Seeking Sati

("Suttee", James Atkinson, 1831)

MY anime and your grime
No! I want to date Time
Divine, as it may sound,
but I’m left with
Shards of my wind chime.

My brine and your Ganges,
But, putrid notions never rhyme,
Silhouettes are just shadows,
Most of me is blind.

In Fine Print

Ink from Ankleshwar,
Newsprint from Nepanagar,
Editors from 'Subversia',
Freedom cries the media,

Wardrobe malfunction,
disoriented demolitions,
Sops for all,
Nano for nothing at all?

Holy underbelly,
Jello bellydancing in telly,
escaping Australian quagmires,
"Mother Superior, pump up the jam"
Goa's Troubled hippy,
drowned in ecstasy,
Are you into People's Democracy?

But there's Saffron in red tape,
with encounters of the fourth kind,
"Drink, my baby, drink,
drink the blood from the Canal,"

Crop Circles

I lay awoke in the heart of my sowing
Counting the nights, saving the dots and dashes,
I lay awoke, like the owl
Witnessing the murmurs in the undergrowth.

Nocturnal, they call me, they,
Who sold their fields for gold,
Refused I, for no crop circles,
No math, no ink for this little pledge,
Would make me sleep, as He opens the door.

Been here before?

Meeting your old pals from school is a feeling that we all look forward to. Strange, but from the first glance itself your friends try and notice the changes in your personality. Some of these changes are commended and some bluntly criticised. You start rolling a joint and here comes out the skeletons from their closets, as if the person just sneezed.

“Hey, even you…eh?” one of my mates says, with that I-just-caught-you-in-the act expression on his face. “Well, that’s the best I could ever afford. You know, they call it the poor man’s drug.” I say, still trying to be on my guard but failing every second as pretentiousness starts subsiding.

“Why do you use so much paper man?” asks another. I think he was trying to showcase his hidden talent but wait, here comes the revelation. “Man, I used to smoke through the papaya stem in school.” What? Papaya stem? People smoke weed thorough papaya stems. But he didn’t stop here. “You reckon the time when I used to steal this poor dame’s lunch box, I used to be really hungry ‘cause I was stoned,” he says and now he’s got that I-am-such-big-stud look.

“Yeah, I remember you running with her tampons while you were searching for her lunch box, you moron.” Laughter, almost infectious, rocks my little room while this other friend cracked up. “So, you were stoned all through out, even when you took out the packet of tampons?” the same guy asks my was-a-dopehead friend.

“‘Course I was. But I really didn’t understand the fuss about it. All the women thought, I was a pervert but I never had a girlfriend who could educate me about all these things.” He said looking at me, and I could sense some kind of spite, as if we were the guys who dated all the women in school.

He lit up the joint. He obviously didn’t know that it was hashish that came all the way from Manali. He thought it to be the good old ganja we smoked since school. This was probably his first time. He took a drag.

“Shit, what the heck is this? This is not ganja that I smoke,” he says. “Yeah, this is not your papaya-flavoured thing. This is hashish,” I say.

“Fuck…fuck, you guys are making me do drugs. I want to puke now. You guys are still evil.” He kept on cursing and swore that he would not come to see us on a dry day when booze is scarce. But like old school pals and for old times’ sake, he helped us finish the joint.

So here it was, my sweet revenge. My war against those of you, who just carry a pretentious been-there-done-that type of an expressionless face, has just started. I am sure you haven’t been and haven’t done that.

Just another diwali musing

You are too old for these firecrackers. You could have written a story about the purple goblins and their filthy habits. You could have waited for these goblins to attack you from the Northern Ridge but you wanted to burst firecrackers. Now you wait for your companions to tell you that your imaginary friends are just as mischievous as you.

But haven’t you played this game before? Say when your favourite team wins the match, you open a case of beer and after getting little tipsy, you start looking for firecrackers. Same goes with the national victories. Wars and marriages too. For all that you know, you love that burgeoning pyromaniac to come out of your head in its true avatar. There is something primeval in you that force you to burst firecrackers. If there are no firecrackers, or say you a warlord, then you start shooting in the air. It is form of expression that lacks all aesthetic clarity and cannot be predicted.

