A Trip To Amritsar & A Thought From Korea
On 'han' and the indescribable grief that links Indians and Koreans.
i’ve spent the past few weeks trying really hard to send out a newsletter but have failed multiple times. there have been countless nights where i’ve found myself spending 10-15 minutes just writing sentences, then going ham on the backspace button immediately, or waiting until the next day to do so. most of it has to do with just how eventful October has been. with everything (malls, theatres, restaurants, people’s homes) opening up, there has been a lot of outdoor activity (naturally). it feels as if life has almost returned to pre-pandemic times, minus the never-ending-commute-to-work (though i’m expecting that bit to resume soon as well).
returning to the pre-pandemic life, though liberating, is also just a lot of…movement. there’s always somewhere to be, something to do, someone to get back to.. and as much as i am actually excited about that, i’m still having a hard time processing all of it because it’s overwhelming. i want to say that i’ve been having no real thoughts (that matter) but, as a friend recently pointed out, “oh come on. everyone has thoughts.” which is correct. so instead, i’m just going to say that i’ve been having a difficult time expressing those thoughts.
i thought i would write about the little travel experience i had recently but…the idea exhausted me. (there goes my forgotten dream of becoming a !!travel blogger!!) also, it seemed unfair to dump all my photos and give you a brief hour-by-hour recap of my trip without adding any real value. because it’s not like i went to a very exotic/inaccessible location that more people need to know about, you know? but then again, must all my writing have some kind of arbitrary perceived value? especially when it’s mostly just for me (and a few of you).
to be honest, i almost did abandon the idea of writing about my trip until i came across the Korean concept of ‘han’ — ya, i’m sorry, this is taking a Korean culture turn but not k-dramas because that’s going to be a different post.
The Korean Wave
i’ve noticed that, as much as we talk about hallyu (which is what we’re calling the sudden interest in all things south Korean across the globe: the Korean wave), there is actually very little literature on specific aspects of Korean culture. personally, that kind of sucks because i’ve (finally) moved on from obsessively reading about white people and now, want to read about a different country that is not white. but there isn’t enough stuff to read???
anyway, coming back to the point — han. han is basically an indescribable internalized feeling of rage/sorrow/resentment/despair/grief etc. it’s so vague that there is no direct English translation for it. at the same time, it’s also very uniquely south Korean, in that all south Koreans identify with it. except for this Canadian-Korean writer who discovered the concept very late in life.
it’s difficult to understand han without context, but then again, contextual explanations will only offer a limited perspective. some people attribute the existence of han to south Korea’s complicated and violent history (Japanese occupation, the Korean war that led to the division, poverty etc.). which, from an outsider’s perspective, makes the most sense.
however, according to the novelist Jang Yong-won, the whole concept is a “colonialist invention” created to ensure that the Korean people continue to feel despair and utterly helpless about their state of being. kind of like the caste system which is also designed to ensure that the oppressed continue to be oppressed for as long as possible.
now, i don’t know any Korean people so it’s difficult for me to know exactly how Koreans perceive han. however, i did stumble across an Anthony Bourdain clip where the late celebrity is absolutely fascinated by the idea of han. but fascinated in a way that doesn’t sit right with me.
in the video, the Korean woman that Bourdain is conversing with brings up another interesting Korean concept that stands in stark contrast to han; she mentions the Korean concept of ‘jeong’ which she describes as a feeling of love/fondness for other fellow Koreans that keeps you going despite the internal sorrow. she also mentions that people love to talk about han but almost never mention jeong which is an equally powerful Korean emotion on the other end of the spectrum.
however, Bourdain doesn’t spend too much time following up on it. instead, he goes back to talking about han and sounds almost voyeuristic while saying “i like that dark side.” i’m not sure if it’s appropriate for a white person to make such a comment since they already have a history of deriving voyeuristic pleasure from the pain and grief experienced by persons of colour across the world.
plus, who even says something like that? that woman is talking about grief and sorrow and your instinct is to say, “oooh, i like that dark side” as if trauma is some cool foreign concept you’ve never come across.
i’d recommend you watch the clip for yourself:
(disclaimer: i realise that this clip probably belongs to a larger segment so i *might* be taking it out of context and unnecessarily criticizing a dead man.)
What Does ‘Han’ Mean Outside Korea?
now, i know han is supposed to be a uniquely Korean emotion and i respect that. but the vagueness of han also makes it incredibly universal. when i was in Amritsar recently (yes, finally getting to the trip part), i visited the Partition Museum which houses rare memorabilia from the partition era. people from across India have done the good deed of donating belongings of their ancestors just so it can be a part of the larger history. diary entries, post office cash certificates, pre-partition era passports, local newspapers, clothes.. the Partition Museum is a one of its kind documentation of India and Pakistan’s violent past.
maybe i’m taking it a bit too far, but when i walked out of the Partition Museum, i felt a very deep heaviness inside of me. even the Jallianwala Bagh Memorial didn’t impact me the way the Partition Museum did. and, this isn’t my first time feeling it. i felt this feeling when i first read Khushwant Singh’s A Train To Pakistan, i felt it when i watched the first episode of the immensely popular 1986 television show Buniyaad which covers the partition riots, i felt it when a friend texted to tell me that her ancestors had to flee the newly formed Pakistan and start their lives from scratch in a broken India, i felt it when i sat at the Wagah-Attari border and stared at the Pakistan flag hoisted in front of me. i also feel it every year on 15th august.
this isn’t a feeling that comes and goes, it’s a feeling that gets triggered at certain moments and in a way, i’d say it’s similar to han. it’s indescribable and i definitely cannot justify this sadness. my ancestry is not directly linked to the partition. my mom’s father was four years old in 1947, the year that India and Pakistan were formally created. he does not have any real stories to share. everything i know about the partition is through literature that exists for the general masses. and yet, this strange sense of despair resides in me.
i don’t know how fair it is to compare the division of Korea to the India-Pakistan partition but i think there’s a reason why so many Indians enjoyed watching Crash Landing On You (a love story between a north Korean soldier and a south Korean businesswoman. AKA korean Veer-Zaara). there’s an odd sense of familiarity between us and them and it’s kind of like han.
thoughts? please comment, share, subscribe, and feel free to recommend k-dramas!
P.S. we stayed at the Madpackers hostel in Amritsar and i would highly recommend it for anyone travelling there. cute, accessible, reasonably priced place with dorms and private rooms, and friendly staff. here’s a picture of the rooftop to convince you: