All the songs in this book are sung about public justice without being sung about anyone There are hundreds of poets who mention the names of poets but also mention the names of kings.

Tamil language and literature have flourished with speeches composed by speechwriters. Are greatly aiding researchers who think innovatively. Texts serve as a bridge between linguistic research and e-literary criticism. The texts convey how the Tamil language has changed over time, as well as the living conditions, political changes and customs of the Tamil people. This article explores the history and textual ability of Nachinarkiniyar. Nachinarkiniyar was a knowledgeable and knowledgeable man of various arts, writing semantics for songs, and also possessing the art of religious ideas, music, drama, etc., which are included in the book. He is well versed in grammar, literature, dictionary, epic and puranam in Tamil. He is well versed in astrology, medicine, architecture, and crops. Nachinarkiniyar, who has written for Tamil grammar books, is well versed in the Vedic and phylogenetic theory of Sanskrit and is a university-oriented scholar of Tamil, Sanskrit scholarship, religious knowledge, land book knowledge, life and biology. This article explores the history and textual ability of Nachinarkiniyar.

This article explores the richness of language styles and speech used in the lyrics of the song "Raksa" by Soegi Bornean. Against the background of the richness of the existing lyrics and the possibilities that exist in linguistic exploration as found in the title of the song "Raksa" which comes from a foreign language, namely Sanskrit, as well as the use of the song lyrics "Budaya nian bersua", and the aim of this research is to reveal The contribution of songs to the development of diction in song lyrics is due to the large number of vocabulary words in Indonesian that are rarely used. As well as the emotional power of using qualitative descriptive analysis methods to study the language style and figures of speech of the Raksa Song, this research will focus on deciphering the stylistic nuances and revealing the mosaic of metaphorical and idiomatic expressions. The research results further highlight the complexity of the rhetorical figures of speech contained in the song "Raksa" such as in the lyrics which read "Where I look for the soul" of the song, providing insight into its poetic resonance. Therefore, the use of language styles and figures of speech has spread to a deeper scale regarding song lyrics, and has enriched the appreciation of Indonesian songwriting.

Changing the tradition of history is a natural process of nature. In the context of the Dhrupad singing style in the Indian classical music world, if we take a historical view, the practice of singing Dhruva and Prabandha songs before this style was prevalent. The ritual form of Dhruva songs is found in Sanskrit drama texts from pre- to late India. Dhruva has an important place in terms of song composition.Even in the exorcisms used in the puvarang before the Natyarambha, the Dhruvas have special importance due to the use of musical instruments. Originally, the verses of songs which are used within the play are called Dhruva to make those situations intensified or to intensify the character of the characters in various situations of the play. They are also related to the lyricists due to their use of various parts of the lyricists. इतिहास की परम्परा में परिवर्तन होना प्रकृति की स्वाभाविक प्रक्रिया है। भारतीय शास्त्रीय संगीत जगत में ध्रुपद गायन शैली के सन्दर्भ मं हम ऐतिहासिक दृष्टि डालें तो इस शैली के पूर्व ध्रुवा एवं प्रबन्ध गीतों को गाने का प्रचलन था। ध्रुवा गीतों की परम्परा का क्रियात्मक रूप भरत के पूर्व से लेकर परवर्ती संस्कृत नाटक ग्रंथों में पाया जाता है। गीत रचना की दृष्टि से ध्रुवा का महत्त्वपूर्ण स्थान है।नाट्यारम्भ से पहले पूर्वरंग में प्रयुक्त बहिर्गीतों में भी ध्रुवाएं वाद्यप्रयोग की उपरंजक होने के कारण विशेष महत्व रखती हैं। मूलतः नाट्य की विभिन्न परिस्थितियों में रसानुभूति करा कर उन परिस्थितियों को तीव्र बनाने अथवा पात्रों के चरित्र को उभारने के लिए जिन छन्दोबद्ध गीतों का प्रयोग नाट्य के भीतर किया जाता है वे ध्रुवा कहलताी है। गीतकों के विभिन्न अंगों का इनमें प्रयोग होने के कारण ये गीतकों से भी सम्बन्ध है।

Kappiyam are one among the literary forms. It is divided into Perungappiyam and Sirukappiyam. Virtue, materiality, pleasure, home, and a familial life of a husband and wife are the most important in Perungappiyam. This expands into oral literature, self-conscious songs and public songs. Sirukappiyam is a book that rejects all those four subjects of Perungappiyam and it deals with materiality. As Kappiyam we always remember the Aiperum Kappiyam from Silapathikaram to Chintamani and the Ainchiru Kappiyam from Chulamani to Neelakesi. However, Periyapuranam, Kamparamayanam, Villibharathalam, Bharathidasan's Pandyan Parisu, Pulavar Kulanthai's Ravana Kaviyam, Kannadasan's Yaesu Kaviyam are considered as Kappiyam. Among these Tamil Kappiyam’s Silapathikaram, Manimekalai and Periyapuranam have been composed using Tamil folk narrative sensibilities. Other Kappiyam’s are the adaptations from other Sanskrit and Prakrit languages. Silappathikaram and Manimegalai are known as Irattai Kappiyam because they were created at the same time and their stories are also related to each other. Silapathikaram was composed by Ilangovadigal and Manimekalai by Seethalaichathanar. The characters in these kappiyams are called related to each other and so it is called Irattai Kappiyam. This article examines the moral painting theories in Irattai Kappiyam.

As recent research on the former bhaṭṭāraka lineages of Western and Central India has shown, the early modern Digambara tradition, rather than constituting a distinct, and defective, ‘bhaṭṭāraka era’, shows much similarity to contemporary Digambara Jainism. Bhaṭṭārakas were regarded and venerated as ideal renouncers. Many of their practices accorded to those of today’s Digambara munis, and the bhaṭṭāraka saṅghas also featured renouncers of the muni and ācārya ranks, long thought to have abruptly become obsolete in the late medieval period. This new understanding of early modern Digambara Jainism is corroborated by the present article, which deals with early modern bhaṭṭāraka consecration rituals (paṭṭābhiṣeka, dīkṣā). The study is mainly based on two genres of sources. Sanskrit bhaṭṭāraka consecration manuals (dīkṣā-vidhi, pada-sthāpanā-vidhi), firstly, outline the preparations, the ritual proceedings, and the festivities to be held. Some vernacular songs of praise (gīta, etc.) of individual bhaṭṭārakas, secondly, focus specifically on their consecrations. These song compositions confirm many of the manuals’ prescriptions, while also adding elements not attested in the latter. Read in conjunction, both sources allow a relatively detailed understanding of early modern bhaṭṭāraka consecrations, show they closely resembled contemporary Digambara initiations, and confirm the former venerability of early modern bhaṭṭārakas in their own times.

Śloka means stanza, praise or praise, singing and being heard. In the tradition in Bali śloka is the verses of the mantra found in the Vedas. Saying śloka can be said to “follow”. Nyruti means listening. The ancient Rsi before knowing reading and writing conveyed the teachings to their students verbally. The students sat cross-legged while listening to the teachings of the teacher. The teacher delivered the teachings in the form of śloka with songs, so it was<br />interesting for the students to listen. This school is usually used in times of accompanying prayers, yajña ceremonies and for the worship of the people by the Sulinggih. Technically reading the verses of okaloka is with a distinctive rhythm (batten mantra). The language used is Sanskrit. Sound picking is usually at the base of the esophagus so that the sound sounds echoed inward, like the hum of a beetle sucking on flower juice (Bramara angisep sari).

Tamil devotional literature which was prevalent in Tamil Nadu during the Devar period was heavily influenced by Sanskrit literature. On this basis, it is known that many ancient historical incidents have been mentioned in the songs of Devaram. Birth of Gods, the manner in which their relationship is taught, the historical events of the gods, and their heroic deeds can be seen in the devaram. This article explains about the daughter of Umai Malaiyarasan, God Murugan Sivashakti, the story of Brahma and Vishnu searching for a foothold, the story of Vishnu's, the attributes of Shiva bearing Umadevi and Vishnu with half of his body and about the belief in the worship of natural objects such as the moon, Ganges, and Navagraha. It is worth noting that mythological information about the characteristics of minor deities, Indra, Varuna, Agni, Atatiku Balakas, etc., etc., are scattered throughout the Devaram. The purpose of this article is to explore all these in detail.

The study relevance is determined by the need to identify the Ukrainian people worldview formation basis based on the folklore analysis. It is still possible because traditional formulas contained in songs have not changed, therefore a systematic analysis allows us to understand their original meaning. The spring, wedding, initiatory, Kupala motifs presence within the folklore plot “maiden seduction” were analyzed. An archaic ritual reconstruction variant is presented on the conducted analysis basis. Following plot archaic components were considered: characters’ actions correspondence to “heavenly events”, the solar dramaturgy of the “burning” or “drowning” girl description, the Sanskrit etymology of words “ve-sna”, “so-sna” (spring, pine), pine using in the “World Tree” role. An analogy is shown between gods actions Thunderer and Cloud with World Tree ignition in the folklore. Plot solar elements are singled out: the similarity of first dawn rays touching the pine top with the ignition process, the Cossacks movement from the Don or to the Danube coincides with the sun movement, the Kasunya-Zorya image can be understood as the sun reflection in the “Danube” (“great water”). The pine is used in rituals because it is similar to the World Tree: under sun rays, the bark turns golden. And the girl's braid looks like a snake-cloud, so the fellow with sun first rays must cut it off. According to Sanskrit, “so-sna” can mean an illuminated by the sun tree in marriage ceremonies (as a ritual sacrifice), which “burns” and gives drops, “ve-sna” – enveloping nature by the solar wind with life initiation. The bride white veil in the marriage ritual makes her an analogue of Kasunya-Zorya. The plot general meaning is formulated as a world creation description with the cloud-snake breaking near the World Tree, the sun and water marriage, staged at an archaic wedding during the Kupala holiday

Religion is the driving force behind the evolution of society. Human religious believers have interpreted music as the utterances of gods and lauded it as the purest expression of spirituality. Throughout the majority of human history, religious texts have been sung rather than written, and religious behavior has been expressed through prayer or devotional melodies or music in almost all religious traditions. The values, functions, and genres of religious music are culturally diverse and varied. Religious musical forms can transcend cultural barriers. Some religions, such as Buddhism, use music to prepare the mind for meditation by calming and focusing it. In India, kirtan, also known as Shikh religious music, facilitates connection with one another and with God. Similarly, Vedic hymns in Hinduism were musical. By performing bhajans, devotional songs, Sanskrit mantras, etc. Hindus offer prayers to God. Sufi music, Qawalli, etc., are chanted during prayers in the Muslim faith. In addition, it teaches religious teachings. Religious songs of any faith are characterized as a source of strength and a means of relieving pain, thereby improving one’s mood. The iconography of Indian music contains numerous elements that represent the human religion, culture, traditions, and way of life, thinking, values, customs, costumes, rituals, and behavior throughout the centuries through visual art and symbolism like sculpture, architecture, idol of god etc. Therefore, iconography is a specialized discipline of study that examines images of gods. Indian music and dance are the culmination of one of the world’s finest civilizations’ evolution. The Iconography of Indian music entails the study of figures, images, deities, and pictorial representations of the devotional music’s most prominent deities of music.

Abstract: “Better is to live one day virtuous and meditative than to live a hundred years immoral and uncontrolled” (The Buddha) Bhakti movement in India has been a path-breaking phenomenon that provided a solid shape and an identifiable face to the abstractions with the help of vernacular language. As a religious movement, it emphasized a strong personal and emotional bond between devotees and a personal God. It has come from the Sanskrit word Bhaj- ‘to share’. It began as a tradition of devotional songs, hagiographical or philosophical – religious texts which have generated a common ground for people of all the sects in the society to come together. As counterculture, it embraced into its fold all sections of people breaking the barriers of caste, class, community, and gender. It added an inclusive dimension to the hitherto privileged, exclusivist, Upanishadic tradition. It has provided a very critical outlook on contemporary Brahminical orthodoxy and played a crucial role in the emergence of modern poetry in India. This paper elaborates on the positioning of the Bhakti Movement in the context of Protest narratives in India.

