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SADEHA 16.m4a

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Collection: Part 1 · VIDEHA MITHILA MAITHILI DISCUSSION CRITICISM SERIES PART 1
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Detected language: en (0.998975)
Duration: 23:54
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0:00–0:30यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ �
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
0:54–0:57you're dealing with living, evolving systems.
0:57–1:01Yeah. And I was actually thinking about that exact diagnostic metaphor today because we are
1:01–1:05looking at something that external observers have constantly tried to categorize. They
1:05–1:11try to put it into a neat little box, define it with binary terms, force it to fit a specific
1:11–1:15blueprint, but it violently refuses to fit. We are talking about the very words you
1:15–1:18use. And 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
1:23–1:26existence of a native tongue. It's fascinating.
1:26–1:30Today we are looking at a language spoken by over 24 million people.
1:30–1:31It is called Mothili.
1:31–1:35Which is primarily spoken in the Indian state of Ihar, right?
1:35–1:37And the eastern Terai region of Nepal.
1:37–1:39Yep, exactly.
1:39–1:43And we are going to see what happens when a language of that massive scale has to fight
1:43–1:48for its survival on two completely different, equally brutal battlegrounds.
1:48–1:50Two very distinct fronts.
1:50–1:51Right.
1:51–1:55One 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
3:13–3:17mythology 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.
3:27–3:34I am so eager to untangle this web, the intersections here between digital coding standards, institutional
3:34–3:39gatekeeping, and just a single marginalized word.
3:39–3:41It dictates human history.
3:41–3:45And having your analytical mind here across the table is perfect for connecting these
3:45–3:48local themes to the broader struggles we see globally.
3:48–3:49Thanks.
3:49–3:52It's definitely a topic that resonates far beyond just one language.
3:52–3:57So to you listening right now, have you ever thought about who controls the words you speak?
3:57–3:59It's a heavy question.
3:59–4:02By the end of this deep dive, you're going to look at your own native language in a completely
4:02–4:03different light.
4:03–4:07Let's start with the fiction in Videha because, well, often fiction is the safest place to
4:07–4:09tell the most dangerous truths.
4:09–4:10That is very true.
4:10–4:15The journal features this short play titled Machand, which translates to the Pawn.
4:15–4:17It's written by Gajendra Thakur.
4:17–4:21It is a brilliantly constructed piece of allegorical storytelling.
4:21–4:22It really sets the philosophical baseline
4:22–4:24for everything we'll discuss today.
4:24–4:26Let me build the scene for you guys.
4:26–4:29The protagonist is a young man named Mutalif.
4:29–4:32He's totally unemployed, just living on the margins.
4:32–4:35Right, his daily existence is just hanging around,
4:35–4:36playing cricket by the sea.
4:36–4:38Simply passing the time.
4:38–4:41But then Mutalif gets wricked out of that coastal life
4:41–4:45and thrown into a harsh, sterile police interrogation
4:45–4:45room.
4:45–4:47Because he gets caught carrying a pressure cooker.
4:47–4:48Yeah.
4:48–4:53But 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 taqa for every trip he made.
5:06–5:12And Mutela insists with this genuine desperation that he thought he was just transporting mundane spices.
5:12–5:12Right.
5:12–5:14But the critical narrative device,
5:14–5:19Gagendra Thakur uses here, is one of total isolation.
5:19–5:21Because Mutalev does not speak the local language
5:21–5:23of the police who are holding him.
5:23–5:25He is linguistically trapped.
5:25–5:26The authorities are treating him like he's
5:26–5:28some sort of kingpin, the mastermind
5:28–5:30of a massive criminal syndicate.
5:30–5:33Meanwhile, they literally have to bring a translator
5:33–5:36into the room just to ask him his name.
5:36–5:38When I was reading the scene, I kept thinking
5:38–5:41about the sheer disproportion of the state's response.
5:41–5:41It's staggering.
5:41–5:45It's like focusing all the police power on the Amazon delivery driver when you're actually
5:45–5:49trying to take down a massive international counter-fitting ring.
5:49–5:54That framing perfectly highlights the fundamental nature of visible enforcement.
5:54–5:58The system is meticulously designed to catch the delivery driver.
5:58–6:03Right, because the masterminds, the hobby-bullets of the world, they operate in the abstract.
