Hanuman Obhong : Seeing Sita

"Often, we do not see things as they are. Our perception of what is 'real,' is based not on what something actually is, but is instead a version filtered through the lens of our experiences," the Moon began a theme. "There is a story about a member of the ruling family of the town of Termez. He had befriended a clown many years earlier. The two men had a compatible relationship, untarnished by the years. The clown made the older man laugh every time they saw each other, and the wealthy man in turn made sure that the clown was well provided for.

One day when they were alone, the older man, who had heard that the clown had recently got married to a woman of low standing and was baffled by this turn of events, asked him, 'My old friend, there are many well-respected women in our community whom I know personally. Why didn't you tell me to ask for the hand of one of them for you? Why did you rush into such an important decision and marry a disreputable woman?'

'Sir, you must know that I have already married nine reputable women!' he said to his caring companion, trying not to grin too widely. 'You may have also noticed that not a single one of them remained faithful to me, and I had to divorce every single one! My heart was shattered each time, and I couldn't tolerate another cheating wife. So I decided to marry an already disgraced woman, without even knowing her, and take a chance on life. I've already tried my luck using my mind and my reasoning power; this time I'm trying out madness instead!'

Seeing clearly and communicating effectively are not rocket science; they’re straightforward skills. We’re born hardwired for both. But more often than we’d care to admit, we fail to use these skills. We show up at the wrong airport gate and try to board the wrong plane, we send an email to the wrong recipient saying something we never should have said, we miss a key piece of evidence that was staring us right in the face. Why? Because we’re hardwired for those errors as well. Our brains can see only so much, and can process even less.

The ability to see, to pay attention to what is often readily available right in front of us, is not only a means to avert disaster but also the precursor and prerequisite to great discovery. Unlike the heroes of old movies and swashbuckling fables, we don’t have to be the strongest, fastest, smartest, richest, handsomest, or luckiest to get ahead or make a difference in the world. The most successful people in modern times, prove that it doesn’t matter what physical attributes we have or don’t, our level of education, our profession, our station in life, or where we live. We can survive and thrive today if we know how to see.

To see what’s there that others don’t. To see what’s not there that should be. To see the opportunity, the solution, the warning signs, the quickest way, the way out, the win. To see what matters. Even if we don’t long for front-page accolades, acute and accurate observation yields rewards big and small across all aspects of life. Leonardo da Vinci attributed all of his scientific and artistic accomplishments to the same concept, which he called 'saper vedere'—knowing how to see. We might also call his gift 'visual intelligence.'

It sounds easy, doesn’t it? You just have to see. We’re born with the inherent ability; in fact, our body does it involuntarily. If your eyes are open, you are seeing. But there’s more to the neurobiological process than just keeping your eyelids propped up.

We don't 'see' with our eyes; we see with our brain—and of course: conscience, but in this theme, let's just focus on eyes' vision. Our ability to see, make sense of what we see, and act upon that information relies on the brain’s incredible processing power, a power that is entirely dependent upon our neural connections. Assuming all of our physical wiring is healthy and intact, turning visual inputs into meaningful images takes time, time that increases with age or lack of use.

Scientists have discovered that as we slow down or stop flexing our mental muscles, the speed of neural transmission dramatically slows, which in turn leads to a decrease in visual processing speed, the ability to detect change and movement, and the ability to conduct a visual search. Since our brain controls every function of our body, any lag in neural processing will likewise cause a delay in other systems, including what we see and how we react to it. Slower reflexes and remembrance times aren’t caused only by physical aging. It might be that we just haven’t exercised our brains enough or in the right way.

Fortunately for all of us, throughout our lives, our brain is continually making new connections and reinforcing old ones based on learning experiences . . . as long as we are learning. Researchers have found that stimulating environmental input—like studying something new, reading about a concept that makes you think, or playing any kind of 'brain games'—will increase cortical growth at every age, even among the very oldest humans. Just as cognitive conditioning can be used to stave off dementia, it can also be used to sharpen our ability to observe, perceive, and communicate. If we can keep our senses and our wits quick, our reactions will follow, making us better employees, better drivers, and more capable of caring for ourselves and others longer in life.