India houses a number of folk theatrical forms that are simple and closer to the rural milieu. After the decline of Sanskrit classical drama in India, from the 14th to the 19th century, folk theatre emerged in myriads of rural languages. These theatrical forms can be categorised under two broad genres, viz., "Ritual Theatre" that was religious in nature, and the "Theatre of Entertainment," which was more secular in mood. One such example of the secular form is Bidesiya, the dynamic and popular theatre of Bihar. Bidesiya, like the name suggests, revolves around the "bides" / "pardes," i. e., foreign land / homeland dichotomy. Bidesiya emerged and was given shape by Bhikhari Thakur, the highly-acclaimed poet, playwright, and actor, and aimed at disseminating some kind of social message through the plays. Bidesiya also makes use of a plethora of folk songs that are rooted in Bihar's soil, and these plays were primarily performed by actors belonging to lower-caste communities. The most crucial aspect of Bidesiya is that this folk theatrical form is fundamentally radical and fluid in terms of how it deals with gender. Bidesiya showcases Launda naach — or the dance native to Uttar Pradesh and Bihar that is performed by female impersonators — as a powerful theatrical technique. The present paper seeks to scrutinise Bidesiya as a gender-fluid folk theatrical form of India, and further explores the manner in which Bidesiya problematises the essentialist notion of fixed gender identity. The paper, therefore, begins with an elaborate discussion on the origin of Bidesiya, and moves on to study its various aspects, including the structure of the plays and the performers' troupes, the "men's" and "women's" folk songs which are associated with the genre, and the underpinnings of the staged performances. The paper then investigates the obfuscation of gender by the actors, visible in Launda Naach — the central element of Bidesiya plays — and the presentation of the songs, written from feminine perspective, by men. The concluding section of the paper highlights the pedagogical implications of Bidesiya and its relevance in classrooms, with a special emphasis on how gender is revealed as performative in the plays. Introducing Bidesiya in classroom education resists didacticism by promoting hands-on learning, creates a space for the students to locate themselves within the broad spectrum of gender identities, and also indulges imaginative voyages, as this paper will show.

Hegel, a well-known scholar of Jammani, has placed music in the category of love arts. Indian music has been called the essence of all four languages. Music has been worshiped extensively in India and has been worshiped as Veena Vavadani. Sa vidya or liberation is music. In the divine period, the reins of music were in the hands of Brahmins. In this period, music flourished in religious atmosphere. Samudragupta was self-effacing. In this period, music began to develop in Rajashraya. Classical and folk music was also promoted. Kaval Das and Bhasa, the great poet and playwright of Sanskrit, wrote important texts in this period. The Rajputs were ruled after the Gupta period. Indian music, which was embedded in the thread of unity, began to be divided into two streams, the music of North India and the music of South India. Important texts of music were written. In the Muvassalam era, Sharangadee wrote a famous book of music called Sangeet Ratnakara. During this period, Amir Khusro brought a new verse in the field of music. The origins of the plants became popular for singing songs and singing ghazali. Bhagakat music was emphasized during the Mughal period. Dhrupad Dhamar singing was popular. The reign of Akbar in the Mughal period has been called the era of music. During this period, musicians and artists enjoyed royalty, and art greatly developed.

While music plays a significant role in many of the world’s religions, it is in the Hindu religion that one finds one of the closest bonds between music and religious experience extending for millennia. The recitation of the syllable OM and the chanting of Sanskrit Mantras and hymns from the Vedas formed the core of ancient fire sacrifices. The Upanishads articulated OM as Śabda-Brahman, the Sound-Absolute that became the object of meditation in Yoga. First described by Bharata in the Nātya-Śāstra as a sacred art with reference to Rasa (emotional states), ancient music or Sangīta was a vehicle of liberation (Mokṣa) founded in the worship of deities such as Brahmā, Vishnu, Śiva, and Goddess Sarasvatī. Medieval Tantra and music texts introduced the concept of Nāda-Brahman as the source of sacred music that was understood in terms of Rāgas, melodic formulas, and Tālas, rhythms, forming the basis of Indian music today. Nearly all genres of Indian music, whether the classical Dhrupad and Khayal, or the devotional Bhajan and Kīrtan, share a common theoretical and practical understanding, and are bound together in a mystical spirituality based on the experience of sacred sound. Drawing upon ancient and medieval texts and Bhakti traditions, this article describes how music enables Hindu religious experience in fundamental ways. By citing several examples from the modern Hindustani classical vocal tradition of Khayal, including text and audio/video weblinks, it is revealed how the classical songs contain the wisdom of Hinduism and provide a deeper appreciation of the many musical styles that currently permeate the Hindu and Yoga landscapes of the West.

The indigenous peoples in Sabah, Malaysia, who comprise diverse ethnic communities such as the Kadazandusun, Murut, Rungus, Lundayeh, and Bajau are identified as bumiputera (Sanskrit: bhumiputra), which means “sons of the land” or “sons of the soil.” There are many traditional stories about the belief systems of the indigenous peoples of Sabah which are not documented but only transmitted through oral tradition. These stories are quite similar and yet distinct from one another depending on each particular ethnic group. This article discusses the religious and cultural background of the indigenous peoples of Sabah, specifically the Eastern Kadazandusun, in an attempt to explore their spirituality.

The symposion, a male social gathering that began in ancient Greece, was a social institution by and for men, hence a type of men’s society as we might understand it in modern parlance. Its manifestation on the Indian subcontinent has to date not been fully explored. In its original form, the symposion consisted of three main elements: alcohol, sex, and intellectual pursuits in the form of literature and philosophy, commonly understood by the popular phrase “wine, women, and song”. These sympotic elements find their equivalents in a wide range of Sanskrit litera­ture, which include medicine (Āyurveda), eroticism (Kāmaśāstra), polity (Arthaśāstra), epics, and rhetoric (Alaṃkāraśāstra), as expressed in the Carakasaṃhitā, the Kāmasūtra, the Arthaśāstra, the Mahābhārata and Rāmāyaṇa, and the Kāvyamīmāṃsā. The literary evidence indicates that the three sympotic elements came to full blossom in urban Indian men’s social gatherings or goṣṭhīs dating to a few centuries before the Common Era. The paper combines this literary evidence with archaeological sources to show how a foreign social custom contributed to an indigenous institution of men’s society in ancient India by a process of adaptation. It would appear that as the institution moved into different parts of the Indian subcontinent, it increasingly came under Brahmanic influence, which led to an important ideological change that stressed literary and intel­lectual pursuits over alcohol and sex. Under royal patronage, the goṣṭhī finally became a means for the development of Sanskrit and Indian literature and drama.

Arjuna is in many ways the central character of the Mahābhārata, the great Sanskrit epic. By order of birth he is the third among the Pāṇḍavas, the five sons of Pānḍu, who represent the forces of cosmic order. When, after humiliation and exile, the Pānḍ;avas finally triumph, primogeniture prevails, and it is the eldest brother, Yudhisfhira, who takes the throne; but in other respects, Arjuna is usually a more salient figure than his dutiful eldest brother. Thus it is to Arjuna that Krishna addresses his teaching in the Bhagavad Gitā (part of Book 6 of the Epic). Moreover although Pānḍu is pater to the five brothers, each has his own divine genitor, and the genitor of Arjuna is Indra, king of the gods in the classical pantheon. A paper about Arjuna is a paper about a major figure in Hindu tradition.

AbtractIf we agree with the basic assumption that ordinary people and not only “professional” intellectuals have thought and discussed ideas and produced and exchanged knowledge, where in South Asian archives can we find examples of non-elite figures and their discourses like the sixteenth-century miller Menocchio, immortalised by Carlo Ginzburg in The Cheese and the Worms? If we want to look beyond the high languages of Persian, Sanskrit, and Tamil, with their established protocols and vocabularies of knowledge, where do we look, and what and who are we likely to find? Should we look only at individual “great thinkers,” systematic philosophies or genres that are recognizable as “philosophy” or as śāstra? Or, for Indian as for African languages, should we look for ideas in the languages themselves and in genres in which ideas have been discussed, be they proverbs (as repositories of received, often contrasting, ideas), or song-poems, sermons, anecdotes, fictional narratives, letters, records of conversations like Sufi malfūẓāt, and so on—whether “philosophical ideas” are expressed explicitly or are implicit in their arrangement? This essay offers four initial suggestions about what the appropriate and available genres for an intellectual history in Indian languages may be.

The performance of the Rāmāyan, a popular, medieval Hindi text composed by the Indian poet/saint Tulsidas, constitutes an important genre in the “rhetoric of renunciation” for female Hindu ascetics (sādhus) in Rajasthan. It is used by them, along with the singing of devotional songs (bhajans) and the telling of religious stories (kahānī), as integral to their daily practice of asceticism. This essay examines the performance and textual strategies by which non- and semi-literate female sādhus create themselves as “scriptural”—how they perform a relationship with the literate textual tradition of the Tulsi Rāmāyan—and thus engender female religious authority in the male-dominated institution of renunciation, in which men are often considered by Indian society as “the” experts in sacred texts. For these female sādhus, Rāmāyan performance functions as a rhetorical strategy with which they construct their tradition of devotional asceticism as a non-orthodox and vernacular alternative to the dominant (and orthodox) Sanskritic textual model of Brahmanical asceticism. The sādhus’ identification of Rāmāyan expressive traditions with Tulsidas’ written text contributes a new perspective on the concept of scripture, and their textual practices provide an alternative model of scripturality to current analytical models which equate it with individuals’ engagement with the written sacred text.

‘The Waste Land’, of course by T. S. Eliot has been treated as the magnum opus of T. S. Eliot on account of its big canvas, wide range of themes, saga of suffering, with epic grandeur. It concludes with an optimistic note- “ Shantih, Shantih, Shantih'' as well as “Da, Datta, Dayadhvam'' The mental journey from ‘The Burial of the Dead’ to ‘What the Thunder Said’ via ‘A Game of Chess’, ‘The Fire Sermon’ and Death by Water’ undertaken by Tiresias symbolizes the journey of the Christiana in John Bunyan’s ‘Pilgrim’s Progress. In Spite of this, the complexity of theme prompted a sensitive Hindi poet Nirala to remark- “ Kahan ka ianta kahan ka roda, T. S. Eliot ne kunwa joda'' The elegiac note of the opening part visualizes ‘a ray of hope’ when the poet refers to ‘the Holy river’ Ganga and the Himavant i.e. the snowbound mountains in Himalayan Ranges. Suddenly, the attention is shifted towards the famous fable of the ‘Brihadaranyaka Upanishad’ The three-fold offspring of the Creator, Prajapati, Gods, men and demons; these three approached Prajapati for instruction after completing their formal education. To each group, He uttered the single syllable ‘Da’. The message was sent to all three in the form of encoding but they interpreted or decoded in their own ways. The Gods decode it as ‘Damyata’ (Control Yourselves). The Gods decoded it as ‘Datta’ (give). The demons interpreted it as ‘Dayadhvam’ ( be compassionate). When these three meet Prajapati, aware of their interpretations, He responds with ‘OM’ signifying that they have fully understood. This concludes with the thrice repetition of thunder - Da. Da. Da. viz, control yourselves, give, be compassionate.This episode reminds us of T.S. Eliot’s focus on Charles Lanman, his Sanskrit teacher at Harvard University who gave Eliot a copy of ‘Vasudev Lakshman Shastri Phansikar’s Sanskrit edition of ‘The Twenty Eight Upanishads'. While interpreting ‘Dayadhvam”, Eliot refers to Dante’s Ínferno’Book 33, line 46 - “And below I heard the outlet of / The horrible tower locked up”. These words are uttered by Ugonio della Gherardesca, a 13th century Italian novelist as he recalls his imprisonment in a Tower with his two sons and two grandsons where they starved to death. This allusion communicates a sense of finality and suggests the terrifying consequences of imprisoning oneself within one’s own ego or consciousness. Eliot feels that only by confining to one’s own faith one is ought to transcend the boundaries of tradition. According to the European tradition or Christianity ‘Shantih ‘has been interpreted as ‘Peace Which passeth understanding ' . Indeed, It is a feeble translation of the inherent meaning of the world. Eliot anticipates something absolute and sublime as has been suggested by the Upanishadic Connotation. To conclude it can be said that this poem begins with pessimistic suffering but concludes with robust optimism.

