tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68214354549032201352024-03-14T03:49:01.329+05:30Off the beaten trackOFF THE BEATEN TRACK is an exploratory blog – at least I would expect it to be so. My intention here is to look at issues with a critical eye, analyse them, and develop perspectives. But I am aware that my proclivity for levity and irony will not allow me the high standards of discipline the intention demands.Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-80805509949278185162023-11-06T14:12:00.002+05:302023-11-06T14:18:27.916+05:30A nightmarish wedding pandal <p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The rituals in Hindu weddings are complex, elaborate, noisy
and even messy. A large apartment complex in which most of the residents are
Hindu families is a nightmare world. Shanthi and I live in one. There are
seventy families in our complex and most of them are Hindus. Needless to say
weddings are a recurring nightmare in the community.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">In the nightmare we are currently experiencing, we are
direct victims. Seven days ago, at 7 o’clock in the morning, I was reading the
newspaper on my balcony on the first floor when I heard some noise coming from
the driveway below. I looked down. A decorated bamboo pole with a knotted piece
of cloth at the top was being planted by two workers in the shrubbery along the
driveway. The people around them, who were members of a family living on the
third floor above my flat, were giving them instructions. Once the ritual
planting was over, the family offered prayers to the consecrated pole.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘What could this be?’ I asked Shanthi</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Pandakkaal</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: times;">, she said. ‘But that’s Tamil. I think they call it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">raata pathatam</i> in Telugu. A pre-wedding
ritual to ward off the evil eye – to banish the demon of Drishti, you know.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘So, there’s going to be a wedding.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Tomorrow.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Once the </span><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">raata
muhurtam</i><span style="font-family: times;"> was over, the family turned to us. With them was a fellow-resident
I knew well. ‘Sir, we’ll set up a pandal here.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I smiled sheepishly without fully understanding what
he was saying.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">By 10 o’clock, the whole landscape had changed.
Bundles and bundles of bamboo and casuarina poles and lorry loads of dried palm
leaves had arrived. While some of the workers were unloading them, the others
were planting poles for a wedding pandal.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It was then that I realised that I had made a mistake.
The pandal ran along the entire length of my balcony from one end to another,
with casuarina poles and palm leaves crudely jutting out onto the balcony. It
was a crude shelter, a vestigial feature of our primitive past. And it looked
positively ugly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Just for a couple of days, I said to myself; once the
wedding was over, they would dismantle this primitive structure.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxdJ4LwEXwKp7nVYtN2jRNHBRgoOIFwAQsTvCo4VhjhA0UXEz3tsBVvncPsaiG1bpTONQ3Q9MjxZaWQiQPrOM1M2xKLrwdeCZzz0ZbNpNk66LKFqP8vNz5M2zw5zSmewmlMwDRtKFvhvqvhlrqVtNYvYzpLnmSV9ZgZJZpZ8sE1BkgLLg3Ff9jOJnm3A/s4209/20231103_165424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4209" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxdJ4LwEXwKp7nVYtN2jRNHBRgoOIFwAQsTvCo4VhjhA0UXEz3tsBVvncPsaiG1bpTONQ3Q9MjxZaWQiQPrOM1M2xKLrwdeCZzz0ZbNpNk66LKFqP8vNz5M2zw5zSmewmlMwDRtKFvhvqvhlrqVtNYvYzpLnmSV9ZgZJZpZ8sE1BkgLLg3Ff9jOJnm3A/w526-h264/20231103_165424.jpg" width="526" /></a></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">At quarter past four next morning, the residents woke
to heart-stopping beats emerging from the third floor. In a small enclosed
place, a </span><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tavil</i><span style="font-family: times;"> drum can produce
enormous, explosive noise. It was accompanied by deep, high-pitched,
disharmonious sounds from a nadaswaram, making a poor attempt to capture Thyagaraja
and Annamayya. The </span><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pellikuthuru</i><span style="font-family: times;">
ceremony had started! The apartment complex kept trembling for hours. At 9
o’clock, when I went downstairs, I found that vehicles had been cleared from
the parking lot in which there was now an over-decorated pandal where the bride
was being given </span><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mangala snanam</i><span style="font-family: times;">.
Needless to say that the parking lot was a mess.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I went back to my apartment. Shanthi asked me to open
the balcony door, and I did so. There were swarms and swarms of insects,
especially ants, crawling down the balcony wall from the pandal roof. What’s
worse, the domestic help told us that the pandal would stay for ten or fifteen
days.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">I spoke to the secretary of the owners’ association,
a former student.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘It’s a delicate issue, sir… Religious
sentiments…,’ he stuttered and stammered.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">‘</span><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sanatana
dharma</i><span style="font-family: times;">, I suppose.’ </span><span style="font-family: times; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">I sighed
wearily.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-align: justify;">Now, Deepavali, the festival of noise and noxious
smoke, among other things, is approaching. A few days from now, </span><i style="font-family: times; mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-align: justify;">sanatana dharm<br />is</i><span style="font-family: times; text-align: justify;"> will be busy firing
crackers. If one of them falls – accidentally, of course – on the pandal, there
will be a massive fireworks display on my balcony.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-83388201675394101412023-06-07T17:18:00.002+05:302023-06-07T17:19:24.074+05:30From the sidelines<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">A few
days ago, I was at the barber’s for a hair-cut. When I entered the narrow,
air-conditioned salon, a programme had been on on a Telugu TV channel. It was a
musical show on which different groups of young people were presenting a series
of music-cum-dance performances, and the competition was being judged by a
panel of judges consisting of a Tollywood star of yesteryear, a music director,
and two playback singers. The show was being anchored by a pretty young girl in
bridal outfit. All the eyes inside the salon were fixed on the TV screen. The
three barbers were no exception: they managed the cutting and the shaving with
one eye firmly fixed on the TV screen and another eye on the head or the chin
where the hands were dexterously at work. Time and again, the anchor, the
participants, and the judges were screaming out exciting exclamations in
half-Telugu-half-English, and this provoked a good deal of giggling inside the
salon.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">All of a sudden, the
anchor screamed, ‘Come on, guys, time is running out.’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">I asked my barber,
‘Ammayi cheppindi meekku ardhamayinda?’ </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Emi cheppindi, saar?’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Time is running out.’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Ante, time ayipoyindi,
katha?’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Ayipoyindi kathu;
ayipovuthunnadi.’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Time’s running out.
