Stubborn Confusions

Anyone who's been reading this blog for a decent amount of time and thinks I am not a member of a group called Spelling and Grammar Nazis is a nitwit. I'm not even apologizing for my seeming lack of manners, I am so mad. I discovered there are still some things I am confused about, and I am actually thinking of announcing a reward for the person who clears my doubts (though whether it will be a used pair of slippers or my old, out of order keyboard remains to be decided).

First: Why is it Mother's Day and Teacher's Day and Father's Day? These are days for all mothers and all teachers and all fathers; shouldn't the apostrophe be after the 's'? Or not? Why not? (I'm pretty sure I have you stumped there)

Second: Is 'okay' an adverb? Or rather, can it be used as an adverb? "Did you get home okay?"--isn't there something terribly, terribly wrong that jars like a note out of tune? Or not? Maybe not. Then again, maybe.

Third: Why don't we get rid of the rule about split infinitives? Word's style check makes some of my sentences look awkward. Split infinitives are fine. Language evolves. Not that we should add LOL to the dictionary, though. Most people don't even bother to capitalise that.

That's all that's bothering me right now. I will remember something I have forgotten soon enough, (hey, what an ambiguous sentence; remember soon enough or forgotten soon enough?) and I will have to create a new post. Dash it.

NO, I did not fail. YES, I am taking Arts.

Call it a black sheep, call it an underdog, call it The Road Not Taken: there is no escaping the fact that for the majority of people inhabiting India, taking Arts after tenth grade is distasteful, something to do when you have no option left, or when your marks (or grades, bless CBSE) are unmentionable.

Once you get used to this prejudice, though, and you learn to accept it, announcing your decision is actually quite fun. The politest reply I have ever got (excluding replies from people who actually know me) is "Don't tell me!" followed by a horrified stare. The most innocent one was, "But why?" and a look that suggested I had an answer that would solve all their doubts, that I wanted to do something out of the world. But after I shrug and say, indifferently, "I like it", they are just plain incredulous. "You like History? Alien." Except it's human History I like, in addition to languages, Economics, Political Science, Psychology and all the rest of the stuff. The very names of the subjects make me jump up and down in excitement and I can't wait to start studying.

People like friends of friends and aunties, who ask you what you intend to take for the sake of making conversation, find it either very unnerving or a closed subject when you mention Humanities. It's like the very stream is taboo.

I'm not writing this to enumerate the various career options Arts offers, or to bombard readers with examples of people who made it big "despite" taking Arts. I'm writing this simply to record my observations. There have been people, with the best of intentions, no doubt, who have tried to dissuade me. I have tried to be dissuaded, and have failed. I love Biology (the whole of biology, mind, don't go around getting narrow-minded ideas), but I love Arts more. And I don't even like Physics. I positively dislike Chemistry. And Maths, well, I don't hate it. I just don't like to practise. In other words, I'm lazy.

I don't have a well-charted career plan ahead. I am as clueless as the next man, possibly even more. But then life hardly respects your plans. All I can say in my defence is that if the world ends in 2012 (and it most likely will, if only due to global warming or an asteroid or an alien invasion), I will have studied subjects I enjoy studying.

Magic Cauldrons

If I talk about fantasy (punning's really not my thing, so you can stop saying, "Aha! I knew she wasn't Little-Miss-Innocent!) anymore, I risk being called an obsessed, repetitive keyboard-wielder who thinks she can type meaningful sentences. So I'm talking about magic. Magic cauldrons, to be precise. Containers in which you can add eye of eel, scale of dragon, liver of frog and fingernail of rat, stir it a bit, and hey! Here's Conglomeration of Success, which you can drink up at leisure and strut around town with your head held high and without a care in the world, except maybe the nagging question of which publisher you would honour with the manuscript of your autobiography.

Or maybe you could throw in hair of maggot, colony of plasmodium with a dash of decayed spring onion, shake the whole thing and gulp it down to be fully hit with the effects of Draught of Don't-Give-A-Damn. Following which you can smile at disapproving looks, dismissively nod at betrayal and ignore attempts made to make you famous as 'The Girl Who Never Stopped Crying."

However, magical cauldrons do not exist. Which is why imagination is so important. One must imagine one is drinking up Stir of Security or Potion of Peace or whatever it is that one wants. Whether you can actually feel the effects or not depends on how much you believe in your own magic (if you don't, drink Broth of Belief).