To most scholars of Hinduism, the sage Kapila is a person associated only with ancient India and known mainly as the mythical founder of the Sāmkhya system of religious thought. This is the Kapila whose teaching is known through Yuktidīpikā, the Sāmkhyakārikā by Isvarakrsna and other Sāmkhya texts and the tradition of technical commentaries on them. In India this Kapila belongs to a scholarly tradition preserved mainly by pandits with a knowledge of Sanskrit and, for the last hundred years, also by professors in the Indian university system. In this article, the symbolic significance of one of the most important pilgrimage centres connected with Kapila, Sidhpur in Gujarat, is explored. The close connection between the sacred narratives and the rituals performed at the pilgrimage centre is a significant feature of the sacred places devoted to Kapila. At every place of pilgrimage to Kapila there are narratives about him which account for the sacredness of the place. These narratives belong to the geography of Hindu India as much as to the mythology of the Hindu tradition. The life history of Kapila is engraved in a sacred landscape. The place where Kapila was born, the place where he gave the sacred knowledge of ultimate reality to his mother, the different places where he performed tapas, the place where he killed the sons of King Sagara are all part of India's imagined landscape. The promise of the Kapila pilgrimage sites is that these places have power in themselves to remove moral impurity and grant moksa to the pilgrims. The sacred narratives of Kapila function to make this promise trustworthy.

Abhijñāna Śākuntalam, as Sanskrit play by the renowned poet Kālidāsa offers the utmost importance to nature and the environment. It is the responsibility of all and everyone, irrespective of their social strata; king, sages, their sons and daughter and their disciples’ given equal responsibility and accountability to care for the environment. The king is advised not to kill the animals roaming inside a guarded territory of the Āśrama (cottage) of the sages. Śakuntalā was advised by her father Kaṇva to look after the plants and animals. The reciprocal nature of mutual dependence between Human and Environment vividly delved in Abhijñāna Śākuntalam. The King’s major responsibility includes preserving environment, one such example; the text eludes King Duṣyanta, taming a mad elephant, destroying the plants, while the king introduces himself to the Śakuntalā the very first time, another example is, the opening statement in Abhijñāna Śākuntalam reflects the concern of environment protection, the very importance of the people who care and nurture environment and have describes as: Yāsṛṣṭiḥsraṣṭurādyā vahatividhihutaṃ yāhaviryā ca hotrī, Ye Dvekālaṃ vidhattaḥ śrūtiviṣaya guṇā yā sthitā vyāpyaviśvam, Yām āhuḥ sarvabīja-prakṛtiriti yayā prāṇinaḥ prāṇavantaḥ, Pratyakṣābhiḥ prapannastanubhiravatuvastābhiraṣṭābhirīśaḥ [A.S 1.1]. Eight forms has Shiva, Lord of all and king: And these are water, first created thing; And fire, which speeds the sacrifice begun; those who care for nature; and time’s dividers, moon and sun; The all-embracing ether, path of sound; The earth, wherein all seeds of life are found; And air, the breath of life: may he draws near, Revealed in these, and bless those gathered here (Ryder,1999). The eight elements described in Abhijñāna Śākuntalam viz; the five gross elements along with time and space, and the people in general who care for nature are considered to be the constituents of god or Shiva. The environment and nature treated here as one entity represented here as, Lord Shiva, one of the trinities of Hindu god, shows the reflection of faith in relation to the care for the environment

Religion in the community is believed to be able to bring a sense of security and peace in human life, and can lead and guide mankind towards happiness in both physical and spiritual life. For society, religion contains the most adequate instructions and life guidelines for humans in living their lives in this world. In Bali, there are many religious literatures in the form of lontars in Sanskrit and Old Javanese translated into Balinese and Indonesian. The deepening of the teachings of God in Hinduism is also called Brahma Widya. The study of Brahma Widya or Theology is very necessary at this time so that the younger generation does not lose track of tracing the activities of their ancestors. The increase in sraddha and devotion to God contained in the song Sebun Bangkung contains teachings that are in accordance with the teachings of Hinduism. The teachings contained in the Kidung Sebun Bangkung text are tattwa teachings which are shown that Hinduism gives its people the freedom to take any path they want to be able to get closer to God in order to achieve the perfection of outer and inner life. Besides that, there are also Lascarya teachings. The lascarya attitude shown by Candrabherawa king who was willing to practice the teachings of karma sanyaṣa, but did not abandon the teachings of Yoga Sanyasa. King Candrabherawa also kept his promise by offering his son Dyah Ratna Sasangka to be married by King Yudhisthira as a symbol of the union of the teachings of Shiva and Buddha. The lascarya attitude of the Candrabherawa king can unite the two teachings to be able to go hand in hand in harmony and harmony. And the last meaning is the existence of Shiva-Buddhist syncretism which is indicated by the marriage between King Yudhistira and the daughter of King Candrabherawa, Dyah Ratna Sasangka from the Dewantara kingdom. In this story it can be explained that the essence of Shiva and Buddha is the same, side by side and cannot be separated and always go hand in hand and in pairs. Like a man to a woman, a father to a mother, and so on. So the teachings of Karma Sanyaṣa with Yoga Sanyaṣa should be practiced simultaneously.

Historians have differed greatly about determining the date of Islam’s entry into the Malay Archipelago, but they agree that it entered the region peacefully through the Muslim merchants, then the people converted to it voluntarily, leaving their Paganism, Chinese religion and Hinduism. Islam has been firmly established in the region, despite the successive occupiers who invaded the region repeatedly, and Arabic language found its way into the Malay language widely, whereas, it became an important element in its formation not less than Sanskrit and English. The residents accepted to learn it as the emblem of Islam, and favored it in naming the institutions and shops, not to mention keenness on it in naming their sons and daughters. This research is concerned with observing the patterns of naming children with Arabic names, with reference to a number of rare anecdotes about them. Which necessitated a reference to the philosophy of naming in the Arab heritage, that philosophy, which is considered a pillar, which is known today as the science of “Onomastics”, and whose investigations have expanded linguistically and literarily, adding aspects of the wondrous richness in an issue that many people may think of as marginal or arbitrary, repeating the names of the saying: “Nouns are inexplicable Do not be explained”, but it is a corrupt and clearly false statement. Then, the talk about the Arabism of the people of the region, who were not limited to the Arab whim of naming their children, but rather it turned into an official governmental orientation adopted by the countries, and into an economic orientation, which is tended by all kinds of the institutions. The research monitored seven patterns of Arabic names in the region, pointing to a number of rare anecdotes that occurred due to the local culture, and lack of knowledge of the Arabic language, sounds and semantics, linguistic overlap, phonetic distortion, semantic shift and the others… The research concluded with a recommendation for the countries and Arab cultural institutions to do their best to enhance the status of the Arabic language in the region, to take advantage of this precious opportunity represented by the overwhelming love for the language of the Qur’an by providing an appropriate cultural support and holding training courses to create a true Arabic linguistic awareness; to avoid these problems in naming, as some of them directly affect the Islamic faith.

Abstract This article explores the metrical patterns of Gītagovinda’s songs, to investigate what they reveal about their origin and inspiration, building on previous scholarly research into the vernacular nature of the songs. Seemingly abstruse, metre lies at the heart of the performative nature of the text, but is often overlooked in a quest for meaning. The article starts with the approach of Sanskrit commentators, focusing on Mahārāṇā Kumbhakarṇa of Mewar’s fifteenth-century Rasikapriyā, interrelating with his theoretical work on music, the Saṃgītarāja. This reveals the problem of the discrepancy between metrical theory, or śāstra, and praxis, or prayoga, problematising the metrical pundits’ focus on classification and static definitions at the expense of rhythmical processes of actual performance. The article proposes an alternative by analysing Gītagovinda’s songs instead through the lens of New Indo-Aryan (NIA) poetry, which significantly enhances appreciation of the poetic craft of the author. Finally, comparison with selected Gopīgītas, or ‘Songs of the Gopīs’, from the ninth-century classic scripture of Krishna devotion, Bhāgavata Purāṇa, reveals parallels in both metre and oral formulae. Reading Gopīgītas in conjunction with Gītagovinda’s songs opens up a new perspective, revealing a vernacular pulse underlying some of the best-known and best-loved Sanskrit literature.

Indian Knowledge System, the repository of the entire literary and aesthetic corpus of the sub-continent, has a rich repertoire comprising texts like The Ramayana and The Mahabharata and critical texts like The Natyasastra. The former belong to the canon of Epics, they stand representatives of a tradition comprising texts like Chandrabati’s Ramayana, Jaini Ramayana, Asura: Tale of the Vanquished by Neelakantan, Draupadi by Pattanaik, etc. The genres that the tradition comprises vary from poetry to novel and a long oral tradition, as Nabneeta Dev Sen opines, of songs from these epics. In the list, however, is another writer, belonging to the canon of Sanskrit Dramaturgy, whose works are the oldest surviving extant texts in Sanskrit drama: Bhasa, the father of Sanskrit Drama. Chronologically, Bhasa is placed between the composition of Natyasastra and Malvikagnimitram and his plays are dramatic representations of the events of The Ramayana and The Mahabharata. The research paper attempts to delve into two primary questions: that of aesthetic fidelity of the father of Sanskrit drama, to a tradition of writing that precedes him; and secondly, his literary fidelity to the foundational narratives in the Indian Literary Traditions. Through an interrogation of Bhasa’s works on these two parameters, and applying the terminologies of Adoption, Adaptation and Abrogation, the paper shall strive to place him in the canon of Indian Literature and the implications of his positionality, on Indian Literature, especially in relation to contemporaneity.

The sensation produced by nature has been key factor for the development of Gita Govinda. Gita Govinda is a nest lyrical drama of Sanskrit Literature. Gita Govinda is best characterized as a dramatic lyrical poem. It is expressed as a cycle of songs interspersed with recitative metrical forms of classical Kavya verses functioning as independent grammatical and aesthetic entities. The foremost objective of this research paper is to analyze the impacts of Gitagovinda on Odishan spiritualism with its different aspects. The objective of the study is also to explore the spiritual reincarnation of Jayadeva's Gitagovinda and its relevance in contemporary literature. Its poetic greatness is enhanced by its appeal of music, poetry and mystic spiritual content. This is a theoretical research paper, where through review of literature and historic research methods secondary data have been used for the analysis. The study is both empirical and descriptive.

Ivan Minaev (1840-1890) was one of the first great Russian Indologists and students of Buddhism. Between 1874 and 1886, he made three long journeys in which he visited Ceylon, India, Burma and Nepal. Thanks to his profound knowledge of the classic (Sanskrit and Pali) and modern languages of the Indian subcontinent, he had the opportunity not only to read ancient works, but also to meet government and elite figures as well as the people. This paper focuses in particular on Minaev's depiction of Nepal in a series of travel notes such as Ocherki Tsejlona i Indii (Eng. trans. Sketches of Ceylon and India, 1878) and in a number of essays. Aware of the military and ideological clash between England and Russia that was taking place in Central and South Asia, Minaev took an original stance towards the British colonial domination: he supported the need for the Russian government to imitate the British Empire in building important infrastructures (roads, bridges, railways), but, with regard to Nepal, he emphasises the importance of respecting the appalling richness, variety and originality of its languages, religious rites, legends and songs, which are preserved in a much uncontaminated form here than in India.

