Happy New Year! – Keep Walking

My apologies for not wishing wordpress community, my readers, my followers and world-at-large a happy new year. I spent the new year’s eve just like always, wrapped in the duvets, watching television, eating groundnuts, sipping Indian tea and laughing with family. 2013 is the defining year of my life. In future, a large part of my personality, character, emotions, feelings, career, relations, and choice of books  is going to be influenced by the events of 2013. In a way, the year has become inseparable.  Another defining year of my life is the year of 2009. 2009 gave everything, 2013 snatched most of it away.

In the solitary moments, following the midnight stroke of December 31, 2013, I had a tryst with Life. I talked to her. She invited me in a seductive manner, and I followed her. We talked while I struggled to match up with her pace. It seemed none of the events happening around her mattered to her. She was always walking in forward direction. No amount of obstacles made her stop. No heartbreak made her cry. No separation caused her to shed tears. She continued her purposeless journey with a gusto that one may see in a person who just saw his/her destination from a little distance. I wondered if she is of a frivolous or a strong character. I was surprised how Life is not affected by anything.

In 2014, I will follow the Life. I will now keep walking and continue my purposeless journey with a gusto that I saw in Life during the tryst. Life must be lived like Life itself. Keep walking come what may!

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A Desire Amongst Conflicts

I do not trust Life and Time. I am wary of their curves, their turns, their highs and their lows. I am cautious of their promises of future. I am cynical about the greener pastures that they show from a distance. I have learnt to not be happy or optimistic. I have learnt the art of being pessimistic, yet being motivated or inspired. I am much driven from inside to work harder. But I do not yet know the answers to questions such as for whom, for what, why I should work harder.  Many times, this leads me to a state of melancholy. Even though, I have understood the doctrine of nihilism, I am yet to come to terms to it. How can Life have no purpose? How can it just be a chase or walk towards a certain end? They say life is as purposeful as we make of it. Isn’t this statement wrong vis-a-vis the fact that we have no control over the events of our life? In one of my earlier posts, where I said how I planted various “schemes” to extend the life of my bachelorhood, I made it look simple for an element of understated humour, but the fact is that it wasn’t all so simple and direct.

In the hindsight, I realise that I have lived only a fraction of my life the way I wanted to, rest is incidental or co-incidental. The only domain of my life that I have been able to influence, and mould it largely according to my own whims and desires is professional. On the personal front, I have been an utter failure. I have not been able to keep the friendships that I wanted to. I have not been able to form the relationships that I so desired. I have not been able to up the ante in a few personal affairs of life when I wanted to. I have realised that I have no control over my personal life. I am not choosing the people who should come and who should go out of my life. They come, they leave impressions and they leave. Not that I am much of an outgoing and sociable fellow, yet whosoever breaches well insulated (to external influence) walls of my heart, I want them to stay, and never leave.

Their, of Life and Time, perpetual habit of reneging on the beautiful promises that they make to me, has made me much wary of anything good or better that may be happening to me, or I foresee happening to me. Even a little good is too good to be true. Even smaller and trite [to an onlooker] successes appear [to me] big. These little moments of happiness and success, when they come, the shadows of their evanescence don’t go missing from my sight. I notice them and I restrain my celebrations; rather those shadows overpower those celebrations. I have learnt to be someone who first evaluates the probability of a certain event not happening as desired, and preparing myself for the worst. I seldom prepare myself for the best. I know that I will be able to tackle the best, if it ever happens. But I do not hope for the best. I prepare myself for the worst. This is my guard against the blades of Fate, and daggers of Time. I want to lose these guards. This is my desire. I want to rid myself of these encumbrances. I want to live freely. I do not know how. I want to lower expectations from Life. I am yet to learn how. Then, Life is such a riddle that with every second of its journey, it gives you something that you want to fiddle with hope and expectation. In these conflicts, both mental and existential, I yearn for a life that is totally free of hopes and expectations. Absolutely free.

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Relentlessly Talentless

I am a talentless fellow. Completely devoid of talents. I am not an artist. I am neither of these: dancer, singer, chef, cook, writer, poet, essayist, historian, sonneteer, musician, actor, painter, sculptor etc. I often lament and rue over my talentlessness. There is this beautiful landscape in front of me, and I cannot paint it on a canvass. There is this sun rising and I cannot write a poem on its splendour. There I am listening these rhythmic beats, and I cannot do a step of salsa. There are some fresh vegetables, eggs and spices lying, I cannot evolve them into a delicious experience. There is a song I am humming, and I cannot sing it like Freddie in front of a live audience. There are some musical patterns in my mind, and I cannot play them on a guitar. There is this world full of subject matters, issues and brimming with controversies, I cannot write an essay suggesting an alternative hypothesis, ideas and solutions. None of the philosophies are correct, yet I cannot offer an alternative philosophy. There is this patterned wall of stone in front of me, and I cannot tell its history.

