Member-ship Issues

Let me tell you a little story first. Please don’t laugh.

Somewhere in the Sunderbans is a Netidhopani Tiger Reserve which has a tower. A very big one! It stands erect at all times, imagine, and such length it enjoys you can’t even see the spot where it ends. (Perhaps it goes up to the cloud Freud occupies, to tease his conflicts still not resting in peace) This tower in the wild is for spotting tigers if you’re lucky, and birds and bees and boars at all other times. Below the tower is a board painted in red and green, the sarkari colours for all things wild. And on the board is a very serious piece of advisory. Very serious! Hence, please don’t laugh at all.

I laughed when I read it though. And then I read it aloud and laughed out louder, loud enough to make a tiger respond with “who dares disturb my peace?” roar. Only one other out of the 20 in the group understood the word play, giggled, but gave his wife no company in her unabashed laughter. The rest 18 read the advisory like good boys, of course, and understood it well enough to have repeated the message by rote if they were told it’s good for getting plum postings. Thus, they simply stared at Mrs. 2006, thinking her mad. 

 Now, I wonder which is a bigger tragedy – only 2 on 20 understanding the unintended humour or the author of this painted master-piece not understanding it at all in the first place? But about that, later. A digression now.

Some words are born to be abused. ‘Member’ as a word is really abused. As a word. Only.

There are Members of all kinds – members sitting in committees, clubs and corporations. Powerful members sitting in the Parliament, respected members of the staff and quieter obedient ones in PTAs. Some members call themselves ‘Lions’ others ‘Masons’, some ‘Gurus’ others ‘Students’. Some members rise much higher than the others, say as Presidents or Chief Ministers, while others simply enjoy feeling bigger than they are in smaller circumstances, albeit under a little delusion. Social service members causing big causes to become bigger exist side-by-side with their lazier counterparts – those who just like to keep low, and hang in a state of sleepy wakefulness, getting up for this-and-that but never stirring beyond the garden fence. And then, every family has some members. Has to have! A single member cannot be called a family, even though may produce a family. Family members and members in the family. Same thing? Phew! I hate English language. 

They should ban this word ‘member’ from the face of the earth!

And then there is this very serious board you see, as mentioned above:

And I have nothing more to say. For I have seen enough and said enough. No more. 

You see, my dismemberment from civil society is not something I want to risk, since my dismemberment I cannot, not in this life. What you do deserve to know is that when I reached the top of this tower I instantly rushed back down. Why? Well, when I reached that high there were more than 40 excited members who had arisen atop the tower, all at the same time.

What a shame. No one reads the instructions!

But then we need to thank our dear Gods that not many understand them either!

[Written for WordPress Daily Prompts : 365 Writing Prompts. The prompt for today was - No, thank you - If you could permanently ban a word from general usage, which one would it be? Why?]

Shy is Coming

May I begin by saying – the title is not what you think. 

Remember that joke from school-time? Tom and Jerry were feeling Happy on the tree. Suddenly, Happy fell down. The title of this post may make you remember that, but surely your expectations are on the wrong track if it does. I never crack that joke. Never. Coming back now. For one, I have no Shy in my mind as I write this. Any resemblance to something coming in your mind at equal speed is coincidental. For two, I am too shy to write about matters such as those we do not speak about in polite society. Polite I am, yes.  

‘Shy is coming’ is just another phrase in the world inhabited by ever-evolving languages and cross-country meets. Translate it verbatim to Hindi, and it may make more sense. But sense we need not. We just need to communicate. Hence this post. Only to communicate words, and not the monosyllabic ones most certainly.

So, when does shy come and how? (For ease of expression, let us just call her a ‘she’. Also because ‘sh’ seems to be 2/3 letters that they share. Plus, I can think of no better 3 letter word beginning with ‘S’ to fit the bill.)

Now, shy can come anytime and anywhere.  Usually, it takes you by surprise, almost an uncomfortable one. Here you are walking towards the milk shop and there you realize your zip is undone. First reaction? The hands try to hide something that shows not. But they try, even as she is coming and making your face go red and redder. Even if they are holding a packet of oranges. Then you turn away from all eyes, knowing you can never be hidden enough. And murphy makes it happen – makes your zipper take long, very long, to slide back up. All this while, shy was coming. Screaming, out of your cheeks. Once done, you pat your zip in place and quickly ask for two litres of full cream milk. It is good for health, they say. Plus, you had come to buy milk, remember? 

Shy can also come without a wardrobe malfunction. For instance, in kitty parties right after the board results are out. As soon as the first round of Tambola is done, pop it comes, a question about your son’s marks. You shuffle your behind on a chair which can barely breathe, to turn towards the asker yet mumbling a silent prayer to God to end the world right there. He missed touching 9 by a centimeter, you say. 89.9 percent. And shy comes. Full frontal on the face. Hidden behind the blush on but visible on those magenta lips biting shy away. Even in the be-jewelled hands, as they suddenly grab hold of the ball-point pen before them, and tick-tick shy’s assault away. Children, so much pressure they carry on their heads and put on their parents’ too. Next house – four corners, three lines and swimming pool. First number coming up – 6 and 9, sixty nine! Thankfully, shy makes way for Tambola again and the party continues like nothing happened. 

