SMELL & SENSIBILITY
A thousand surge at us as we begin our walk.
Sweat, sand, soap, dung, camphor, flowers, oil, oranges, fish, pigeons, disinfectant, wet earth, deodorant, varnish, burnt rubber - each blending with the distinct other, explosively at one instance, and gently at another, creating one choking gulp of life-odour at a time.
We succumb to the methodical olfactory attack; the other senses take a reluctant back seat.
And suddenly, as we navigate our way through the heart of Dadar, we look at each other for a moment and smile at the mutual realisation of having just smelt ' humanity'.
Showing posts with label SHARED SPACE. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SHARED SPACE. Show all posts
Sunday, March 03, 2013
Monday, February 01, 2010
RO ON SHARED SPACE – 1
THE GREAT SPACE ROBBERY
At the ACE Hotel New York on 29th between Fifth and Broadway, it’s a strange play between personal space and shared space. The role of public space, it seems, is to heighten the perception of private space and its relationship with itself.
You walk in, pick up your wifi code and dive into your laptop, amidst the hustle-bustle of wait staff, the clinking of cappuccino cups and inventive cocktails. Like those cocktails, it’s a blend of cool vibe and a Friday-happy-hour feel. No one needs to approve of your presence – you simply belong.
Unless of course you do something weird – as I did.
There are four marked areas in the hotel lobby. Two of them are filled with sprawling couches generous enough to accommodate these people, and all of their workday’s accouterments, which, in the winter, have a tendency to take up more than one’s fair share of individual space – bulky winter coats, backpacks, gloves, hats, earmuffs… you get the picture. A communal table for ten laptops stands at the center, at which people sit, each engrossed in an intense relationship with their laptop. The relationship is quite obvious – that of one with oneself.
Respect for personal space – particularly here – is an unspoken tenet. And so I decide to throw a little wrench into the snugness of this secure digital haven, if only to find the answer to the social experiment that ensues. I steal a furtive glance at my neighbor’s screen, which I ensure she catches from the periphery of her vision. And then, from the periphery of mine, I observe. She’s completely disconcerted, and she loses focus on what she’s doing. Her only thought is my “sneak peek”. So now, it’s her turn to looking surreptitiously towards me, by which time, my gaze has calmly returned to my own laptop, and to writing this piece. Clearly, I have turned into a bull, which has subtly but substantially butted into the fragility of the surrounding china-like psyche.
When personal space is ruptured with a sneaky, stealthy glance such as this (which you can’t prove for sure) it can become extremely potent just by its sheer questionability. Did it really happen? Did I imagine it? Am I being paranoid? Do I now angle my laptop a few degrees away? Or will that seem awfully rude? Should I then actually turn my laptop towards her, so what I’m thinking isn’t obvious? An avalanche of doubts cascades into the mind and from it, becoming a distraction of immense proportion.
When invisible boundaries in shared space are so ruptured, it’s more than just an invasion, it’s a theft – of privacy, comfort and security.
In that light, it is not likely that my “guinea pig” at the neighboring laptop will ever be the same again.
Tch, tch.
At the ACE Hotel New York on 29th between Fifth and Broadway, it’s a strange play between personal space and shared space. The role of public space, it seems, is to heighten the perception of private space and its relationship with itself.
You walk in, pick up your wifi code and dive into your laptop, amidst the hustle-bustle of wait staff, the clinking of cappuccino cups and inventive cocktails. Like those cocktails, it’s a blend of cool vibe and a Friday-happy-hour feel. No one needs to approve of your presence – you simply belong.
Unless of course you do something weird – as I did.
There are four marked areas in the hotel lobby. Two of them are filled with sprawling couches generous enough to accommodate these people, and all of their workday’s accouterments, which, in the winter, have a tendency to take up more than one’s fair share of individual space – bulky winter coats, backpacks, gloves, hats, earmuffs… you get the picture. A communal table for ten laptops stands at the center, at which people sit, each engrossed in an intense relationship with their laptop. The relationship is quite obvious – that of one with oneself.