Cheppu,’ I said.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">My barber is not the
type that would have taken shelter from a rain in a school. He may have been
“conscripted” into a Telugu medium school for a couple of years, but the school
itself and the English language would have been poles apart. With some
difficulty, he said, ‘Time’s running out.’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">The programme
progressed. The anchor, the actress and the participants kept squealing with
excitement, either individually or all of them at the same time, and this
generated quite a lot of English expressions. I noticed a perceptible change in
the barber’s behaviour now: he seemed to be listening carefully rather than
casually, as he had been earlier.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">All of a sudden, the
anchor screamed, ‘”Oh” momentnurchi ippudu manam “wow” momentkku vachamu!’ </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">Now, the barber asked
me, ‘Sir, “wow” ante enti?’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Oh” kooda annaru
katha? Adu meeku ardhamaindha?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">He gave a sheepish
smile.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">I said, ‘oh ante
ascharyam.’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Wow ante?’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">‘Wow ante chala
ascharyam.’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">The first round of
presentations in the series was perhaps the “oh” moment for the anchor. They
were in the last round now, and the sense of surprise, from the anchor’s point
of view, had reached a crescendo. Hence her description of it as the “wow”
moment.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;">Film-based
dance-and-music shows of this kind take place almost every day on television
channels, and they are keenly watched by young people like my barber. But,
hereafter, when he watches these programmes, he will do so with yet another
purpose added to his watching: he will not let go of the English-language
expressions in the exclamations being screamed out without thinking about them
and making sense of them because his attention has been focused on this
particular aspect. And, given this attention, he will have little difficulty in
understanding those expressions in their context. In other words, what I did with
the barber was consciousness-raising, and I believe this works eminently in
adult language learning.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: x-large;">Perhaps the basic
principles that operate in the barber situation should be the guiding
principles behind our instructional efforts on a foreign language programme
meant for adult learners – namely, motivation, consciousness-raising, a certain
amount of teaching followed by practice, with the rest of the responsibility
for pursuing and consolidating their learning in an ongoing way – throughout
their lives – being left to the individual learners.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: x-large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-62241084339721892132023-05-13T15:36:00.004+05:302023-05-13T15:39:21.048+05:30Will the new curricular framework ensure that undergraduate courses are broad-based?<p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It appears that the Andhra
Pradesh State Council of Higher Education (APSCHE) has redesigned the
undergraduate curriculum providing for the replacement of the existing
three-year three-major programmes with four-year single-major honours
programmes. Yesterday’s newspapers carried the APSCHE Chairman’s press release
about the restructuring. Details are not available yet, but the decision in
favour of the single-major pattern seems to be based on the idea that the
choice-based credit system (CBCS) the new curriculum seeks to introduce can
work better within a single-major framework.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Each system has its merits,
but, in my opinion, at the undergraduate level, a curriculum of a general
nature covering a broad spectrum of different disciplines can serve the
interests of students better.</span><span style="font-family: times; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">The
three-major system is ideally suited to this purpose.</span><span style="font-family: times; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">Giving it up in favour of the single-major
system may not, therefore, be a good idea.</span><span style="font-family: times; mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="font-family: times;">Incidentally, the single-major pattern is not something new to the
higher education system in states like Andhra Pradesh: it had been in practice
until the three-major system, a broad-based one, replaced it a few decades ago.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Why am I in favour of a
broad-based curriculum at the undergraduate level?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">In India, the undergraduate
course is not a terminal programme: in a majority of cases, the students join a
postgraduate course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the postgraduate
level, a product of the single-major system has almost no choice of disciplines
because of their narrow specialization at the undergraduate level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, they are ineligible for any
discipline other than the one they have studied at the undergraduate level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their choice at the college-entry level
should, therefore, be a mature and informed one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise, it will be much more punishing
than the "original sin".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Considering that the undergraduate stage is a maturation point rather
than a saturation point, it stands to reason that the undergraduate should be
given the opportunity to explore multiple disciplines before s/he is mature
enough to decide on a subject for in-depth study at the postgraduate level. But it is not clear yet whether the honours programmes the APSCHE is introducing are
designed to be terminal or non-terminal ones.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">There is another reason – a
more compelling one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Competitive
examinations for appointment to the Central civil services, and national-level
tests for academic selection for fellowships and grants are comprehensive in
nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A graduate from a multi-major
system is certainly better equipped to take these tests than a graduate from
the single-major system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The poor
performance of graduates from Tamil Nadu on these tests, in particular, the
Civil Services Examinations, should be attributed, among other things, to their
narrow specialization at the undergraduate level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">There is, however, an
interesting aspect to the single-major pattern of states like Tamil Nadu where
I studied for all my degrees, including my PhD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It includes two allied or ancillary subjects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This indicates a faint recognition of the
need to enrich an undergraduate programme by incorporating related disciplines
into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the inclusion of related
disciplines does not serve the purpose of enrichment because they are not equal
in status to the main subject.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When there is need to make
even postgraduate education broad-based, reintroducing the single-major system
will be a retrograde step. What is,
however, urgently needed is the strengthening of the system by introducing more
useful combinations. The Chairman’s announcement says that the new system will
be multi-disciplinary. I do hope it addresses the need for undergraduate
