The languages of my day

"Hey!!! How are you?" A friend at office greets me. That's the coolest, Americanized way to
greet the cool and not so cool people in the yuppie metro culture in India. "Great", I say these days, instead of plain old "fine". I've imbibed this one. But somehow, a "hey" just does not come out as spontaneously as the good old last century "hi". I think a lot about these and other
words that I use in my daily vocabulary. Which makes me ponder over not just the range
of words, but also the range of languages I use in a day.

As I write, I think. Mostly I try to think in English. Obviously as a writer I would have a good command over English. But wait a minute, which English? You think, this would be a no-brainer, because there is only one language called English, plain and simple! Unfortunately no! At the Indian writer level, working in an American company, who has studied and imbibed the English language and grammar in a British convent school for over a decade, is daily and hourly exposed to Bollywoood media, and is living in the Shiv Sena-dominated, politically driven, communist Maharashtrian culture, would you believe, there are a few "Englishes" to chose from?

Thanks to 10 or more years of convent education, some formidable nuns, and tons of Enid Blytons, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and Arthur Conan Doyle, British English has seeped into 78.593% pores of my skin. It has just been flowing out from my tongue in auto-mode, on the default setting for many years. But after entering the professional world, inevitably the American dollars beckoned. Soon came the realization that at American-affiliated Indian IT companies, any female Indian writer is more than willing to embrace the American stars, stripes, slang, terminology, even the handsome Obama, et al. In fact, in the race of life, an Indian writer can shift into fourth gear by learning American English, and get on to fast track career growth. It's not so challenging. Even though one is tuned to thinking in British English, one can manage to keep up with the professional writing in American English.


Switching on and off between these two language modes is one problem that can be easily resolved. One just has to try not to confuse oneself and tangle one's thought process within these two "Englishes". At the same time, what I always believe is that one must try not to forget how to converse in the common language of the people, that is "Hinglish". Sooner or later you realize that it's hard to converse with colleagues, buddies, and pals, if you cannot converse in the common dialect, by somehow attaining a balance of Hindi and English in your daily conversation. So if you started that sentence in English, the trick is to finish it off in Hindi. Everyone does it! See how TRP advertisers sell their FMCG wares? You got it! They speak "Hinglish", the dialect of the people. So of course, "Hinglish" just creeps into the remaining pores of your skin. But one has to try to squeeze the regional language Marathi into the pores, too. After all, in Pune, local colleagues at work might just lapse into a little Marathi without warning. So if you add in a few words of Marathi into the Maharashtra-based Indian writer's articulation technique, then you get the fourth type of English, which is "Indian Regional English".

I do like to think of "Indian Regional English" as different from the "spoken vernacular" and the "written vernacular", Marathi. And mind you, both "Indian Regional English" and the "spoken vernacular " are such important languages in your daily life, you just cannot afford to chill, and freeze on a limited selection of words for emergency use. You need to strive to expand your vocabulary in these areas as well. For instance on any day in office, you might not be pre-warned when a colleague answers several critical technical queries in "Indian Regional English", at home your domestic help mutters that she's not available for the next four days, or on the road the noveau-riche owner of a flashy car curses you and your slow but steady driving, all in the "vernacular".


Switching to and from different English modes can be done with ease, and can become as simple as switching automotive gears, if one practices hard enough. Although these seem like several languages to master, it's sad that one can't really claim to be a multi linguist at this. You see, the four versions of English are just sub-languages, and the "umbrella" or "blanket" language is actually only English. So I was about to conclude this blog with the sum total of the languages I speak, that is only 3. But a couple of phone calls that jolted me out of my linguistic reverie! One call was from my mother, to whom I responded in my mother-tongue, that is Sindhi. Oooh, I completely forgot to add this language to my list. The language of my childhood and my impressionable years. The other call was from my father-in-law who let out a few phrases in the Punjabi language, that is my husband's "father-tongue". I attempted to answer in the same "tongue" as a few thoughts occured to me. You see hubby's mother is a Maharashtrian, so the "mother-tongue" ought to be Marathi. Now I know that there is a confusion here because the language his mother speaks would not be his mother-tongue, but the language his father speaks would be his mother-tongue. And you might be wondering which of these is my daughter's mother-tongue? Worry not! I shall not let the strangeness of the English language dilute my focus on this blog post about "my" language medley and the pontifications that make me wonder which languages I speak in, write in and think in.