There are many techniques to stimulate our senses and set our neurons ablaze. One of them, to study Art. Looking at old paintings and sculptures—and caution is needed for a Muslim in this case, it's better to follow the guidance of Shari'a. But let's talk in general terms—is definitely not the first thing most people think of when you tell them we’re going to get their neurons firing and increase their brain-processing speed. Art doesn’t walk away. If you want to study human behavior, you can park yourself somewhere public and people watch: guess at who they are, why they’re dressed that way, where they’re going . . . until they leave. And you’ll never know if you’re right or not. Or you could analyze works of art: the who, what, where, when, and why. Art historian David Joselit describes art as “exorbitant stockpiles of experience and information.” It contains everything we need to hone our observation, perception, and communication expertise.

If you can talk about what is happening in a work of art, you can talk about scenes of everyday life; you can talk about boardrooms and classrooms, crime scenes, and factory floors. Describing what you see in a painting of a woman wearing a foot-long, four-layered starched collar uses the same skill set as describing what you see in a foreign market or international airport.

Art gives us myriad opportunities to analyze complex situations as well as seemingly more straightforward ones. Ironically, it is often the simple, the everyday, and the familiar that we have trouble describing because we have ceased to notice what makes them interesting or unusual. By adulthood, we become so inured to the complexity of the world that only the new, the innovative, and the exigent capture our attention and dominate our field of vision. We rely on experience and intuition rather than seeking out nuances and details that can make a difference in our success. Yet it is the things that we see and negotiate on a regular basis to which we must be especially attuned.

Art transports us away from our everyday life to rethink how we see and perceive and communicate. Art inspires conversations, especially when it makes us squirm. There are women with noses where their eyes should be, men in curlers with manicures, clocks dripping from trees, spider-legged elephants, and lots of people screaming.

Part of the beauty of art, especially the more unsettling pieces, is that anyone can discuss it. You don’t have to be an art historian to talk about what you see. We’re not studying brushstrokes or palettes or historical periods. We’re simply using art as confirmable visual data, talking about what we see—or what we think we see.

We all see things differently. Yet we constantly forget, and act as if there is only one true way to see. However, knowing now that we are all susceptible to inattentional blindness and other perceptual errors, we cannot assume that anyone else sees what we see, that we see what they see, or that either of us accurately sees what’s really there.

No two people will see anything the exact same way. Everything from our inherited biology to our learned biases influences the way we take in the world. Not only do we as individuals observe, notice, and gather information differently, we also perceive what we’ve gathered differently.

Perception is how we interpret the information we gather during observation; think of it as an internal filter. It can color, cloud, or change what really exists into what we think we are seeing. Much like seeing, the process of perceiving is subtle, automatic, and hard to recognize if we’re not consciously aware of it. Being aware of how easily our perceptions can change, and refuse to un-change, can help us to be attuned to them. Our perceptive filter is shaped by our own unique experiences in the world. Everyone’s is different from everyone else’s, sometimes wildly so.

You can never assume other people experience anything the same way you do, even if you are right there with them. If two parents who are the same age, and came from the same race, socioeconomic class, and physical location, don’t see things the same way, think of how differently disparate people do: employers and employees, defenders and prosecutors, teachers and students, doctors and patients, caregivers and children. What we see might be completely different from what the person right next to us, let alone the person across the room, on the other end of the telephone, or the other side of the world sees. What might be apparent to us someone else might overlook entirely. We are all subjective beings, but what’s important to note is that our subjectivity can color the 'truth' of what we see.