6:03–6:09Shielded by wealth, complex logistics, and plausible deniability, this system only
6:09–6:14becomes visible and punitive at the lowest possible level of the hierarchy.
6:14–6:15The level of the pawn.
6:15–6:16Yeah.
6:16–6:19And the play tackles that exact hierarchy head-on.
6:19–6:24Right in the middle of this tense interrogation, there's this fascinating philosophical pivot.
6:24–6:26Between the intelligence officer and his boss.
6:26–6:27Yeah.
6:27–6:28Yeah.
6:28–6:30They step back and start debating the nature of these pawns, the everyday foot soldiers
6:30–6:32of society.
6:32–6:35The 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.
6:39–6:41Exactly.
6:41–6:45The boss points out that these are the men who physically walk for miles and miles in
6:45–6:49the blistering heat to reach holy pilgrimage sites.
6:49–6:52They carry the water, they endure the blisters, the exhaustion.
6:52–6:57Meanwhile, the wealthy elite hire vehicles ride in absolute comfort, don't shed a drop
6:57–7:03of sweat, but at the end of the journey, they claim the exact same spiritual credit.
7:03–7:07What's fascinating here is that Conchentra the Coor is using the police procedural merely
7:07–7:09as a Trojan horse.
7:09–7:10Oh, totally.
7:10–7:11The drugs are secondary.
7:11–7:14The 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.
7:21–7:22Yes.
7:22–7:25He looks at me tout of this terrified kid who needs his translator, and he realizes
7:25–7:29that the nation itself is constructed entirely of these pawns.
7:29–7:32It's not defined by the kings or the insulated politicians.
7:32–7:38No. The physical reality of the nation is LaLue carrying the water. The reality is Newtel if taking the fall.
7:38–7:44And that realization throws the intelligence officer into a total existential tailspin.
7:44–7:49Because 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.
7:52–8:01Which sets the thematic stage for the entire source document. Power rests at the very top, comfortable and completely insulated from consequence.
8:01–8:05While the marginalized communities, especially those who don't even possess the linguistic
8:05–8:09tools to navigate the halls of power, are forced to absorb all the risks.
8:09–8:14When the music stops, the elite are sitting down, and the marginalized are left holding
8:14–8:15the pressure cooker.
8:15–8:16Exactly.
8:16–8:20The play actually pushes this tension even further by bringing a terrorist leader into
8:20–8:21the dialogue.
8:21–8:24Alright, 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.
8:29–8:33For context for the listener, Loldanga was the leader of the Mizo National Front in India,
8:33–8:38who led an armed insurgency for decades before surrendering for peace in 1986.
8:38–8:43And the terrorist character argues that laying down arms like Loldanga did is an act of ultimate
8:43–8:44betrayal.
8:44–8:46Because the system is so fundamentally unjust.
8:46–8:47Right.
8:47–8:51His underlying thesis is that participating in the social contract is a fool's errand
8:51–8:54when the contract was drafted to subjugate you.
8:54–8:57Why play by the rules when the board is tilted?
8:57–9:00But you know, I find myself questioning the premise of the intelligence officers' despair
9:00–9:01here.
9:01–9:02Now, so.
9:02–9:07Well, we look at Mutalef 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.
9:10–9:11That's the natural reaction.
9:11–9:15But 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
9:24–9:30deflect consequence, 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.
9:44–9:46Because he genuinely listens to Mutalif.
9:46–9:47Yes.
9:47–9:50He recognizes Mutalis' humanity.
9:50–9:55He realizes that the pawn is the actual protagonist of the nation's story.
9:55–9:58Acknowledging the pawn's worth becomes a quiet rebellion.
9:58–10:02He finally looks at the chessboard from the perspective of the plastic piece rather than
10:02–10:03the grandmaster.
10:03–10:06And that shift in perspective is everything.
10:06–10:11The struggle of the everyday person striving against arbitrary limits bleeds directly into
10:11–10:13the poetry and short stories of the journal.
10:13–10:14It really does.
10:14–10:17You see that exact thematic bleed in the poetry section.
10:17–10:21Vadeha reviews the work of a poet named Om Prakash Jha,
10:21–10:23and the reviewer highlights imagery that is just,
10:23–10:26it's totally devoid of flowery nonsense.
10:26–10:27It is incredibly visceral.