The largest shy of all comes sauntering in to sit on your lap when you are proven wrong. Now this coming can happen anywhere. Just anywhere where there is something right and something wrong. Especially something wrong. Take the example of a drawing room where whiskey glasses were discussing Indian politics. One gentleman knew how much Mr. Aap weighed. Another knew the last thing Didi had had before her Bengali tummy rumbled. While a third flaunted having counted the 3 root canal crowns in Prince’s 40-year-old mouth, another stood up with his long, long and solid, list of statistics of those living BPL. So long it was, it confused all the men just counting the zeros. Impressed them too. Just then, in walked a fair amount of sex member of the fairer sex (his wife I believe) to remind him, how, the last time she checked the data read different, that a couple of ‘Oh’s were missing from the statistics he huffed and puffed to generate. Shy comes and comes and comes and refuses to stop in such circumstances, when you are proven short by such a huge margin. Almost like an anti-climax, to the evening. Like an under-performance. Or none at all. 

Now I stop. Something tells me shy is coming to you. Why? Never let it come. 

Feel free. You can feel happy too. Why not! 

The Darned Things He Says

This epic post is all about what things my son can say,

Oh dear Gods forgive me, what darned words this may contain.

Parents too I will advice, throw not caution to the air,

Shut those eyes the moment you see what shouldn’t be here.

The first cry was just a mew, but that didn’t last a day,

“Ailaa Ailaa” is how he howled when he wanted to have his way.

Filmy and sweet is what you say, but lightening too once struck, 

When Miss Punjabi heard “Laila Laila” for herself, uttered.

To read more, please click here. 

In Defence of the English Language, and my Son

First, an un-quotable quote – 

‘I don’t understand why when it comes to speaking with waiters, dogs and children people insist on speaking in English.’

Tragically, offensive as this statement in Hindi directed at me was, I silently agreed with this observation. And then I wanted to ask myself why – why the offence taken then, and why this defence, now.

This article is not about why English as a language is important or mandatory (it is to me, truly, but I understand if it is not to you). This article is about why me and my husband, as parents, don’t mind a linguistic arrangement where our 2.3 year old speaks in this tongue and no other, with a fluency that made his doctor sit up and pronounce “genius” nearly a year back. I will defend the use of English as an everyday language in my life, as well as stand up for my toddler who for now knows no better since his parents don’t.

We all are born into a language. Apparently, we hear words even before we are born into them. And gradually, after we emerge, we move from monosyllables to twin words to a string of words defying syntax but communicating our baby needs to those around us nonetheless. In short, we hear what is predominantly spoken and learn it by way of nature and nurture. So our first words are picked up from our mother tongue. Now, mother tongue is not the language that a nation, a state or a community speaks in. It stands for that native language which is spoken at home, your home and mine separately, and passed on from one generation to the next, in our respective homes.      

Then, as we step into our schools promising a certain “medium”, we gather and learn threads of various other languages – sometimes willingly other times simply out of academic compulsions. So, we are, in a way, bred in multiple languages. Hindi period’s paryaywachi shabd make way for their English counterparts just 30 minutes and a bell ring later. The next day is Sanskrit and the ECA says pick between French, German or Spanish. And this being an example from just one school! Really speaking, we acquire multiple tongues and fluctuate between one which best fits the situation and the other which we are most comfortable communicating in. 

This has been my husband’s and my shared linguistic experience – bilingual family settings, the same school, similar medium of college teaching and then a shared predominant language going from courtship and love to wedding and now.  That being, English, and hence my oft-called angrez bachcha!

The colours of language

Now here’s what I think:

1. By no means is English as a language necessary, just like no other language is compulsory either. The only language essential is that which helps you to communicate, effectively, with those who you want to communicate with.  That is the primary purpose of the language you use. The point of the communication is to understand and get understood in return – be it at home or in the world outside. No matter what the language, what suits you best will express you the best too. And if you really think about it, the language you communicate in is the language you think in, be it Hindi, English, Japanese, Bengali or any other. The language you think in is your language, and it will come to your rescue in good times and bad.  Hence, an English-speaking house hold is just that, a household that thinks in English and speaks it too. No crime, no harm there, or so some of us believe!

2. English is no longer an exotic import. In 1913 it was, in 2013 it cannot be. It is neither the possession of a few, nor an asset if acquired. Speaking this language is also no longer to be seen as the colonial anglicization of an otherwise Indian mind. There are tens of languages being spoken in the country right this minute, including English, with most perhaps as ‘foreign’ to another’s mind as maybe Kannada is to a Punjabi or Andamanese to a Manipuri. And as I see it, even Mother Dairy and Safal are advertising in English. Turning for help to a cliché and calling it a link-language here, English for me connects me to the trending spinning world – the world my son was born into, and has to grow-up in.   

3. Fear that a child raised in a predominantly English speaking environment will not understand our family traditions and sanskars is unfounded. Really speaking, how many of us understand what our pandit ji says every passing Diwali puja, hawan or wedding ritual? To pass on family values and age-old traditions does not require age-old methods. It requires a language you trust fully for carrying the messages across to another generation. And that language can only be the language you assimilate and assess your thoughts in. Best expressed is best understood. Even the Bhagwad Gita is generous enough to give us a multi-lingual translation of each verse, helping spread our boundless traditional wisdom to shores far and sunder. Point is not to forget our roots or root languages, but to understand them better - even if that means through a different language system. For me and my family, that’s English!

I do agree. My son should know Hindi too, and not just Hindi but Punjabi too. For now, I can only promise that soon as his teething is over, his toilet training complete and his pronunciation of ‘Frog’ no more like a British ‘Fock’, we will introduce him to Hindi and much more. Until then, all I can say is, perhaps waiters, dogs and children are not as dumb as we like to believe. I think they are smart enough to know what language the world will be spinning around when their tomorrow comes. 

I should go. My son just asked me – ‘What are you thinking, mamma. Do you have an idea?’ and I need to think of the right answer, in English, of course!

[First published on CNN-IBN ]