Back on track, I chewed my pen and decided that sleeping over the confusion would restore my clarity of thought and language for this blog post, so I left it at that. But the evening conversation with my daughter churned up some more thought-provoking words or rather words-provoked thoughts. As I entered the house, my daughter chirped, "Hey dude!". Then later she went on to ask me what "modhu" meant, as her cousin brother (whose mother is from Gujarat and speaks Gujarati) had told her "shut your modhu", just for fun, and a fight had ensued because of the language barrier and incomprehension. "Modhu" means mouth in the Gujarati language. Simple and harmless, not at all profane, I explained to her! Fortunately, since I knew the meaning, I had prevented a little Gujarati spark from fanning into a linguistic fire right there. As her cousin interjected a few more words in Gujarati, my daughter quipped, " Mama, if you know Gujarati, then you have to teach me also". Thankfully, my son has just learnt to speak only a few words of a single language, and still has a long way to go before he reports any such perils.

And last but not the least, I must mention that my day finally ended after a late-evening call from hubby dear with some friends, seated at a wine-tasting lounge in Nasik, which is like the Napa valley of India. Completely oblivious of my linguistic dilemma, he read aloud from a wine menu and asked if I knew what "aperitif" meant? I racked my brains to dig up French vocabulary learnt at school. Yes, I said, making the final language switch for the day. "Aperitif" means an appetising drink, served before meals.

Linguistically tired, I tried to sleep, thoughts still lingering on my lexical predicament, pondering and wondering which of the above languages I would use in my dreams.

Barack Obama

Barack Obama
Much is being written about Barrack Obama today, the new President-elect of one of the world's biggest democracies and one of the the largest and most powerful nations in world, the USA. The Americans today are literally chanting the Obama mantra with a fervent hope to banish the evil spell of recession.
Gripped by an unprecedented economic downturn, one of the worst in the last several decades, the USA stands in the quagmire of a national crisis that threatens to get worse. The numbers of Americans impacted by the subprime mortgage crisis are appalling and growing by the day. This is unbelieveable but true, that in the wake of this crisis today, a large section of people of one of the wealthiest nations of the world are literally homeless and on the streets. One wonders what went wrong? What are the factors responsible for triggering this financial crisis that is now assuming worldwide proportions? Is it thanks to the imperialistic foreign policies of the previous regime? The economic benefits of outsourcing and the globalization impact? Or can we attribute this pandemonium to the sub-prime crisis that has taken a heavy toll, despite the heavily regulated US mortgage industry? Is it all of these factors? And how can economic order be restored? Who can and will do the needful?
Admidst this economic chaos, Obama's victory in the presidential elections and his imperative campaign slogan" Yes we can" obviously marks a turning point in the history of USA. As the first American-African president, with exemplary leadership qualities he represents the "change" that the Americans need. He certainly comes in as a breadth of fresh air, with a goal to reconnect the Americans and and reassert their belief in the great American dream.
No wonder that when the dark clouds are looming so large, and when the general economic climate is so pessemistic, Obama has apeared literally like a shining hero to protect the people from the economic wreckage done by the Bush administration. Metaphorically one can call him a tall, dark and handsome knight in shining armour, and imagine him sitting proudly on a beautiful horse, so confident of being able to rescue America from her woes.
Can I actually see a halo behind his head? I think the Americans can!
As the media highlights his wholesome persona, here is a complete family man with a clean reputation and no scandalous chinks in his armour, or so it seems.
He truly represents the masses, and is symbolic of the common man in America. Maybe that is the real reason that they can relate to him so easily and pin their soaring hopes on a"saviour" image that he has managed to create through his brilliant campaigning strategies or his strategic use of personal electronic and internet media, apart from the conventional forums, that he uses to reach out to the people.
With his mixed ancestry, he is also like a living confluence of race and religion. For the rest of the world mired in petty racial and religious conflicts, unlike his predecessor, he is one who has the power to transcend these divides, call for more unity, inspire hopes of not just the Americans but also all other people around the world, and become an icon of peace and prosperity.
So what are the odds against this man? An overwhelming challenge to restore economic stability and public expectations so high that he might want to fervently pray for a magic wand or a fairy godmother that could grant his 3 wishes for the future of America. And of course a whole brigade of conventional or so-called verterans of the republican party that are watching his every little step and move, like a pack of predatory wolves waiting to pounce on their prey at the first hint of a sound or slip.