10:27–10:30The review notes describing the emotional devastation
10:30–10:31of heartbreak with the phrase,
10:31–10:33blood flowing from the liver.
10:33–10:35It's a jarring biological expression of pain.
10:35–10:38And he writes starkly about the grim realities
10:38–10:41of child laborers, kids whose childhoods are consumed
10:41–10:42by industrial grit.
10:42–10:44This is the poetry of the pawn.
10:44–10:46It rejects the sanitized aesthetics preferred
10:46–10:51elite institutions in favor of documenting raw survival.
10:51–10:55Which leads perfectly into another piece of fiction in the journal that tackles this idea
10:55–10:57of 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.
11:13–11:19Right. The 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.
11:26–11:31Yeah. The teacher makes him fundamentally change his biomechanical running posture,
11:31–11:33and the immediate result is an absolute disaster.
11:33–11:35He starts tripping over his own feet.
11:35–11:35Right.
11:35–11:37He's planting into the dirt track.
11:37–11:41He goes from being the undisputed champion to losing basic races,
11:41–11:44and his friends mercilessly mock him.
11:44–11:47We are looking at the classic agonizing dilemma of regression
11:47–11:48for the sake of progression.
11:48–11:50The teacher has to sit him down and explain
11:50–11:52the mathematical reality.
11:52–11:52Right.
11:52–11:54The teacher explains that the puffed out chest
11:54–11:58maximized his speed for the local school level.
11:58–12:00But to win at the district level,
12:00–12:03where competition is rigorous, he needs a new technique.
12:03–12:06And here's where it gets really interesting.
12:06–12:09The tragedy is that the new superior technique
12:09–12:12makes him demonstrably worse in the present moment.
12:12–12:16Because it requires dismantling ingrained muscle memory.
12:16–12:18Feels alien.
12:18–12:21But the teacher understands that while his current speed drops,
12:21–12:24his maximum potential speed has been raised.
12:24–12:26I want you listening to pause and think about that.
12:26–12:30Why is it so incredibly difficult for us to abandon a winning strategy,
12:30–12:34even when we 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.
12:47–12:53The transition period is agonizing because you are voluntarily stepping back into the vulnerability 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 Deha,
13:01–13:05the author is weaving a profound metaphor.
13:05–13:09How does Chopit's physical struggle map onto the language itself?
13:09–13:13Well, for centuries, Mathili existed quite comfortably in its own regional sphere.
13:13–13:15It was winning the schoolyard race.
13:15–13:17It had its own traditions and logic.
13:17–13:22Right. But as the world rapidly modernized, the parameters of survival changed.
13:23–13:26To compete on a global stage, the culture has to adapt.
13:26–13:31Which means standardizing rules, digitizing texts, engaging with global tech platforms.
13:31–13:36And just like Shope hits new running form, this cultural adaptation is painful.
13:36–13:41It causes missteps. It invites mockery from those who say why change.
13:41–13:46We were champions of our own domain. Wow. Speaking of adapting to compete on a global stage,
13:46–13:51let's talk about the ultimate modern district race, the internet. The digital battleground.
13:51–13:56Specifically Wikipedia, because if a concept or a language doesn't have a presence on Wikipedia,
13:56–14:00to the vast majority of the modern world, it simply does not exist.
14:00–14:06This is the juncture where the journal moves from fiction to hard-documented historical reality.
14:06–14:10We dive into the actual communication logs from a man named Gerard Meissen,
14:10–14:14who was on the Wikipedia Language Committee between 2008 and 2014.
14:14–14:18And the documented battle to establish a Missile Wikipedia
14:18–14:21is just a staggering David and Goliath story.
14:21–14:24To understand the friction, you have to look at the historical baggage
14:24–14:29Mathili was dragging into the digital age. It wasn't just convincing a tech committee.
14:29–14:32It was undoing over a century of colonial academic damage.
14:32–14:37Exactly. Western linguists in the late 19th and early 20th centuries,
14:37–14:40the journal specifically names Grierson, Kellogg, and Hornley,
14:40–14:43they fundamentally miscategorize Mephili.
14:43–14:46The academic negligence detail here is shocking.
14:46–14:51They categorize Mephili as a mere dialect of Eastern Hindi, or a sub-branch of Bengali.