With such a heavy weight of void of talents, I often wonder, do I really deserve to live? Then, after overcoming these moments of mild self-loathing, I think of undertaking an attempt to get skilled in at least two art forms, for example, salsa, and cooking! Why these two? Because at many points in the past, I have tried my hands on cooking, rather extensively and therefore have chances of doing much better in this particular art. Salsa, because I have been looking to learn it ever since I managed to dance Bhangra on the sound of electric DC generators.  That day I decided that enough is enough, now I need to learn a dance form which doesn’t make me appear as if I am just back from paddy field with huge cash of the crop in my tractor and I am very happy about it. Bhangra is perfect for opening your happy heart to world.

Recently, I also tried hands at sketching. I planned to torture this art by attempting my hands on sketching “portraits”. I thought that it shouldn’t be so difficult. I first sketched various parts of a face separately, for practice. I first sketched eyes. Many of them. Squint, big, almond, coconut, groundnut, cuckoo, crow – any eye that I could remember or find over internet. Then, I sketched lips. Fat, thin, medium, moderate, pouty, invisible, smoky, non-smoky, dog’s, cat’s, cow’s etc. Afterwards, I sketched nose. Long, thin, fat, crooked, dripping, dirty, pointed, flattened, punched, bleeding, sniffing, expressing disgust, expressing happiness etc. Then, I went on to have practice on sketching hairs, ears, face, cheeks and all other “parts” of a face. After I became confident of being able to draw them separately, I planned to “complete the puzzle”. That was the capital mistake that I did. My sketches resembled everything but “man” or “woman”. At one point, I could see how a woman’s “portrait” that I sketched was actually sum total of all features from animal and plant kingdom. I gave up.

The reckless manner in which the talentlessness has entered and camped in my life, needs to be fought tooth and nail, and relentlessly. However, this is not entirely my fault. I have been brought up on diet of adages such as “Kheloge kudoge to hoge kharaab, padhoge likhoge to banoge nawaab”. This translates, in English, to: If you will play and jump (slang for playing, dancing etc. in colloquial Hindi), you will be trashed; but if you will study and be good in academics, you will be a king. I wanted to be a King of Kingdom of Splendour, Brilliance and Wealth. Ever since! So, I followed this malnourished diet to the letters and spirit, expecting to be the King someday, but now I suffer from marasmus of talent and obesity of intellect, and both of these have wrecked diabetic havoc on the hidden aspirations of being talented in “something”.  I want to be talented in at least something. Before the life ends!

I will soon report on my first step towards calling myself an “artist”.

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British English vs American English

I think it is high time that I write about my views on this matter, since this afflicts me every day. The British influence on India and Indians cannot be denied. They left India in 1947, but they also left their largest cultural footprint back in India – their language, where it evolved as official language of Union of India (constitutional sanction) and of various (almost all) states within the Union of India from the language of its struggle for independence. I have already written a brief essay expressing my gratitude for this sweet, brilliant, intelligent and mother of all languages of modern world – English. English, in essence, is owner’s pride and neighbour’s envy in whole of the post-second-world-war world.

Since we gained this language from the English, “Indian English” is largely (almost 99%) based on British English. If not for afflicting the language with ridiculous words such as “pre-pone”, Indian English is de facto British English. As far as I remember, ever since my childhood days, I have always spelled the property of an object of producing different sensations on the eye as a result of the way it reflects or emits light as “colour” and not “color”. My teachers trained me so; so did my father, who would wake me up at 5 AM in mornings of cold North Indian winters to teach me English grammar from Wren and Martin’s.

Therefore, the “British English” is my natural “home” in communication. I subconsciously use words such as amidst, whilst, amongst, etc. and find words such as awesome, airplane, counterclockwise etc. awkward because I had not heard of them before I completed my high school.  I am so rigid in my rules of English communication that I take it as offence if someone, in professional capacity, corrects my understanding of English; for example, if a client points out that advice be spelled as “advise”, I go great lengths in telling that “advice” is noun and “advise” is verb as per British English and that is the standard that I follow. Even the minutiae such as use of  “Dr”  and not “Dr.”  is by default set in my mind due to strong influence of British English on my education.  When a client pointed out to me, around 4 years ago, on this “error” of not putting a “period” (I prefer calling it “full stop”) at the end of “Dr”, I put up an argument that both are acceptable [that’s the argument in vogue now], but since you are client, I would condescend to address you with “Dr.”. But every time I addressed him, it gave me a feeling of incompleteness in my communication, despite their being an extra “period”. And I am pretty sure that the client was oblivious to these niceties between British English and American English, like most of the world is.

It is not that only I am rigid about language rules. When I send some draft responses to US patent attorneys, they would often send back their feedback with document all red with American English (AE) words and spellings. At that time, I do not raise much of an issue, since the document is to be filed in the US, and therefore the preference of US jurisdiction has to be followed. Given the way the American technology firms such as Google, Apple and Microsoft have entered our lives, the British English and its subtle beauty is getting lost in their “default language setting”, which is always “English (US)”.

British English (BE), to me, is much more logical as well as poetic. Why call a vegetable “egg plant”, when you already have a better word like “aubergine”? And why have “check” for something called as “bill” in AE? BE has further made distinction between “check” and “cheque”, AE has obliterated “cheque”. The word “cookie” doesn’t remind me of “biscuit”. To me image of “cookie” is either of a dish made of cuckoo bird or the awful melody: kook-kook-kookie, from an outrageous Punjabi song. David could have killed Goliath only with a “catapult” and not a “slingshot”, which sounds like a name of a toy for kids.