Our New Home

Finallly, it is almost done up. Our new home sweet home-Sapnon ka Ghar (house of dreams). A big nice flat that is not easy to afford in today's inflation-driven times. Finally, we will move just before Diwali. This is the topic that has drawn up our energies and focus right since the begining of this year. It is all that a
family like ours could ever want for. An idyllic dwelling. Yet it has brought about more pain than happiness...almost to the point of regret for buying it. It has taken away our
spending power, our peace of mind and our time, energy and effort. Yet somehow I now feel it fails to provide the happiness, contentment and harmony that we thought it would bring us?

There is almost every kind of material comfort. The family is a wholesome family, with a pet dog to complete the picture! It sounds like a happy family, but still there is always some tension in the air! What then is lacking? We do not have the answers to such questions -Whose house is this one and whose house is that one? "My" house or"your" house?

What is it that a house means to us? A place where we live? A house that you can come home to ? A house is built by builders, masons and all those who set up the physical structure. A home is built by all the people who live in it, all who contribute towards in any way to make it a conmfortable place to dwell. Does this mean that the home belongs to only the people who run and maintain it? Does it belong only to those who pool in hard cash, or those whose name is written on the agreement and those
who pay the EMI? What about those who contribute indirectly, or behind the scenes, who stand by and support all decisions for the good of the family, and put in their positive energies to to make things work smoothly without mishaps?

And moreover, if you say this is "my" house and that is "your" house, would we be able to carry away our houses with us when are burried or burnt after we pass away? Or for that matter, can we take any of our beloved, coveted possessions with us into the other world? There is actually nothing we would carry away with us, when this jouney ends, except for our souls. And how do we know if your end will come before me or vice versa ? In essence, should we not think of our homes like rest-houses in our journey of life and our friends and family like fellow travellers in a bus or train?
In this journey we have no clue as to who will get off first, and at which station!
And there is really no one who will accompany us right from the begining to the end of this journey. We begin alone and end the journey alone.

So then what or who can we really call ours? No one and Nothing! And what "on earth" (i mean this literally) really matters then, while we are here? After we die, what is left behind is just good or bad
memories in the minds of the people we interacted with in our life on earth? If our memories and facts of our existence were wiped out from the minds of those living, after we pass away, what then what would remain of "ours"? So we can only live on in the minds of people, as memories after we die. Can you then control who lands up with your house and possessions after that? Can you then choose to control who will remember you and who will not?

So then what is the fight and resisitance about anything or anyone that can never be yours throughout this lifetime? Is there even one thing that stays with us without change, forever, throughout our lifetime? And who can accurately predict when each change is about to occur, and what each change will bring about? If anyone or anything can be taken away from you at any time, what then is in your
hands? What then, can you do while you are living this life?

Continue to flow with the flow of life, and life takes you along. There are many flows going in different directions. You may choose your flow direction. But do you think you have a choice to stop or to flow? No! You don't have any choice but to go with the flow of what life brings you. In that sense, you are like the river that must keep flowing. Along the path, if you like a particular riverbank that is beautiful and green, you can only stop by for a while, but you can't call it yours or expect to stick out there forever, because like a river, you must leave this beautiful riverbank and continue to flow on ahead, until you meet the sea. And you cannot take the riverbanks to the sea--there are no river banks in the sea!

Fan of Amitabh

I recently came across Mr. Amitabh Bachchan's blog and I was impressed by his writing skills. I think there is truly no one like him. I watched some of his recent movies keenly-its hard to misss these, as he seems to have become an inevitable part of your TV screen. He is everywhere, on small screen, in so many ads, on the big screen can probably do more movies in a year than any of the younger generation stars around. His blog is extremely interesting, not just because of his excellent writing, but also he thinks out aloud and one can almost peep into his heart. Read a few of his blog entries and you feel the larger-than-life celebrity image seems to dissipate, and one begins to get endeared by the fact that he is not some "divine god" but just as human as any of us, with feelings, apprehensions and fears that you can easily relate with.

More so, his whole personality, aura and dynamism are so closely mirrored in the personality of a senior member in my family, and it actually feels like I know all the facets to his personality really well.

Who is kidding?

If Sam Papa (hubby) claims to be the good angelic guy, then mama (that's me, as if I could be allowed to forget ) must be the one who passed on all the naughty genes to the kids. Or so their Papa thinks! He claims that he passed on all the good genes to the children, like the blue-blooded royalty. Then why have the two sweet little bundles of joy that I gave birth to, turned into little devils? So the three of them come to a concensus (that's their papa, Mili who is 6.5, and Veer, the little one who's just turned one), and it turns out that Mama ate something "fishy" before she was about to give birth. That is supposed to explain and justify all kinds of antics that any of the kids perform. I had thought that with this new generation, if the girls are brash, the boys at least must come docile. But Voila! God can't do this to me twice in one single life.

