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SADEHA 16.mp4

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Collection: Part 1 · VIDEHA MITHILA MAITHILI DISCUSSION CRITICISM SERIES PART 1
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Detected language: en (0.998971)
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0:00–0:30यूआ आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्
0:30–0:35psychological trauma, and suddenly that X-ray machine is totally useless.
0:35–0:36How completely?
0:36–0:41We are looking at a diagnostic landscape that just refuses to give us a clean line.
0:41–0:46It is incredibly murky, highly subjective, and dependent on a hundred different contextual
0:46–0:47crews.
0:47–0:50Yeah, you're operating in diagnostic muddy waters at that point.
0:50–0:54The neat little boxes we rely on to make sense of the world, they just fall apart when
0:54–0:56you're dealing with living, evolving systems.
0:56–0:57Yeah.
0:57–1:02thinking about that exact diagnostic metaphor today, because we are looking at something
1:02–1:06that external observers have constantly tried to categorize. They try to put it into a neat
1:06–1:12little box, define it with binary terms, force it to fit a specific blueprint, but it violently
1:12–1:16refuses to fit. We are talking about the very words you use.
1:16–1:18And we are just talking about a grammar lesson here.
1:18–1:23No, not at all. I mean the actual vocabulary, the digital survival, and the fierce political
1:23–1:25existence of a native tongue.
1:25–1:26It's fascinating.
1:26–1:30Today we are looking at a language spoken by over 24 million people.
1:30–1:31It is called Mathili.
1:31–1:35Which is primarily spoken in the Indian state of Ihar, right?
1:35–1:37And the eastern Terai region of Nepal.
1:37–1:38Yep, exactly.
1:38–1:43And we are going to see what happens when a language of that massive scale
1:43–1:47has to fight for its survival on two completely different,
1:47–1:48equally brutal battlegrounds.
1:48–1:50Two very distinct fronts.
1:50–1:50Right.
1:50–1:55One is the vast, seemingly infinite digital realm of the internet.
1:55–2:01The other is the deeply political, completely closed off halls of institutional literature.
2:01–2:03It is a profound duality, really.
2:03–2:08Because on one hand, you have this ancient language fighting to be perceived by the future.
2:08–2:11Like fighting to be recognized by global algorithms.
2:11–2:12It's exactly.
2:12–2:16Silicon Valley tech committees, international databases, all of that.
2:16–2:19But simultaneously, it's fighting a bitter internal civil war.
2:19–2:22A war over who actually gets to claim its soul, you mean?
2:22–2:23Yeah.
2:23–2:28its boundaries and whose voices are actually allowed to be heard in its official records.
2:28–2:33So to guide us through this, we are diving deep into the pages of a journal called Videa,
2:33–2:39specifically an issue known as Sidaeha 16. And Videa is incredibly significant here.
2:39–2:44It really is. It's the first ever Mathilii E Journal. It started way back in 2000 under
2:44–2:50a different name, Balsaric Gough, and eventually rebranded to Videa around 2008.
2:50–2:52And the contents of this journal, I mean it's a potent mix.
2:52–2:59Oh, it's wild. We are talking about allegorical fictional plays, visceral short stories, raw
2:59–3:03poetry reviews. Plus actual digital history logs pulled from Wikipedia's language committee.
3:03–3:07Yes, and some blistering deeply political editorial pieces.
3:09–3:13Okay, let's unpack this. Our mission for this deep dive is to explore the soul of the
3:13–3:17Matheli language through its art. We're going to track its historic fight to get on Wikipedia,
3:17–3:22too. Which was a frankly unbelievable bureaucratic nightmare. And then we are going
3:22–3:27to dive into a massive controversy over who actually gets to control its narrative.
3:27–3:33I am so eager to untangle this web, the intersections here between digital coding standards,
3:33–3:40institutional gatekeeping, and just a single marginalized word. It dictates human history.
3:40–3:46And having your analytical mind here across the table is perfect for connecting these local themes
3:46–3:50to the broader struggles we see globally. Thanks. It's definitely a topic that resonates
3:50–3:52far beyond just one language.
3:52–3:54So to you listening right now,
3:54–3:58have you ever thought about who controls the words you speak?
3:58–3:58It's a heavy question.
3:58–4:00By the end of this deep dive,
4:00–4:01you're going to look at your own native language
4:01–4:03in a completely different light.
4:03–4:05Let's start with the fiction in Videha,
4:05–4:07because, well, often fiction is the safest place
4:07–4:09to tell the most dangerous truths.
4:09–4:10That is very true.
4:10–4:12The journal features this short play titled
4:12–4:15Machand, which translates to the Pawn.
4:15–4:16It's written by Gajendra Thakur.
4:16–4:20It is a brilliantly constructed piece of allegorical
4:20–4:24storytelling. It really sets the philosophical baseline for everything we'll discuss today.
4:24–4:29Let me build the scene for you guys. The protagonist is a young man named Mutalif.
4:29–4:32He's totally unemployed, just living on the margins.
4:32–4:36Right. His daily existence is just hanging around, playing cricket by the sea.
4:36–4:41Simply passing the time. But then Mutalif gets ripped out of that coastal life
4:41–4:45and thrown into a harsh, sterile police interrogation room.
4:45–4:47Because he gets caught carrying a pressure cooker.
4:47–4:53Yeah, but instead of rice or lentils, this pressure cooker is packed full of illicit drugs.
4:53–4:58And Mutela's defense in this interrogation room is what cracks the whole narrative open.
4:58–4:59Oh, completely.
4:59–5:06He tells the police that a smuggler, a man named Habibullah, paid him 10,000 taka for every trip he made.
5:06–5:12And Mutela insists with this genuine desperation that he thought he was just transporting mundane spices.
5:12–5:14Right. But the critical narrative device,
5:14–5:18Gojendra Thakur uses here, is one of total isolation.