How can a word as dry and confusing as “bi-weekly” replace a beautiful, poetic and exact word such as “fortnightly”?  I object to travelling to any part of the world if it is without an extra “l”, even if it leads to excess luggage (not “baggage”). AE has made the language very routine and very predictable. No wonder that we are left with totally non-romantic, dry and bland words such as “selfie” awarded as Word of the Year of 2013 by Oxford Dictionaries. At least, in modern world AE has laid imagination to rest, which is ironic to me, since some of my most favourite authors are from the US – from Mark Twain to Edgar Allan Poe to JD Salinger, who have added to the lexicon of the English language with their brilliant wit and charming use of the language.

I would like to explore on why the Americans felt the need of coming up with AE.  Why couldn’t they just keep the English as it is (or was), like the Indians kept it or other colonies of the British? No doubts about the cultural impact on a language [for example, the most –ou spellings are French influenced], but most of AE looks artificially influenced, mostly for purposes of political and cultural hegemony. Increase in AE spellings, words, and patterns is telling of cultural and political hegemony of the US in modern world. This hegemony is seen through success of “American English” and not “English”.  Some other weird questions that I often ask are: How much of economic advantages it has if we do not write a ‘u’ in colour, or an “l” in travelling? How much money is saved if the extra letter is not printed? How is saviour a better saviour than a savior? Actually, my last three questions take debate to another issue.

I know that there are many experts in the English language who would shut me up with theories such as  -ou  spellings being incorrectly lifted into the English language lexicon. My argument is that howsoever obnoxious and devoid of imagination, the word “selfie” may appear and sound, it is a product of natural evolution of communication and not an artificial construct for political and cultural hegemony [I would like to remind the readers about the Michel Foucault’ s theory on discourse analysis on how language plays a significant part in power and politics], and is therefore still good by its standards. Think, if the British and the anglophiles were to up the ante, and force their artificial versions of “selfie” (which, in my opinion, is by all standards “too American”) down our cameras (and throats) with words such as ownsnap, ownograph, ownicture, selfgraph, narcisstograph, narcissticture etc., how would you react? For the record, I would completely loathe this attempt too.

Not that I am completely in awe of British English words only. I prefer to take my luggage in a truck than in a lorry, which to me give an imagery of as an old rickety vehicle of early 20th century with the advanced technology of that era enabling it to collapse under its own weight. Tow truck is better than “breakdown van”, which (the word) I saw so very often during my days in London. A “cling film” makes no sense when compared to “plastic wrap”. When I first heard “cling film”, I thought it refers to a film (not “movie”) that clings on to you and makes you weepy and clingy.

And to be honest, I too am quite done with making these subtle distinctions between AE and BE, which would largely go neglected to large population. I suggest that a huge conference be held every year to reconcile the differences in the various versions of English language and a “Global English” be raised, where only natural words of the language are honoured in the lexicon. Too far fetched? Yes. Therefore, until then, I will “confront” AE with all my spirits. And at 28, it is tough to change your language patterns, spellings, words, vocabulary, and all other intrinsic and extrinsic of a language, which you have so ardently learnt (not “learned”) since childhood days. Unlike many Indians, I refuse to let my hold on the English language be drowned in the deluge of ubiquitous AE.

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The Triumph of Bullshit – by TS Eliot

I refrain from profanity in my communication, either written or verbal. It weakens the argument, lowers the status and tramples the elegance of communication. In the last post, I somehow used one: “bullshittery”. And then I wondered on the origins of this word. My little research led me to a poem titled: The Triumph of Bullshit, written by none other than TS Eliot. It was published posthumously. Oxford dictionary also records this poem as the first instance of usage of this word. But the most surprising part is that not even once does the word “bullshit” appears in the text of the poem. I loved reading it again and again and again! Inspired to write a similar poetry, addressed to my future critics [in a reverie]! If one were to make use of the mild profanity in manner so elegant, I wouldn’t mind even a little!

Following is the text of the poem:

Ladies, on whom my attentions have waited
If you consider my merits are small
Etiolated, alembicated,
Orotund, tasteless, fantastical,
Monotonous, crotchety, constipated,
Impotent galamatias
Affected, possibly imitated,
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

Ladies, who find my intentions ridiculous
Awkward, insipid and horribly gauche
Pompous, pretentious, ineptly meticulous
Dull as the heart of an unbaked brioche
Floundering versicles freely versiculous
Often attenuate, frequently crass
Attempts at emotion that turn isiculous,
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

Ladies who think me unduly vociferous
Amiable cabotin making a noise
That people may cry out ‘this stuff is too stiff for us’—
Ingenuous child with a box of new toys
Toy lions carnivorous, cannon fumiferous
Engines vaporous—all this will pass;
Quite innocent,— ‘he only wants to make shiver us.’
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

And when thyself with silver foot shall pass
Among the theories scattered on the grass
Take up my good intentions with the rest
And then for Christ’s sake stick them up your ass.

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