Firecrackers are a big industry now. Newspapers tell you that there exists a competitive market with Chinese crackers making its presence felt in the narrow lanes of Punjabi Bagh or Lajpat Nagar in Delhi. Some of the firecrackers look pretty, some without the noise and some don’t burst firecrackers at all. The credit for the evolution of this new species of human beings goes to the forests and the greenery (more primeval than man but under threat).

This new species of human beings who do not burst firecrackers have a heightened sense of civility. They know that the burgeoning pyromaniac comes from that stage of human evolution when all the folk and the kin wielded weapons at each other and participated in mass loots. Those were different times.

Meet Mr McShakespeare

“You left for the clouds. I found Shakespeare in me.”

This is McShakespearean tragedy. The Shakespeare in me was recognised towards the end of day by my workmates. Through out the day, I struggled with “Shakespeare on steroids”, but apparent reasons to have such a headline for a story on Shakespearean exhibition in the Metropolitan Gallery of Washington, will always be ignored.

The problem arises when one realises, it is the boundless thinking and chained soul which makes the Shakespeare inside everyone, board a ship and run towards the distant shore.

But you left for your near one. Your eyes did twinkle more than my computer screen. You handed me a disc and decided to call it “Tipsy CD”.

And then you again came back with your proposition, “What if that tin of cheese, meant nothing more than a gift?” It was almost like: What if Shakespeare decided that he would stay in some corner of the planet and fish like Santiago?

The mockery of “American novel” is not an easy task. There is no one called McShakespeare, here. McShakespeare is no less original then Tom Sawyer and Finn. The American rebellion was against the European vanity. Even Shakespeare would agree to that.

In this age, Shakespeare would have been amused to find his characters turn into a can of Brussels’ nut manufactured in California -- carefully branded along with the existing universe of literature.

The American way of looking at the world was (or still is) like: “What’s your catch today, Santiago?” It transcends vanity or prudishness of English and something more primeval and profound – challenges.

Shakespeare in me is a challenge. He is McShakespeare. He is the nouveau-riche. He is American, consumer of freedom and democracy. He wouldn’t care if you wear the vixen’s fur.

In defence of Gaali and gullible

Abuses were hurled at this man for every second, when he wished things would change. Those who scored better their peers when they were using expletives were just meandering lunatics. Their abuses would meander around their mothers and sisters. They would always be centred on Private Parts™.

The abuser is not interested in the history of slang. His passionate use of abuses comes from a deep contempt – which pampers his little (male) ego. He, certainly, is an impatient man, who cannot stand the intellectual curiosities of his peers.

So he decides to read activist literature for three years. His sobriety levels improved and finally rested somewhere above his own existence. Most of the time, his stoned platitudes would read like ‘what-if scenarios’. No, this is not meant to be confused with hypotheses – which he detests. His persistence with the use of ‘what-if’ is forceful – to the extant that he would do anything to prove his premises to be true. He deliberately avoids a tautology, because there are no conclusions to be reached. This is just his observation and then analysis, and then a decision. This is his only reason for choosing to abuse.

Abuses generally do not follow a structure of an argument or syllogism. It sounds more like a command: “Open the door!”

However, abuses/expletives are based on reasoning. (I know, I would make it more problematic, if I rationalise. Saying this, my folk might launch a civil action against me). But does thinking (which can be loosely connected reasoning, if I am permitted) lead to abuses? It may lead to a very intelligent retort or some sarcasm. So then, why this use of language?

After much deliberation, I felt it was the slackness of thoughts. We essentially are not thinking creatures. Abuses are mere grunts. We are “lazy” like tigers and bears. Something drastic must have happened to us which makes the “missing link”. I almost feel that I am going to come back to the same question again. Now, it is more like: Why do we come up with intelligent retorts?

My friends say that a good retort without being abusive is an art. Someone said it was progressive.

But then (by the means of this post), I ask, don’t the abuses reflect social hierarchy, the conditions of the society and also the peripheries of a civil society from where these expletives arise?

Coming back to our man, who abused me just now (feeling ignored in this discourse). He says that these abuses/expletives use some kind of syllogism which is completely dependant on the situation which gives rise to these expressions. I was surprised that even he attributes “laziness” with the use of abuses. He thinks most men have carry a little dictionary of slang with them and more the slackness (could be also anger!) to find exotic retorts, more crassness in their abuses.

In his own words: “If I am too lazy (or angry) or not in that intellectual plane to come up with a smart one, I would pick out the first word from my dictionary of expletives and say “fuck off!”.