courses being broad-based.</span><span style="font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0India20.593684 78.962887.0893894860645723 61.384755 34.097978513935431 96.541005tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-26644991270168354752022-12-29T09:51:00.002+05:302022-12-29T09:51:38.260+05:30Rest in peace, Father Peter Raj!<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I’m sorry to hear that Father Peter Raj has passed away. He was my colleague in the Department of English at Andhra Loyola College (ALC) for a long period of time, and my Principal from 1999 until his retirement in 2004. I have just heard from Father Peter Kishore, ALC Principal, that he died of multiple organ failure at 4.00 pm yesterday.</span></span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xdj266r x126k92a" style="animation-name: none !important; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Fr Raj was a multi-talented person. He was a gifted teacher, an accomplished singer, a skilful keyboard player <span style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><a style="animation-name: none !important; color: #385898; cursor: pointer; transition-property: none !important;" tabindex="-1"></a></span>and an eloquent speaker whose oration at Father Gordon’s funeral was ringing in my ears months after the funeral. If he was so sparing in his use of these talents, it was because he wanted to keep out of the public eye; he preferred, instead, a life of splendid isolation.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="animation-name: none !important; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: left; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">There were other gifts, by no means of less value. One of them was his legendary level-headedness. Staffroom conversations often centred round Fr Raj’s uncanny ability to remain unprovoked in situations in which anybody else would fly into a fury. For all his awesome “high seriousness,” Fr Raj had a great sense of humour. He often cracked jokes and told funny stories with that sphinx-like expression of his never disappearing from the face. But, alas, not many got his jokes! For one thing, they were far too subtle. For another, they were couched in Johnsonian seesaws and so eloquently expressed with Miltonic sublimity. Not surprisingly, they sounded rather like the oration he had famously delivered! Soon, however, the sensible humorist stopped telling jokes. But he continued to read PG Wodehouse. I wonder what he enjoyed most in PGW – Bertie’s Mayfair slang or Jeeves’s Wardour Street of which he himself was a master, or both.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="animation-name: none !important; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: left; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘A place sheweth the man,’ said Francis Bacon. A truer word has never been spoken. The real nature of a person – his “true colours” – comes out most when he holds a position of authority and exercises power. Power has shown some people to be better and some worse. ‘People would have deemed him fit for emperor had he never become emperor,’ said Tacitus, the ancient Roman historian, about Galba. That was never said about Fr Raj. In power or out of it, he was always his own true self, to wit, a gentleman.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Rest in peace, Father Peter Raj!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; transition-property: none !important;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsG2vm-CcABlHpShbA3BUjT-DsSnlqmfyTDdrcX87phPxEdrX4DMOeAQ3O17nnIIPAoGEBOpiv5R7tHIOd_2d7yf0APmFR0bcIdgqzNHmTf7Pwb4FCAMjgok-8X5TlwdYHv22E73igHsCbd8uMQi-qmAAm0V-EXKBS9ER3ZgkEWe-kLA9cLneybmdh/s278/Peter%20Raj%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsG2vm-CcABlHpShbA3BUjT-DsSnlqmfyTDdrcX87phPxEdrX4DMOeAQ3O17nnIIPAoGEBOpiv5R7tHIOd_2d7yf0APmFR0bcIdgqzNHmTf7Pwb4FCAMjgok-8X5TlwdYHv22E73igHsCbd8uMQi-qmAAm0V-EXKBS9ER3ZgkEWe-kLA9cLneybmdh/w234-h320/Peter%20Raj%202.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /><br /></span></div></div></div><p><br /></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0India20.593684 78.96288-7.7165498361788458 43.80663 48.903917836178849 114.11913tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-16440806550954959332022-12-09T18:06:00.010+05:302022-12-10T03:36:59.800+05:30From the sidelines<p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">A few days ago,
I was at the barber’s for a hair-cut. When I entered the narrow,
air-conditioned salon, a programme had been on on a Telugu TV channel. It was a
musical show on which different groups of young people were presenting a series
of music-cum-dance performances, and the competition was being judged by a
panel of judges consisting of a Tollywood star of yesteryear, a music director,
and two playback singers. The show was being anchored by a pretty young girl in
bridal outfit. All the eyes inside the salon were fixed on the TV screen. The
three barbers were no exception: they managed the cutting and the shaving with
one eye firmly fixed on the TV screen and another eye on the head or the chin
where the hands were dexterously at work. Time and again, the anchor, the participants,
and the judges were screaming out exciting exclamations in
half-Telugu-half-English, and this provoked giggling inside the salon.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">All of a sudden,
the anchor screamed, ‘Come on, guys, time is running out.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I asked my
barber, ‘Ammayi cheppindi meekku ardhamayinda?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Emi cheppindi,
saar?’</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Time is running
out.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Ante, time
ayipoyindi katha?’</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Ayipoyindi kathu; ayipovuthunnadi.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Time’s running
out. Cheppu,’ I said.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">My barber is not
the type that would take shelter from a rain in a school. He may have been “conscripted”
into a Telugu medium school for a couple of years, but the school itself and
the English language would have been poles apart. With some difficulty, he
said, ‘Time’s running out.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The programme
progressed. The anchor, the actress and the participants kept squealing with
excitement, either individually or all of them at the same time, and this
generated quite a lot of English expressions. I noticed a perceptible change in
the barber’s behaviour now: he seemed to be listening carefully rather than
casually, as he had been earlier.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">All of a sudden,
the anchor screamed, ‘”Oh” momentnurchi ippudu manam “wow” momentkku vochamu!’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Now, the barber
asked me, ‘Sir, “wow” ante enti?’</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Oh” kooda
annaru katha? Adu meeku ardhamayinda?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">He gave a
sheepish smile.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I said, ‘oh ante
ascharyam.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Wow ante?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Wow ante chala
ascharyam</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The first round
of presentations in the series was perhaps the “oh” moment for the anchor. They
were in the last round now, and the sense of surprise, from the anchor’s point
of view, had reached a crescendo. Hence her description of it as the “wow”
moment.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Film-based
dance-and-music shows of this kind take place almost every day on television
channels, and they are keenly watched by young people like my barber. But,
hereafter, when he watches these programmes, he will do so with yet another
purpose added to his watching: he will not let go of the English-language
expressions in the exclamations being screamed out without thinking about them
and making sense of them because his attention has been focused on this
particular aspect. And, given this attention, he will have little difficulty in
understanding those expressions in their context. In other words, what I did with
the barber was consciousness-raising, and I believe this works eminently in
adult language learning.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Perhaps the
basic principles that operate in the barber situation should be the guiding
principles behind our instructional efforts on a foreign language programme meant
for adult learners – namely, motivation, consciousness-raising, a certain
amount of teaching followed by practice, with the rest of the responsibility
for pursuing and consolidating their learning in an ongoing way -- throughout
their lives – being left to the individual learners.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com8India20.593684 78.96288-7.7165498361788458 43.80663 48.903917836178849 114.11913tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-59923493689718600922022-10-29T21:47:00.007+05:302022-10-29T21:55:22.826+05:30Visiting Kayarambedu after fifty years<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When Rahul, who
lives in Toronto, said he wanted to visit his ancestral village and worship at
the temple where his ancestors had worshipped, I was pleasantly surprised. ‘There
is something to be said for exile,’ I thought, remembering R. Parthasarathy. ‘You
learn roots are deep.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">We set out for
Kayarambedu on the penultimate Saturday of the holy month of Purattasi. With me
were Shanthi, Rahul, and his family consisting of his wife, Sripriya, and his
six-year-old daughter, Srishti. None of them had seen the village before; in
fact, I was visiting the village myself after about fifty years.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The car pulled
up at a square where there was a crowd of villagers. The surroundings were
dotted with shanties and awful-looking roadside eats with a rough narrow road
with crumbling edges meandering behind an Ambedkar in a blue coat. Behind us,
horns honked impatiently.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I lowered the
window and was hit by voices, music, horns, sirens and tobacco smoke.