It is with great pleasure that we present to you Volume 16, Number 1, 2024, of "Voice: Biannual and Bilingual Journal” published by Autar Dei Chaudharain Research Centre (ADCRC) at Mahendra Multiple Campus, Nepalgunj, Banke, Nepal. Our journal continues to uphold its primary aim of facilitating the exchange of expertise among scholars on a global scale, fostering a dynamic platform for intellectual discourse across various disciplines. In this edition, we proudly present a multidisciplinary collection of 13 articles, with eight contributions in English and five in Nepali. This diversity reflects our commitment to linguistic inclusivity and our effort to bridge scholarly communities across different languages.The range of topics covered in this issue underscores the breadth and depth of academic inquiry being pursued by our contributors. Highlights include an in-depth analysis of the socio-economic impacts of policy changes in Nepal during the crucial decade of the 1990s, examining realism and societal dynamics in selected novels of Shashi Deshpande, and a stability evaluation of the Lanedada Twin Tunnel in KTFT, focusing on the structural stability and safety measures of a significant infrastructural project. Additionally, we have an exploration of alcohol use and its socio-economic and health effects in the Tharu community of Raptisonari Rural Municipality. There is also an analysis of historical and literary perspectives on trauma and displacement in Khushwant Singh's "Train to Pakistan." An exploratory study on how economic changes affect consumer behavior in the jewelry market of Nepalgunj adds a practical economic perspective. A comparative study on the reading comprehension abilities of Tharu and non-Tharu students’ sheds light on educational performance influenced by cultural and linguistic factors. Finally, a contemporary assessment of Nepal’s food sovereignty status and related policies offers valuable insights into current agricultural and food security challenges.For our Nepali readers, we offer a detailed exploration of classical Sanskrit poetics and theories of rasa, along with an analysis of the purpose and cultural significance of traditional songs in the Ribdikot area. There is a historical overview and critical examination of trends in Nepali short stories, a comprehensive look at the fifth part of the Vedapurana's gems, and an analysis of the ideologies presented in the novel "Basai."

Indian Psychology is an emerging field of Psychology and has gained a new identity over the decade. Ancient Scriptures are having a strong root of Sanskrit literary treasure like Vedas, Upanishada, Samhita, The Great Geeta: A song of Lord Krishna, Literature of Moral values. Moreover, Yoga and Ayurveda are also the divine gift of Sanskrit literature. This paper aimed to extract the psychological developmental theories through a review of research on Indian Psychology with special reference to Sanskrit literature. Indian Psychology is a recent branch adopting various spiritual concepts and ideological beliefs of abstract ideas. The researchers have tried to draw the meaning and definition of Indian Psychology. This paper represents the Holistic approach to child development through the set of sixteen sacramental rites, Mahrshi Charaka and Maharshi Susushra’s Ideology, Ayurveda Prakruti, and Guna. This paper establishes the relationship between Indian Psychology and Holistic Child Development with a touch of ancient literary works in Sanskrit. Further implications of Indian psychology in the contemporary world would be noteworthy for Child development in terms of the Holistic approach.

A lullaby is a from that defies the frame of a proper definition. The word lullaby has its root in the Sanskrit word लालन गीतम्. Most popularly it is known as a cradle song. The reasons behind this deferment are primarily two. The first is its performative functional frame which allows the singer a vent to express one’s singularity through the collective form. The second is the striking contrast between the oral and the written traditions. According to the Markandeya Purana, the queen Madalasa used to put her children to sleep at night by singing to them a lullaby. It is thought that Madalasa, one of India's most admirable and learned women, attained enlightenment. It is also believed that only her four sons, Vikranta, Subahu, Shatrumardana, and Alarka, gave up the throne and went on a spiritual journey as a direct result of her teachings. Indian mystic tradition provides a well-known Story of Madalasa when her child started to cry, rather than trying to divert him with a variety of toys or other objects, she decided to give him the truth rather than try to distract him with sweet Lullaby like- सुखानि दुःखोपशमाय भोगान् सुखाय जानाति विमूढचेताः। तान्येव दुःखानि पुनः सुखानि जानाति विद्धनविमूढचेताः॥ This truth is sung in the form of a comforting lullaby called Madalasa Upadesha, also known as Madalasa Putra Upadesha. In Gujarat, the oral tradition of lullabies has remained for long a forlorn area. The present paper is an attempt to study this form from critical point of view, for this form is not as simple as it appears. Within Gujarat, there are four categories of lullabies as far as the oral tradition is concerned. Over and above, the present paper also tries to locate the functional aspects of this form and its lucid literariness. The primary data under the inquiry are part of performative tradition and their collection was carried out through random sampling technique. It is believed that the prime function of lullaby is to make a child sleeps. However, the present paper will prove an iconoclast as it sheds light on some of the covert features of Gujarati lullabies along with its transliterated versions.

This article proposes that the growing popularity of reality television in the southernmost state of India, Kerala – disseminated locally and throughout the Indian diaspora – is not the product of an innocuous nostalgia for a fast-disappearing regional identity but rather a spectacular example of an emergent ideology that displaces cultural memory, collective identity, and secular nationalism with new, globalised forms of public sentiment. Further, it is arguable that this g/local media culture also displaces hard-won secular feminist constructions of gender and the contemporary modern “Indian woman.” Shows like Idea Star Singer (hereafter ISS) (Malayalam [the language spoken in Kerala] television’s most popular reality television series), based closely on American Idol, is broadcast worldwide to dozens of nations including the US, the UK, China, Russia, Sri Lanka, and several nations in the Middle East and the discussion that follows attempts both to account for this g/local phenomenon and to problematise it. ISS concentrates on staging the diversity and talent of Malayalee youth and, in particular, their ability to sing ‘pitch-perfect’, by inviting them to perform the vast catalogue of traditional Malayalam songs. However, inasmuch as it is aimed at both a regional and diasporic audience, ISS also allows for a diversity of singing styles displayed through the inclusion of a variety of other songs: some sung in Tamil, some Hindi, and some even English. This leads us to ask a number of questions: in what ways are performers who subscribe to regional or global models of televisual style rewarded or punished? In what ways are performers who exemplify differences in terms of gender, sexuality, religion, class, or ability punished? Further, it is arguable that this show—packaged as the “must-see” spectacle for the Indian diaspora—re-imagines a traditional past and translates it (under the rubric of “reality” television) into a vulgar commodification of both “classical” and “folk” India: an India excised of radical reform, feminists, activists, and any voices of multiplicity clamouring for change. Indeed, it is my contention that, although such shows claim to promote women’s liberation by encouraging women to realise their talents and ambitions, the commodification of the “stars” as televisual celebrities points rather to an anti-feminist imperial agenda of control and domination. Normalising Art: Presenting the Juridical as Natural Following Foucault, we can, indeed, read ISS as an apparatus of “normalisation.” While ISS purports to be “about” music, celebration, and art—an encouragement of art for art’s sake—it nevertheless advocates the practice of teaching as critiqued by Foucault: “the acquisition and knowledge by the very practice of the pedagogical activity and a reciprocal, hierarchised observation” (176), so that self-surveillance is built into the process. What appears on the screen is, in effect, the presentation of a juridically governed body as natural: the capitalist production of art through intense practice, performance, and corrective measures that valorise discipline and, at the end, produce ‘good’ and ‘bad’ subjects. The Foucauldian isomorphism of punishment with obligation, exercise with repetition, and enactment of the law is magnified in the traditional practice of music, especially Carnatic, or the occasional Hindustani refrain that separates those who come out of years of training in the Gury–Shishya mode (teacher–student mode, primarily Hindu and privileged) from those who do not (Muslims, working-class, and perhaps disabled students). In the context of a reality television show sponsored by Idea Cellular Ltd (a phone company with global outposts), the systems of discipline are strictly in line with the capitalist economy. Since this show depends upon the vast back-catalogue of film songs sung by playback singers from the era of big studio film-making, it may be seen to advocate a mimetic rigidity that ossifies artistic production, rather than offering encouragement to a new generation of artists who might wish to take the songs and make them their own. ISS, indeed, compares and differentiates the participants’ talents through an “opaque” system of evaluations which the show presents as transparent, merit-based and “fair”: as Foucault observes, “the perpetual penalty that traverses all points and supervises every instant in the disciplinary institutions compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, homogenizes, excludes. In short, it normalizes” (183). On ISS, this evaluation process (a panel of judges who are renowned singers and composers, along with a rotating guest star, such as an actor) may be seen as a scopophilic institution where training and knowledge are brought together, transforming “the economy of visibility into the exercise of power” (187). The contestants, largely insignificant as individuals but seen together, at times, upon the stage, dancing and singing and performing practised routines, represent a socius constituting the body politic. The judges, enthroned on prominent and lush seats above the young contestants, the studio audience and, in effect, the show’s televised transnational audience, deliver judgements that “normalise” these artists into submissive subjectivity. In fact, despite the incoherence of the average judgement, audiences are so engrossed in the narrative of “marks” (a clear vestige of the education and civilising mission of the colonial subject under British rule) that, even in the glamorous setting of vibrating music, artificial lights, and corporate capital, Indians can still be found disciplining themselves according to the values of the West. Enacting Keraleeyatham for Malayalee Diaspora Ritty Lukose’s study on youth and gender in Kerala frames identity formations under colonialism, nationalism, and capitalism as she teases out ideas of resistance and agency by addressing the complex mediations of consumption or consumptive practices. Lukose reads “consumer culture as a complex site of female participation and constraint, enjoyment and objectification” (917), and finds the young, westernised female as a particular site of consumer agency. According to this theory, the performers on ISS and the show’s MC, Renjini Haridas, embody this body politic. The young performers all dress in the garb of “authentic identity”, sporting saris, pawaadu-blouse, mundum-neertha, salwaar-kameez, lehenga-choli, skirts, pants, and so on. This sartorial diversity is deeply gendered and discursively rich; the men have one of two options: kurta-mundu or some such variation and the pant–shirt combination. The women, especially Renjini (educated at St Theresa’s College in Kochi and former winner of Ms Kerala beauty contest) evoke the MTV DJs of the mid-1990s and affect a pidgin-Malayalam spliced with English: Renjini’s cool “touching” of the contestants and airy gestures remove her from the regional masses; and yet, for Onam (festival of Kerala), she dresses in the traditional cream and gold sari; for Id (high holy day for Muslims), she dresses in some glittery salwaar-kameez with a wrap on her head; and for Christmas, she wears a long dress. This is clearly meant to show her ability to embody different socio-religious spheres simultaneously. Yet, both she and all the young female contestants speak proudly about their authentic Kerala identity. Ritty Lukose spells this out as “Keraleeyatham.” In the vein of beauty pageants, and the first-world practice of indoctrinating all bodies into one model of beauty, the youngsters engage in exuberant performances yet, once their act is over, revert back to the coy, submissive docility that is the face of the student in the traditional educational apparatus. Both left-wing feminists and BJP activists write their ballads on the surface of women’s bodies; however, in enacting the chethu or, to be more accurate, “ash-push” (colloquialism akin to “hip”) lifestyle advocated by the show (interrupted at least half a dozen times by lengthy sequences of commercials for jewellery, clothing, toilet cleaners, nutritious chocolate bars, hair oil, and home products), the participants in this show become the unwitting sites of a large number of competing ideologies. Lukose observes the remarkable development from the peasant labor-centered Kerala of the 1970s to today’s simulacrum: “Keraleeyatham.” When discussing the beauty contests staged in Kerala in the 1990s, she discovers (through analysis of the dress and Sanskrit-centred questions) that: “Miss Kerala must be a naden pennu [a girl of the native/rural land] in her dress, comportment, and knowledge. Written onto the female bodies of a proliferation of Miss Keralas, the nadu, locality itself, becomes transportable and transposable” (929). Lukose observes that these women have room to enact their passions and artistry only within the metadiegetic space of the “song and dance” spectacle; once they leave it, they return to a modest, Kerala-gendered space in which the young female performers are quiet to the point of inarticulate, stuttering silence (930). However, while Lukose’s term, Keraleeyatham, is useful as a sociological compass, I contend that it has even more complex connotations. Its ethos of “Nair-ism” (Nayar was the dominant caste identity in Kerala), which could have been a site of resistance and identity formation, instead becomes a site of nationalist, regional linguistic supremacy arising out of Hindu imaginary. Second, this ideology could not have been developed in the era of pre-globalised state-run television but now, in the wake of globalisation and satellite television, we see this spectacle of “discipline and punish” enacted on the world stage. Thus, although I do see a possibility for a more positive Keraleeyatham that is organic, inclusive, and radical, for the moment we have a hegemonic, exclusive, and hierarchical statist approach to regional identity that needs to be re-evaluated. Articulating the Authentic via the Simulacrum Welcome to the Malayalee matrix. Jean Baudrillard’s simulacrum is our entry point into visualising the code of reality television. In a state noted for its distinctly left-leaning politics and Communist Party history which underwent radical reversal in the 1990s, the political front in Kerala is still dominated by the LDF (Left Democratic Front), and resistance to the state is an institutionalised and satirised daily event, as marked by the marchers who gather and stop traffic at Palayam in the capital city daily at noon. Issues of poverty and corporate disenfranchisement plague the farming and fishing communities while people suffer transportation tragedies, failures of road development and ferry upkeep on a daily basis. Writers and activists rail against imminent aerial bombing of Maoists insurgent groups, reading in such statist violence repression of the Adivasi (indigenous) peoples scattered across many states of eastern and southern India. Alongside energy and ration supply issues, politics light up the average Keralaite, and yet the most popular “reality” television show reflects none of it. Other than paying faux multicultural tribute to all the festivals that come and go (such as Id, Diwaali, Christmas, and Kerala Piravi [Kerala Day on 1 November]), mainly through Renjini’s dress and chatter, ISS does all it can to remove itself from the turmoil of the everyday. Much in the same way that Bollywood cinema has allowed the masses to escape the oppressions of “the everyday,” reality television promises speculative pleasure produced on the backs of young performers who do not even have to be paid for their labour. Unlike Malayalam cinema’s penchant for hard-hitting politics and narratives of unaccounted for, everyday lives in neo-realist style, today’s reality television—with its excessive sound and light effects, glittering stages and bejewelled participants, repeat zooms, frontal shots, and artificial enhancements—exploits the paradox of hyper-authenticity (Rose and Wood 295). In her useful account of America’s top reality show, American Idol, Katherine Meizel investigates the fascination with the show’s winners and the losers, and the drama of an American “ideal” of diligence and ambition that is seen to be at the heart of the show. She writes, “It is about selling the Dream—regardless of whether it results in success or failure—and about the enactment of ideology that hovers at the edges of any discourse about American morality. It is the potential of great ambition, rather than of great talent, that drives these hopefuls and inspires their fans” (486). In enacting the global via the site of the local (Malayalam and Tamil songs primarily), ISS assumes the mantle of Americanism through the plain-spoken, direct commentaries of the singers who, like their US counterparts, routinely tell us how all of it has changed their lives. In other words, this retrospective meta-narrative becomes more important than the show itself. True to Baudrillard’s theory, ISS blurs the line between actual need and the “need” fabricated by the media and multinational corporations like Idea Cellular and Confident Group (which builds luxury homes, primarily for the new bourgeoisie and nostalgic “returnees” from the diaspora). The “New Kerala” is marked, for the locals, by extravagant (mostly unoccupied) constructions of photogenic homes in garish colours, located in the middle of chaos: the traditional nattumparathu (countryside) wooden homes, and traffic congestion. The homes, promised at the end of these shows, have a “value” based on the hyper-real economy of the show rather than an actual utility value. Yet those who move from the “old” world to the “new” do not always fare well. In local papers, the young artists are often criticised for their new-found haughtiness and disinclination to visit ill relatives in hospital: a veritable sin in a culture that places the nadu and kin above all narratives of progress. In other words, nothing quite adds up: the language and ideologies of the show, espoused most succinctly by its inarticulate host, is a language that obscures its distance from reality. ISS maps onto its audience the emblematic difference between “citizen” and “population”. Through the chaotic, state-sanctioned paralegal devices that allow the slum-dwellers and other property-less people to dwell in the cities, the voices of the labourers (such as the unions) have been silenced. It is a nation ever more geographically divided between the middle-classes which retreat into their gated neighbourhoods, and the shanty-town denizens who are represented by the rising class of religio-fundamentalist leaders. While the poor vote in the Hindu hegemony, the middle classes text in their votes to reality shows like ISS. Partha Chatterjee speaks of the “new segregated and exclusive spaces for the managerial and technocratic elite” (143) which is obsessed by media images, international travel, suburbanisation, and high technology. I wish to add to this list the artificially created community of ISS performers and stars; these are, indeed, the virtual and global extension of Chatterjee’s exclusive, elite communities, decrying the new bourgeois order of Indian urbanity, repackaged as Malayalee, moneyed, and Nayar. Meanwhile, the Hindu Right flexes its muscle under the show’s glittery surface: neither menacing nor fundamentalist, it is now “hip” to be Hindu. Thus while, on the surface, ISS operates according to the cliché, musicinu mathamilla (“music has no religion”), I would contend that it perpetuates a colonising space of Hindu-nationalist hegemony which standardises music appreciation, flattens music performance into an “art” developed solely to serve commercial cinema, and produces a dialectic of Keraleeyatham that erases the multiplicities of its “real.” This ideology, meanwhile, colonises from within. The public performance plays out in the private sphere where the show is consumed; at the same time, the private is inserted into the public with SMS calls that ultimately help seal the juridicality of the show and give the impression of “democracy.” Like the many networks that bring the sentiments of melody and melancholy to our dinner table, I would like to offer you this alternative account of ISS as part of a bid for a more vociferous, and critical, engagement with reality television and its modes of production. Somehow we need to find a way to savour, once again, the non-mimetic aspects of art and to salvage our darkness from the glitter of the “normalising” popular media. References Baudrillard, Jean. The Mirror of Production. Trans. Mark Poster. New York: Telos, 1975. ———. Selected Writings. Ed. Mark Poster. California: Stanford UP, 1988. Chatterjee, Partha. The Politics of the Governed: Reflections on Popular Politics in Most of the World. Delhi: Permanent Black, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage, 1995. Lukose, Ritty. “Consuming Globalization: Youth and Gender in Kerala, India.” Journal of Social History 38.4 (Summer 2005): 915-35. Meizel, Katherine. “Making the Dream a Reality (Show): The Celebration of Failure in American Idol.” Popular Music and Society 32.4 (Oct. 2009): 475-88. Rose, Randall L., and Stacy L. Wood. “Paradox and the Consumption of Authenticity through Reality Television.” Journal of Consumer Research 32 (Sep. 2005): 284-96.

