Thick Description

"Thick Description", as a term in anthropology, owes its origins to Clifford Geertz. In order to be scholarly or, well, correct in my citation and paraphrase, I need to consult my class notes. Fortunately, those are all thousands of miles away, so lets forget what I actually learned about ethnomusicology in classes on the subject, and stick with what I learned to remember, which is probably just as good.

Geertz' emphasis on thick description came about in a field dominated by structuralists, particularly Claude Levi-Straus. The idea of the structuralists that you had to locate a culture or behavior according to its structure (for instance, the totem masks of these people slope downward, whereas those people's slope upward), for Geertz, had gone too far afield from the actual art of anthropology. It became about labeling and abstracting instead of reflecting the life that people were leading. Therefore Geertz wanted to avoid this by filling his accounts with 'thick' descriptions. I think of this along the lines of, if you can actually described something in enough detail (a theoretical asymptote), then there really is no need for further analysis - a third-party observer will simply re-live the experience instead of needing an abstracted description. Or, as David Newman put it in Form V Humanities, none of this historical theory is interesting to me at all - what is interesting is to know exactly [the Medici, Elizabethans, Greeks] actually did in their lives.

I will spare you all the thick description of my subject, Sikh kirtan in the Punjab, for the moment; but thinking about Geertz led me to realize that, despite the photos and videos, most of you probably have no idea what exactly I do in my life these days. Whether or not that's true, I'll try to give a brief play-by-play of a couple days, in the hopes that (even without commentary) it is illuminating. *Note, if you think Geertz was taking the easy route, don't knock it until you've tried it. It's a lot harder to describe in simple language 'without commentary' than you'd think.

Day (20th Feb.)
830am. I begin the day with the expectation of going back to Preetnagar village to meet my friend Sarbpreet, visiting Punjab from the US. Before I get out of bed, I remember that, the day before, his uncle told me that he had to return early to the States (actually told me his flight was "pre-poned" which is the first time I've heard that usage). I decided to go anyway to attend the drama that night, but realize as I get out of bed that I'm not feeling all that well. This is fairly run of the mill, as I can't really control everything that goes into my body in the course of a day (filtered/unfiltered water, im/properly cooked vegetables). I take my battery of naturopathic pills, head out to street to purchase some groceries. Despite the abundance of roadside carts selling vegetables, some superstition keeps me going to the actual supermarket (cutely named "6/10") - they probably buy their produce on the side of the road. Still, it's all fresh and delicious, and I pick up a bag of oranges, bananas, guavas, and figs.

11am. A little while later, all the boys from my neighborhood are out and about in the streets (I haven't yet been able to understand why, even though they're all school age and upper middle class, they never actually seem to be at school). One of them takes me on a motorcycle ride to "see the totas ('chicks')" at the Ranika Bagh gardens while he does some errands. We drive across town, stop at a bakery so I can pick up some tea biscuits to bring to my hosts in the village, then as we are outside his friend's house, the below-pictured 'snake-blesser' sidles up for a few pictures.

12pm. As I get back home, my ragi has come and his waiting to take me to the village. I quickly pack and, one the half-hour drive to the village, he tells me that "he has no time" because there was a death in the family - his niece was stillborn - and his family has all arrived. He says it rather non-chalantly, so I don't press my incredulity as to why he didn't just cancel seeing me and stay with them. A deeper side of spirituality shows through, however, when I offer my condolences and he says: "No 'sorry', only God to give and to take back."

1pm. On reaching Chugawan village, he goes to deal with his family, and I am fed a delicious lunch of Saag (mustard leaves) and chapatis at Gurdarshan's house (my Amritsar host's brother). At around 3pm, the ragi returns to retrieve me (in which time I've been reading in the open center of the house), and get back on the motorcycle to go to Awan Lakha Singh village. I have visited here once before with him to the house of his relations (always remains murky exactly how people are related, because in Punjabi there are many words that combine cousin and brother - hence people are always referring to cousins as brothers, and strangers as cousins). These people are true Jat (farming caste) Punjabi peasants: tall, broad-shouldered, hard-working. The younger boy and girl are learning tabla and harmonium, so the ragi gives them a lesson (in between lots of chatting), and I am fed this amazing sweet made of basmati rice, and warm whole buffalo milk (goes straight to the hips).

5pm. The ragi telephones my hosts in Preetnagar, but they are busy preparing for the play. So we drive on to the little village of Lopoke to meet another friend/cousin/brother. Here, we are instantly welcomed, as happens in every home of every little village I've seen so far. I should be more specific, a home in a village essentially only requires a brick wall for perimeter. Within this perimeter, there will be several enclosed rooms, also of brick or concrete, with a few staple pieces of furniture in good shape. In the main, outdoor portion, there are usually cows or buffalo tied up, the cooking is done outside over a fire (dried cow dung, or the methane thereof), there is a woven bed for the elder, respected members of the house, a few plastic chairs to be offered to a guest (me), and other sundry items as toys and clothes out to wash. Still with very little to give, they go above and beyond. We are offered first cold water to drink, then hot tea. Someone is sent to town to bring back samosas and sweet chutney (delicious!). The ragi introduces me, and I try to entertain with the token Punjabi phrases I've learned will draw smiles, as well as discussing how many shabads and ragas I've learned so far.

7pm. After this incredible display of generosity, and a round of me taking pictures with everybody, the ragi drops me in neighboring Preetnagar. Though scheduled to begin at 7pm, the play is delayed because no audience has shown up yet. Not to worry, I am informed, the audience is all coming from working in the fields, and now that it is spring (Basant), there's light longer so they will come later. No problem, I chitchat with my hosts, who I haven't seen since my much earlier post about them. I also meet a gentleman named S.P. Arora, who teaches English in Amritsar, and is filming a documentary on the history of Amritsar and environs. Clearly, vis a vis my earlier post of Preetnagar, he too deemed it important enough to make the cut.

830pm. As the play begins, we are led to the outdoor theatre and given seats of honor in the front. At our feet, all the village children are at the edge of the stage to watch the play, and a crowd of probably 250 fills (really to the brim) the seats behind us, despite the cold weather. Men and women sit separately, but I'm still moved to see a turnout like this in a village. The play is a family comedy with an ultimate political message about the dangers of globalization and moving away from the traditional values of Punjab, India. I can't understand most of it, but I catch enough words to follow the action, something I definitely could not have done when I first arrived a month ago. At the conclusion of the play, as part of the announcements, I am introduced - and my reason for coming, of which the only part I could catch was "PhD, Music" (yeah, right).

10pm. After the show, a buffet dinner is served in a room lit by only one flourescent bulb. It's the typical satisfying fare of chapatis, dal, raita (yogurt with gram flour balls), and a sweet gulab jamun pastry (oily, but amazing) for dessert. My hosts are busy attending to the players, and invited guests, and by the time they're done they have to go home. I'm shown to a hostel-style room in the theatre building, where I'm sleeping for the night. I'm tired enough that it's cleanliness is enough to make it very inviting.

*** I thought I had a few days more of description in me, but I'm already exhausted after writing one day, and I don't want to tax your reading patience. More details will follow subsequently. Right now, it's almost midnight and I'm crashing from tiredness of today and the sugar high from all the treats I was offered in the village today ("three cups of tea"? try thirty)
Good night, all.