14:51–14:56And the worst part, Grierson lumped it under a completely fabricated,
14:56–14:58false-notional category called Bihari.
14:58–15:01Right, which was essentially an invention for administrative convenience.
15:01–15:05And suddenly, generations of Western academics just accepted that
15:05–15:07Methili was a subset of this imaginary category.
15:07–15:12If 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. Epistemic violence.
15:16–15:19It refers to the harm inflicted upon marginalized groups,
15:19–15:22through the control and manipulation of knowledge.
15:22–15:27When an institution classifies your distinct language as a mere dialect,
15:27–15:30It essentially erases your cultural sovereignty.
15:30–15:35It strips the language of state funding, educational resources, and digital presence.
15:35–15:36Exactly.
15:36–15:40It tells 24 million people that their words don't possess enough validity to exist in
15:40–15:42official ledgers.
15:42–15:46The real-world consequence hit the digital realm hard.
15:46–15:50The logs show there was actually an early Bihari Wikipedia.
15:50–15:54Yes, but the people trying to build a Mathilli presence pointed out a massive flaw.
15:54–15:58The content on the Bihari Wikipedia was actually written in a completely different language
15:58–15:59called Bojpuri.
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
16:06–16:09to prove 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.
16:16–16:20Mathili possesses its own native historical script called Mythilakshar.
16:20–16:24But in 2008, the mythologshire 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 saw 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 methili.
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 Methili 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 Vedeja, the fiercest battles were actually
17:40–17:43happening inside the Mathili community itself.
17:43–17:46We are now moving into the most sensitive portion of the journal's contents.
17:46–17:52Yes. And before discussing this next section, I need to make something incredibly clear to you 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.
18:01–18:06We want to be incredibly clear with you. As your guides, we are not taking sides or
18:06–18:10endorsing these viewpoints. We are strictly and partially reporting on the intense
18:10–18:14claims made by the author in the original text to help you understand the cultural crossfire
18:14–18:17happening within this literary community.
18:17–18:21Approaching this as a sociological document is essential.
18:21–18:25We're examining internal cultural friction as perceived by the editors.
18:25–18:28Okay, with that framework in place, let's look at the claims.
18:28–18:31The author details a massive conflict.
18:31–18:34On one side, you have the mainstream institutions.
18:34–18:36The heavy weights of cultural validation.
18:36–18:41The text names the Sahita Academy, Mathila University, and Erardurbanga.
18:41–18:46And the explosive accusation is that these institutions have been totally monopolized
18:46–18:49by a Brahmanical Kayahta Kabbal.
18:49–18:52To comprehend this, we have to unpack the caste dynamics.
18:52–18:56The Mathal Brahmins historically occupy the highest echelon of the traditional caste
18:56–19:00hierarchy associated with priesthood and scholarship.
19:00–19:03The Kayahtas served as the scribe caste.
19:03–19:07And the author is asserting that these specific privileged groups have consolidated total control
19:07–19:09over modern institutions.
19:09–19:13Allegedly utilizing this monopoly to enforce a narrative that the Mayfielde language belongs
19:13–19:17exclusively to the Mayfield Brahmans, erasing everyone else.
19:17–19:22Standing in opposition to this, the text introduces a parallel movement called Sagarati Deep
19:22–19:25Jurai or SRDJ.
19:25–19:27Meaning keeping a lamp burning all night.
19:27–19:30It's a radically inclusive grassroots collective.
19:30–19:34And the author claims the mainstream views SRDJ as a severe threat.
19:34–19:38The mechanics of literary gay keeping described here are intense.
19:38–19:43According to the editorials, the mainstream establishment relies on organized boycotts
19:43–19:46and institutional blackmail to maintain control.
19:46–19:50The journal points to a specific event in Deogar in 2014.
19:50–19:55The author alleges that prominent figures naming Roman, Dairy Hair and Bihari threatened
19:55–19:59to completely boycott the event unless it was officially branded under the Sahicha
19:59–20:03They weaponized institutional prestige to dictate the terms.
20:03–20:08By controlling the Sakeichi Academy, this specific group gets to write the history.
20:08–20:11They decide whose books survive and whose are forgotten.
20:11–20:14The chilling reality of that erasure is detailed in the text.
20:14–20:22The journal claims writers like Supash, Tundra, Yadav and Nachiketa were intentionally blacklisted from awards because they challenged this monopoly.