5:18–5:23Because Nutelov does not speak the local language of the police who are holding him.
5:23–5:27He is linguistically trapped. The authorities are treating him like he's some sort of kingpin,
5:27–5:30the mastermind of a massive criminal syndicate.
5:30–5:36Meanwhile, they literally have to bring a translator into the room just to ask him his name.
5:36–5:40When I was reading this scene, I kept thinking about the sheer disproportion of the state's
5:40–5:44response. It's staggering. It's like focusing all the police power on the Amazon delivery
5:44–5:49driver when you're actually trying to take down a massive international counterfeiting ring.
5:49–5:54That framing perfectly highlights the fundamental nature of visible enforcement.
5:54–5:59The system is meticulously designed to catch the delivery driver. Right, because the masterminds,
5:59–6:04the hobby-bullets of the world, they operate in the abstract. Shielded by wealth,
6:04–6:11complex logistics and plausible deniability. This system only becomes visible and punitive
6:11–6:15at the lowest possible level of the hierarchy. The level of the pawn.
6:15–6:21And the play tackles that exact hierarchy head on. Right in the middle of this tense interrogation
6:21–6:26there's this fascinating philosophical pivot. Between the intelligence officer and his boss.
6:26–6:30Yeah. They step back and start debating the nature of these pawns, the everyday foot soldiers
6:30–6:35of society. The boss starts comparing Utahliff to other laborers they see every day.
6:35–6:39He brings up Lalu, a local water carrier, and Bola, the postman.
6:39–6:45Exactly. The boss points out that these are the men who physically walk for miles and miles in
6:45–6:48the blistering heat to reach holy pilgrimage sites.
6:48–6:52They carry the water, they endure the blisters, the exhaustion.
6:52–6:58Meanwhile, the wealthy elite hire vehicles ride in absolute comfort, don't shed a drop of sweat,
6:58–7:03But at the end of the journey, they claim the exact same spiritual credit.
7:03–7:08What's fascinating here is that Conchendra the Coor is using the police procedural merely as a Trojan horse.
7:08–7:10Oh, totally. The drugs are secondary.
7:10–7:14The core allegory is about systemic exploitation.
7:14–7:19During this exchange with his boss, the intelligence officer undergoes a profound cognitive shift.
7:19–7:21He realizes something big.
7:21–7:25Yes. He looks at me tout of this terrified kid who needs his translator,
7:25–7:28and he realizes that the nation itself is constructed entirely of these pawns.
7:28–7:31It's not defined by the kings or the insulated politicians.
7:31–7:36No. The physical reality of the nation is Lalu carrying the water.
7:36–7:38The reality is Nuteliff taking the fall.
7:38–7:44And that realization throws the intelligence officer into a total existential tailspin.
7:45–7:49Because if the nation is the pawn, then what is the officer?
7:49–7:52He's just the mechanism punishing the nation on behalf of the elite.
7:52–7:56which sets the thematic stage for the entire source document.
7:56–8:01Power rests at the very top, comfortable, and completely insulated from consequence.
8:01–8:04While the marginalized communities, especially those who don't even possess
8:04–8:09the linguistic tools to navigate the halls of power, are forced to absorb all the risks.
8:09–8:12When the music stops, the elite are sitting down,
8:12–8:15and the marginalized are left holding the pressure cooker.
8:15–8:15Exactly.
8:15–8:20The play actually pushes this tension even further by bringing a terrorist leader into the dialogue.
8:20–8:24All right, they get into this intense debate about the morality of participating in such
8:24–8:25a rigged system.
8:25–8:29The terrorist leader invokes the historical figure of Laldanga.
8:29–8:32For context for the listener, Laldanga was the leader of the Meso-national Front in
8:32–8:38India who led an armed insurgency for decades before surrendering for peace in 1986.
8:38–8:42And the terrorist character argues that laying down arms like Laldanga did is an act of
8:42–8:44ultimate betrayal.
8:44–8:46Because the system is so fundamentally unjust.
8:46–8:47Right.
8:47–8:52underlying thesis is that participating in the social contract is a fool's errand when
8:52–8:57the contract was drafted to subjugate you. Why play by the rules when the board is tilted?
8:57–9:00But you know, I find myself questioning the premise of the intelligence officer's despair
9:00–9:01here.
9:01–9:02How so?
9:02–9:07Well, we look at Mutalif in the interrogation room or La Lou carrying water and our instinct
9:07–9:09is to say, oh, the system is broken.
9:09–9:10Sure, that's the natural reaction.
9:10–9:15But is the system broken or is it working exactly as designed for those at the top?
9:15–9:19That is the terrifying crux of institutional analysis.
9:19–9:24If the machinery of the state is functioning exactly as intended to extract labor and deflect
9:24–9:30consequence, then the officer can't view himself as a hero fixing a broken machine.
9:30–9:33He's just the oil keeping the oppressive machine running smoothly.
9:33–9:37However, Tadkar offers a nuanced resolution to this.
9:37–9:42The officer comes to realize that his journey, sitting in that room requiring a translator,
9:42–9:44it wasn't useless.
9:44–9:51he genuinely listens to Mutalif? Yes. He recognizes Mutalif's humanity. He realizes that the pawn
9:51–9:57is the actual protagonist of the nation's story. Acknowledging the pawn's worth becomes a quiet
9:57–10:01rebellion. He finally looks at the chessboard from the perspective of the plastic piece,
10:01–10:07rather than the grandmaster. And that shift in perspective is everything. The struggle of the
10:07–10:12everyday persons striving against arbitrary limits bleeds directly into the poetry and
10:12–10:17short stories of the journal. It really does. You see that exact thematic bleed in the poetry section.
10:17–10:23Vadeha reviews the work of a poet named Om Prakash Jha and the reviewer highlights imagery that is
10:23–10:28just it's totally devoid of flowery nonsense. It is incredibly visceral. The review notes
10:28–10:33describing the emotional devastation of heartbreak with the phrase blood flowing from the liver.