‘Kayarambedu…’ I shouted, ‘Can you tell me the way to Kayarambedu?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Kayarambedu?’
queried an old man after blowing a puff of smoke into the air. ‘Go this way,’
he said, pointing to the rough road behind the Ambedkar statue, ‘and turn right
where the road forks.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">From the fork, the
path wobbled above, up on an old embankment from which a herd of buffaloes was
climbing down. </span><span style="background: white; font-family: times;">The sense of <i>déjà vu</i> was overwhelming. I said,</span><span style="font-family: times;"> ‘Certain things
don’t change.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘What doesn’t
change, Thatha?’ asked Srishti.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I pointed to the
buffaloes and said, ‘A herd of buffaloes climbing down this tank bund after a
nice bath. I used to watch this day after day through the classroom window when
I was a child like you.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘So, there is a
school here?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘On your right.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘You studied
here, Thatha?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Sort of. I
spent a couple of years here. There were only two teachers for the whole
school, and they were busy chatting.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘And you were
left to watch buffaloes.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">This evoked a
peal of merry laughter.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">We drove past
the school and a Shiva temple. The car gingerly moved into a narrow street,
slowed to a crawl and came to a halt in front of the remains of what must once
have been a temple. ‘Google Map says this is Kariamanikka Perumal Temple,’ said
the driver.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘But it doesn’t
look much like a temple,’ Shanthi complained. ‘It doesn’t even have a gopuram.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘This is the
place,’ I reassured her. ‘Of course, it’s worse than it used to be in the past.
But, even in the past, it never had a <i>gopuram</i>, but it didn’t seem to cause any
unease to our ancestors who worshipped here.’ I twinkled and added, ‘And they were
quite well-to-do.’ I chuckled at the astonishment on her face.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times;">I turned my attention to the temple now. It looked much
smaller than it was when I was a child, shrunken and pathetic. The </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: times;">dhvajastambham</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times;"> had disappeared, and so
had the </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: times;">thirumadaipalli</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times;"> (sacred
kitchen). But the </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: times;">balipeetam</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times;"> and the
sacred well remained intact. So did the </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: times;">pradakshina
patha</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times;"> which, to my surprise, was well laid out.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background: white; font-family: times;">We went into the temple. <i>Moolavar thirumanjanam</i> was going on, and the “priest” performing it
was a young man (who later told me that he was the archaka’s son and a student
of MBA in an engineering college in a neighbouring town).</span><span style="font-family: times;"> Milk, curd, turmeric water, and plain
water were pouring in a steady stream over the stone idol unaccompanied by any </span><i style="font-family: times;">kattiyam</i><span style="font-family: times;"> (‘</span><i style="font-family: times;">Kattiyam</i><span style="font-family: times;">? What’s that?’ the young man later asked me). Every now
and then, the young man waved his hand, and the congregation outside the
sanctum responded with a rousing chorus of ‘Govinda, Go-vinda!’ It was an
unconventional way of performing an </span><i style="font-family: times;">abhishekam</i><span style="font-family: times;">,
but quite impressive, and the Lord was smiling enigmatically as if amused by
this new ritual. Whenever there was a Govinda </span><i style="font-family: times;">gosham</i><span style="font-family: times;"> (roar), his eyelids flickered open and he looked at the
crowd winsomely!</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">The </span><i style="font-family: times;">archaka</i><span style="font-family: times;"> arrived now. It turned out he was
a Telugu </span><i style="font-family: times;">pantulu</i><span style="font-family: times;"> belonging to the </span><i style="font-family: times;">smarta</i><span style="font-family: times;"> tradition and was unacquainted
with Sri Vaishnava </span><i style="font-family: times;">sampradayam</i><span style="font-family: times;">. There
was, therefore, no chanting of </span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">‘Tadvi</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">ṣṇ</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">o</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">ḥ</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;"> parama</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">ṁ</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;"> pada</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">ṁ</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;"> sadā
paśyanti sūraya</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">ḥ…’</span><span style="font-family: times;"> at the
time of the </span><i style="font-family: times;">aarti</i><span style="font-family: times;">; there was no ‘Pallaandu,
pallaandu…’ either. There was only an invigorating chorus of ‘Govinda,
Go-vinda!’ and the Lord listened to this </span><i style="font-family: times;">namasmarana</i><span style="font-family: times;">
with an expression of pure rapture on his face. Karumanikka Perumal is an
undemanding god; he knows that the key to happiness is being easily pleased. One
of the villagers had brought some </span><i style="font-family: times;">naivedyam</i><span style="font-family: times;">
cooked in her house, and the <i>pantulu</i> had no hesitation in offering it to the
Lord. The temple didn’t seem to be captive to brahminical traditions any
longer; it had become egalitarian!</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">I came out of
the temple to explore the street. It looked small and shrunken with abandoned or
neglected houses on both sides falling apart. Didn’t people live in this street
anymore?</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">Broken beams hung down from the
tiled roof of Rangaswamy Ayyangar’s house. I looked wistfully at the raised
platform adjacent to the entrance which had been reduced to rubble now. On this
</span><i style="font-family: times;">thinnai</i><span style="font-family: times;">, Uncle Chinnappa, who was a
gifted raconteur, used to regale us, children of the </span><i style="font-family: times;">agraharam</i><span style="font-family: times;">, with delightful tales, so full of adventure, emotion,
adult content, and scatological humour, from Tamil folklore, especially </span><i style="font-family: times;">Aaayiram Thalaivaangiya Apoorva Chintamani</i><span style="font-family: times;">.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">The house I grew up in used to be just
opposite this house. I turned back and found in the place of the house a bleak
and desolate landscape.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Now a group of
villagers came. They were curious to know who this old man was, and why he was
surveying the </span><i style="font-family: times;">agraharam</i><span style="font-family: times;">. I introduced
myself. None of them knew me, but my father’s name worked like magic. ‘I’m
Natesan’s son, Sami,’ said a 75-year-old man. ‘Your father was a great person.
