There are two kinds of Internets that exist. There’s the regular kind, the one we all visit each day in the hope that something spectacular might happen, even though nothing ever does. It’s awful. People are mean to each other and they’re always furious about something — and then they forget all about it once there’s some food in their stomach (just like infants). This is civilisation today. It’s not perfect, but nothing ever is.
And then there’s the Internet that exists exclusively Below The Line (BTL). For the inhabitants of Regular Internet, who never venture downwards, here’s a quick primer: Below The Line is the comments section that waits patiently, ominously, at the bottom of most Internetty things: it’s there below confessional social media updates, below controversial articles, below YouTube videos. It’s a contemporary take on Letters to the Editor, except there’s no editor, no letter, no newspaper, no semblance of order anywhere. Down there lies a jungle; grown adults left to their elements, unregulated and free from the pressures of social humiliation that keep their behaviour in check on other mediums and in real life; willing and able to spout the very darkest thoughts that enter their corrupted minds here.
Keeping the YouTube comments section, the YTBTL, as the focus here, it follows largely predicated patterns. There’s a lot of vicious abuse; mothers of people posting, especially, are quite popular in these circles. You have the odd hate speech, which does get shut down by other commenters occasionally; there’s some creative name-calling. As per law, comparisons to Hitler are made in every deteriorating conversation. In fact, some of the insults traded are really just remnants of a long-forgotten Internet, one that existed on online forums, where you’d pick literally the nastiest, most erudite insult to put someone down, all for the sake of an ego boost and a few laughs from passersby; a horrible pissing contest.
It’s predictable enough; beyond the abuse, you’ll have detailed, involved, passionate discussion — “discourse” — on socio-political matters. An ever-present (on Indian videos) is the India vs. Pakistan war. Well, not actual war; just digital warfare between loyal patriots belonging to the two wall-sharing rival nations, as they attack each other with words and history and politics and basically any weapon they can find.
Subjects such as Israel-Palestine, King Khan vs. Bhai Khan, Islamophobia, sexism, racism, capitalism, and just about any other –ism that becomes a hot-button issue during a news cycle are all hotly debated. It’s a terrible place to be at in the best of times; all you get is nasty, aggressive, foul-mouthed typists at each other’s throats at all times. Even the joyful stories, of resilience, of accomplishment, of victory, are undercut by contrarian bile. There’s no question of a middle ground. You’re either with us or your mother is a sex worker.
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And yet, I’ve developed a fascination for BTL these days, if only as a way to procrastinate. I’ve realised, in fact, that it’s not all bad. Yes, there’s a lot of navigating one must do. But rewarding that search are these exquisite gems that I keep discovering.
The thing is, these rambling thoughts hidden from view of the average YouTube visitor (you have to scroll down and wait a few seconds to enter) are literally jotted down seconds after one completes the video. Especially when it comes to works of art — a short film, a song, a concert, a powerful speech or lecture — you can tell that the commenter has been viscerally moved by what she’s just seen. You can tell how she feels that all-consuming need to express herself in that moment; we’ve all felt it.
What you get, then, is an unfiltered, unfettered point of view; a point of view that’s pure and, in a way, it’s innocent. It’s a wordy manifestation of those deep emotions residing within us, accessible only in moments of exhilaration and aesthetic stimulation. So often, it’s just a transparent peek into someone’s mind. Take this one comment I can’t get over, written under an album by a band I really like: “my mom told me to turn this down!!! lol… she’s been dead for 6 years.” It’s absurd, it’s hilarious, it’s heartbreaking. It’s also the purest reaction to a piece of music I can think of. Another, to a different song: “It feel like nature complaining to humans (sic).” It’s free from the overwrought thought processes that more formal reactions — art criticism — are so often burdened by.
I feel like art connects people in a very latent sort of way; we’re all seeking the reassurance that there are others like us, who’re moved as vividly as we are by something, even though we’d never really do anything with that information. Just knowing is enough. And, in a strange way, the dynamism of the Internet, where static pieces become interactive points of discussion, makes that process easier.
It’s a space to react to something in isolation, to expose a thought to the world, expressed with both hope and fear. It’s really just a release, at the end of it. Sure, if I want an informed analysis of something, I’d seek out a journal or a publication with respect and pedigree; an authority figure guiding me toward a conclusion. But there are times when I’m simply seeking safety in numbers; when I want to know — for a fact — that it’s OK to be stirred by something. And while there’s a lot of filth I must traverse, eventually I’ll find that one person who shares the same joy, if only for a fleeting moment.
The author is a freelance culture writer from New Delhi who wishes he’d studied engineering instead.
