The Mother

Long long ago, during the mid 1980s, when I was a student, I saw a marriage party motoring its way on the road in all its splendour. No, it was not the splendour that caught my eye, nor are such baraats rare sights. But what touched my heart is that, ahead of the baratis, a mother was holding a heavy hand-held light (not a lantern mind you, but something that looks like a chandelier, and many such 'chandeliers' were held by others and all these were powered by a generator) while carrying an infant bound across her shoulder. While it was a pleasure and an occasion to celebrate for the baratis and to display their riches, it was a struggle for existence for the mother. And this triggered a melancholic feeling in me and I versified it.

An Introspection

Once in a while, amid a cluster of contiguous and unsavoury events, occurs a silver lining, an occasion to cherish for a long time. The Silver Jubilee Marriage Anniversary day (23rd Feb) is one such momentous day, tugging us away from the quotidian life. The incessant running behind the yet-to-know-and-achieve-goal in life has suddenly come to a screeching halt. I stop to look-back how resplendent the verdure we have carefully nurtured and nourished for the past twenty-five years is, and at the lives of the two charming darlings.

It is an overwhelming sense of elation of 25 years of togetherness with an ever strengthening bonding as days, months, and years progressed. Inspired by the evergreen defiant proclamation 'jab pyar kiya to Darna kya', we did have the fortitude to take those seven steps - the saptapadi, to be friends 'till death does us part'.

But it was only then that we started learning the lessons of life, for, every ragtag and bobtail with or without nous, taking leave of all sense of propriety, had his/her own piece of unwarranted advice and equally unsolicited opinions about our lives, especially when our chips are down, leaving us seething in indignation. And there were some inveterate gatecrashers too poking their silly noses into our lives. There has never been a dearth of people going green with envy looking at our maverick lifestyle.

There are, of course, well-wishers too, my Amma, who took a very hasty exit from this mortal world, and the fathers – mine and her – at the top of the list. Although their kernels of wisdom, bordering at times on orthodox platitudes, on occasion when delivered seemed acerbic, to lacerate us when we resorted to intemperate pursuits. They resorted to sententious maxims reminding me of Shakespearean Polonius. And learn did we a valuable lesson, "Heed not these exhortations, life and providence would invariably teach", to remember forever. And then there is my bosom pal – my dear brother, and the friends, in deed indeed.

We knew fully well that life is not a bed of roses, but what we realised is that there are many an explosive landmines in addition to umpteen thorns with a few roses strewn here and there. We stepped on the thorns and landmines, sometimes knowingly, sometimes willfully, sometimes nonchalantly, and most of the times unknowingly, and did they sting us painfully besides blowing-up in our faces. Ladders have been very few and far amid the slither of snakes. Many blew up in the face, stung venomously overwhelming and overpowering the whole being. It was more akin to the game of snakes & ladders than the insouciant and trouble-free life the Romantic poets deal(t) with. And there were as many Demons as were Angels in our lives. Yet, together, we endured the pains and sought solace in those oases of roses, climbing together each rung of the rare ladders that came across our way.

Of course, we too had our share of misunderstandings, dissonances, and disputes and subsequent compromises, which, in fact, spiced-up the romance and reinforced the bond between us. Cela, alors, est l'esprit de la vie.

A shot-in-the-arm for me is the Enlightenment about the Reason behind the Realists' rejection of the Romanticists (whew! Isn’t this the essence of three contiguous literary ages in British Literature spanning two centuries?)

The Gita and GenY

TIME: It is the year 2032, twenty years from now
SCENE: A class room in any city/town of Andhra Pradesh

Teacher asks, "Can anybody tell me what Bhagavad Gita is? Only one student raises his hand to respond. He says "Ma'am, it is the song played to mourn when someone in the family passes away." The teacher faints.

I may be rubbing the Hindu groups on the wrong side, but, this is the unfortunate state of affairs to which our scriptures and culture have been brought down. These days the Gita, albeit in a much abridged version, rendered so wonderfully by Ghantasala, is played only when someone passes away and never on any other occasion. If this is the case with our generation, one need not be surprised if the GenY (our grand children) misconstrues it to be a lamentation for the dead one.

Same is the case with the melodious rendition by M S Subbulakshmi of Sri Venkateswara Suprabhatam. No, fortunately this is not played as a lamentation for a dead one, but one hears the mellifluent voice of MSS as background music in early morning scenes in Telugu movies. That, it is played just for a few seconds, is a different matter altogether.

Isn't the time ripe enough for us to first learn, at least a little, about our scriptures and culture, and then teach them to our children?

I Broke the Vow - "Till Death Do Us Part"

After more than two decades of harmonious relationship and at times declaring "till death do us part", I decided "it's enough" to sever the ties. No regrets, it is more of elation, rather, to declare it to the world around me. And it happened on the first day of the new year. 

Trrrrng..."H'lo. Celebrate Life."

"Good Morning Sir. You are eligible for a Credit Card free of charge." This was the call I got as I was entering the office today.

Science Vs God

This is a reproduction of a very interesting argument between a Professor and a very astute student. Read on... one of The Best Arguments I have ever read.

A Gentle Nudge

A gentle nudge to all my unfortunate audience.

As a newspaper ’Middle’ writer once said, one has to cajole, caress and coax the teasing wispy feather-like words into shape for publication, either in print or on the web. Writing involves, for the occasional rambler like me, a humungous effort to churn-out a piece. All too suddenly, the thoughts converge from all corners on the mind's palimpsest as I learn the ropes of bloggery and crawl out of writer's block. Yes, it is an essay – in both its senses, as literary composition (value to be determined by the readers) and as an attempt. In those good ol’days, as the legend goes, the churning brought out the nectar and now it brings out a blogpost. Find it exaggerating?