10:33–10:38It's a jarring biological expression of pain. And he writes starkly about the grim realities
10:38–10:43of child laborers, kids whose childhoods are consumed by industrial grit.
10:43–10:44This is the poetry of the pawn.
10:44–10:49It rejects the sanitized aesthetics preferred by elite institutions in favor of documenting
10:49–10:51raw survival.
10:51–10:55Which leads perfectly into another piece of fiction in the journal that tackles this
10:55–10:57idea of painful growth.
10:57–11:01A short story called Race, meaning slowly.
11:01–11:04It is a remarkable exploration of the mechanics of progress.
11:04–11:07I found this story incredibly moving.
11:07–11:09It centers on a young boy named Shuppit.
11:09–11:11He's a runner and he's naturally gifted.
11:11–11:13But he runs with a very specific posture.
11:13–11:14Right.
11:14–11:19The story says when he sprints, his chest puffs out fiercely like a drawn bow.
11:19–11:24And relying on this natural posture, he dominates the local schoolyard races.
11:24–11:26But then a teacher intervenes.
11:26–11:27Yeah.
11:27–11:31The teacher makes him fundamentally change his biomechanical running posture and the
11:31–11:34immediate result is an absolute disaster.
11:34–11:35He starts tripping over his own feet.
11:35–11:40planting into the dirt track. He goes from being the undisputed champion to losing basic
11:40–11:44races and his friends mercilessly mock him.
11:44–11:48We are looking at the classic agonizing dilemma of regression for the sake of progression.
11:48–11:51The teacher has to sit him down and explain the mathematical reality.
11:51–11:57Right. The teacher explains that the puffed out chest maximized his speed for the local
11:57–12:02school level. But to win at the district level, where competition is rigorous, he
12:02–12:03needs a new technique.
12:03–12:06And here's where it gets really interesting.
12:06–12:12The tragedy is that the new superior technique makes him demonstrably worse in the present
12:12–12:13moment.
12:13–12:17Because it requires dismantling ingrained muscle memory.
12:17–12:18Feels alien.
12:18–12:23But the teacher understands that while his current speed drops, his maximum potential speed
12:23–12:24has been raised.
12:24–12:26I want you listening to pause and think about that.
12:26–12:31Why is it so incredibly difficult for us to abandon a winning strategy, even when
12:31–12:34we logically know it limits our ultimate potential.
12:34–12:36It's a deeply uncomfortable process.
12:36–12:38Think about a time you had to unlearn a skill.
12:38–12:43Like if you were a fast hunt and peck typist and you forced yourself to learn touch typing,
12:43–12:45for weeks you feel incompetent.
12:45–12:47Or changing how you manage your team at work.
12:47–12:52The transition period is agonizing because you are voluntarily stepping back into the
12:52–12:53vulnerability of a beginner.
12:53–12:54Exactly.
12:54–12:56Well everyone remembers you used to be an expert.
12:56–13:01If we pull the lens back from the dirt track and apply this to the broader themes of the
13:01–13:05deha, the author is weaving a profound metaphor.
13:05–13:09How does Chopit's physical struggle map onto the language itself?
13:09–13:14Well, for centuries, Mathili existed quite comfortably in its own regional sphere.
13:14–13:15It was winning the schoolyard race.
13:15–13:17It had its own traditions and logic.
13:17–13:18Right.
13:18–13:23But as the world rapidly modernized, the parameters of survival changed.
13:23–13:26To compete on a global stage, the culture has to adapt.
13:26–13:30which means standardizing rules, digitizing texts,
13:30–13:32engaging with global tech platforms.
13:32–13:34And just like Shope hits new running form,
13:34–13:36this cultural adaptation is painful.
13:36–13:38It causes missteps.
13:38–13:41It invites mockery from those who say, why change?
13:41–13:43We were champions of our own domain.
13:43–13:44Wow.
13:44–13:46Speaking of adapting to compete on a global stage,
13:46–13:49let's talk about the ultimate modern district race,
13:49–13:50the internet.
13:50–13:51The digital battleground.
13:51–13:54Specifically Wikipedia, because if a concept or a language
13:54–13:56doesn't have a presence on Wikipedia,
13:56–13:58to the vast majority of the modern world,
13:58–14:00it simply does not exist.
14:00–14:03This is the juncture where the journal moves from fiction
14:03–14:06to hard-documented historical reality.
14:06–14:08We dive into the actual communication logs
14:08–14:10from a man named Gerard Meissen,
14:10–14:12who was on the Wikipedia Language Committee
14:12–14:14between 2008 and 2014.
14:14–14:16And the documented battle to establish
14:16–14:19a misily Wikipedia is just a staggering
14:19–14:21David and Goliath story.
14:21–14:22To understand the friction,
14:22–14:24you have to look at the historical baggage
14:24–14:27Mathili was dragging into the digital age.
14:27–14:29It wasn't just convincing a tech committee.
14:29–14:30It was undoing over a century
14:30–14:32of colonial academic damage.
14:32–14:33Exactly.
14:33–14:35Western linguists in the late 19th
14:35–14:37and early 20th centuries,
14:37–14:39the journal specifically names Grierson,
14:39–14:41Kellogg and Hornley,
14:41–14:43they fundamentally miscategorize Mathili.
14:43–14:46The academic negligence detail here is shocking.
14:46–14:50They categorize Mathili as a mere dialect of Eastern Hindi
14:50–14:52or a sub branch of Bengali.
14:52–14:57And the worst part, Greerson lumped it under a completely fabricated, false-notional category
14:57–14:58called Bihari.
14:58–15:01Right, which was essentially an invention for administrative convenience.
15:01–15:06And suddenly, generations of Western academics just accepted that Mithili was a subset of
15:06–15:08this imaginary category.
15:08–15:12If we connect this to the bigger picture, it is a textbook example of epistemic violence.