But do I much like the taste of eel-eyes? I don't know, never having tasted something so revolting, and I'd rather not try. Ditto for rat fingernails and maggot hair and all the rest of the trash. I don't even like to imagine the taste. I'd much rather stay miserable, oh yes. Alternatively, I could get the success for myself and stop caring myself. I don't need a cauldron. I have my own, and it's called people. I get this odd feeling of everything being all right with the world when I see people around me. The best part is, people don't want spring onions, decayed or otherwise. They just want you to exist...and be happy. Essence of Happiness, anyone? Put in people, lots of love and care, and smile at everyone.

How fairy-tales lost their charm

As a child, fairy-tales fascinated me for only one reason: the evil stepmother. Cinderella had one, and so did Snow White. Sleeping Beauty was cursed by an evil witch, and so was Rapunzel. The wicked old woman was omnipresent, and I was intrigued by her. Now, however, I pity her. Her position is so understandable. She doubtlessly must have been a beautiful young woman once, earning all the admiration and, possibly, whistles. Way past her prime now, he only people who look at her are the servants, and that’s probably because they’re expecting a raise (silly them). Adding insult to injury, an impertinent young girl steals all her thunder. Every living soul is gung-ho about her; the King’s messengers can’t stop staring at her; and she’s perfect at every darn thing, including scrubbing the floor and growing her hair. As if these were not reasons enough to hate the so-called heroine, her family keeps getting in the way. Cinderella’s father died without writing a proper will, and you can’ blame her stepmother for keeping everything for her sadly ugly daughters, who were almost certainly discriminated against by their stepfather. But does anyone mention that? No. Cinderella is beautiful, you see, so she’s the wretched lass and she’s always right. End of discussion.
Sleeping Beauty’s parents did not invite a very accomplished enchantress for her birthday, and she was rightly angry. Rapunzel’s father stole carrots (or was it rhododendrons?) from the old woman’s garden. Surely forced imprisonment is no more a crime than thievery is? And surely an innocent little curse is not supposed to have such ramifications? The most virtuous ladies from Hindu mythology kept doing it (the cursing, I mean) and it always turned out to be for good. Not so for the poor fifty-something women of fairytales. Unfair, I cry myself hoarse.
I have strayed from my point. Which is, I recently read a fairytale. It was called The Prophecy of the Stones, and some of it did feel lifted straight from Harry Potter. But it was published in 2002, much before Rowling introduced the concepts that were similar. Be that as it may, this was traditional fare: ancient prophecies, lost identities, knights in shining armour, insurmountable evil et. al. I must consider the fact that it was written by a thirteen year old (originally in French). Very, very laudable. For once, the world of fairytales seemed desirable, not because of the knights, but because of pre-written destinies and happy endings. It feels so nice not to blame yourself for anything that happens and stoutly say, “It is written, and it’s all for the best.” Easy life.
Wait, there’s an anticlimax. Along comes a book called Eats, Shoots and Leaves, and all my starry-eyed dreams seem lowly and idle. Because, guess what, this book is about punctuation, and it’s very funny. It actually comes with a—gasp!—punctuation repair kit that includes stick-on commas. In an age when “your” and “you’re” can be freely interchanged (Bhagwan, uthalo), and when saying, “She went their” does not call for a death penalty, this is just what you need.
Lynne Truss, the author, says, “While other girls were out with boyfriends on Sunday afternoons, getting their necks disfigured by love bites, I was listening to a quiz [on the wireless] called Many a Slip, in which erudite and amusing contestants spotted grammatical errors in pieces of prose. […] Around the same time, when other girls were attending the Isle of Wight festival and having abortions, I bought a copy of Eric Partridge’s Usage and Abusage and covered it with sticky-backed plastic so it would last a lifetime.” Soul sister. Tweak that a little for me and it becomes, “When other girls were watching Dill Mill Gaye, I was reading Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.”
I suddenly see my destiny—climbing up signboards with whitening fluid and a permanent marker, and damaging other people’s private property. If I do get caught and am tried, I will look the judge in the eyes and say, “It is written.” Maktub.