We had thought our little "Shaitaan ki Naani" (devil's grandmother--as I nickname my daughter) needed company. Now obviously God wasn't gonna send some meek little angel into our midst, so I think Dennis the Menace just had to reincarnate as my very own son. And you always thought that cartoon network shows only on TV.

Our little man has just learned to walk and ooohhh the joy of being able to use his own two feet makes him want to to walk off the bed as well...who cares where one is walking, as long as one can hold one's head high continue to walk and walk over the bed, under it, into the door, into the curtain, and into anything that obstructs his way. Climbing the spiral staircase is quite akin to scaling the Himalyas and what's the use of this walking skill if one can't climb the ladder in life? (oops I mean the spiral staircase in the hall) Dare anyone deter him from his single-minded focus on this goal. I can conclude this para by stating the obvious- if one has learned to use his limbs, one might as well use them for an effective purpose.

Talking of my son's favourite foods, I think bathroom slippers are the most appetizing, next come any bits of paper that he can find. Leave your bathroom slippers around and he'll be relishing the munchy thing (eeeeyew!) as soon as you have turned your back. So what turns him on and gives him the high...not beer of course. Not so soon. Its grabbing his sister's hair. That's the cat and mouse show. Again what makes you think that this only runs on the TV. No sir, we watch it live. He's as agile as a cat when he spots his sister's hair and pounces on it with all the vigour of a big hungry tomcat who has just seen a healthy, lively mouse dart playfully across the room. If you hear him howling in pain and misery, would you assume he has hurt himself. No, I know better! It would most likely be because he is being denied some basic human rights such the freedom of movement or creative expression around the house. Do you know what an oppressive ruler is like? Put this boy in his high chair, and he 'll soon make you feel like one.

And at the end of each day, exhausted after sitting through the circus, when I take him to bed, there is this terrible misunderstanding between us! You see, we both often wonder who is trying to put whom to sleep?

So again that compels me to think, that despite being a vegetarian at most times, what did I eat...what did I eat???

All for Love

It is fifteen years now, since I know my husband. Of all the things I have done out of love for him, bearing with dogs is the worst of them all. My husband is a dog lover. Our first born is a girl. Last year I had my my second baby, a boy. My husband was overjoyed. I thought then that we were a nice big, complete family, as his parents also live with us. But he said there was still a void in his life. He bought this sweet little labrador pup, and said that now his family looked complete! The pup I didn't mind, untill he grew and turned into a "horse" or probably I should say "silly ass" . He can eat anything from non-veg to fruit to leaves to sticks, pots, plants, bricks, cardboard boxes, shoes and not to mention clothes! Oh, I think that's his favourite food. Not "any" clothes but mostly "my clothes", maybe they smell good to him or they are really appetizing --I might just taste them myself one day, to check if this is true!
Last week he(Ginger) had bitten off a large piece of another one of my nice party outfits that was accidentally, or rather carelessly put on the clothes line somewhere near him. Who put it on that clothes line while I was at work?? I don't know! And I never will get to know! Probably, I must look at this from a positive perspective and console myself by thinking that my outfit might have just walked into the devil's mouth! This must be the ninth or tenth garment that he has tried to eat off. And why my clothes? He hardly eats anybody else's clothes in the house! My hubby has never had even a single handkerchief bitten off by his best friend!
Now hubby dear happily and always with great pleasure, promises a new outfit for me in case his dog bites off one of my existing garments. But how would this make me happy? To think of all the money that he will need to spend on feeding his dog, I worry that he'll soon go broke! You see, he must buy dog food for meal times, (which is not cheap, BTW) and my garments for the in-between-meal snacks, to indulge the poor starved fellow, who is actually growing into a "baby elephant", I should say. Obviously this cost does not bother hubby, or make him least unhappy, because anything for his precious pet is worth the cost, even if it means he has to buy me a half a dozen new outfits every month! And such gourmet meals give the dog all the energy and vitality he needs to gallop around the house, as if he was participating in the Derby! Obviously there is nothing gentle or lady-like about this dog, so how can I like a dog who can't even walk up to you and say hello! No, not him! Open the door, unleash him and he will come charging at you like a "mad mad bull" who has seen red! Why am I always the unfortunate one who always gets caught unawares, I can't figure out. Often I turn around and when he comes galloping in like this, its hard to stiffle a small scream, that escapes from the bottom of my heart, oops throat.