Perspective, from the Latin word perspicere, meaning 'to look through,' is defined as the point of view from which something is considered or evaluated. Originating in the fourteenth century, the word perspective was initially used to describe a physical object, specifically an optical glass that would change the way you viewed something. A telescope’s perspective, therefore, was an actual piece of curved glass inside it. We can use this definition to think of perspective in a similar way, as another lens through which we see.

In order to change the way we look at things, and the things we look at change, it’s critical that we approach the available data, from every possible physical angle. Look behind, underneath, in the corners, and off the page. Step back, crouch down, and walk around everything. Things are not always what they appear to be, especially at first glance from one angle. With a new perspective, the image changes entirely.

After assessing information and analyzing what we’ve gathered, now, how we prioritize that information, whether consciously or not, will most directly affect our actions. As soon as we have multiple data points, we have a choice: which will we act upon? Our resulting actions are not always as extreme and physical as deciding whether to shoot a stranger. We might have to make less life-threatening but still critical decisions such as determining which pieces of information we’re going to dedicate resources to pursuing and in what order.

We can’t physically or mentally follow up, hunt down, or investigate every single piece of information we uncover, at least not all at once. In reviewing the cognitive limits of the human brain and the myth of multitasking, we’ve learned that a single human cannot do multiple things at once. Walking and talking, yes.

All that we have talked about, was in Hanuman's mind when he saw Sita. He was contemplating whether to approach her soon, or, delaying while waiting for what would happen next. He felt impelled to comfort her. But how would he approach her without being seen by the rakshasis? Yet, if he went back across the sea without speaking to Sita, the prince Rama would be sad. He may even be angry and burn Hanuman up with a look. Worse still, if he did not bring some hope to Sita quickly, she may take her own life before Rama even landed on the shores of Lanka.

‘I am just a little monkey,’ said Hanuman to himself. ‘Even if the guards see me, they will think I am harmless. I only hope Sita does not think I am Ravana, who has become a monkey to trick her.’

He grew pensive indeed, as his imagination raced ahead of him. ‘If she thinks I am Ravana or some other rakshasa, she may scream. Then, surely, the rakshasis will come to capture me. If I am killed, Rama and Sugriva will never land on Lanka, because no one else can leap across the sea. All will be lost. I must be very careful; careful indeed. Hanuman, you do not realize what is at stake here, what awesome affairs of the world depend on you. You must not startle her, little monkey; you must be subtle.’

He then recalled a story Jambavan, the old vanara, told him, 'There was once a grocer who owned a handsome green parrot who sang sublimely and spoke most eloquently. The parrot was not only an ideal companion but also the perfect guard for the grocer's shop. He kept watch all hours of the day and spoke amiably with the customers, entertaining them and thus increasing the grocer's sales.

One day when the grocer left the shop in the parrot's care, having gone home for lunch, a cat suddenly ran into the shop chasing a mouse, frightening the bird. As the parrot flew about in his effort to save himself, he knocked a few bottles of almond oil off the shelves, breaking them and covering himself and the shop floor in oil.

Not long afterward, the grocer returned and found the place in disarray, the floor slippery with oil and the parrot perching guiltily in a corner. In the wink of an eye, the grocer lost his temper and hit the bird on the head with all his might. The poor bird, who was already feeling guilty and downtrodden about his clumsiness, could not bear the shame, not to mention the pain from the blow, and he instantly shed all the feathers on his head.

Soon after the almond oil incident, the parrot completely stopped speaking and singing. The grocer realized how grave his mistake had been in striking the bird; not only had he lost his jolly companion but he had also curtailed his thriving business. Having no one but himself to blame, he now felt dumbfounded that he had singlehandedly threatened his very livelihood.

'I wish I'd broken my hand!' he lamented. 'How could I have struck my sweet-voiced bird like that? How could I have behaved so monstrously?'