Kichul Kim (金起徹), né en 1969 à Séoul, a ceci de remarquable qu’il prétend — et réussit — à sculpter le son. En effet, il a une formation de sculpteur. Mais il se fascine très tôt pour le son, pour des raisons spirituelles. L’énigme du bodhisattva Gwan-eum (觀音) (Guān Yīn en chinois, Kannon en japonais, Avalokiteśvara en sanskrit) qui, selon l’étymologie de son nom, « voit ou fait voir les sons », l’intrigue. Une intuition lui révèle — pense-t-il — de quoi il s’agit. Il va s’efforcer de le faire voir à son tour. Le son fait voir, visualiser, évoquer, et on peut donc, en ce sens, voir le son. Ses installations sonores sont en général réalisées dans des formes minimales et simplifiées. Ces formes pures ne correspondent qu’au son qu’il veut diffuser. C’est le son qu’émettent des haut-parleurs, un son qu’il a enregistré et qui parle. En effet, le son, tout invisible et intangible qu’il est, par l’espace qu’il recrée et modèle, est tridimensionnel, et sculptable. Le spectateur ne peut certes pas voir ce travail sonore par ses yeux de chair, pas plus qu’il ne peut le toucher de sa main, mais son œil de l’imagination, son imagination visuelle, le construit, et en ce sens il le perçoit bien : à partir du son se crée une image, une image dont l’intensité frôle l’illusion. On a là un véritable environnement créé par le son. Inspiré par l’Extrême-Orient ancien, son art et sa pensée, Kichul Kim puise dans ses sites historiques, religieux souvent, et dans la nature, son inspiration et ses enregistrements. L’environnement particulier d’origine est rendu présent par son son, si puissamment que l’auditeur devient spectateur, recréant activement la scène originelle : spect-acteur. Plongé si profondément en lui-même, il est graduellement conduit aux portes d’une sorte de méditation, ici et ailleurs à la fois, comme hors du temps.

Kichul Kim (金起徹), né en 1969 à Séoul, a ceci de remarquable qu’il prétend — et réussit — à sculpter le son. En effet, il a une formation de sculpteur. Mais il se fascine très tôt pour le son, pour des raisons spirituelles. L’énigme du bodhisattva Gwan-eum (觀音) (Guān Yīn en chinois, Kannon en japonais, Avalokiteśvara en sanskrit) qui, selon l’étymologie de son nom, « voit ou fait voir les sons », l’intrigue. Une intuition lui révèle — pense-t-il — de quoi il s’agit. Il va s’efforcer de le faire voir à son tour. Le son fait voir, visualiser, évoquer, et on peut donc, en ce sens, voir le son. Ses installations sonores sont en général réalisées dans des formes minimales et simplifiées. Ces formes pures ne correspondent qu’au son qu’il veut diffuser. C’est le son qu’émettent des haut-parleurs, un son qu’il a enregistré et qui parle. En effet, le son, tout invisible et intangible qu’il est, par l’espace qu’il recrée et modèle, est tridimensionnel, et sculptable. Le spectateur ne peut certes pas voir ce travail sonore par ses yeux de chair, pas plus qu’il ne peut le toucher de sa main, mais son œil de l’imagination, son imagination visuelle, le construit, et en ce sens il le perçoit bien : à partir du son se crée une image, une image dont l’intensité frôle l’illusion. On a là un véritable environnement créé par le son. Inspiré par l’Extrême-Orient ancien, son art et sa pensée, Kichul Kim puise dans ses sites historiques, religieux souvent, et dans la nature, son inspiration et ses enregistrements. L’environnement particulier d’origine est rendu présent par son son, si puissamment que l’auditeur devient spectateur, recréant activement la scène originelle : spect-acteur. Plongé si profondément en lui-même, il est graduellement conduit aux portes d’une sorte de méditation, ici et ailleurs à la fois, comme hors du temps.

