There are people who are passionate about words, mostly the creative writers and sometimes the academicians. Most of them worship the words and are very particular about their usage and abuses. Most of them are concerned all the time not to hurt anybody by any means, but can be very rude to see use of a wrong word at the wrong place. They are the self-appointed guardians of the 'most sacred’ treasure of human civilisation. They constitute a minuscule section of the society.
There is another class of people who follow crosswords religiously, reach for the dictionary at the slightest provocation and love to collect a lot of them. They never hesitate to share their knowledge to the inquisitive ones and will often guide the seemingly-interested ones how to build that knowledge base. They build the database like any ordinary people build a house, investing lots of time and energy. They seem to get pleasure out of the information the words provide to them (pleasure of a treasurer) rather than deriving pleasure from a single or a group of words, which seems to be the case with the creative class. The number of the treasurers are even less than the number of the guardians.
They were always a minority, but were respected. It’s a pity that we jeer at them now — at a time when we see mass-scale slaughtering of words and languages.
Leave aside the purity question of languages. Why don’t think for a second the range of meanings — from the utilitarian to the beautiful and the challenging — that each word contain. Have you ever tried to feel how the word ‘aasmaan’ can soothe your nerves? Well don’t scoff at me now. Switch off your bloody brain from all the damned calculations, the permutations and combinations to outrace another rat. Just feel how it brings down a sense of loftiness, protection, an enormous canvas full of colours and warmth, encompassing the whole of humanity to which all can look up to at any time — waking up after a night mare or for some simple support in a lonely evening.
Utter ‘saagar’ and feel the wave of sounds, the wave themselves, incessant from ages, burying how much treasure or muck in its belly you never know.
Utter ‘ matri, ‘bhagni- and hopefully you won’t turn a rapist ever. Try ‘matribhoomi’.
The idea is not mine. A few years back an organisation in Assam (never tried to remember the name, I read it in Anuradha Sharna Pujari’s column) gifted a word each (on the back of leaves probably) to its members to feel the greatness of these words and to enrich their lives with the newly discovered feelings.
I am sure, if practised regularly, many of us will be able to cut their future expenses on psychiatrists. Don’t laugh at me, better get serious. Dinosaurs, with their huge bulk, raised on vegetarian diet, have left only some skulls and some non-performing assets (NPAs) in the form of eggs. What will you do my friends? You are going to be rats soon and rats do not lay eggs either.
Saturday, 26 May 2007
Cruellest
The cruellest month? “April”—comes the pet reply, too frequently, from the ones who obviously try to impress with their knowledge of Eliot. Without any clue of the context of The Waste Land, however, for many of us—for years—April was the cruellest month. For if you fail to reproduce your knowledge on some 20-odd plain sheets within 3 hours, all your vanities will be buried outside your home and all your demands will be overlooked at your home.
Anyway, we get used to the cruelties of April. For, exams come and go. But what after it is over? Sometimes everything seems to be over with it. Some sweet sounds that seem jingle to your ears, occasional glances that shake your nerves and haunt for days, the breathless anticipation of the moments when you get chance to sit by someone special………..May, June become the cruellest months.
Funny it may appear but still, standing at the wrong side of twenties, I feel more pain crawling through these two months. And no, not the Delhi loo is solely responsible for that. CP Surendran was kind enough to offer the much-required balm.
He meets her at the coach station.
A small, pretty woman
Who has decided early on
Not to want anything.
When he meets her,
He hears a camera go click.
She smiles. Click.
He offers her his seat.
Thank you, she says. Click.
The other day, they had tea together. Click.
All his moments with her were in snapshots,
Just for his wallet.
Never to be taken out.
(Click/CP Surendran)
Anyway, we get used to the cruelties of April. For, exams come and go. But what after it is over? Sometimes everything seems to be over with it. Some sweet sounds that seem jingle to your ears, occasional glances that shake your nerves and haunt for days, the breathless anticipation of the moments when you get chance to sit by someone special………..May, June become the cruellest months.
Funny it may appear but still, standing at the wrong side of twenties, I feel more pain crawling through these two months. And no, not the Delhi loo is solely responsible for that. CP Surendran was kind enough to offer the much-required balm.
He meets her at the coach station.
A small, pretty woman
Who has decided early on
Not to want anything.
When he meets her,
He hears a camera go click.
She smiles. Click.
He offers her his seat.
Thank you, she says. Click.
The other day, they had tea together. Click.
All his moments with her were in snapshots,
Just for his wallet.
Never to be taken out.
(Click/CP Surendran)
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