15:12–15:15Let's define that for the listener.
15:15–15:16Epistemic violence.
15:16–15:21It refers to the harm inflicted upon marginalized groups, through the control and manipulation
15:21–15:28of knowledge. When an institution classifies your distinct language as a mere dialect, it
15:28–15:32essentially erases your cultural sovereignty. It strips the language of state funding, educational
15:32–15:38resources and digital presence. Exactly. It tells 24 million people that their words
15:38–15:42don't possess enough validity to exist in official ledgers.
15:42–15:47The real world consequence hit the digital realm hard. The logs show there was actually
15:47–15:49in early Bihari Wikipedia.
15:49–15:54Yes, but the people trying to build the Mathili presence pointed out a massive flaw.
15:54–15:58The content on the Bihari Wikipedia was actually written in a completely different language called
15:58–15:59Bojpuri.
15:59–16:00It's absurd.
16:00–16:02Enter a user named Umesh Mandal.
16:02–16:06He took on the monumental task of fighting the committee armed with linguistic data to
16:06–16:09prove Mathili's distinct identity.
16:09–16:13And shockingly, proving the language existed wasn't even the most difficult hurdle.
16:13–16:16No, the technical hurdle was insane.
16:16–16:20possesses its own native historical script called Mytholokshar.
16:20–16:24But in 2008, the Mytholokshar script was not recognized in Unicode.
16:24–16:27Which means you literally cannot type it on a keyboard.
16:27–16:29It's digitally non-existent.
16:29–16:33Imagine having to write your entire cultural history in a completely different alphabet
16:33–16:38just because the global digital filing cabinet doesn't have a folder for your actual letters.
16:38–16:41They had to use the Devanagari script instead.
16:41–16:46They had to dress their language in another language's clothes just to be allowed into
16:46–16:47the digital room.
16:47–16:51Why do external institutions get to decide if a language is just a dialect or if their
16:51–16:54alphabet is allowed to appear on a screen?
16:54–16:59It's a reflection of historical prioritization in globalized technological infrastructure.
16:59–17:04Western computing solved for English ASCII first, then European languages.
17:04–17:07Complex regional scripts were pushed down the priority list.
17:07–17:10But this narrative is one of breathtaking resilience.
17:10–17:12The Mech Mandal and the community didn't accept defeat.
17:12–17:17They spent years in the Wikimedia incubator, translating thousands of interface messages
17:17–17:18into methiline.
17:18–17:21The relentless work of building the house brick by brick.
17:21–17:28And the payoff is etched right there in Gerard Meissen's log, dated November 6, 2014.
17:28–17:30The Mayfilly Wikipedia officially launched.
17:30–17:33A monumental victory for digital survival.
17:33–17:36Getting recognized by the internet was one thing, though.
17:36–17:40But according to the searing editorials in Videja, the fiercest battles were actually
17:40–17:43happening inside the Mithili community itself.
17:43–17:46We are now moving into the most sensitive portion of the journal's contents.
17:46–17:47Yes.
17:47–17:51And before discussing this next section, I need to make something incredibly clear to
17:51–17:52you listening.
17:52–17:57The source material we are diving into next contains some very heavy, politically charged
17:57–18:00accusations regarding caste and institutional control.
18:00–18:01Very serious allegations.
18:01–18:04We want to be incredibly clear with you.
18:04–18:09your guides, we are not taking sides or endorsing these viewpoints. We are strictly, impartially
18:09–18:13reporting on the intense claims made by the author in the original text to help you understand
18:13–18:18the cultural crossfire happening within this literary community.
18:18–18:22Approaching this as a sociological document is essential. We're examining internal cultural
18:22–18:27friction as perceived by the editors. Okay, with that framework in place, let's look
18:27–18:32at the claims. The author details a massive conflict. On one side, you have the mainstream
18:32–18:37institutions. The heavy weights of cultural validation. The text names the
18:37–18:42Sahita Academy, Mathila University, and Erard Rabonga, and the explosive
18:42–18:46accusation is that these institutions have been totally monopolized by a
18:46–18:50Brahmanical Kayahta Kabbal. To comprehend this, we have to unpack the
18:50–18:55caste dynamics. The Mathal Brahmins historically occupy the highest echelon
18:55–18:59of the traditional caste hierarchy associated with priesthood and
18:59–19:03scholarship. The kaiastas served as the scribe cast.
19:03–19:09And the author is asserting that these specific privilege groups have consolidated total control over modern institutions.
19:09–19:17Allegedly utilizing this monopoly to enforce a narrative that the Mephili language belongs exclusively to the Mephili Brahmins, erasing everyone else.
19:17–19:24Standing in opposition to this, the text introduces a parallel movement called Sagarati Deep Jirai or SRDJ.
19:24–19:27Meaning, keeping a lamp burning all night.
19:27–19:30It's a radically inclusive grassroots collective.
19:30–19:32And the author claims the mainstream views
19:32–19:34SRDJ as a severe threat.
19:34–19:37The mechanics of literary gay keeping described here
19:37–19:38are intense.
19:38–19:41According to the editorials, the mainstream establishment
19:41–19:44relies on organized boycotts and institutional blackmail
19:44–19:46to maintain control.
19:46–19:49The journal points to a specific event in Deogar
19:49–19:50in 2014.
19:50–19:52The author alleges that prominent figures
19:52–19:55naming Roman, Derry Hare, and Bihari
19:55–19:56threatened to completely boycott
19:56–20:00the event unless it was officially branded under the Sihichi Academy.
20:00–20:04They weaponized institutional prestige to dictate the terms.
20:04–20:09By controlling the Sihichi Academy, this specific group gets to write the history.
20:09–20:12They decide whose books survive and whose are forgotten.
20:12–20:15The chilling reality of that erasure is detailed in the text.
20:15–20:20The journal claims writers like Supash, Chandra Yadav and Nachiketa were intentionally blacklisted
20:20–20:23from awards because they challenged this monopoly.