Why I will miss Delhi

There's a group on Facebook called "Once you have lived in New Delhi, you cannot live anywhere else in the world". While that may not be all true (there are Delhiites who go gaga about Canada and Florida)and I can live in pretty much any part of the world, I have to admit I am going to miss Delhi. Because there are some things you won't ind anywhere else in the world, at least not in so pronounced a way, so definitive of a city.
These are just some of the things I'm going to miss (in alphabetical order, none of them is in any way more important than the other):

1.) Cycle-rickshaws
2.) Delhi Metro
3.) India Gate, Red Fort, Qutab Minar, etc. (the fact that you can go centuries back in History whenever you feel like it)
4.) Oxford Bookstore
5.) Parathe wali gali (Chandni Chowk)
6.) Punjabi (mixed with a plethora f other languages like Awadhi, Bundelkhandi and whatnot)
7.) Sarojini Nagar, CP, Dilli Haat, DC Janakpuri, Lutyens
8.) Schools which are more like meeting grounds for abuse-experts, models and people with (alleged) connections in the underground, despite everyone's insistence that they are 'temples of learning'.
9.) Stuck-up, pretentious and happy people (yes, that is praise).
10.)Tagging on either 'ji' or an expletive to every other word.
11.)Velapanti :P
12.)Winter

Then again, who can rival Mumbai?

And the award goes to...

What do I do when I am bored sick of Troublesome Trigonometry and Quirky Quadratic Equations? When Loathsome Linear Equations and Creepy Co-ordinate Geometry make me want to renounce the world and try to attain Nirvana? Of course, I put down my books, but what after that? No, I don't wait for the Oscars or the Filmfare awards. I give out my own awards! One clarification: These awards are not being given out to people, so consider your hopes of getting the award for "My Classiest Friend" or something similar as already dashed. How I love being a spoilsport! These awards are for the best and worst lyrics of all time.

Category: Most strikingly noticeable
Winner: Saanjh Dhale (Suresh Wadkar)
It says: Jugnu ka pat odhe aayegi raat abhi
Nishigandha ke sur mein keh degi baat sabhi

Category: Closest to reality
Winner: Main Pal Do Pal ka Shayar Hoon (Kabhi Kabhie)
It says: Main pal do pal ka shayar hoon
Pal do pal meri kahaani hai
Pal do pal meri hasti
Pal do pal meri jawaani hai

Category: Weirdest (yet fun)
Winners: a) Paisa (De Dana Dan)
It says: Hai sona bangla car bhi soni aish bohot dil karta hai
Mujhe ek baat ki samajh na aaye dil tere pe kyun marta hai
Ab jaan nikaalegi tu meri kya niyat hai teri
Main baarish kar doon paise ki jo tu ho jaye meri

b) Dil Toh Bachcha Hai Ji
It says: Bewajah baaton pe
Aiwein gaur kare

Category: What every depressed person should be singing
Winner: Chor Bazaari (Love Aaj Kal)
It says: Dekhke mujhko hansta gaata
Sad gayi ye duniya sad gayi

Category: Most quoted on Facebook
Winner: Hey Ya! (karthik Calling Karthik)
It says: Tumhe kaise main bataun, kya main paa gaya hoon
Tum jo mere saath ho
Mujhko duniya mil gayi hai, zindagi badal gayi hai
Tum jo mere saath ho

Category: Divine
Winner: Jashn-e-Bahaara (Jodhaa Akbar)
It says: Mulaqaton mein hai jaise ghul si gayi tanhaai

Category: These rocked Tenth B
Winners: a) Jaane Tu Jaane Na
It says: Tera mujhse hai pehle ka naata koi
Yun hi nahin dil lubhaata koi
Jaane tu...ya jaane na
Maane tu...ya maane na

b)Pyaar Hua Iqraar Hua (Shri 420)
Pyaar hua iqrar Hua hai
Pyaar se phir kyun darta hai dil (courtesy Shailendra!)

Category: What Were They Thinking?!
Winner: Jhagde (Ishq Bector and Rakhi Sawant)
It says: Tera Dakku Daddy kade warrant
Teri mummy badi blunt
Utton tu vi mare current
Balliye

Jab tu mere ghar vi aandi
Meri maa se tu lad jaandi
Tu tho meri meri meri meri meri meri
Tu tho meri band bajandi