20:22–20:28When 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
20:34–20:38literature of 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 shaw pits, are actively
20:45–20:47silenced.
20:47–20:50And this gatekeeping wasn't just about who got published, but literally about the
20:50–20:53very words they were allowed to use.
20:53–20:55This transitions 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.
21:04–21:09And this restricted list is entirely composed of the specific dialect used by the high cast.
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?
21:40–21:45The editors draw a parallel to Nobel laureate, J. M. Koetze, who used English to push back
21:45–21:48against the oppressive, bilingual environment of Afrika-Ruz.
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 U.S. 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 and 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 Arti Kumari, which the author links directly to the toxic,
22:45–22:48fearful environment created by these brutal literary politics.
22:48–22:54starkly underscores the human cost. When an institutional system prioritizes ultimate control over organic
22:54–22:59expression, human beings get crushed in the gears. We have covered an immense landscape today,
22:59–23:05from the fictional struggles of a pawn named Mitalif, to a runner unlearning his technique,
23:05–23:11to the digital trenches of Wikipedia, and finally, to a fierce literary caste war.
23:12–23:16I want you listening to think critically about the words you use every day.
23:16–23:21Think about the slang, the regional dialects, the phrases you inherited from your family.
23:21–23:23They carry so much weight.
23:23–23:28Every word you speak is a survivor of historical, cultural, and political battles you might not
23:28–23:29even know about.
23:29–23:32Which leaves us with a final lingering paradox based on Vedea.
23:33–23:37If the very institutions designed to protect and celebrate a culture's literature
23:37–23:39become the one suffocating it.
23:39–23:44Is the true guardian of a language the award-winning author or the everyday pawn
23:44–23:45speaking it in the streets?
23:45–23:46That is something to sit with.
23:46–23:49Thank you so much for joining us on this deep dive.
23:49–23:50Keep questioning the systems around you,
23:50–23:52and keep exploring the hidden stories
23:52–23:54behind the languages you hear every day.

Plain text

यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ यूआ � 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. And I was actually 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 Mothili. 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 mythology 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 wricked 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 taqa 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, Gagendra Thakur uses here, is one of total isolation. Because Mutalev 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 the 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 counter-fitting 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. Yeah. 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. 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 Conchentra 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 LaLue carrying the water. The reality is Newtel if 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. Alright, 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, Loldanga was the leader of the Mizo 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 Loldanga did is an act of ultimate betrayal. Because the system is so fundamentally unjust. Right. His 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 officers' despair here. Now, so. Well, we look at Mutalef 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. Because he genuinely listens to Mutalif. Yes. He recognizes Mutalis' 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 person 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 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. Right. He's 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 Missile 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 Mephili. The academic negligence detail here is shocking. They categorize Mephili as a mere dialect of Eastern Hindi, or a sub-branch of Bengali. And the worst part, Grierson 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 Methili 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 an early Bihari Wikipedia. Yes, but the people trying to build a Mathilli 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. Mathili possesses its own native historical script called Mythilakshar. But in 2008, the mythologshire 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 saw 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 methili. 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 Methili 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 Vedeja, the fiercest battles were actually happening inside the Mathili 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. As your guides, we are not taking sides or endorsing these viewpoints. We are strictly and partially 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 Erardurbanga. 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 Kayahtas served as the scribe caste. And the author is asserting that these specific privileged groups have consolidated total control over modern institutions. Allegedly utilizing this monopoly to enforce a narrative that the Mayfielde language belongs exclusively to the Mayfield Brahmans, erasing everyone else. Standing in opposition to this, the text introduces a parallel movement called Sagarati Deep Jurai 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, Dairy Hair and Bihari threatened to completely boycott the event unless it was officially branded under the Sahicha They weaponized institutional prestige to dictate the terms. By controlling the Sakeichi 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, Tundra, 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 shaw pits, are actively silenced. And this gatekeeping wasn't just about who got published, but literally about the very words they were allowed to use. This 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. Koetze, who used English to push back against the oppressive, bilingual environment of Afrika-Ruz. Language is a battleground. Precisely. Restricting a language's vocabulary is a tool of suppression. a typical high schooler in the U.S. 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 and 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 Arti Kumari, which the author links directly to the toxic, fearful environment created by these brutal literary politics. 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. Is 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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