20:23–20:28When an institution slams the door shut on innovative writers, it dictates the historical archive.
20:28–20:31So what does this all mean for the reader?
20:31–20:34If a small group controls the awards and the publishing, are you really reading the literature
20:34–20:38of a whole culture, or just the literature of one specific neighborhood?
20:38–20:40It's profoundly unsettling.
20:40–20:45The diverse voices of the wider community, the mutilifs, the shop-hits, are actively
20:45–20:47silenced.
20:47–20:51And this gatekeeping wasn't just about who got published, but literally about the very
20:51–20:53words they were allowed to use.
20:53–20:55transitions us into the construction of linguistic cages.
20:55–20:58The author makes a staggering claim here.
20:58–21:03They allege the mainstream gatekeepers attempt to restrict written methili to a basic vocabulary
21:03–21:04of merely 2,000 words.
21:04–21:08And this restricted list is entirely composed of the specific dialect used by the high
21:08–21:09cast.
21:09–21:10Exactly.
21:10–21:15When inclusive writers try to introduce Dalit vocabulary, like the Damalic voices recorded
21:15–21:19by Umesh Mandal, they are met with disgust.
21:19–21:22The journal points to a figure named Toranan Vyogi.
21:22–21:27The allegation is that when confronted with the late contributions, Vyogi disparagingly
21:27–21:30referred to Mithili as a language of sweepers.
21:30–21:36It's a gut-wrenching accusation that reduces a complex heritage to a caste-based slur.
21:36–21:37This raises an important question.
21:37–21:40Why restrict a vocabulary so severely?
21:40–21:43The editors draw a parallel to Nobel laureate J.M.
21:43–21:47Koetsi, who used English to push back against the oppressive, bilingual environment of
21:47–21:48Afrikaud's.
21:48–21:50Language is a battleground.
21:50–21:51Precisely.
21:51–21:54Restricting a language's vocabulary is a tool of suppression.
21:54–22:01A typical high schooler in the US encounters 3,500 basic words before college.
22:01–22:05Limiting an entire literature to 2,000 words suffocates its growth and nuance.
22:05–22:10You make it mathematically impossible to express complex trauma or modern concepts.
22:10–22:11But I get so passionate here.
22:11–22:13A language is a living, breathing thing.
22:13–22:17You can't put a fence around it and tell the words they aren't allowed to mix.
22:17–22:19It's an impossible task in the long run.
22:19–22:25So how does a parallel movement like SRDJ survive this kind of institutional strangulation?
22:25–22:30According to the text, SRDJ thrives through sheer demographic numbers in grassroots inclusion.
22:30–22:35And they leverage digital platforms, like the Videha e-journal itself, to bypass traditional
22:35–22:37gatekeepers entirely.
22:37–22:40But the text solemnly mentions a dark detail.
22:40–22:45The passing or sacrifice of Artie Kamari, which the author links directly to the toxic,
22:45–22:48environment created by these brutal literary politics.
22:48–22:50It starkly underscores the human cost.
22:50–22:55When an institutional system prioritizes ultimate control over organic expression, human beings
22:55–22:57get crushed in the gears.
22:57–23:02We have covered an immense landscape today, from the fictional struggles of a pawn named
23:02–23:05Mitalif, to a runner unlearning his technique.
23:05–23:08To the digital trenches of Wikipedia.
23:08–23:14And finally, to a fierce literary caste war, I want you listening to think critically
23:14–23:16about the words you use every day.
23:16–23:22Think about the slang, the regional dialects, the phrases you inherited from your family.
23:22–23:23They carry so much weight.
23:23–23:27Every word you speak is a survivor of historical, cultural, and political battles you might
23:27–23:29not even know about.
23:29–23:33Which leaves us with a final lingering paradox based on Vedea.
23:33–23:38If the very institutions designed to protect and celebrate a culture's literature become
23:38–23:40the one suffocating it.
23:40–23:44the true guardian of a language, the award-winning author, or the everyday pawn speaking it in the
23:44–23:48streets? That is something to sit with. Thank you so much for joining us on this deep dive.
23:48–23:52Keep questioning the systems around you, and keep exploring the hidden stories behind the
23:52–23:54languages you hear every day.