From elephants to ABBA fans, silicon to hormone, the following discussion uses a new research method to look at printed text, motion pictures and a teenage rebel icon. If by ‘print’ we mean a mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium, then printing has been with us since before microdot security prints were painted onto cars, before voice prints, laser prints, network servers, record pressings, motion picture prints, photo prints, colour woodblock prints, before books, textile prints, and footprints. If we accept that higher mammals such as elephants have a learnt culture, then it is possible to extend a definition of printing beyond Homo sapiens. Poole reports that elephants mechanically trumpet reproductions of human car horns into the air surrounding their society. If nothing else, this cross-species, cross-cultural reproduction, this ‘ability to mimic’ is ‘another sign of their intelligence’. Observation of child development suggests that the first significant meaningful ‘impression’ made on the human mind is that of the face of the child’s nurturer – usually its mother. The baby’s mind forms an ‘impression’, a mental print, a reproducible memory data set, of the nurturer’s face, voice, smell, touch, etc. That face is itself a cultural construct: hair style, makeup, piercings, tattoos, ornaments, nutrition-influenced skin and smell, perfume, temperature and voice. A mentally reproducible pattern of a unique face is formed in the mind, and we use that pattern to distinguish ‘familiar and strange’ in our expanding social orbit. The social relations of patterned memory – of imprinting – determine the extent to which we explore our world (armed with research aids such as text print) or whether we turn to violence or self-harm (Bretherton). While our cultural artifacts (such as vellum maps or networked voice message servers) bravely extend our significant patterns into the social world and the traversed environment, it is useful to remember that such artifacts, including print, are themselves understood by our original pattern-reproduction and impression system – the human mind, developed in childhood. The ‘print’ is brought to mind differently in different discourses. For a reader, a ‘print’ is a book, a memo or a broadsheet, whether it is the Indian Buddhist Sanskrit texts ordered to be printed in 593 AD by the Chinese emperor Sui Wen-ti (Silk Road) or the US Defense Department memo authorizing lower ranks to torture the prisoners taken by the Bush administration (Sanchez, cited in ABC). Other fields see prints differently. For a musician, a ‘print’ may be the sheet music which spread classical and popular music around the world; it may be a ‘record’ (as in a ‘recording’ session), where sound is impressed to wax, vinyl, charged silicon particles, or the alloys (Smith, “Elpida”) of an mp3 file. For the fine artist, a ‘print’ may be any mechanically reproduced two-dimensional (or embossed) impression of a significant image in media from paper to metal, textile to ceramics. ‘Print’ embraces the Japanese Ukiyo-e colour prints of Utamaro, the company logos that wink from credit card holographs, the early photographs of Talbot, and the textured patterns printed into neolithic ceramics. Computer hardware engineers print computational circuits. Homicide detectives investigate both sweaty finger prints and the repeated, mechanical gaits of suspects, which are imprinted into the earthy medium of a crime scene. For film makers, the ‘print’ may refer to a photochemical polyester reproduction of a motion picture artifact (the reel of ‘celluloid’), or a DVD laser disc impression of the same film. Textualist discourse has borrowed the word ‘print’ to mean ‘text’, so ‘print’ may also refer to the text elements within the vision track of a motion picture: the film’s opening titles, or texts photographed inside the motion picture story such as the sword-cut ‘Z’ in Zorro (Niblo). Before the invention of writing, the main mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium was the humble footprint in the sand. The footprints of tribes – and neighbouring animals – cut tracks in the vegetation and the soil. Printed tracks led towards food, water, shelter, enemies and friends. Having learnt to pattern certain faces into their mental world, children grew older and were educated in the footprints of family and clan, enemies and food. The continuous impression of significant foot traffic in the medium of the earth produced the lines between significant nodes of prewriting and pre-wheeled cultures. These tracks were married to audio tracks, such as the song lines of the Australian Aborigines, or the ballads of tramping culture everywhere. A typical tramping song has the line, ‘There’s a track winding back to an old-fashion shack along the road to Gundagai,’ (O’Hagan), although this colonial-style song was actually written for radio and became an international hit on the airwaves, rather than the tramping trails. The printed tracks impressed by these cultural flows are highly contested and diverse, and their foot prints are woven into our very language. The names for printed tracks have entered our shared memory from the intersection of many cultures: ‘Track’ is a Germanic word entering English usage comparatively late (1470) and now used mainly in audio visual cultural reproduction, as in ‘soundtrack’. ‘Trek’ is a Dutch word for ‘track’ now used mainly by ecotourists and science fiction fans. ‘Learn’ is a Proto-Indo-European word: the verb ‘learn’ originally meant ‘to find a track’ back in the days when ‘learn’ had a noun form which meant ‘the sole of the foot’. ‘Tract’ and ‘trace’ are Latin words entering English print usage before 1374 and now used mainly in religious, and electronic surveillance, cultural reproduction. ‘Trench’ in 1386 was a French path cut through a forest. ‘Sagacity’ in English print in 1548 was originally the ability to track or hunt, in Proto-Indo-European cultures. ‘Career’ (in English before 1534) was the print made by chariots in ancient Rome. ‘Sleuth’ (1200) was a Norse noun for a track. ‘Investigation’ (1436) was Latin for studying a footprint (Harper). The arrival of symbolic writing scratched on caves, hearth stones, and trees (the original meaning of ‘book’ is tree), brought extremely limited text education close to home. Then, with baked clay tablets, incised boards, slate, bamboo, tortoise shell, cast metal, bark cloth, textiles, vellum, and – later – paper, a portability came to text that allowed any culture to venture away from known ‘foot’ paths with a reduction in the risk of becoming lost and perishing. So began the world of maps, memos, bills of sale, philosophic treatises and epic mythologies. Some of this was printed, such as the mechanical reproduction of coins, but the fine handwriting required of long, extended, portable texts could not be printed until the invention of paper in China about 2000 years ago. Compared to lithic architecture and genes, portable text is a fragile medium, and little survives from the millennia of its innovators. The printing of large non-text designs onto bark-paper and textiles began in neolithic times, but Sui Wen-ti’s imperial memo of 593 AD gives us the earliest written date for printed books, although we can assume they had been published for many years previously. The printed book was a combination of Indian philosophic thought, wood carving, ink chemistry and Chinese paper. The earliest surviving fragment of paper-print technology is ‘Mantras of the Dharani Sutra’, a Buddhist scripture written in the Sanskrit language of the Indian subcontinent, unearthed at an early Tang Dynasty site in Xian, China – making the fragment a veteran piece of printing, in the sense that Sanskrit books had been in print for at least a century by the early Tang Dynasty (Chinese Graphic Arts Net). At first, paper books were printed with page-size carved wooden boards. Five hundred years later, Pi Sheng (c.1041) baked individual reusable ceramic characters in a fire and invented the durable moveable type of modern printing (Silk Road 2000). Abandoning carved wooden tablets, the ‘digitizing’ of Chinese moveable type sped up the production of printed texts. In turn, Pi Sheng’s flexible, rapid, sustainable printing process expanded the political-cultural impact of the literati in Asian society. Digitized block text on paper produced a bureaucratic, literate elite so powerful in Asia that Louis XVI of France copied China’s print-based Confucian system of political authority for his own empire, and so began the rise of the examined public university systems, and the civil service systems, of most European states (Watson, Visions). By reason of its durability, its rapid mechanical reproduction, its culturally agreed signs, literate readership, revered authorship, shared ideology, and distributed portability, a ‘print’ can be a powerful cultural network which builds and expands empires. But print also attacks and destroys empires. A case in point is the Spanish conquest of Aztec America: The Aztecs had immense libraries of American literature on bark-cloth scrolls, a technology which predated paper. These libraries were wiped out by the invading Spanish, who carried a different book before them (Ewins). In the industrial age, the printing press and the gun were seen as the weapons of rebellions everywhere. In 1776, American rebels staffed their ‘Homeland Security’ units with paper makers, knowing that defeating the English would be based on printed and written documents (Hahn). Mao Zedong was a book librarian; Mao said political power came out of the barrel of a gun, but Mao himself came out of a library. With the spread of wireless networked servers, political ferment comes out of the barrel of the cell phone and the internet chat room these days. Witness the cell phone displays of a plane hitting a tower that appear immediately after 9/11 in the Middle East, or witness the show trials of a few US and UK lower ranks who published prints of their torturing activities onto the internet: only lower ranks who published prints were arrested or tried. The control of secure servers and satellites is the new press. These days, we live in a global library of burning books – ‘burning’ in the sense that ‘print’ is now a charged silicon medium (Smith, “Intel”) which is usually made readable by connecting the chip to nuclear reactors and petrochemically-fired power stations. World resources burn as we read our screens. Men, women, children burn too, as we watch our infotainment news in comfort while ‘their’ flickering dead faces are printed in our broadcast hearths. The print we watch is not the living; it is the voodoo of the living in the blackout behind the camera, engaging the blood sacrifice of the tormented and the unfortunate. Internet texts are also ‘on fire’ in the third sense of their fragility and instability as a medium: data bases regularly ‘print’ fail-safe copies in an attempt to postpone the inevitable mechanical, chemical and electrical failure that awaits all electronic media in time. Print defines a moral position for everyone. In reporting conflict, in deciding to go to press or censor, any ‘print’ cannot avoid an ethical context, starting with the fact that there is a difference in power between print maker, armed perpetrators, the weak, the peaceful, the publisher, and the viewer. So many human factors attend a text, video or voice ‘print’: its very existence as an aesthetic object, even before publication and reception, speaks of unbalanced, and therefore dynamic, power relationships. For example, Graham Greene departed unscathed from all the highly dangerous battlefields he entered as a novelist: Riot-torn Germany, London Blitz, Belgian Congo, Voodoo Haiti, Vietnam, Panama, Reagan’s Washington, and mafia Europe. His texts are peopled with the injustices of the less fortunate of the twentieth century, while he himself was a member of the fortunate (if not happy) elite, as is anyone today who has the luxury of time to read Greene’s works for pleasure. Ethically a member of London and Paris’ colonizers, Greene’s best writing still electrifies, perhaps partly because he was in the same line of fire as the victims he shared bread with. In fact, Greene hoped daily that he would escape from the dreadful conflicts he fictionalized via a body bag or an urn of ashes (see Sherry). In reading an author’s biography we have one window on the ethical dimensions of authority and print. If a print’s aesthetics are sometimes enduring, its ethical relationships are always mutable. Take the stylized logo of a running athlete: four limbs bent in a rotation of action. This dynamic icon has symbolized ‘good health’ in Hindu and Buddhist culture, from Madras to Tokyo, for thousands of years. The cross of bent limbs was borrowed for the militarized health programs of 1930s Germany, and, because of what was only a brief, recent, isolated yet monstrously horrific segment of its history in print, the bent-limbed swastika is now a vilified symbol in the West. The sign remains ‘impressed’ differently on traditional Eastern culture, and without the taint of Nazism. Dramatic prints are emotionally charged because, in depicting Homo sapiens in danger, or passionately in love, they elicit a hormonal reaction from the reader, the viewer, or the audience. The type of emotions triggered by a print vary across the whole gamut of human chemistry. A recent study of three genres of motion picture prints shows a marked differences in the hormonal responses of men compared to women when viewing a romance, an actioner, and a documentary (see Schultheiss, Wirth, and Stanton). Society is biochemically diverse in its engagement with printed culture, which raises questions about equality in the arts. Motion picture prints probably comprise around one third of internet traffic, in the form of stolen digitized movie files pirated across the globe via peer-to-peer file transfer networks (p2p), and burnt as DVD laser prints (BBC). There is also a US 40 billion dollar per annum legitimate commerce in DVD laser pressings (Grassl), which would suggest an US 80 billion per annum world total in legitimate laser disc print culture. The actively screen literate, or the ‘sliterati’ as I prefer to call them, research this world of motion picture prints via their peers, their internet information channels, their television programming, and their web forums. Most of this activity occurs outside the ambit of universities and schools. One large site of sliterate (screen literate) practice outside most schooling and official research is the net of online forums at imdb.com (International Movie Data Base). Imdb.com ‘prints’ about 25,000,000 top pages per month to client browsers. Hundreds of sliterati forums are located at imdb, including a forum for the Australian movie, Muriel’s Wedding (Hogan). Ten years after the release of Muriel’s Wedding, young