In verbal communication, the words we use convey only seven percent of the message. The rest of 93 percent is communicated through our body language (55 percent) and the pitch of our voice (38 percent). This fact has been bandied about so often it's become common knowledge. Yet it's remarkable how often people fail to grasp what this really means.
Politics, I admit, is not the juiciest topic for leisurely read. But I can think of no other area where the content of the message (seven percent) rather than its delivery (93 percent) is given such importance.
Take Prachanda. His doublespeak is now legendary. In fact, I have been among his harshest critics for his constant flip-flops. But if you go over some of his televised speeches in YouTube, as I recently did, you are immediately struck by the subtle changes in his facial expressions as he talks. His head and hand movements also seem choreographed to accentuate the flurry of words tumbling out of him like bullets of a self-loading rifle. Even his worst critics acknowledge that Prachanda is a master orator.
Yet what get more analyzed about Prachanda are his words. But for such a skilled communicator, the actual words he uses, which, at the end of the day, communicate only seven percent of his message, are irrelevant. It's his animated body, always attuned to his audience, which makes the biggest impact. Compare that with Baburam Bhattarai, the Maoist second-in-command of undoubted brilliance. While Bhattarai speaks, his stony face gives out nothing. With 93 percent of the message already lost even before he utters a word, no wonder he has failed to cultivate strong followers in the Maoist party. As neuroscience is finding out, emotion always trumps logic in our everyday decision-making.
I digress. The point is that words in themselves, and especially written words, are poor surrogates for real experience. The severe limitation of accepted forms of grammar and language has prompted writers like Marques and Saramago to throw out rulebooks: since thoughts have no full-stops, they reason, why bother with them when trying to replicate your thoughts in writing? But that hinders, rather than help, with the comprehension of most of their attention-deficient readers.
I have myself felt unable to convey in writing some of the most emotional moments in my life. One such moment came around a decade ago when I was on a pilgrimage in India with my parents. We were at Raxaul train station on our way to Calcutta. It was easily the filthiest place I had ever been, with human and dog excreta covering every surface in sight. And then, there was this girl.
She was a beggar in tattered clothes, possibly handicapped. She was lying on her back bang in the middle of the platform. Her mouth was open. Inside, there was a big swarm of flies. My heart clenched. My god, she is dead!
But then, she bats her eyelids, and I am suddenly gripped by this sensation of revulsion-helplessness-dread-shock-despondency... I cannot even begin to describe how I felt. In fact, no written word(s) could capture how I felt in that moment, as I stood there, horrified by this revolting sight, but, like a helpless voyeur, also unable to take my eyes off. That is just an example.
Yet in this age of 'knowledge economy' we are more than ever reliant on bookish knowledge. While our ancestors relied on the dexterity of their hands to create new things—clothes, weapons, utensils—and honed their communication skills working in groups, today, our understanding of the world is largely shaped by what we get to read in books, watch on TV, listen to in our podcasts and browse online.
As we look to 'educate' our children, the kind of practical nous acquired by getting your hands dirty will, I fear, slowly be replaced by second-hand theoretical knowledge imbibed from a safe distance. This change will come at a price.
When they are not assailed by books—'books are your best friends'—youngsters today are busy with their phones, making virtual friends on Facebook, rapid dating on Tinder. When friends do get together, nearly every one of them is occupied chatting up random acquaintances over their iPhone. Sport for them is Super Mario; and, for others, writing for newspapers and lecturing people, the idea of healthy recreation.
biswas.baral@gmail.com
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