We miss him.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘<i>Sir</i>, not
swamy,’ I corrected him, but he shook his head.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">More people came
now, introducing themselves as Aiyaavu’s son, Veerabhadra Naicker’s younger
son, Gopalu’s elder son, Ponnuswamy’s daughter, somebody else’s
daughter-in-law, and so on. They all spoke about my father with affection.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Can you
recognize me?’ a shaky voice asked. I shook my head.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I’m Kasi.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Meenakshi’s
son?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">His dark face
beamed with delight when he nodded his head. ‘You remember my mother!’ His eyes
grew moist with tears of joy. ‘I am 82 now.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I gave him a hug
and said, ‘But you don’t look so, Kasi.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The crowd
watched this scene with fascination. ‘It’s like being with your father again,’
said an old man. ‘It feels so good.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">An angry, raspy
voice spoke from behind. ‘What your relatives did to your family was terrible. I
was here when they came to sell the property. It was rough, aggressive… the
action and the language. The Lord…’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Oh, no,’ I turned
round and protested. ‘I don’t want to hear about it. I just wanted my
granddaughter’s feet to touch this soil, and I’m glad they did so. Today, three
generations of my family stood together and worshipped at the temple where
several generations of the Asuri family had worshipped in the past. It’s a
great feeling, and I want to savour it to the full.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">As the car wound
around the tank bund, I said to Shanthi, ‘I’m glad I came here at least now. I
owe it to Rahul. The visit gave me an opportunity to come to terms with my
father with whom I had not been on speaking terms for over a decade until his
death in 1986.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com5Vijayawada12.4483048 80.683062499999991-19.845952553257987 45.526812499999991 44.742562153257992 115.83931249999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-39683296272637608112022-02-06T17:59:00.004+05:302022-02-06T18:07:59.814+05:30A yathaartham issue provoked by one of my stories<p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">https://solvanam.com/2021/11/28/%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a3%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a3%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%8d/</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Set against the backdrop of the sufferings of teachers on account of pay cuts and job losses in the aftermath of the coronavirus outbreak, this story, titled ‘Punyam,’ is about an uncomplaining language teacher who has started working as an archaka in a temple to earn some extra income, and the support he receives from a trading community which lives in an apple-pie world, comforting but limiting, with black-and-white notions about papam and punyam, and a furniture merchant for whom helping the poverty-stricken teacher was a means of gaining some punyam.</span></p><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The story has unwittingly thrown up a <i>yathaartham</i> issue. Soon after its publication in a US-based – or, so I believe – webzine last month, one of the members of the editorial team was so candid as to share with me the discussion the team had had on the story as part of their selection procedures. It appears that a team member had felt that the encouragement for Hindu ritualistic practices the story presented was against the reality (“yathaartham”) of what he believed to be the increasing denigration of such practices in our times. In other words, what he/she meant was that my story presents a fictionalized and romanticized view of a benevolence which is rather anachronistic.</span></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I’m afraid this assumption is ill-informed. Many retail outlets in places like Vijayawada are owned by people from traditional trading communities. A priest visiting these business premises in the evenings to perform a pooja is something quite common. In some, especially big shops, this takes place every day, while, in others, it is done on Fridays. A priest visits a corporate hospital in my neighbourhood and does pooja; this takes place on a daily basis. And the hospital is by no means an exception.</span></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">As a teacher educator, I am associated with a number of schools, colleges and universities in this country, and, sometime ago, I did a survey of the conditions of private school teachers, who had been rendered jobless within months of the Coronavirus outbreak. They were doing all kinds of odd jobs, not excluding online teaching on a part-time basis, to earn a living. Among them was a group of language teachers, well up in Sanskrit and Telugu. Given their home backgrounds, which had led to their initiation into Sanskrit and <i>anushtanam</i> in their childhood, it was possible for them to carry out priestly functions after some training and work in temples also as archakas or poojaris. One of those teachers, who seemed to be doing this with the utmost competence, claimed that his monthly income was five times the amount his school had been paying him. Not all language teachers were so lucky, of course; many of them fell by the wayside for want of competence. But those who were good at Sanskrit quickly acquired the stock-in-trade necessary for successful functioning in this field and were doing well. This is true even of Tamil Nadu where traditional Hindu religious practices have not been overridden by “secular” and anti-Hindu – not anti-religious, I must hasten to add! – movements and the overt or covert encouragement they draw from public intellectuals. In other words, traditional Hindu religious practices and the denigration of those practices co-exist, and the “support” they draw from each other is indeed paradoxical.</span></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">This, in my perception, is the contemporary reality which, I must point out, is a complex mixture. From within this reality, one can choose the kind of <i>yathaartham</i> one wants depending upon one’s purpose, and express a sensibility one wants one’s readers to experience. I believe that there is no such thing as hard <i>yathaartham</i> or soft <i>yathaartham</i> in literary representation; those who insist on a particular kind of <i>yathaartham</i> are only pontificating, using easy, dismissive, push-button expressions. When the <i>yathaartham</i> question was brought to my notice, I felt like asking, ‘Which <i>yathaartham</i>? And whose <i>yathaartham</i>?’ I believe that what is important is what a writer does with the yathaartham s/he has chosen. </span></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">What have I done with my choice? To a superficial reader or listener, my story, set against the backdrop of the sufferings of teachers on account of pay cuts and job losses in the aftermath of the coronavirus outbreak, is about an uncomplaining teacher who has started working as an archaka in a temple to earn some extra income, and the support he receives from a trading community and a furniture merchant for whom helping the poverty-stricken teacher was a means of gaining some punyam. But a careful reader will find that the businessman with a simplistic view of papam and punyam is subjected to an ironical treatment and that his uncharacteristic act of benevolence is treated with some complexity. So is the trading community which pays a measly Rs 10,000 for an entire month of work in the temple, though the teacher thinks that it was a magnanimous gesture. If one looks at the title (“புண்ணியம்”) in the light of all this, one will find it suggestive. At first, I chose a literary catchword for the title but rejected it on second thoughts, and settled for the simple ‘புண்ணியம் ('punyam'), hoping that the reader would reflect on its appropriateness. On a lighter note, considering that reading – or listening – has by and large become a casual affair, one may even insist that free-and-easy reading is the yathaartham, and that literature should be conducive to that kind of reading!</span></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">P.S.: One of the problems with a teacher-writer is that s/he often becomes a virtual <i>bhashyakaar</i> (भाष्यकार) of his/her own creations; the temptation is irresistable. Interestingly, one of the names of Sri Ramanuja, founder of the <i>Vishishtadvaitic</i> thought, after whom I am named, is Bhashyakaara.</span></div></div>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-9643389106446979052022-02-02T15:48:00.002+05:302022-02-02T15:51:32.621+05:30Bad tidings, glad tidings<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">February didn’t start on a good note. Or so I thought. As
dawn broke over Indrakeeladri and the city yawned awake, I writhed and twisted
as pain wracked my body. It was Omicron of a harsher kind striking down with
force without any advance notice. Apparently, Omicron doesn’t think much of
Cleopatra’s advice: <span style="color: #111111;">"Though it be honest, it
is never good to bring bad news; Give to a gracious message an host of tongues,
but let ill tidings tell themselves when they be felt."</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Well, it was evening, I had still been down with the