This bridge haunts me, wondering if there's any water in that lake in Yelagiri. But, I hope its doing fine and the witch-doctor still sends his kids to school.

Yelagiri, Vellore Distt., Tamil Nadu, India

Reclaiming the streets: Guwahati Street talk

Assamese street language, or rather Guwahati street language, can be subversive. The reason why a lot of youngsters pick up these words early is because of their overtones. This really helps to hurl abuses at the rival’s face which can have a weakening effect on anyone. A very basic greeting is Abe son! Son’s meaning stays intact because anyone greeting/calling the other guy would assume himself to be a big daddy. If used among persons of equal ages, then a retort with at least one profoundly profane word to puncture the big daddy’s ego can be expected. If someone considers you as a bazaari, it means you are ‘sold out’. But ‘sold out’ to whom? Usually it’s the mob or the streets or may be even the market forces. Then, all those sleazy kinds also have been called bazaari. Bazaari may have originated near the Uzan bazaar area of Guwahati where a fisherman’s community prospered for several years. Fishermen would call their kin when someone succumbed to the market forces and changes the prices of fish abnormally without conforming to the prices the other fishermen are quoting. Clearly, these markets were more of a collective effort, as most of the fishermen would spread across the channel which required all the men in the community to set it up.

There can be other origins as well. It could have come out of a long-standing difference a lot of people had with the Marwari settlers in the Fancy Bazaar area. Bazaari is a dying abuse now. Very few youngsters would hurl this one at a fellow...after all, everyone’s Bazaari now! However, anti-corporate theme is still very apparent in the language. Cotton College during agitation days went through major changes. The hostelers would be extremely critical of their hip-swinging, uptown counterparts. According to some, terms like dhekeri (uncouth) and moqail (some retard client, who can be conned easily) also has its roots in the movement. The main issue in understanding the language (as a part of the movement/sub-culture, and the mainstream) is that the users don’t want to discuss the lingo of the agitation. There could possibly be several words which came in to existence during this period. The most creative ones went underground along with a generation that took the refuge of the guns. They never returned to remain buried in the memories. And for some they were just a reminder of violent days.

Surprisingly, when a new generation started using the lingo, they used what was spoken by the sub-culture revolutionary types (like label and banner) and the ones who used by uptowners. Label and banner were revived after many years, with the original meanings attached. They essentially pick on the show-off types. Label is used for someone who would throw names (contacts) at the wrong places, and also talk about their material possessions. Banner, is like a big brother of Label, used in the cases where even label doesn’t even work. However, after the revival the usage lost its restrictions. Label and Banner, sometimes, is used by young and chirpy kids to demonstrate their creative skills by arriving at the most arbitrary ones. For instance, one day in a city bus, two youngsters started talking about the new mall which has come up in the city. They just talked about how all the shops in that mall belonged to their folks. Then, the conversation reached bizarre extremes, when one of them said how his father met George Bush and his daughter flirted with him. The other one was, probably the most bizarre thing I have ever heard in the city. He said that Monica Lewinsky, who, is from Shillong, was his uncle’s mistress. The people in the bus got extremely annoyed and I guess I was the only one who enjoyed their talk. Failing to resist the temptation of asking them that what was going on, I found out that they were engaging themselves in a Label and banner session to kill the boring journey from school to home. I was shocked. Even we use to do it in school. It wasn’t that alien to me. We all did it but they had a new term for this act.

Street language since the agitation era or even before had the mainstream uptown youth as a target. In fact, the same phrases used by the mainstream, were hurled back at them. One instance can be seen in the movie; Jayanta Hazarika’s song Sandhya, Menaka, Rambha... makes fun of nouveau-rich of Guwahati during those days, as they party along with ‘bob-cut’ aunties draped in funny-looking sarees at a picnic. Agitation gave birth to the term for the quintessential casa nova: seni (literally meaning Sugar in Assamese). Because of the regimentation of the society propagated by convents, where students were raised according to the old colonial system, there are certain pre-conceived notions about intermingling of sexes. Officially, an eighth standard guy, if he manages to take his girl friend for a date then he would have treated his pals before.

When co-ed schools came, there would be someone or the other monitoring over the places to spot the seni (as in the act) happening. Marriages, Bihu functions and science exhibitions suddenly became the places where teamwork was laced with seni. Now it’s the noun form of seni is almost ignored, it’s the act which matters, because of which lots of teen brawls would happen.