people who are concerned with victimization and bullying still log on to http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/> and put their thoughts into print: I still feel so bad for Muriel in the beginning of the movie, when the girls ‘dump’ her, and how much the poor girl cried and cried! Those girls were such biartches…I love how they got their comeuppance! bunniesormaybemidgets’s comment is typical of the current discussion. Muriel’s Wedding was a very popular film in its first cinema edition in Australia and elsewhere. About 30% of the entire over-14 Australian population went to see this photochemical polyester print in the cinemas on its first release. A decade on, the distributors printed a DVD laser disc edition. The story concerns Muriel (played by Toni Collette), the unemployed daughter of a corrupt, ‘police state’ politician. Muriel is bullied by her peers and she withdraws into a fantasy world, deluding herself that a white wedding will rescue her from the torments of her blighted life. Through theft and deceit (the modus operandi of her father) Muriel escapes to the entertainment industry and finds a ‘wicked’ girlfriend mentor. From a rebellious position of stubborn independence, Muriel plays out her fantasy. She gets her white wedding, before seeing both her father and her new married life as hollow shams which have goaded her abandoned mother to suicide. Redefining her life as a ‘game’ and assuming responsibility for her independence, Muriel turns her back on the mainstream, image-conscious, female gang of her oppressed youth. Muriel leaves the story, having rekindled her friendship with her rebel mentor. My methodological approach to viewing the laser disc print was to first make a more accessible, coded record of the entire movie. I was able to code and record the print in real time, using a new metalanguage (Watson, “Eyes”). The advantage of Coding is that ‘thinks’ the same way as film making, it does not sidetrack the analyst into prose. The Code splits the movie print into Vision Action [vision graphic elements, including text] (sound) The Coding splits the vision track into normal action and graphic elements, such as text, so this Coding is an ideal method for extracting all the text elements of a film in real time. After playing the film once, I had four and a half tightly packed pages of the coded story, including all its text elements in square brackets. Being a unique, indexed hard copy, the Coded copy allowed me immediate access to any point of the Muriel’s Wedding saga without having to search the DVD laser print. How are ‘print’ elements used in Muriel’s Wedding? Firstly, a rose-coloured monoprint of Muriel Heslop’s smiling face stares enigmatically from the plastic surface of the DVD picture disc. The print is a still photo captured from her smile as she walked down the aisle of her white wedding. In this print, Toni Collette is the Mona Lisa of Australian culture, except that fans of Muriel’s Wedding know the meaning of that smile is a magical combination of the actor’s art: the smile is both the flush of dreams come true and the frightening self deception that will kill her mother. Inserting and playing the disc, the text-dominant menu appears, and the film commences with the text-dominant opening titles. Text and titles confer a legitimacy on a work, whether it is a trade mark of the laser print owners, or the household names of stars. Text titles confer status relationships on both the presenters of the cultural artifact and the viewer who has entered into a legal license agreement with the owners of the movie. A title makes us comfortable, because the mind always seeks to name the unfamiliar, and a set of text titles does that job for us so that we can navigate the ‘tracks’ and settle into our engagement with the unfamiliar. The apparent ‘truth’ and ‘stability’ of printed text calms our fears and beguiles our uncertainties. Muriel attends the white wedding of a school bully bride, wearing a leopard print dress she has stolen. Muriel’s spotted wild animal print contrasts with the pure white handmade dress of the bride. In Muriel’s leopard textile print, we have the wild, rebellious, impoverished, inappropriate intrusion into the social ritual and fantasy of her high-status tormentor. An off-duty store detective recognizes the printed dress and calls the police. The police are themselves distinguished by their blue-and-white checked prints and other mechanically reproduced impressions of cultural symbols: in steel, brass, embroidery, leather and plastics. Muriel is driven in the police car past the stenciled town sign (‘Welcome To Porpoise Spit’ heads a paragraph of small print). She is delivered to her father, a politician who presides over the policing of his town. In a state where the judiciary, police and executive are hijacked by the same tyrant, Muriel’s father, Bill, pays off the police constables with a carton of legal drugs (beer) and Muriel must face her father’s wrath, which he proceeds to transfer to his detested wife. Like his daughter, the father also wears a spotted brown print costume, but his is a batik print from neighbouring Indonesia (incidentally, in a nation that takes the political status of its batik prints very seriously). Bill demands that Muriel find the receipt for the leopard print dress she claims she has purchased. The legitimate ownership of the object is enmeshed with a printed receipt, the printed evidence of trade. The law (and the paramilitary power behind the law) are legitimized, or contested, by the presence or absence of printed text. Muriel hides in her bedroom, surround by poster prints of the pop group ABBA. Torn-out prints of other people’s weddings adorn her mirror. Her face is embossed with the clown-like primary colours of the marionette as she lifts a bouquet to her chin and stares into the real time ‘print’ of her mirror image. Bill takes the opportunity of a business meeting with Japanese investors to feed his entire family at ‘Charlie Chan’’s restaurant. Muriel’s middle sister sloppily wears her father’s state election tee shirt, printed with the text: ‘Vote 1, Bill Heslop. You can’t stop progress.’ The text sets up two ironic gags that are paid off on the dialogue track: “He lost,’ we are told. ‘Progress’ turns out to be funding the concreting of a beach. Bill berates his daughter Muriel: she has no chance of becoming a printer’s apprentice and she has failed a typing course. Her dysfunction in printed text has been covered up by Bill: he has bribed the typing teacher to issue a printed diploma to his daughter. In the gambling saloon of the club, under the arrays of mechanically repeated cultural symbols lit above the poker machines (‘A’ for ace, ‘Q’ for queen, etc.), Bill’s secret girlfriend Diedre risks giving Muriel a cosmetics job. Another text icon in lights announces the surf nightclub ‘Breakers’. Tania, the newly married queen bitch who has made Muriel’s teenage years a living hell, breaks up with her husband, deciding to cash in his negotiable text documents – his Bali honeymoon tickets – and go on an island holiday with her girlfriends instead. Text documents are the enduring site of agreements between people and also the site of mutations to those agreements. Tania dumps Muriel, who sobs and sobs. Sobs are a mechanical, percussive reproduction impressed on the sound track. Returning home, we discover that Muriel’s older brother has failed a printed test and been rejected for police recruitment. There is a high incidence of print illiteracy in the Heslop family. Mrs Heslop (Jeannie Drynan), for instance, regularly has trouble at the post office. Muriel sees a chance to escape the oppression of her family by tricking her mother into giving her a blank cheque. Here is the confluence of the legitimacy of a bank’s printed negotiable document with the risk and freedom of a blank space for rebel Muriel’s handwriting. Unable to type, her handwriting has the power to steal every cent of her father’s savings. She leaves home and spends the family’s savings at an island resort. On the island, the text print-challenged Muriel dances to a recording (sound print) of ABBA, her hand gestures emphasizing her bewigged face, which is made up in an impression of her pop idol. Her imitation of her goddesses – the ABBA women, her only hope in a real world of people who hate or avoid her – is accompanied by her goddesses’ voices singing: ‘the mystery book on the shelf is always repeating itself.’ Before jpeg and gif image downloads, we had postcard prints and snail mail. Muriel sends a postcard to her family, lying about her ‘success’ in the cosmetics business. The printed missal is clutched by her father Bill (Bill Hunter), who proclaims about his daughter, ‘you can’t type but you really impress me’. Meanwhile, on Hibiscus Island, Muriel lies under a moonlit palm tree with her newly found mentor, ‘bad girl’ Ronda (Rachel Griffiths). In this critical scene, where foolish Muriel opens her heart’s yearnings to a confidante she can finally trust, the director and DP have chosen to shoot a flat, high contrast blue filtered image. The visual result is very much like the semiabstract Japanese Ukiyo-e woodblock prints by Utamaro. This Japanese printing style informed the rise of European modern painting (Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, etc., were all important collectors and students of Ukiyo-e prints). The above print and text elements in Muriel’s Wedding take us 27 minutes into her story, as recorded on a single page of real-time handwritten Coding. Although not discussed here, the Coding recorded the complete film – a total of 106 minutes of text elements and main graphic elements – as four pages of Code. Referring to this Coding some weeks after it was made, I looked up the final code on page four: taxi [food of the sea] bq. Translation: a shop sign whizzes past in the film’s background, as Muriel and Ronda leave Porpoise Spit in a taxi. Over their heads the text ‘Food Of The Sea’ flashes. We are reminded that Muriel and Ronda are mermaids, fantastic creatures sprung from the brow of author PJ Hogan, and illuminated even today in the pantheon of women’s coming-of-age art works. That the movie is relevant ten years on is evidenced by the current usage of the Muriel’s Wedding online forum, an intersection of wider discussions by sliterate women on imdb.com who, like Muriel, are observers (and in some cases victims) of horrific pressure from ambitious female gangs and bullies. Text is always a minor element in a motion picture (unless it is a subtitled foreign film) and text usually whizzes by subliminally while viewing a film. By Coding the work for [text], all the text nuances made by the film makers come to light. While I have viewed Muriel’s Wedding on many occasions, it has only been in Coding it specifically for text that I have noticed that Muriel is a representative of that vast class of talented youth who are discriminated against by print (as in text) educators who cannot offer her a life-affirming identity in the English classroom. Severely depressed at school, and failing to type or get a printer’s apprenticeship, Muriel finds paid work (and hence, freedom, life, identity, independence) working in her audio visual printed medium of choice: a video store in a new city. Muriel found a sliterate admirer at the video store but she later dumped him for her fantasy man, before leaving him too. One of the points of conjecture on the imdb Muriel’s Wedding site is, did Muriel (in the unwritten future) get back together with admirer Brice Nobes? That we will never know. While a print forms a track that tells us where culture has been, a print cannot be the future, a print is never animate reality. At the end of any trail of prints, one must lift one’s head from the last impression, and negotiate satisfaction in the happening world. References Australian Broadcasting Corporation. “Memo Shows US General Approved Interrogations.” 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. British Broadcasting Commission. “Films ‘Fuel Online File-Sharing’.’’ 22 Feb. 2005 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/3890527.stm>. Bretherton, I. “The Origins of Attachment Theory: John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth.” 1994. 23 Jan. 2005 http://www.psy.med.br/livros/autores/bowlby/bowlby.pdf>. Bunniesormaybemidgets. Chat Room Comment. “What Did Those Girls Do to Rhonda?” 28 Mar. 2005 http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/>. Chinese Graphic Arts Net. Mantras of the Dharani Sutra. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.cgan.com/english/english/cpg/engcp10.htm>. Ewins, R. Barkcloth and the Origins of Paper. 1991. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.justpacific.com/pacific/papers/barkcloth~paper.html>. Grassl K.R. The DVD Statistical Report. 14 Mar. 2005 http://www.corbell.com>. Hahn, C. M. The Topic Is Paper. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.nystamp.org/Topic_is_paper.html>. Harper, D. Online Etymology Dictionary. 14 Mar. 2005 http://www.etymonline.com/>. Mask of Zorro, The. Screenplay by J McCulley. UA, 1920. Muriel’s Wedding. Dir. PJ Hogan. Perf. Toni Collette, Rachel Griffiths, Bill Hunter, and Jeannie Drynan. Village Roadshow, 1994. O’Hagan, Jack. On The Road to Gundagai. 1922. 2 Apr. 2005 http://ingeb.org/songs/roadtogu.html>. Poole, J.H., P.L. Tyack, A.S. Stoeger-Horwath, and S. Watwood. “Animal Behaviour: Elephants Are Capable of Vocal Learning.” Nature 24 Mar. 2005. Sanchez, R. “Interrogation and Counter-Resistance Policy.” 14 Sept. 2003. 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. Schultheiss, O.C., M.M. Wirth, and S.J. Stanton. “Effects of Affiliation and Power Motivation Arousal on Salivary Progesterone and Testosterone.” Hormones and Behavior 46 (2005). Sherry, N. The Life of Graham Greene. 3 vols. London: Jonathan Cape 2004, 1994, 1989. Silk Road. Printing. 2000. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.silk-road.com/artl/printing.shtml>. Smith, T. “Elpida Licenses ‘DVD on a Chip’ Memory Tech.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. —. “Intel Boffins Build First Continuous Beam Silicon Laser.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. Watson, R. S. “Eyes And Ears: Dramatic Memory Slicing and Salable Media Content.” Innovation and Speculation, ed. Brad Haseman. Brisbane: QUT. [in press] Watson, R. S. Visions. Melbourne: Curriculum Corporation, 1994. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Watson, Robert. "E-Press and Oppress: Audio Visual Print Drama, Identity, Text and Motion Picture Rebellion." M/C Journal 8.2 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/08-watson.php>. APA Style Watson, R. (Jun. 2005) "E-Press and Oppress: Audio Visual Print Drama, Identity, Text and Motion Picture Rebellion," M/C Journal, 8(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/08-watson.php>.