infection and barely got out of bed, when the phone rang.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Dr Parthasarathy?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Yes, this is Ramanujam.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I’m Anatara Dev Sen.’ The accent was unmistakably British.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘You mean, Prof. Amartya Sen’s daughter and the founding
editor of <i>TLM</i>?... Ms Sen, this is a privilege.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Call me Antara, please.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘If you could call me Ramanujam.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I would. I hope you read Sahitya Akademi’s <i>Indian
Literature</i>. I am the editor of the journal.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I had last read an issue of this journal some fifteen years
ago. When I said that – how I wish I hadn’t! – she sounded disappointed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">As it turned out, <i>Indian Literature</i> wants to carry an
English translation of one of my Tamil stories published over three decades ago
in a literary magazine called <span style="background: white; color: #050505;"><i>Kanaiyazhi</i>, which was a little magazine devoted to serious and even avant-garde writings in
Tamil when Mr Asokamitran and Dr Indira Parthasarathi were the editors, and Mr
K Kasturirangan, a veteran journalist and a former correspondent of <i>The New
York Times</i>, was the publisher. The story was re-published as a special story
in a webzine just three months ago.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Good tidings
indeed – amid the clouds of the Omicron gloom.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-39.71521677724688 10.335515299999997 72.72756537724689 150.9605153tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-73201545331494497372021-11-20T23:38:00.002+05:302021-11-20T23:45:23.205+05:30Please, sir, may I have one more teaspoon of…?<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The muhurtam was over. The knot
had been tied, but rituals were still going on. It was one o’clock already, and
I was driven by a sense of urgency.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Let’s grab a bite to eat and
leave at least by 2,’ I said to Shanthi.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘A bite!’ exclaimed the member
of the host family who was accompanying us to the dining hall. He looked
offended. I had a knack for annoying authority figures, and it was playing out
now.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I mean, a meal,’ I said correcting
myself.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘It’s a wedding feast,’ the
patriarch said authoritatively with an overemphasis on the last word. His long
lean face had fallen into an expression of grim disappointment. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ I lied,
‘I know it’s going to be a veritable banquet, and I do look forward to it.’ This
helped. Lies often do. He seemed to like the expression “banquet.” The grimness
slightly disappeared from his face, and he was trying to smile now.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Never one to lose an
opportunity to lecture, he said, ‘You’ll find the feast an interesting
combination of the best of Telugu and Tamil brahmin delicacies.’ He then went
into elaborate details on the subject, ignoring the look of disapproval on
Shanthi’s face and my agonized looks at my watch. ‘You both must do justice to
it,’ he concluded before ushering us into the dining hall and taking leave of
us.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span style="text-align: justify;">It was a
large hall with a high ceiling and ornate walls, reminding one of a concert
hall in Mysore Palace. Four hundred people could comfortably sit and eat in the
place, maintaining physical distancing of the kind Covid-19 protocol would
demand, but there were hardly two hundred guests.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">A dozen or so </span><i style="text-align: justify;">paricharaks</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> were in attendance. They were bare from the waist up, perhaps
to show off their </span><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">yagnopaveetham</span></i><span style="color: #222222; text-align: justify;"> and convince the
guests that they were indeed brahmins. I
settled in front of a large banana leaf, determined to keep my promise of doing
justice to the wedding feast.</span></span></p>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Discipline was the watchword in the dining hall. Once all the guests were
seated, the</span> <i><span style="font-weight: normal;">paricharaks
</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">came marching one behind the other, each person carrying a dish, and
started serving. I was so fascinated watching this parade of <i>paricharaks </i>without, of course, a drum
in the front that I didn’t look at my leaf-plate for some time. When my gaze finally
fell on the leaf, I couldn’t believe what I saw.</span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The leaf
was spotted with tiny dots of some ten food items – a teaspoon each of Andhra pappu,
Tamil paruppu, Andhra-Tamil potato curry, Tamil koottu, Andhra pulihora (not
Tamil puliyodarai), and so on. ‘There must be some mistake,’ I said aloud, and
looked at the table in front of me. The plates were just like mine with a
bemused expression on the faces of the people behind them. What was happening? I
craned forward to view the serving style of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">paricharaks.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></i></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Don’t
trouble yourself; they’re using teaspoons,’ said Shanthi suppressing her
laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘What
spoons?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Tea…tea…
teaspoons. Their serving spoons are teaspoons.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘You
mean, the kind of spoons used for measuring cough syrup?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Yes, and
for adding sugar to your tea.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘But why
should they use that spoon?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">She
stared at me for a moment. Then she said with a straight face, ‘Thrift, thrift,
Horatio…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Realization
slowly dawned on my weary mind. ‘Thrift, indeed!’ I said reflectively, having
been chastened by Hamlet’s words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Rice had
not been served yet, but Shanthi’s plate was empty and well-polished. ‘How did
you gobble up so many items so soon?’ I asked her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Simple. I
gathered all the items together, and they made one small handful. I needed just
a single effort to swallow it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It seemed
a sensible approach, and I decided to adopt it. I gathered all the items
together and stared at the multi-coloured ball of food in front of me. I
wondered what Appambhotlu of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Amaravathi
Kathalu</i> would have done in a situation of this kind. Would the bhojana chakravarthi
have proved equal to this situation? Not at all. He only knew what to do with
plenty; he wouldn’t know how to eat this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the time I came back from this reflection with my hand and mouth at
work on the food ball in front of me, my plate had looked greener and
well-polished. And I was hungry. Appetite, as Hamlet ruefully reflected, grows
upon what it feeds. Would there be a second helping of each item with a larger
spoon? Or, was I required to beg like Oliver: ‘Please, sir, I want some more.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Don’t be
silly,’ said Shanthi as though reading my thoughts. ‘There will be another
serving. Otherwise, what will you eat the rice with?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">She was
right. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">paricharaks</i> were by no
means Fagin & Co. They might be thrifty, but they were not hard-hearted.
They might use a teaspoon, but they would serve you again – and perhaps again! And
they wouldn’t shout, ‘What!’ like Fagin. They were now serving rice for which,
mercifully, they used a bigger spoon, and it was followed by a teaspoonful of
each dish they had served earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">A brown
round object of the size of a grape with an overburnt side fell on my leaf now.
‘What’s this?’ I asked Shanthi, holding the tiny hot ball in my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘You have
been in Andhra for about four decades now. Don’t you know what it is? It’s
poornalu.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Oh,
poornalu? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But why that –<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lu</i> ending for a noun in the singular?
There’s only one poornam, so use the singular form. Grammar apart, why in God’s
name is it so tiny? I have never seen poornalu of this size in Andhra.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘That’s
the point,’ she said with her voice dropping to a low whisper. ‘This is not
Andhra. We are in Telangana, and this is the Telangana variety. Perhaps the
poornalu standards are different here.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I broke
the tiny poornam into halves, and asked one of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">paricharaks </i>to pour some ghee into it. He generously poured –
spilled rather – a quarter teaspoon of ghee, and the combination was heavenly.