Traditionally, the gender equation in Assam remains different from mainstream Indian culture. The youth has been opposing these things for a long time. The challenge that Assamese culture poses is against the patriarchal system of mainstream India. It is amazing to notice the bihu dancers tease their male counterparts for being so insolent. Nowhere, in this country you would notice women (college-going) teasing the guys (senis). While most of it is harmless, some guys take a huge offence when women term them as senis. The usual retort would be that the guy would stop near the paan-shop and light a cigarette to prove his worth. If seni is harmless, there’s johora which is overtly sexual. Johora means a philanderer. Someone committing adultery or someone who has been a con, and cannot be trusted for any future deal is called a johora. Kids, who pick up this word early, use it for anything they see is bad or not conforming to their ideas.

The street language also sheds light on the heartbroken lovers, losers, country bumpkins. Perhaps, the genuineness of this word would not be contested for a long long time. This word is Bah which literally means bamboo. The act of having a bah up your ass is condensed to the phrase: Bah khali? which literally means “have you eaten a bamboo”?

Sometimes, I would feel as if I am a giant panda which eats, shoots and leaves, whenever this question is asked. When a nasty break-up happens, or you get conned by a friend…it has to be a bah. Some of my friends stopped going to this restaurant called “U-turn”. It used to be a major hotspot for the dating couples, especially the high school and college crowd. By the end of the final year at the high school, most of the couples had broken up, especially those who went to U-turn. The blame would be on the restaurant. It’s not the bad food but the material used to make this restaurant which did not work with my friends. As a concept it was quite cool, but having everything made of bamboo, but with this plight of the neighbourhood linguistics, the cash flow, soon took a U turn. The restaurant still exists. A Bah or two doesn’t make big difference. Since bah is such a phenomenon, it is okay to talk about it with others. The fact that you’ve had a bah, makes the situation very light. You have so many bah-eaters (is this right way to describe the community?) around you, that you hardly feel anything.

However, people ditching/ avoiding other people/situations is usually called Kati-khuwa/Kati ja/Katis. Kati is to cut. And then there are people who you would always want to avoid…they are the essential bores or Kamur (which literally means ‘to bite’). The act of annoying/boring/bugging someone is kamura. Alcohol is also major ingredient of the street talk. Some of the words, however, emerged as a tirade against high spirits, especially imported or foreign liquor which essentially comes in a bottle. Hence, the word botola which translates to people/things/situations which one detests. Sometimes, the use is also restricted all things rotten. Botola is derived from the word bottle. One would be surprised that even the Mexican drink ‘tequila’, is a commonly used word in the street lingo. Taqi means alcohol and Taqila means drunkard. When you are all nice and head is spinning like the Milky Way, you are pel. While other forms of intoxication like marijuana is called Japu or simply, Pu.

To be continued..

seeking saturation

So finally I am back in this planet.
Like all others, I have started blogging. Before, I start narrating my experiences of Mars and Venus, I would like to say that saturation itself is a unsaturated term. One cannot but attribute so many meanings to this word, that finally it leaves a lot of people unsaturated and dry. Its like saying most of the water in my body would evaporate when I die. I have been playing with words for so long because they are made to play around with. This makes me feel that there is absolutely no need for a language. Even, the whole act of telling one that language is useless wouldn't save it from dying. Very soon, the pictures of your phone would relate the whole incident. The way a person reacts to a situation will be taken as a ultimate evidence. The act will be considered more then a verbal testimony of the act because there will be tools to convert this act to some form of visuals. What will happen when minds would be traced and the mystery around us would be revealed. Our thought patterns would only speak for us. There would be no language. People, who are graphically more imaginative would prosper but those who think about words to memorise a situation would sit back and curse the scientists. I guess this will be only way to do away with words like saturation.

I empathise with the efforts of linguists to rediscover the language by questioning the logical validity of some terms we use commonly use. But this just means that they are making the logic behind a language much more inaccesible. Language is dying and it is very unfortunate for us, humans. The only beings who can possibly rescue language would be poets, bards and shamans. Therefore, the only way to rescue language would be creating new metaphors, so that the mind can visualise. However, when I dream, I would only see visuals and hear nothing (not even a song, like the way it happens in a hindi movie!!). The next morning I would be at a loss for words when I have to relate it to someone. With language, there is this possibility of someone misunderstanding you.