Friday, December 31, 2010

A Letter to My Facebook Friends: Happy 2011!

                          


Dear facebook friends,

This is to my hidden friends (yes the applications got to me!), unhidden friends, friends I’ve gotten hidden by, blocked (ex) friends, unblocked friends, (ex) friends I’ve gotten blocked by.

I look forward to another year of snooping through your albums (if permitted by your privacy settings), allowing or disallowing you to snoop through mine (ha! my privacy settings!), tagging you in silly pictures, getting tagged by you in some random pictures (that I don’t feature in) and having to face the aftermath (hundred notifications following the hundred comments on the picture), staring at you when you come online while you stare at me when I come online (I understand. It’s telepathy. I feel the “Hi”), reading your boring, entertaining, witty, far-from-wit, philosophical, educational, copy-pasted status messages as well as your make-up, break-up and married statuses, and finally laughing my guts out at the hilarious videos you share.

I look forward to more additions to my friends list, especially from people who have refused to acknowledge me in the past, don’t acknowledge me when I stand right in front of them, and who plan to continue to not acknowledge me in future. The previous statement also implies that I’ll have a long “pending friends” list. (I know you have one too smartass!).

I am glad all of you have moved on to pursue better opportunities. Thanks to facebook, I know your location only if you are abroad. To the ones stuck here, don’t worry you will get the opportunity to disclose your location someday.

So, here is to another year of staring at the screen hoping to see a red notification bubble appear on the top left corner! Wish you guys a marvelous New Year!

Love
Kachu

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Say it Right



Last evening I was watching an Australian channel with my family. The episode was about an Australia-settled Indian. She talked about her life in Australia and also about her participation in the Christmas parade. Somewhere toward the end of the episode my father remarked “Her vocabulary is good but her grammar is very poor.” My sister wasn’t too happy either – “She speaks weirdly!” referring to her accent. This got me thinking– "We are so bloody critical of our countrymen." We are not an English speaking country and I don’t see why it is important that we know the language to the T.


The Germans, the Japanese, the Italians, the Chinese, the Mexicans, the French (the list doesn’t end) have their own glitches when speaking the English language. But we Indians are very accepting of their goof ups. In most cases we find their accent sexy and their speech flattering. But if an Indian dare goof up, he is bound to be the butt of all jokes. (No wonder we are a bunch of insecure fools.)


Anyway, I put these points forth and argued fiercely with my dad. Mum was on my side. But later, dad said something that forced me to switch sides. He said that when a French man talks, he’s more interested in expressing himself so, he concentrates on what he says. But when an Indian talks, he focuses on how well he is speaking it. Believe me, I couldn’t agree more. I remember having met two Germans, who knew just enough English to get their work done. They initiated every conversation in their thick German accent and were very entertaining guests. The best part was to see them so comfortable in their own skin. On the other hand, a suburban Mumbai lad would be really worried if he had to speak in English for as less as two minutes in front of a South Mumbai crowd. Yes, he would indeed focus on how he is speaking it.


It is not uncommon to observe ourselves, our friends, our colleagues trying to get the accent right or get the pronunciation right or trying to use the right words when constructing a sentence. If a person deviates from the more commonly known pronunciation, we are quick to point it out– “What’s with the accent?” Each time a word flows out of an Indian’s mouth, it sounds different. Sometimes it sounds American, sometimes it sounds British, and the smart asses like the authentic French pronunciations. For instance, a word as simple as “restaurant” has umpteen peculiar pronunciations in the Indian social circle. Naturally, next time I use it, I’ll be thinking to myself “Did I say it right?”


The confusion explains an Indian’s obsession with foreign accents. The good part, however, is that a foreign accent (of an English speaking country) standardizes the pronunciations and stabilizes our language. So, I guess, you need not be too hard on people who walk in with an accent. Although, very often they walk in with an accent so unusual that it’s impossible to trace it back to the place they returned from. In such cases, going abroad has only added to the language confusion.


One Indian criticizing another Indian’s English speaking skills is typical Indian. It’s like arguing over something that is not ours to begin with. In my opinion, we speak the “Indian English” and it is not something to be ashamed of. The goal of a conversation is not to get the language right but to get the message across. We are not short of well spoken men who are an insult to communication. But yes, we are short of not-so-well-spoken men who believe they can pull a conversation through.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The Glorious Misery


I am miserable. So are you. We often share our stories with each other. Infact, we share it with a lot of people. But my life is always more miserable than everyone else’s. I can dig through my past and present to you a series of hardships that I’ve been through. Sure, you’ve had a hard life too but can you imagine being in my shoes?

Somewhere I know…I know I won’t let myself forget the past. Not because I don’t like being happy but because my misery brings glory to my success. Sometimes I will fail and raise my finger at my misery. But, once again, I will promise myself “I am going to be happy.” Then, someone will stop by and blather about their miserable life. They will cry, whine and grumble and force me to break my silence “Friend, my misery is more glorious than yours!”

I know I will never be happy if I look back at that drug, that addictive depressing past that I love to brag about. Yes, it feels good to brag about my misery. Embraced in self pity, it feels good to weep and lose myself while some “concerned” souls try to “help” me. But the “help” will never help for I don’t want it to help.

I am all about “what I was”. I know it is the “I am” that matters... “I am” to the point that “I was” ceases to exist. I am happy.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Testing your appetite





Once upon a time a six inches subway sandwich could satiate a common man’s hunger. Today he has to make do with three slices of tomatoes and three slices of cucumber (irrespective of the size), on a thin sheet of lettuce with a few strands of onions, one black olive- sliced and distributed to give an illusion of generosity- two slices of pickle, two slices of jalapeno with sauces used as adhesives to glue the ends of the shrunken bread. Each ‘wide mouth’ bite of the sub was once a task. Today, he gobbles it down with ease and calls for another six inches.

McD was a disaster from day one. Two slices of bread, a cutlet, some mayo and if you get lucky, half a leaf - this clearly does not qualify as a burger. Wondering how I forgot to mention the cheese? Here’s the thing - if you want cheese with your burger, ask for it! (Yes, this is beyond ridiculous.) Burgers have cheese! Period! Put the cheese back in, you fool!

Pizzas -What a rip off! The average Indian appetite cannot be held responsible for the reduction in the radii from an 8” to a 7”, from a 10” to a 9”. That aside, pizza was once about bread generously showered with meat, vegetables and loads of cheese. Today, it’s about bread with two 1cm3 pieces of meat and vegetables per triangular slice covered with a thin film of cheese.

Let’s not get into the miniature scoops of ice-cream sold across the parlours or the ‘single gulp’ glasses next to the coffee machines or the ‘four morsels’ cups of hot corn outside the theatre.

Don’t test our appetite!
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