Plain text

यूआ आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन्ग नाटक आजिन् psychological trauma, and suddenly that X-ray machine is totally useless. How completely? We are looking at a diagnostic landscape that just refuses to give us a clean line. It is incredibly murky, highly subjective, and dependent on a hundred different contextual crews. Yeah, you're operating in diagnostic muddy waters at that point. The neat little boxes we rely on to make sense of the world, they just fall apart when you're dealing with living, evolving systems. Yeah. thinking about that exact diagnostic metaphor today, because we are looking at something that external observers have constantly tried to categorize. They try to put it into a neat little box, define it with binary terms, force it to fit a specific blueprint, but it violently refuses to fit. We are talking about the very words you use. And we are just talking about a grammar lesson here. No, not at all. I mean the actual vocabulary, the digital survival, and the fierce political existence of a native tongue. It's fascinating. Today we are looking at a language spoken by over 24 million people. It is called Mathili. Which is primarily spoken in the Indian state of Ihar, right? And the eastern Terai region of Nepal. Yep, exactly. And we are going to see what happens when a language of that massive scale has to fight for its survival on two completely different, equally brutal battlegrounds. Two very distinct fronts. Right. One is the vast, seemingly infinite digital realm of the internet. The other is the deeply political, completely closed off halls of institutional literature. It is a profound duality, really. Because on one hand, you have this ancient language fighting to be perceived by the future. Like fighting to be recognized by global algorithms. It's exactly. Silicon Valley tech committees, international databases, all of that. But simultaneously, it's fighting a bitter internal civil war. A war over who actually gets to claim its soul, you mean? Yeah. its boundaries and whose voices are actually allowed to be heard in its official records. So to guide us through this, we are diving deep into the pages of a journal called Videa, specifically an issue known as Sidaeha 16. And Videa is incredibly significant here. It really is. It's the first ever Mathilii E Journal. It started way back in 2000 under a different name, Balsaric Gough, and eventually rebranded to Videa around 2008. And the contents of this journal, I mean it's a potent mix. Oh, it's wild. We are talking about allegorical fictional plays, visceral short stories, raw poetry reviews. Plus actual digital history logs pulled from Wikipedia's language committee. Yes, and some blistering deeply political editorial pieces. Okay, let's unpack this. Our mission for this deep dive is to explore the soul of the Matheli language through its art. We're going to track its historic fight to get on Wikipedia, too. Which was a frankly unbelievable bureaucratic nightmare. And then we are going to dive into a massive controversy over who actually gets to control its narrative. I am so eager to untangle this web, the intersections here between digital coding standards, institutional gatekeeping, and just a single marginalized word. It dictates human history. And having your analytical mind here across the table is perfect for connecting these local themes to the broader struggles we see globally. Thanks. It's definitely a topic that resonates far beyond just one language. So to you listening right now, have you ever thought about who controls the words you speak? It's a heavy question. By the end of this deep dive, you're going to look at your own native language in a completely different light. Let's start with the fiction in Videha, because, well, often fiction is the safest place to tell the most dangerous truths. That is very true. The journal features this short play titled Machand, which translates to the Pawn. It's written by Gajendra Thakur. It is a brilliantly constructed piece of allegorical storytelling. It really sets the philosophical baseline for everything we'll discuss today. Let me build the scene for you guys. The protagonist is a young man named Mutalif. He's totally unemployed, just living on the margins. Right. His daily existence is just hanging around, playing cricket by the sea. Simply passing the time. But then Mutalif gets ripped out of that coastal life and thrown into a harsh, sterile police interrogation room. Because he gets caught carrying a pressure cooker. Yeah, but instead of rice or lentils, this pressure cooker is packed full of illicit drugs. And Mutela's defense in this interrogation room is what cracks the whole narrative open. Oh, completely. He tells the police that a smuggler, a man named Habibullah, paid him 10,000 taka for every trip he made. And Mutela insists with this genuine desperation that he thought he was just transporting mundane spices. Right. But the critical narrative device, Gojendra Thakur uses here, is one of total isolation. Because Nutelov does not speak the local language of the police who are holding him. He is linguistically trapped. The authorities are treating him like he's some sort of kingpin, the mastermind of a massive criminal syndicate. Meanwhile, they literally have to bring a translator into the room just to ask him his name. When I was reading this scene, I kept thinking about the sheer disproportion of the state's response. It's staggering. It's like focusing all the police power on the Amazon delivery driver when you're actually trying to take down a massive international counterfeiting ring. That framing perfectly highlights the fundamental nature of visible enforcement. The system is meticulously designed to catch the delivery driver. Right, because the masterminds, the hobby-bullets of the world, they operate in the abstract. Shielded by wealth, complex logistics and plausible deniability. This system only becomes visible and punitive at the lowest possible level of the hierarchy. The level of the pawn. And the play tackles that exact hierarchy head on. Right in the middle of this tense interrogation there's this fascinating philosophical pivot. Between the intelligence officer and his boss. Yeah. They step back and start debating the nature of these pawns, the everyday foot soldiers of society. The boss starts comparing Utahliff to other laborers they see every day. He brings up Lalu, a local water carrier, and Bola, the postman. Exactly. The boss points out that these are the men who physically walk for miles and miles in the blistering heat to reach holy pilgrimage sites. They carry the water, they endure the blisters, the exhaustion. Meanwhile, the wealthy elite hire vehicles ride in absolute comfort, don't shed a drop of sweat, But at the end of the journey, they claim the exact same spiritual credit. What's fascinating here is that Conchendra the Coor is using the police procedural merely as a Trojan horse. Oh, totally. The drugs are secondary. The core allegory is about systemic exploitation. During this exchange with his boss, the intelligence officer undergoes a profound cognitive shift. He realizes something big. Yes. He looks at me tout of this terrified kid who needs his translator, and he realizes that the nation itself is constructed entirely of these pawns. It's not defined by the kings or the insulated politicians. No. The physical reality of the nation is Lalu carrying the water. The reality is Nuteliff taking the fall. And that realization throws the intelligence officer into a total existential tailspin. Because if the nation is the pawn, then what is the officer? He's just the mechanism punishing the nation on behalf of the elite. which sets the thematic stage for the entire source document. Power rests at the very top, comfortable, and completely insulated from consequence. While the marginalized communities, especially those who don't even possess the linguistic tools to navigate the halls of power, are forced to absorb all the risks. When the music stops, the elite are sitting down, and the marginalized are left holding the pressure cooker. Exactly. The play actually