by Tenzin Dhadon Kanika (Fellow)
Recently attended a workshop on Ethnography and the art of Radical Attention, facilitated by Dr. Atreyee Majumder, an anthropologist, writer, and assistant professor. The workshop introduced us to ethnography as a way of seeing and writing about the world.
It was a four-day workshop. On the first day, Atreyee displayed three pictures and asked us to describe it but not in the obvious way. The interesting part was that each participant had something different to regarding the same. The next day we discussed Renato Rosaldo’s The Day of Shelly’s Death—The Poetry and Ethnography of Grief, in the night we watched Winter in Sokcho by Koya Kamura. On the third day, everyone presented their research projects be it their PhD topics or some dream project they would like to do. It was fascinating to see people bring such brilliant ideas and topics to research and Atreyee and the fellow participants guiding and supporting each other. Before lunch we got free and Atreyee gave us a task to walk with all our senses open for about 50 min. Try to capture and observe every moment without using your devices.
By 4pm I started walking while my mind was wandering, and somewhere on the stairs a simple thought came: I need to be present. The thought instantly brought me right into the moment. The sounds around me sharpened. I heard the birds, the insects, and the stream so clearly. The path felt so new, as if walking for the first time. When I reached the main road, I found myself thinking, I want my cousins to feel this too, to slow down and notice what’s usually missed.
Further on I saw a new building; on the right were three men plastering the walls, and on the left, three women in colorful clothes carrying cement and walking upstairs with matching footsteps, totally in sync. Above that building, I could see a huge cloud shaped like a dragonfly. The scene altogether felt like an artwork.
Then I took a shortcut near the veterinary hospital. I found a road on my left I’d never seen before, I was curious and took it. Fear crept in, what if a dog comes and starts barking at me. Along the way I noticed a dilapidated mud house, few sheep, three men and a woman. I thought I shouldn’t interrupt them and started my way back. A car came by and I stepped aside, dry leaves were beneath by feet, and the crunch sound made me unexpectedly happy. Then I noticed another narrow path I have never seen before. The evening sun was falling on the trees and the mud buildings, two men carrying bags on their head and walking the same narrow path. The place looked beautiful but unsafe. I wondered about the same place as I continued walking. I was walking towards Nanehar, the village uphill. I was imagining myself sitting on the chair and enjoying the view.
On my way up I saw two stones kept inside the stream (Kuhl), connecting the road and the house, I wondered what if the water rises. I saw two mud buildings one made in Kath Kuni style and the other with stones and mud where the laborers lived. Next, I noticed a beautiful house with cows caged in their verandah. I have always seen mud houses for the cows but never a steel bar cage. Further up, I saw a building under construction with sand all around, and it didn’t look very appealing. I glanced at the view and thought maybe I should return and not go further up.
And then I turned back. There it was it felt like magic. I was seeing the most beautiful site. The beauty I was looking for was right behind me. The sunlight glittering through the bamboo leaves, shades of yellow and green spreading all over the path. I smiled and watched it with so much joy and peace; it felt as if I have achieved something but in the most unexpected way. I felt so satisfied turning back. It was magical!! I opened my arms, danced a little, and came striding down humming a song.
Later I met Neha Sharma, a PhD student in IIT Guwahati and shared with her the path where I’d seen the two men. She suggested we go together. With her beside me the path didn’t feel so intimidating. We saw the Sun—orange, round, and huge—setting on our left side. Then something as huge as the sun appeared on my right. I wondered how the sun came to my right. I looked at it; it was the Moon—big and bright. It was truly magical. We walked until the fields open up. With grass reaching our waist and the mountains surrounding us, we felt so small in that vast field.
That walk made me realize how much our attention shapes our experience. I had walked the same path, but I’d never noticed the link road, the narrow path. And the real beauty wasn’t the thing I was chasing, but it was the path that I had already taken.