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embracing the fiery madness of this here দুনিয়া

By orchi lohani

embracing the fiery madness of this here দুনিয়া slowly, these nazis sterilize me and all my friends and loved ones and comrades. slowly, im losing myself, my collective languages of being & existing. slowly, this city is killing my soul at a faster rate than Dhaka did, damn. we are all trying to stay sane ー but what happens when you lean into your madness? look, living in this world is bound to drive anyone ‘MAD’ there is no way to be ‘sane’ in this burning world, unless you are complicit, especially then. আমরা কেউ ‘সুস্থ’ না। −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−− i don't know, i grew up around violence and sickness being so normalized, it was everywhere, inescapable. it was in how you and your family spoke to each other and about yourselves, it was in how your so-called friends at school bullied you, how making fun of your loved ones was the normal way of doing affection. it was in how our little prison schedules as children taught us to not listen to our bodies and to not trust ourselves but to only believe in external authority. it was all over the news, all the time. it is in your genes, in everyone’s bones. it was on the streets, it was in your house, it was everywhere. and even when things were quiet, you would be sure some elder or some relative or some parent or some authority will come and remind you to watch your back because we are never really safe. and soon enough, the violence is in your head. what do you do? you cannot run from your mind. where are you going to go? কোথায় গিয়ে পাবো রেহাই? −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−− this moment of present history feels like every part of existing is labelled a ‘conspiracy’. been 'brainrot'-watching this old ‘usamerican’ sitcom with four Black women, and noticed two of them are constantly the butt of the joke due to their non-conformist thinking. L is the anticapitalist ‘free spirit’; unable to find stable housing or work, labelled a leech and never taken seriously by her rich friends who are fighting for a seat at the colonial table. M is labelled the ‘paranoid conspiracy theorist’ for questioning things, but really, so much of what she is saying is true! she talks about how Black women are disproportionately affected by racism in the medical field in how she doesnt trust doctors. she outs the yt man who is appropriating yoga & weaponizing ‘hippie’ culture & toxic positivity as a way to be a stealthy predator. she sees through the surface and dares to question. they both do. but every piece of media like this makes so much of the unearthing and truthsharing work movement workers, political people and rebels do, a joke. it makes it harder to organize and mobilize or even be taken seriously in our ways of engaging with the world. the violence is in how we laugh it off. ー that's how it feels to be alive in this world right now. one giant conspiracy with gazillion little baby conspiracy eggs. every time i open my mouth, one of these eggs fall out and either the laughing track goes off or i'm supposed to feel like i'm the buzzkill. why am i weird for not being okay with how we live in our shared delusions? when did we normalize these intensely vast & intricate ways of being violent to each other? why are we so used to giving in? obedient, like muscle memory. you know, i kinda get it. i get that it took centuries and probably more, to get to this point, but how do we begin to unearth what is there? does it terrify you? are you scared of the unknown too? how do you not lose your mind in the process? is it really necessary to keep it? আর কত ধরে রাখব? here, let me hold your hand. −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−− what does it mean to be alive in this present moment? the online platform that i started using a few years ago to stay connected to my friends is now a barrage of violence, of endless news of genocide, war, colonialism, and choking censorship ー videos and videos and videos of Palestinians finding grueling creative ways to ask for help, asking you to help them stay alive, to survive genocide. to escape war. to keep whatever is left of their family intact. ー imagine going mad from bodies everywhere, from seeing your loved ones in pieces, from bits of flesh sticking to you while you work through rubble with your bare hands, while the drone continues buzzing without pause, only to be drowned out by bombs. ー what do you do when you start remembering faces and graphic details? when you start seeing them in your sleep? when you think of all those you cannot see, when you think of what it means to be in their position, when you think of genocides that have been happening for decades and centuries.. what do you dream about when you are consumed by violence? especially when there’s so much violence you see and cant seem to touch or do much about? how do you stay out of helplessness and lean into action? can you hold on a bit longer? −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−− what do your dreams whisper to you? are you listening? i dream of people coming together, of ancestors speaking to me, of love. i dream of breaking cycles of poverty and insanity. i dream of working along class lines, and holding onto the vulnerable. i dream of destroying straight lines and categories. i dream of just getting to be. i dream of people who dont speak the language of ‘capacities’ and colonial ‘selfcare’, where love feels transactional and support feels like savourism. instead we focus on urgency, on relative needs & privileges and thriving alongside survival. i dream of people who see their life as tied to mine, as ー we are all connected. we need each other, more than ever. i dream of structures of care beyond precarious friend circles, beyond care within struggling migrant networks, beyond communities that only party and performatively ‘protest’. i dream of public spaces where we can breathe fresh air, and sit freely without being judged, exploited or hurt. i dream of intergenerational spaces, of sharing memory and building ancestral futures together. i dream of oral histories, of reclaiming languages of all kinds. i dream of having elders close. i dream of a world where everyone is worthy of care. i dream that we learn to dream together. let me hold your hand. ー can you love me even when you cannot make sense of me? can you care for those you don't understand? কাদেরকে আমরা মানুষ হিসাবে দেখি না? will you stay when things get messy, and gross, and violent? can we stop punishing people for not keeping it together exactly like yourself? এই রকমই হতে হবে তোকে! ধুর বাল ! how can we keep each other alive, while the world actively tries to kill us? can we learn to do the hard work for each other? can we learn to not bury discomfort, shame and confusion? can you find space in your heart, for what you dont know? and some space for your madness? here, hold my hand.

Bio:
orchi lohani (no pronouns/orchi/bhai) is an organizer, community worker & creative in chronic pain. raised in Dhaka, misplaced in socalled ‘eu’. passionate about collective liberation, through connections & questions; trying to build political alliances and weaving communities centering queer* and trans* radicals of the global Majority, based in the global South and in diaspora.

contact me at orchi.ahana@gmail.com.
*‘queer’ and ‘trans’ homogenizes & erases somuch. here, it is disruption.

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