pushes this tension even further by bringing a terrorist leader into the dialogue. All right, they get into this intense debate about the morality of participating in such a rigged system. The terrorist leader invokes the historical figure of Laldanga. For context for the listener, Laldanga was the leader of the Meso-national Front in India who led an armed insurgency for decades before surrendering for peace in 1986. And the terrorist character argues that laying down arms like Laldanga did is an act of ultimate betrayal. Because the system is so fundamentally unjust. Right. underlying thesis is that participating in the social contract is a fool's errand when the contract was drafted to subjugate you. Why play by the rules when the board is tilted? But you know, I find myself questioning the premise of the intelligence officer's despair here. How so? Well, we look at Mutalif in the interrogation room or La Lou carrying water and our instinct is to say, oh, the system is broken. Sure, that's the natural reaction. But is the system broken or is it working exactly as designed for those at the top? That is the terrifying crux of institutional analysis. If the machinery of the state is functioning exactly as intended to extract labor and deflect consequence, then the officer can't view himself as a hero fixing a broken machine. He's just the oil keeping the oppressive machine running smoothly. However, Tadkar offers a nuanced resolution to this. The officer comes to realize that his journey, sitting in that room requiring a translator, it wasn't useless. he genuinely listens to Mutalif? Yes. He recognizes Mutalif's humanity. He realizes that the pawn is the actual protagonist of the nation's story. Acknowledging the pawn's worth becomes a quiet rebellion. He finally looks at the chessboard from the perspective of the plastic piece, rather than the grandmaster. And that shift in perspective is everything. The struggle of the everyday persons striving against arbitrary limits bleeds directly into the poetry and short stories of the journal. It really does. You see that exact thematic bleed in the poetry section. Vadeha reviews the work of a poet named Om Prakash Jha and the reviewer highlights imagery that is just it's totally devoid of flowery nonsense. It is incredibly visceral. The review notes describing the emotional devastation of heartbreak with the phrase blood flowing from the liver. It's a jarring biological expression of pain. And he writes starkly about the grim realities of child laborers, kids whose childhoods are consumed by industrial grit. This is the poetry of the pawn. It rejects the sanitized aesthetics preferred by elite institutions in favor of documenting raw survival. Which leads perfectly into another piece of fiction in the journal that tackles this idea of painful growth. A short story called Race, meaning slowly. It is a remarkable exploration of the mechanics of progress. I found this story incredibly moving. It centers on a young boy named Shuppit. He's a runner and he's naturally gifted. But he runs with a very specific posture. Right. The story says when he sprints, his chest puffs out fiercely like a drawn bow. And relying on this natural posture, he dominates the local schoolyard races. But then a teacher intervenes. Yeah. The teacher makes him fundamentally change his biomechanical running posture and the immediate result is an absolute disaster. He starts tripping over his own feet. planting into the dirt track. He goes from being the undisputed champion to losing basic races and his friends mercilessly mock him. We are looking at the classic agonizing dilemma of regression for the sake of progression. The teacher has to sit him down and explain the mathematical reality. Right. The teacher explains that the puffed out chest maximized his speed for the local school level. But to win at the district level, where competition is rigorous, he needs a new technique. And here's where it gets really interesting. The tragedy is that the new superior technique makes him demonstrably worse in the present moment. Because it requires dismantling ingrained muscle memory. Feels alien. But the teacher understands that while his current speed drops, his maximum potential speed has been raised. I want you listening to pause and think about that. Why is it so incredibly difficult for us to abandon a winning strategy, even when we logically know it limits our ultimate potential. It's a deeply uncomfortable process. Think about a time you had to unlearn a skill. Like if you were a fast hunt and peck typist and you forced yourself to learn touch typing, for weeks you feel incompetent. Or changing how you manage your team at work. The transition period is agonizing because you are voluntarily stepping back into the vulnerability of a beginner. Exactly. Well everyone remembers you used to be an expert. If we pull the lens back from the dirt track and apply this to the broader themes of the deha, the author is weaving a profound metaphor. How does Chopit's physical struggle map onto the language itself? Well, for centuries, Mathili existed quite comfortably in its own regional sphere. It was winning the schoolyard race. It had its own traditions and logic. Right. But as the world rapidly modernized, the parameters of survival changed. To compete on a global stage, the culture has to adapt. which means standardizing rules, digitizing texts, engaging with global tech platforms. And just like Shope hits new running form, this cultural adaptation is painful. It causes missteps. It invites mockery from those who say, why change? We were champions of our own domain. Wow. Speaking of adapting to compete on a global stage, let's talk about the ultimate modern district race, the internet. The digital battleground. Specifically Wikipedia, because if a concept or a language doesn't have a presence on Wikipedia, to the vast majority of the modern world, it simply does not exist. This is the juncture where the journal moves from fiction to hard-documented historical reality. We dive into the actual communication logs from a man named Gerard Meissen, who was on the Wikipedia Language Committee between 2008 and 2014. And the documented battle to establish a misily Wikipedia is just a staggering David and Goliath story. To understand the friction, you have to look at the historical baggage Mathili was dragging into the digital age. It wasn't just convincing a tech committee. It was undoing over a century of colonial academic damage. Exactly. Western linguists in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the journal specifically names Grierson, Kellogg and Hornley, they fundamentally miscategorize Mathili. The academic negligence detail here is shocking. They categorize Mathili as a mere dialect of Eastern Hindi or a sub branch of Bengali. And the worst part, Greerson lumped it under a completely fabricated, false-notional category called Bihari. Right, which was essentially an invention for administrative convenience. And suddenly, generations of Western academics just accepted that Mithili was a subset of this imaginary category. If we connect this to the bigger picture, it is a textbook example of epistemic violence. Let's define that for the listener. Epistemic violence. It refers to the harm inflicted upon marginalized groups, through the control and manipulation of knowledge. When an institution classifies your distinct language as a mere dialect, it essentially erases your cultural sovereignty. It strips the language of state funding, educational resources and digital presence. Exactly. It tells 24 million people that their words don't possess enough validity to exist in official ledgers. The real world consequence hit the digital realm hard. The logs show there was actually in early Bihari Wikipedia. Yes, but the people trying to build the Mathili presence pointed out a massive flaw. The content on the Bihari Wikipedia was actually written in a completely different language called Bojpuri. It's absurd. Enter a user named Umesh Mandal. He took on the monumental task of fighting the committee armed with linguistic data to prove Mathili's distinct identity. And