The grocer began to give alms to each and every poor who passed by his shop, hoping that by doing good deeds he might be forgiven, and his bird might again start to exercise his mesmerizing voice. After three days and nights of remorse and suffering the parrot's silence, the grocer came into luck. A bald man with red shirt, walked into the shop, and instantly the parrot began to speak, 'Did you spill bottles of almond oil, too?'

The handful of customers in the shop were amused and smiled at the parrot, who had innocently thought that the red-shirt man had suffered the same fate as himself!

'Darling little parrot,' said one of the customers compassionately, “never equate one action with another. One must never compare oneself to others, even though they may appear to be the same on the surface; truly nothing is as it seems!'

Hanuman wished to see Vaidehi, another name for Sita. Not very far from her, he noticed rakshasis who were terrible to behold. There were those with one eye, many ears, with ears covering the body, without ears, with ears like cones and with high noses that stretched up to the head. There were those whose heads were gigantic, others whose necks were long and thin. There were those with dishevelled hair, without hair and hair that was like blankets. There were those with elongated ears and foreheads and with breasts that hung down. There were those with long lips and with lips that began at the chin. There were those whose faces hung down and those whose knees hung down. They were short, tall, hunchbacked, malformed and dwarfs.

The teeth jutted out and the mouths were malformed. There were those with green eyes and disfigured faces. They were malformed and dark in complexion. They were black, angry and quarrelsome. They wielded giant spears, spikes and clubs made out of black iron. There were those with faces like wild boar, deer, tigers, buffaloes and jackals. There were those with feet like elephants, camels and horses and others with heads that were drawn in. There were those with a single hand or foot and those whose ears were like those of donkeys and horses. Some others possessed ears like cows, elephants and monkeys. Some had no nose, others had large noses. Some had horizontal noses, others were with malformed noses. Some had noses like elephants. For others, the nose was affixed to the forehead. Some had feet like elephants, others possessed gigantic feet. Some possessed feet like cows, others had hair on their feet. Some possessed large heads and necks, others large breasts and stomachs. Some possessed large mouths and eyes, others long tongues and nails. There were those with faces like goats, elephants, cows and pigs. There were those with faces like horses, camels and donkeys. The rakshasis, terrible to behold, wielded spears and clubs in their hands. They were angry and quarrelsome. Their teeth jutted out and their hair was the colour of smoke. The rakshasis possessed malformed faces. They were always drinking. They always loved flesh and drink.

Their limbs were smeared with flesh and blood. They subsisted on flesh and blood. The best among apes saw them. Their sight was such that it made the body hair stand up.

They were seated around a large tree with a large trunk. The prosperous Hanuman noticed the unblemished queen and princess, Janaka’s daughter, seated under the tree. She was tormented by grief and her radiance had faded. Her hair was covered in filth. She was like a star that had fallen down on the ground after its merit had been exhausted. The greatness of her character made her prosperous, but she was unable to see her husband and was in the midst of a calamity. She was without her excellent ornament, the ornament of her husband’s love.

Quietly, she sang softly,

I hear him, before I go to sleep

And focus on the day that's been

I realise he's there

When I turn the light off and turn over

Nobody knows about my man

They think he's lost on some horizon

And suddenly I find myself

Listening to a man I've never known before

Telling me about the sea, all his love, 'til eternity *)

Suddenly, there was a voice, 'Sita, is that song for me?' Vaidehi turned her head, it's Ravana, and she replied, 'It's not for you Rakshasa, it's for Rama!"

Citations & References:
- Ramesh Menon, The Ramayana: A modern Translation, HarperCollins
- Bibeck Debroy, The Valmiki Ramayana, Penguin Books
- Maryam Nafi (transl.), The Book of Rumi, 105 Stories and Fables, Hampton Roads Publishing
- Amy E. Herman, Visual Intelligence - Sharpen Your Perception, Change Your Life, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
- John R. Searle, Seeing Things as They are - A Theory of Perception, Oxford University Press.
*) "The Man with the Child in His Eyes" written by Kate Bush
[Part 9]
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