Ginger is not the only one whose atrocities I have had to bear with, for the sake of my darling husband! When we got married, there were three Lhasa Apsos in the house. They looked cute and I didn't mind them, but they did mind me being sharing the room with Sameer(my husband). You see, before I came in, they were his room-mates, and every morning he awoke after they had planted a few wet kisses (oops licks) on his face. Soon this honour was snatched from them, and I had pulled the carpet (oops bed mattress) from under their feet. So what could the poor dumb animals do or say to me. Nothing much you would expect, except for a bit of ragging! Probably these dogs thought, that as a newcomer in the family, I ought to have been ragged a little. And when no human adult or child had any inclination to torment me, looked like these three apsos had taken it into their hands to show me where I stood. So each time I left my bedroom door open for a few seconds, one of them would sneak into my bedroom and pot or pee and make a big puddle on my side of the bed. Only my side f the bed! I would have liked to beat them up if I had been able to lay my hands on the culprit, but "whodunnit" and deserved to be punished, was always the million dollar question before me. God knows, but he didn't tell at that time. So often did this happen that the terrible stench of their generous output had got into my nostrils and stayed there untill I got into the habbit of shutting or locking the bedroom door each time I went out even for half a second.
Inspite of this, the good little soul that I have been, sometimes I sincerely felt like extending some gracious warmth and kindness to the dogs. But tell me, with Apsos, would you even know if you were stroking their cute little face or hairy behind?

A state of blissful oblivion, and now a fantasy!

What is it that happens to me when I get down to painting? I find sheer sheer bliss coursing down my veins! Euphoria, satisfaction, contentment -the feeling is so good, but I can't describe more! Nowadays, the agony of not being able to do this once in a while is frustrating. I can only imagine dream, long and crave for this! A brush in one hand, colors by my side and a canvas in front of me and hours to myself, alone in silence! Who wants anything else in life! Not me :) Don't know what life would be like, if all I did was paint throughout the day, or paint for a living.

Probably office is the only place I can hope to dabble once in a while. The painting kit wasn't set up when we moved from GE Plaza office, I recently requested our facility manager to set it up in our lounge area, and promptly he did. Since then I have been raring to have a go at it. But unfortunately, during the few leisure moments I get office, I have a difficult choice to make--one option I have is to use any spare time I have to orient with and practice a whole lot of new tools and systems that I need to work with; the other more irresistable option is to throw conventions and obligations to the winds, wear a bohemian attitude and start painting--well at least for a couple of hours every day in office.

Mughal and Indian miniatures are my favourite. I have pictures of these saved on my PC since more than a year and I just crave to paint those kind of art forms. The sheer grace and beauty of these paintings mesmerizes me. I love the beautiful forms of people depicted in these paintings. There is a sort of fluid quality to them. Even the colours are so vivid and refreshing. They emanate a kind of harmony about the world, and infuse a sense of well-being and brightness into your mood.

The female forms in the Mughal miniatures are my favourite. Stare at a miniature for a while and take in the details. You’ll see the sensuality oozing out of these women forms.

You can almost feel the opulence and grandeur of that era, as well as you can feel the enchantment of the surroundings.

Birds, trees, flowers and water bodies are an essential part of most paintings and it seems like they are all making music together… imagine the sweet, synchronous melodies of that time. Even the male forms exude an air of royal authority, leadership and passion about them.

Most of the miniatures I have seen depict the lifestyles and pass-times of the Mughal kings in that period. Some of them also depict the mythological Radha-Krishna or Mughal couples in various erotic postures. What fascinates me most is the way these moods are captured into the paintings. Miniature themes focus on subjects pursuing the common pass-times and modes of classical entertainment centered around music, dance and games, and artistic culture of the period.

I associate technology with work and modernism. These miniatures represent a bygone era that depicts a complete lack of anything even remotely technical or mechanical. One can imagine about that period where life rolls by in a languid fashion, and there isn’t even a hint of any hustle-bustle or humdrum. And that I find to be so relaxing and rejuvenating. I could simply sit and stare at these paintings for hours and feel the stress and strain just ebb out, or get the painting kit and try to unravel the same beauty and details on my canvas.