The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">perugu</i> that followed added to the
dining experience.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘What are
you waiting for? You’ve finished eating,’ said Shanthi shaking my shoulders. I
got up with a start.</span></span></h3><h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></h3><h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pBbivHL_F_I/YZk6UTOPpEI/AAAAAAAAKJA/xTc8PP-rcucxPAHt1OHT8SDlkrMv5TrjACNcBGAsYHQ/s882/Eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="809" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pBbivHL_F_I/YZk6UTOPpEI/AAAAAAAAKJA/xTc8PP-rcucxPAHt1OHT8SDlkrMv5TrjACNcBGAsYHQ/w294-h320/Eating.jpg" width="294" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">We
re-entered the marriage hall to say goodbye to the hosts. The host’s family and
their relatives were on stage now posing for photographs with the bride and the
bridegroom. Encrusted with chunky gold jewellery, almost every one of them was
a veritable jeweller’s shop. There was a gold girdle round every woman’s waist.
‘This place is quite unlike the dining hall,’ I whispered to Shanthi. ‘It is a
land of plenty.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h3>
<h3 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The patriarch
was nowhere in sight now, but a younger member of the family spoke to us. ‘How
did you find the wedding feast?’ he asked me. ‘It was healthy…wholesome…I mean,
balanced,’ I stammered.’ And added, ‘Just
the kind of diet that should be prescribed on weight loss programmes.’</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></h3>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-46784218047585615402021-10-21T09:18:00.001+05:302021-10-21T09:19:37.279+05:30Unlocking a Tata air conditioner<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">A
couple of days ago, I bought an air conditioner to replace the one we had used
in our bedroom for ages – and thereby hangs a tale.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The
AC was not a high-tech machine. Far from it. A non-inverter window AC, it
looked more conventional than the one it was meant to replace. But,
unfortunately for me, it was one of those “special” models whose “activation,”
demanded what the manufacturing company, Voltas, called “unlocking.” What
followed was a comedy of errors in three scenes.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">In
Scene One, my electrician, who never tires of telling me and my wife that he is
a world-class electrician, plumber and carpenter all rolled into one, spent
about an hour removing the old AC, doing a bit of carpentry for the frame,
fixing the new cabinet, and placing the new AC unit into it, lecturing me all
the time about the significance of each piece of work. Pausing for some time to
view and admire his own accomplishment, he now set about the task of
weatherproofing and insulation. When the demonstration-cum-lecture was over, he
strutted peacock-like from one side of the machine to the other, and announced
with something of the air of Molvolio that everything was perfect. Then he
turned the MCB on and pressed the power button on the remote.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Nothing
happened. There was no response from the AC.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It
was a classic bedroom farce: plenty of flirting and foreplay with no
fulfilment. I heard a slight snort now and looked back. Shanthi was doubled
over with silent laughter. She gestured me to follow her, and we quietly moved
out of the bedroom. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When we reached the
living room, she burst out laughing like a free-flowing drain and said, ‘It
serves him right for making a drama out of nothing. God, how he strutted and
bragged like Chaunticleer!’ I rebuked her, ‘Why are you gloating at his
failure? The AC is ours after all.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When,
a minute later, we went back to the scene of no action, the electrician looked
completely spent. There was no need to ask him whether I could call a Voltas
technician.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Scene
Two opens on a short, undernourished Voltas technician (SUVT) arriving on my
balcony. He wore a pair of skimpy jeans far below his belly button, which
accentuated his shortness, and a cheap, crumpled casual shirt with fading designs
on it. With a scruffy beard and long, scraggly hair perfectly matching this
sartorial disorder, he walked into the bedroom with a scraggier-looking
technician following him. After fumbling with the AC for some time and
attempting a conversation with Voltas Customer Care (CC), he looked at his
scraggier colleague in a gesture of helplessness.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘What’s
the problem?’ I asked him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘CC
cannot speak Telugu, sir,’ he said.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘And
that’s the only language you can understand, I suppose… Perhaps I can speak to
CC.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I
called CC, opting for English. A CC executive spoke. It took me some time to
figure out that what she spoke was English. And when, eventually, my ears got
attuned to her lingo, I started passing on her instructions to SUVT.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Turn
the power on. Does a code appear on the display screen?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Yes,
c1.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘c1,
OK. Now, note down this password.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘OK.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Turn
the remote on now.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Done
it.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Press
the saver key on the remote. Keep pressing it for ten seconds. Now, what do you
see on the remote display?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘0’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Now,
use the UP or DOWN keys to select alphanumeric characters…’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">This
went on. After a certain stage, she said, ‘Sorry, sir, there is a technical
problem. Please call us after some time.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">SUVT
and his colleague looked tired after this exercise. They went out, came back,
and went out again. When they returned, I asked them, ‘What’s the point of this
walking exercise? Are you really Voltas technicians?’ ‘Yes, sir, but we’ve
recently joined the company,’ SUVT said. ‘And we are not well up in activation
techniques.’ ‘Why did you come then?’ I asked him. With a sheepish look, he
took out of his pocket a smartphone whose size was disproportionate to his own diminutive
figure and called a senior technician. ‘He’s on the way, sir. Will be here in
five minutes.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">An
hour later, two more technicians arrived, and Scene Three opened on a large
congregation of Voltas technicians in my bedroom with my anxiety levels
reaching a crescendo, given that the coronavirus was still around. The most
senior of the technicians called the CC now, and started dancing like a cat on
a hot tin roof: there was no one to speak to him in Telugu. I was the only one
on the scene who could understand the Voltas CC lingo to some extent, and so I
girded up my loins and pitched in. To cut a long story short, the AC was at last
unlocked.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">There
was a serious epilogue to this otherwise farcical comedy. ‘Can you pay the
installation charge, sir?’ asked the senior technician without looking
shamefaced. ‘Rs 499 plus 18% GST plus…’ I gave him Rs 625 and dismissed all
four of them. My electrician, who had been uncharacteristically silent
throughout the activation drama, collected Rs 1800 and quietly left the place.