shockingly, proving the language existed wasn't even the most difficult hurdle. No, the technical hurdle was insane. possesses its own native historical script called Mytholokshar. But in 2008, the Mytholokshar script was not recognized in Unicode. Which means you literally cannot type it on a keyboard. It's digitally non-existent. Imagine having to write your entire cultural history in a completely different alphabet just because the global digital filing cabinet doesn't have a folder for your actual letters. They had to use the Devanagari script instead. They had to dress their language in another language's clothes just to be allowed into the digital room. Why do external institutions get to decide if a language is just a dialect or if their alphabet is allowed to appear on a screen? It's a reflection of historical prioritization in globalized technological infrastructure. Western computing solved for English ASCII first, then European languages. Complex regional scripts were pushed down the priority list. But this narrative is one of breathtaking resilience. The Mech Mandal and the community didn't accept defeat. They spent years in the Wikimedia incubator, translating thousands of interface messages into methiline. The relentless work of building the house brick by brick. And the payoff is etched right there in Gerard Meissen's log, dated November 6, 2014. The Mayfilly Wikipedia officially launched. A monumental victory for digital survival. Getting recognized by the internet was one thing, though. But according to the searing editorials in Videja, the fiercest battles were actually happening inside the Mithili community itself. We are now moving into the most sensitive portion of the journal's contents. Yes. And before discussing this next section, I need to make something incredibly clear to you listening. The source material we are diving into next contains some very heavy, politically charged accusations regarding caste and institutional control. Very serious allegations. We want to be incredibly clear with you. your guides, we are not taking sides or endorsing these viewpoints. We are strictly, impartially reporting on the intense claims made by the author in the original text to help you understand the cultural crossfire happening within this literary community. Approaching this as a sociological document is essential. We're examining internal cultural friction as perceived by the editors. Okay, with that framework in place, let's look at the claims. The author details a massive conflict. On one side, you have the mainstream institutions. The heavy weights of cultural validation. The text names the Sahita Academy, Mathila University, and Erard Rabonga, and the explosive accusation is that these institutions have been totally monopolized by a Brahmanical Kayahta Kabbal. To comprehend this, we have to unpack the caste dynamics. The Mathal Brahmins historically occupy the highest echelon of the traditional caste hierarchy associated with priesthood and scholarship. The kaiastas served as the scribe cast. And the author is asserting that these specific privilege groups have consolidated total control over modern institutions. Allegedly utilizing this monopoly to enforce a narrative that the Mephili language belongs exclusively to the Mephili Brahmins, erasing everyone else. Standing in opposition to this, the text introduces a parallel movement called Sagarati Deep Jirai or SRDJ. Meaning, keeping a lamp burning all night. It's a radically inclusive grassroots collective. And the author claims the mainstream views SRDJ as a severe threat. The mechanics of literary gay keeping described here are intense. According to the editorials, the mainstream establishment relies on organized boycotts and institutional blackmail to maintain control. The journal points to a specific event in Deogar in 2014. The author alleges that prominent figures naming Roman, Derry Hare, and Bihari threatened to completely boycott the event unless it was officially branded under the Sihichi Academy. They weaponized institutional prestige to dictate the terms. By controlling the Sihichi Academy, this specific group gets to write the history. They decide whose books survive and whose are forgotten. The chilling reality of that erasure is detailed in the text. The journal claims writers like Supash, Chandra Yadav and Nachiketa were intentionally blacklisted from awards because they challenged this monopoly. When an institution slams the door shut on innovative writers, it dictates the historical archive. So what does this all mean for the reader? If a small group controls the awards and the publishing, are you really reading the literature of a whole culture, or just the literature of one specific neighborhood? It's profoundly unsettling. The diverse voices of the wider community, the mutilifs, the shop-hits, are actively silenced. And this gatekeeping wasn't just about who got published, but literally about the very words they were allowed to use. transitions us into the construction of linguistic cages. The author makes a staggering claim here. They allege the mainstream gatekeepers attempt to restrict written methili to a basic vocabulary of merely 2,000 words. And this restricted list is entirely composed of the specific dialect used by the high cast. Exactly. When inclusive writers try to introduce Dalit vocabulary, like the Damalic voices recorded by Umesh Mandal, they are met with disgust. The journal points to a figure named Toranan Vyogi. The allegation is that when confronted with the late contributions, Vyogi disparagingly referred to Mithili as a language of sweepers. It's a gut-wrenching accusation that reduces a complex heritage to a caste-based slur. This raises an important question. Why restrict a vocabulary so severely? The editors draw a parallel to Nobel laureate J.M. Koetsi, who used English to push back against the oppressive, bilingual environment of Afrikaud's. Language is a battleground. Precisely. Restricting a language's vocabulary is a tool of suppression. A typical high schooler in the US encounters 3,500 basic words before college. Limiting an entire literature to 2,000 words suffocates its growth and nuance. You make it mathematically impossible to express complex trauma or modern concepts. But I get so passionate here. A language is a living, breathing thing. You can't put a fence around it and tell the words they aren't allowed to mix. It's an impossible task in the long run. So how does a parallel movement like SRDJ survive this kind of institutional strangulation? According to the text, SRDJ thrives through sheer demographic numbers in grassroots inclusion. And they leverage digital platforms, like the Videha e-journal itself, to bypass traditional gatekeepers entirely. But the text solemnly mentions a dark detail. The passing or sacrifice of Artie Kamari, which the author links directly to the toxic, environment created by these brutal literary politics. It starkly underscores the human cost. When an institutional system prioritizes ultimate control over organic expression, human beings get crushed in the gears. We have covered an immense landscape today, from the fictional struggles of a pawn named Mitalif, to a runner unlearning his technique. To the digital trenches of Wikipedia. And finally, to a fierce literary caste war, I want you listening to think critically about the words you use every day. Think about the slang, the regional dialects, the phrases you inherited from your family. They carry so much weight. Every word you speak is a survivor of historical, cultural, and political battles you might not even know about. Which leaves us with a final lingering paradox based on Vedea. If the very institutions designed to protect and celebrate a culture's literature become the one suffocating it. the true guardian of a language, the award-winning author, or the everyday pawn speaking it in the streets? That is something to sit with. Thank you so much for joining us on this deep dive. Keep questioning the systems around you, and keep exploring the hidden stories behind the languages you hear every day.

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