Somewhere over the algorithm

I found myself watching Kuch Kuch Hota Hai for the 30th time the other night. The 90s filter, Shah Rukh Khan's overly dramatic declaration of love, the always iconic 'pyaar dosti hai', a random burst of bhajans, and the most ridiculous, haphazard, unbelievable story line. And somehow I was crying, laughing and feeling everything in between. I was reminded - almost abruptly - of what good cinema felt like.

The credits rolled, the spell broke, and suddenly I was thinking - It’s a rather strange phenomenon. To be in the midst of a world where everything seems familiar. An endless cycle. A meaningless pit. Every instagram post interchangeable; every piece of writing indistinguishable; movies with no meaningful impact.  Every existing piece of art felt like a rendition, a retelling of an old tale!

As a lover of art - art that moves, creates and heals. This loss felt deeply personal. Art exists in all forms - monumental and minuscule, loud and quiet, small and big. But when it's real, it's impact lingers - like the subdued scent of nostalgia - it moves us.

But what happens when art no longer moves us?

When its intentionality is lost, and what remains is an echo of something that once mattered?

Songs remix older hits, sampling samples of samples. Film studios reimagine old franchises into live-action retellings with none of the soul. Fashion is a carousel of references referencing other references. 

Of course art has never existed in isolation - but why is it now that we feel the world is a bottomless ditch crippled with the past? It’s not that influence or inspiration are new. Every artist is shaped by those before them. But today it feels different. It feels as though everyone has hit an invisible copy paste button, creating art devoid of feeling. Art made not to move us - but to move out of the way for the next thing.

But can we create something meaningful if we are always running?

Is art created in a frenzy or in quiet solitude?

Is our world no longer conducive to stillness - have we killed the very thing that got us here? 

We are drowning. Drowning in instant gratification, drowning in convenience, drowning in a world of 15 second clips with no recall. Simply drowning. Or maybe we have already drowned, and the water is a glowing screen. 

What if there will never be another William Wordsworth, casually writing one of the most empathic and meaningful poems while on a slow walk. Captivated by the simplicity of a single daffodil, conveying the universality of human existence through the stillness ('Daffodils" by William Wordsworth)

In a world where we don’t even realise how much content we consume in a day, where we create trends to simulate purpose - we forget that maybe it’s the space between the trends that gives us meaning.

In such over-saturation and such mind numbing oblivion - how can we expect to be original? How can we even be expected to think? 

There’s no space. It's online claustrophobia. Intellectual homogenisation. The infinite scroll has left us with incredibly finite thoughts. We are the first generation that has to exist without the space to imagine. 

However - this article isn’t meant to make you feel hopeless, it’s meant to offer perspective. Though the world continues to become more and more artificial - throughout history, the human touch has prevailed. Or rather, saved us from drowning in a void we created. In lieu of sounding too pessimistic - here is a verse from one of my favourite books “The comfort book” by Matt Haig. 

“It is often subtle. But you know it when you feel it. Like when ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ effortlessly goes up a whole octave within the word somewhere - jumping clean over seven natural keys - an actual musical rainbow.” 

Somewhere over the rainbow - one of the most hopeful songs, created in the most hopeless of times. It is art that truly moved, and can be felt countless years later. By depleting the authenticity needed to create such art, we deplete the space required to feel. 

But here’s the truth: we can’t let convenience replace curiosity. We can’t passively accept AI content without thinking about it critically first. This isn't a rant about the risks of AI (god forbid I have to read another one of those) but rather a small nudge, even to myself,  to think critically - to escape the online echo chamber, before it becomes the only room I know.

At the end of the day the brain is a muscle. The less we use it, the more functionality it loses. If we keep outsourcing thinking, we won’t just lose originality, we will lose the ability to recognise its absence. 

I feel myself slipping away from my own cognitive agency. Fighting tooth and nail - trying not to use chat gpt while writing this article. Struggling to resist the very thing I am critiquing. 

AI produces what has already been thought of. It is trained on the known. But the world has always been moved by the unknown — by what could be, what hasn’t yet been discovered, imagined, created.

So where does that leave us?

It leaves us rewatching old 90s bollywood films, re-reading the same books to feel what we once took for granted and lingering within the nostalgia of what was, rather than what will be.

Maybe the next original thought begins with remembering what it felt like to have one.

By Sarah Makani