The effects of translation have been felt in the development of most languages, but it is particularly marked in English language and literature, where it is a highly charged topic because of its fundamental connection with colonial expansion. Britain shaped a "national" literary identity through borrowing from other languages and infected and inflected other languages and literatures in the course of cultural migrations that occurred in Europe since at least the medieval period onward. As Stephen Greenblatt points out in his essay, "Racial Memory and Literary History," the discovery that English is a "mixed, impure, and constantly shifting medium" is not a new one, citing the preface to the first etymological dictionary in English, published in 1689, in which its author describes English as a hybrid tongue: a Composition of most, if not all the Languages of Europe; especially of the Belgick or Low-Dutch, Saxon, Teutonic or High-Dutch, Cambro-British or Welsh, French, Spanish, Italian, and Latin; and now and then of the Old and Modern Danish, and Ancient High-Dutch; also of the Greek, Hebrew, Arabick, Chaldee, Syriack, and Turcick. ((Skinner A3v-A4r, in Greenblatt 52) The "English" literary canon has translated material at its heart; there is the Bible, for instance, and classical works in Greek, which are read and discussed in translation by many who study them. Beowulf is a translation that has been canonized as one of the "original" texts of English literature, and Shakespeare was inspired by translations. Consider, for instance, Greenblatt's description of The Comedy of Errors, where a "Plautine character from a Sicilian city, finding himself in the market square of a city in Asia Minor, invokes Arctic shamanism – and all this had to make sense to a mixed audience in a commercial theater in London" (58), and there is a strong sense of the global cultural discourse that has been translated into a "national" and international canon of literature in English. English as a language and as a literature, however, has not been contained by national boundaries for some time, and in fact is now more comfortably conceived in the plural, or as uncountable, like a multidirectional flow. English has therefore been translated from solid, settled, and certain representations of Anglo-Celtic culture in the singular to a plurality of shifting, hybrid productions and performances which illuminate the tension implicit in cultural exchange. Translation has become a popular trope used by critics to describe that interaction within literatures defined by language rather than nation, and as a mutable and mutual process of reading and reinscription which illuminates relationships of power. The most obvious power relationship that translation represents, of course, is that between the so-called original and the translation; between the creativity of the author and the derivation of the translator. In The Translator's Invisibility (1995), Lawrence Venuti suggests that there is a prevailing conception of the author as a free and unconstrained individual who partially shapes the relationship: "the author freely expresses his thoughts and feelings in writing, which is thus viewed as an original and transparent self-representation, unmediated by transindividual determinants (linguistic, cultural, social) that might complicate authorial individuality" (6). The translation then can only be defined as an inferior representation, "derivative, fake, potentially a false copy" (7) and the translator as performing the translation in the manner of an actor manipulating lines written by someone else: "translators playact as authors, and translations pass for original texts" (7). The transparent translation and the invisibility of the translator, Venuti argues can be seen as "a mystification of troubling proportions, an amazingly successful concealment of the multiple determinants and effects of English-language translation, the multiple hierarchies and exclusions in which it is implicated" (16). That is, translation exerts its own power in constructing identities and representing difference, in addition to the power derived from the "original" text, which, in fact, the translation may resist. Recognition of this power suggests that traditional Western representations of translation as an echo or copy, a slave toiling on the plantation or seductive belle infidèle, each with its clear affinity to sexual and colonial conquest, attempts to deny translation the possibility of its own power and the assertion of its own creative identity. However, the establishment of an alternative power arrangement exists because translations can "masquerade as originals" (Chamberlain 67) and infiltrate and subvert literary systems in disguise. As Susan Stewart contends in Crimes of Writing: Problems in the Containment of Representation, if we "begin with the relation between authority and writing practices rather than with an assumption of authorial originality, we arrive at a quite different sense of history" (9) and, indeed, a different sense of literary creativity. This remainder of this paper will focus on Nicole Brossard's Le désert mauve and Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient, to exemlify how a translator may flaunts her creativity, and allow the cultural position of the translator vis à vis language, history, or gender to be critically exposed by the text itself. Québécoise feminist writer Nicole Brossard's 1987 novel, Le désert mauve [Mauve Desert], is perhaps the most striking example of how a translator foregrounds the creative process of reading and re-writing. Brossard constructed her novel by becoming her own reader and asking questions, imagining dialogues between the characters she had already created. This "interactive discourse" shaped the text, which is a dialogue between two versions of a story, and between two writers, one of whom is an active reader, a translator. Le désert mauve is a structural triptych, consisting of Laure Angstelle's novel, Le désert mauve, and Mauve l'horizon, a translation of Angstelle's book by Maude Laures. In the space between the two sites of writing, the translator imagines the possibilities of the text she has read, "re-imagining the characters' lives, the objects, the dialogue" (Interview, 23 April 96). Between the versions of the desert story, she creates a fluid dimension of désir, or desire, a "space to swim with the words" (Interview). Brossard has said that "before the idea of the novel had definitely shaped itself," she knew that it would be in a "hot place, where the weather, la température, would be almost unbearable: people would be sweating; the light would be difficult" (Mauve Desert: A CD-ROM Translation). That site became the desert of the American southwest with its beauty and danger, its timelessness and history, and its decadent traces of Western civilization in the litter of old bottles and abandoned, rusting cars. The author imagined the desert through the images and words of books she read about the desert, appropriating the flowers and cacti that excited her through their names, seduced her through language. Maude Laures, the translator within Brossard's novel, finds the desert as a dimension of her reading, too: "a space, a landscape, an enigma entered with each reading" (133). From her first readings of a novel she has discovered in a used bookshop, Laures, confronts the "the issue of control. Who owns the meaning of the black marks on the page, the writer or the reader?" (Godard 115), and decides the book will belong to her, "and that she can do everything because she has fallen in love with the book, and therefore she's taken possession of the book, the author, the characters, the desert" (Interview). The translator is fascinated by Mélanie, the 15-year-old narrator, who drives her mother's car across the desert, and who has been captivated by the voice and beauty of the geometrician, Angela Parkins, imagining dialogues between these two characters as they linger in the motel parking lot. But she is unwilling to imagine words with l'homme long (longman), who composes beautiful equations that cause explosions in the desert, recites Sanskrit poems, and thumbs through porno in his hotel room. Le désert mauve was an attempt by Brossard to translate from French to French, but the descriptions of the desert landscape – the saguaro, senita, ocotillos, and arroyo—show Spanish to be the language of the desert. In her translation, Maude Laures increases the code switching and adds more Spanish phrases to her text, and Japanese, too, to magnify the echo of nuclear destruction that resonates in l'homme long's equations. She also renames the character l'homme oblong (O'blongman) to increase the dimension of danger he represents. Linking the desert through language with nuclear testing gives it a "semantic density," as Nicholis Entrikin calls it, that extends far beyond the geographical location to recognize the events embedded in that space through associative memory. L'homme long is certainly linked through language to J Robert Oppenheimer, the director of the original atomic bomb project in Los Alamos, New Mexico and his reference to the Bhagavad Gita after seeing the effects of the atomic bomb: "I/am/become Death—now we are all sons of bitches" (17). The translator distances herself by a translating Death/I /am/death—I'm a sonofabitch" (173). The desert imagined by Laure Angstelle seduces the reader, Maude Laures, and her translation project creates a trajectory which links the heat and light of the desert with the cold and harsh reflective glare of sunlit snow in wintry Montréal, where the "misleading reflections" of the desert's white light is subject to the translator's gaze. Laures leans into the desert peopled with geometricians and scientists and lesbians living under poisonous clouds of smoke that stop time, and tilts her translation in another direction. In the final chapter of Laure Angstelle's novel, Mélanie had danced in the arms of Angela Parkins, only to find she had run out of time: Angela is shot (perhaps by l'homme long) and falls to the dance floor. Maudes Laures is constrained by the story and by reality, but translates "There was no more time" into "One more time," allowing the lovers' dance to continue for at least another breath, room for another ending. Brossard has asserted that, like lesbian desire or the translator, the desert was located in the background of our thoughts. Ondaatje's novel, The English Patient (1992), locates the translator in the desert, linking a profession and a place which have both witnessed an averting of Western eyes, both used in linguistic and imperial enterprises that operate under conditions of camouflage. Linked also by association is the war in the Sahara and the nuclear bombs dropped on Japan. As in Brossard, the desert here is a destination reached by reading, how "history enters us" through maps and language. Almásy, "the English patient," knew the desert before he had been there, "knew when Alexander had traversed it in an earlier age, for this cause or that greed" (18). Books in code also serve to guide spies and armies across the desert, and like a book, the desert is "crowded with the world" (285), while it is "raped by war and shelled as if it were just sand" (257). Here the translator is representative of a writing that moves between positions and continually questions its place in history. Translators and explorers write themselves out of a text, rendering themselves invisible and erasing traces of their emotions, their doubts, beliefs, and loves, in order to produce a "neutral" text, much in the way that colonialism empties land of human traces in order to claim it, or the way technology is airbrushed out of the desert in order to conceal "the secret of the deserts from Unweinat to Hiroshima" (295). Almásy the translator, the spy, whose identity is always a subject of speculation, knows how the eye can be fooled as it reads a text in disguise; floating on a raft of morphine, he rewrites the monotone of history in different modes, inserting between the terse lines of commentary a counternarrative of love illumined by "the communal book of moonlight" (261), which translates lives and gives them new meaning. The translator's creativity stems from a collaboration and a love for the text; to deny the translation process its creative credibility is synonymous in The English Patient with the denial of any desire that may violate the social rules of the game of love by unfairly demanding fidelity. If seas move away to leave shifting desert sands, why should lovers not drift, or translations? Ultimately, we are all communal translations, says Ondaatje's novel, of the shifting relationship between histories and personal identities. "We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience" (261). This representation of the translator resists the view of identity "which attempts to recover an immutable origin, a fixed and eternal representation of itself" (Ashcroft 4) by its insistence that we are transformed in and by our versions of reality, just as we are by our readings of fiction. The translators represented in Brossard and Ondaatje suggest that the process of translation is a creative one, which acknowledges influence, contradictory currents, and choice its heart. The complexity of the choices a translator makes and the mulitiplicity of positions from which she may write suggest a process of translation that is neither transparent nor complete. Rather than the ubiquitous notion of the translator as "a servant an invisible hand mechanically turning the word of one language into another" (Godard 91), the translator creatively 'forges in the smithy of the soul' a version of story that is a complex "working model of inclusive consciousness" (Heaney 8) that seeks to loosen another tongue and another reading in an eccentric literary version of oral storytelling. References Ashcroft, Bill. Post-Colonial Transformation. London and New York: Routledge, 2001. Brossard, Nicole. Le désert mauve. Montréal: l'Hexagone, 1987. Mauve Desert. Trans. Susanne Lotbinière-Harwood. Toronto: Coach House Press, 1990. Brossard, Nicole. Personal Interview. With Beverley Curran and Mitoko Hirabayashi, Montreal, April 1996. Chamberlain, Lori. "Gender and the Metaphorics of Translation." Reinventing Translation. Lawrence Venuti, Ed. 57-73. Godard, Barbara. "Translating (With) the Speculum." Traduction, Terminologie, Rédaction 4 (2) 1991: 85-121. Greenblatt, Stephen. "Racial Memory and Literary History." PMLA 116 (1), January 2001: 48-63. Heaney, Seamus. "The Redress of Poetry." The Redress of Poetry: Oxford Lectures. London, Boston: Faber and Faber, 1995. 1-16. Jenik, Adriene. Mauve Desert: A CD-ROM Translation. Los Angeles: Shifting Horizon Productions, 1997. Ondaatje, Michael. The English Patient. Toronto: Vintage Books, 1993. Stewart, Susan. Crimes of Writing: Problems in the Containment of Representation. New York, Oxford: Oxford UP, 1991. Venuti, Lawrence. The Translator's Invisibility: A History of Translation. London, New York: Routledge, 1995.