Respect for personal space – particularly here – is an unspoken tenet. And so I decide to throw a little wrench into the snugness of this secure digital haven, if only to find the answer to the social experiment that ensues. I steal a furtive glance at my neighbor’s screen, which I ensure she catches from the periphery of her vision. And then, from the periphery of mine, I observe. She’s completely disconcerted, and she loses focus on what she’s doing. Her only thought is my “sneak peek”. So now, it’s her turn to looking surreptitiously towards me, by which time, my gaze has calmly returned to my own laptop, and to writing this piece. Clearly, I have turned into a bull, which has subtly but substantially butted into the fragility of the surrounding china-like psyche.
When personal space is ruptured with a sneaky, stealthy glance such as this (which you can’t prove for sure) it can become extremely potent just by its sheer questionability. Did it really happen? Did I imagine it? Am I being paranoid? Do I now angle my laptop a few degrees away? Or will that seem awfully rude? Should I then actually turn my laptop towards her, so what I’m thinking isn’t obvious? An avalanche of doubts cascades into the mind and from it, becoming a distraction of immense proportion.
When invisible boundaries in shared space are so ruptured, it’s more than just an invasion, it’s a theft – of privacy, comfort and security.
In that light, it is not likely that my “guinea pig” at the neighboring laptop will ever be the same again.
Tch, tch.
Friday, January 29, 2010
ADAM K ON SHARED SPACE – 1
THE BED’S TOO BIG WITHOUT YOU...
What happens to space when someone you love has departed from it forever?
In the beginning, the space you once shared shrinks and expands. Gravity is sucked dry. And a cold gray wind constantly drifts in and out.
In that space, familiar objects that used to project meaning are minimized. An old photograph above the desk, taken together years ago, is reduced to the size of a postage stamp. A tree that you happily planted together in the front yard, which had grown so strong and tall, appears to wither away.
Quietly, it sits naked, as it vanishes into space.
It’s different with other things; the bed you slept together in for so many years becomes inflated and overwhelms you with its presence. Off in the distance you hear an echoing refrain from a song you both loved, but never dreamed possible “The bed’s too big without you…”
Rooms that were once open and welcoming become closed and off-limits. Barren clothes racks hold up bare walls in the closet. Wastebaskets that would sit empty get filled and refilled, as you try to sort out the space left behind by the departed.
But slowly, over time, the shattered shared space starts to conform to a new set of coordinates. The familiar objects, some of which you’ve rearranged, and others that you’ve added on your own along the way, no longer waver. Their dimensions and proportions, density and volume return to a manageable state of patterns.
At times, the space now even cradles and comforts. That’s when you realize love lost can be found everywhere… and that you’re okay being in that space and sharing it with someone new.
What happens to space when someone you love has departed from it forever?
In the beginning, the space you once shared shrinks and expands. Gravity is sucked dry. And a cold gray wind constantly drifts in and out.
In that space, familiar objects that used to project meaning are minimized. An old photograph above the desk, taken together years ago, is reduced to the size of a postage stamp. A tree that you happily planted together in the front yard, which had grown so strong and tall, appears to wither away.
Quietly, it sits naked, as it vanishes into space.
It’s different with other things; the bed you slept together in for so many years becomes inflated and overwhelms you with its presence. Off in the distance you hear an echoing refrain from a song you both loved, but never dreamed possible “The bed’s too big without you…”
Rooms that were once open and welcoming become closed and off-limits. Barren clothes racks hold up bare walls in the closet. Wastebaskets that would sit empty get filled and refilled, as you try to sort out the space left behind by the departed.
But slowly, over time, the shattered shared space starts to conform to a new set of coordinates. The familiar objects, some of which you’ve rearranged, and others that you’ve added on your own along the way, no longer waver. Their dimensions and proportions, density and volume return to a manageable state of patterns.
At times, the space now even cradles and comforts. That’s when you realize love lost can be found everywhere… and that you’re okay being in that space and sharing it with someone new.
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