CPUs on the Prowl. Beware.

All Ye Hyderabadis! Beware of the CPUs on the move. These ubiquitous species can be seen on all the roads in Hyderabad. No, they are not any new devices invented by the traffic cops to harass us. They are a breed apart from the normal road users of Hyderabad.

On Being Left-Handed

It is a world dominated by right-handers and the right-handed people take their dominance for granted. Can the right-handed dispute this fact? The majority of right-handed people are cruelly oblivious to the plight of those who are left to suffer the handism in equipment design, from potato peelers to scissors, to wrist watches, computer keyboards to mouses. Even the flush handle on the WC and the handles on the doors favour the right.

The Beauty in Black and White

How do I drape this perfectly shaped and skimpily clad beauty? The stunner appears in absolute dishabille every day. Seduced, I wonder if the cues really help me in doing so. I grew up looking at these in awe and intent upon covering the unclothed beauty, at least partially, but in vain. Yet, to this day it is a humongous task and yet again, with unfailing regularity, I return to ogle at the beauty as she beckons me to cover her nudity with my brainwork. Beaten black and ‘white’ (blue) and lost in those labyrinthine squares, I seek solace from the Random House Dictionary.

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be

Recently I was skimming through the Shakespearean drama Hamlet and had to set aside my scan reading abruptly to read carefully the haughty, if not trite, kernels of wisdom bestowed by Polonius, the father, on his hotheaded son Laertes. I reproduce the lines:

The Oxymoronic Persiflage

A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?

- A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act V, scene i, 60-64

Mrs. Malaprop Lives On and On and On...

Walt Whitman described the English language as the "grandest triumph of the human intellect." But many users transcend intellectual barriers and run amok with their inopportune use of words to land in the comity of Malapropists. Yet, they add embellishment, emphasis, exaggeration, exclamation, flourish, irony, and luxuriance to the English language.

Many writers and, especially speakers, appear to ignore the rules of grammar. For example, too many well "educated" speakers have been heard to say something like, "Everyone should do their best to improve themselves." If you do not see anything wrong with this statement, then you are an active candidate for deportation to the Land of Malapropists.

English in the Linguistic Melting Pot of India

India presents its diversity in many a variety. No, I have no intention to list out these varieties, as there are books galore to do this, and more importantly, I am not competent to do this. Yet, one such diversity, I presume, has not been publicised well - the diverse transformations of Queen's English. Across the country - a linguistic melting pot - we see many variants of our very dear Indlish (Indian English). The mosaic is as varied as we see across the globe. We have, for instance, Gujlish, Punjlish, Benglish, Tamlish, Mallish et al. Despite this diversity, there is general homogeneity in syntax and vocabulary among the varieties of Indian English.

Idiosyncrasies of English Idiom, Phrases and Prepositions

This is more or less a continuation of one of my earlier posts.

English displays its inimitable idiosyncrasies when it comes to the usage of idioms, phrases and prepositions in more mystifying ways than one. What else can I say, when it rains heavily it is said to rain cats and dogs? Have you ever seen these animals falling in hordes from the skies? I haven't, of course and not even kitten and puppies. The etymology enthusiast that I am, I started exploring the various possibilities for the origin of this phrase. Thankfully, being the handy aid that the worldwide web is, I came across the following link when I googled for the phrase: http://www.phrases.org.uk/. Although the site does not provide any etymological evidence, it nevertheless puts forth a number of improbable folk etymologies to explain the phrase.

My Love for Language

Being the son of teachers - an English Lecturer and a Telugu Pundit - language, more than science or math, cast its spell on me. I grew up among books, books and more books. It doesn't mean that I have read them all. I've had a sneak peek at some of them. Anyway, while in school, like any other child of that age, my interest lay in comic books and Enid Blyton's Famous Fives. Though my college education dragged me away from them, forcibly diverting my attention towards sciences and mathematics. It felt like I'd landed in a suffocating cul-de-sac, those years. Being the enfant terrible that I was, I failed to live up to my parents' expectations of becoming an engineer. Damp squib was my attempt. And so, back to reading books of interest, drawn by the love for language. Poring through the Random House Dictionary that my father has, was my favourite pastime all through. The syllabic division, pronunciation keys provided alongside each word always held my attention.

My Magnum Opus

One fine morning I woke up with the brilliant idea of penning down a poetic work of epic proportions, the canvas as grand as that of Paradise Lost of John Milton a la

Enigmatic English

English is an enigmatic language, at least for me. And at times, I feel, it really is a funny language. It poses problems aplenty in pronunciations and also in spellings. English spelling is guaranteed to confuse even those who have spoken the language all their lives. When there is no difference in pronouncing see and sea, why are they spelt differently? What do you say about do and go? Why is p silent in psychology and pronounced as f in philosophy, and what about laughter, wherein it is pronounced with an f in it, but slaughter has no such sound?

Mis(dis)use of the Apostrophe

"Its anus". This was written on the vehicle that a lady was driving. "Anus of ...?" I was flummoxed for a while at the brazen attitude of the lady. It then suddenly dawned on me that it was not her outrageous attitude, but the handiwork of a dim witted soul who is appallingly ignorant of the Apostrophe. Yes, it must've been "It's Anu's".