The place was now rid of all the farceurs.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Tata
is a great man,’ Shanthi mused reflectively.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘How
did you discover that?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘With
employees whose skills seem to be little better than Neanderthal, he is able to
produce a successful air conditioner. Isn’t that greatness?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Indeed.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-77283672663440727212021-10-15T16:17:00.010+05:302021-11-20T23:53:11.952+05:30‘பெருந்தேவிக்கு பி. ஜி. உடௌஸ் வேண்டாம்’ (‘PG Wodehouse? Not for Perundevi’ )<p><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Latha, sans-serif">பெருந்தேவிக்கு பி. ஜி. உடௌஸ் வேண்டாம்,</span></b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> </span></b><b>published at: https://solvanam.com/, Issue
256 / October 13, 2021</b></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/10/13/%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%86%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a8%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%aa%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%9c%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%89%e0%ae%9f%e0%af%8c/" style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://solvanam.com/2021/10/13/%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%86%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a8%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%aa%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%9c%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%89%e0%ae%9f%e0%af%8c/</span></a></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It
was only after a couple of false starts that I was able to write this story in
Tamil. At first it seemed ill-considered and wrong-headed to attempt in Tamil a
story that depended so much on P G Wodehouse’s fiction, especially the use of
Wardour Street English and Mayfair slang, and engagement breakups. Would the
readers have some idea of PGW’s novels in order to make sense of what my
characters were talking about? If not, would it be possible for me to build
that background knowledge into the story without sounding pedantic? Hadn’t I
better write this story in English? These were some of my misgivings.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-align: left; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">But,
eventually, things turned out all right; the fact that there is an effortless
combination of the suburban (Bertie’s Mayfair slang, I mean) and the classical
(Jeeves’s Wardour Street, of course) in PGW’s fiction fell smoothly into place
in one of the conversations in the story without any “hard labour” on my part
to explain the idea.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #050505; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">PGW’s
books are what Chesterton called the “good bad books” – books which don’t
pretend to be literature but which continue to be read when the so-called
classics are no longer read. In the last three decades, I haven’t touched even
one PGW. But in my younger days, he was a passion. So much so that by the time
I left Madras Christian College with a BA degree, I had read some twenty five
novels of PGW from among the 40-odd Penguin paperback volumes that lined a top
rack in Miller Memorial Library (</span><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #050505;"><a href="https://mcc.edu.in/library-2/">https://mcc.edu.in/library-2/</a></span><span style="color: #050505;">)</span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #050505; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. And the temptation to attempt to write like
Wodehouse was strong. One of those stories was published in the Madras edition
of <i>The Indian Express</i> (in a supplement called ‘Youthink’) over forty years ago,
and, a few years later, <i>The Hindu</i> published another story in its ‘Literary
Review’ supplement. The latest one in the series is ‘Testing Times,’ published
in 2015 in a webzine called <i>Readomania</i> (</span><a href="https://www.readomania.com/story/testing-times?fbclid=IwAR3xKWmN84nBfLuRwLIpszdxtwz9_a5MP-29v_ceIqUzmG2lJlSUAVlsvJs" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; text-decoration-line: none;">https://www.readomania.com/story/testing-times</span></a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #050505; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">).</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-align: left; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">That
I went back to Wodehouse for scene-setting and backgrounding in a story in
Tamil suggests how deep and abiding the influence of this producer of what
Chesterton called “amiable nonsense” is on me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></span><p></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-23715952068364326772021-10-15T16:06:00.007+05:302021-11-20T23:55:26.596+05:30My stories in Tamil, published in the last six months<p><b><span style="font-size: large;">1. யார் பைத்தியம், https://solvanam.com/, Issue 242 / March 14, 2021</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/03/14/%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%be%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%8d-%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%88%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%8d/">https://solvanam.com/2021/03/14/%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%be%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%8d-%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%88%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%8d/</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">2. இதினிக்கோ, https://solvanam.com/, Issue 243 / March 28, 2021</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/03/28/%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%a9%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8b/">https://solvanam.com/2021/03/28/%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%a9%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8b/</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">3. சீதுரு, https://solvanam.com/, Issue 246 / May 9, 2021</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/05/09/%e0%ae%9a%e0%af%80%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%81%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81/">https://solvanam.com/2021/05/09/%e0%ae%9a%e0%af%80%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%81%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81/</a></span></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">4. வேக்சினேஷன் வைபவம், <a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/10/13/%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%86%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a8%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%aa%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%9c%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%89%e0%ae%9f%e0%af%8c/">https://solvanam.com/, Issue 248 / June 12, 2021</a></span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/10/13/%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%86%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a8%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%aa%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%9c%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%89%e0%ae%9f%e0%af%8c/">https://solvanam.com/2021/06/12/%e0%ae%b5%e0%af%87%e0%ae%95%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%b8%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%a9%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b7%e0%ae%a9%e0%af%8d-%e0%ae%b5%e0%af%88%e0%ae%aa%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%8d/</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>5. இதை என்னவென்று சொல்வது? </b><b>https://solvanam.com/, Issue 252 / August 8, 2021</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://solvanam.com/2021/08/08/%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%88-%e0%ae%8e%e0%ae%a9%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a9%e0%ae%b5%e0%af%86%e0%ae%a9%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%b1%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%9a%e0%af%8a%e0%ae%b2%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%81/">https://solvanam.com/2021/08/08/%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%88-%e0%ae%8e%e0%ae%a9%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a9%e0%ae%b5%e0%af%86%e0%ae%a9%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%b1%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%9a%e0%af%8a%e0%ae%b2%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%81/</a></span></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">6.வேர்கள், re-published at: http://www.sirukathaigal.com/, October 9, 2021</span> </b></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.sirukathaigal.com/%e0%ae%9a%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b1%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%95%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%88/%e0%ae%b5%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%ae%b3%e0%af%8d-2/#more-34539">http://www.sirukathaigal.com/%e0%ae%9a%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b1%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%aa%e0%af%81-%e0%ae%95%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%88/%e0%ae%b5%e0%af%87%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%95%e0%ae%b3%e0%af%8d-2/#more-34539</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;">This story was originally published in September 1989. It was published in </span><i style="font-size: xx-large;"><span>Kanaiyazhi</span></i><span style="font-size: xx-large;">, a little magazine devoted to serious and even avant-garde writings in Tamil when Dr Indira Parthasarathi was the editor, and Mr K Kasturirangan, a veteran journalist and a former correspondent of </span><i style="font-size: xx-large;"><span>The New York Times</span></i><span style="font-size: xx-large;">, was the publisher. I'm glad that it has found its way to re-publication as a special story </span><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">(</span><span style="font-size: large;">சிறப்புச்சிறுகதை</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">)</span></span><b style="font-size: xx-large;"> </b><span style="font-size: xx-large;">at http://www.sirukathaigal.com/ thirty-two years after it was originally published.</span></span></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Latha","sans-serif""><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-49702295210124286842021-09-10T10:14:00.000+05:302021-09-10T10:14:05.698+05:30Where is Sriman Narayana?<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It is the Tamil version of a Telugu movie. A family has come
with a marriage proposal, and Sriman Narayana’s grandmother – a decrepit K R
Vijaya – who is worried about SN’s marriage getting delayed, is happy. ‘Where
is Sriman Narayana?’ every one of them asks. ‘He must still be on campus,’ the
grandmother says with a weary sadness in her voice. ‘Don’t you know he is a
college teacher?’ Or something to that effect; her tinny, faint words are
obscured by a fast-approaching machine.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #050505;">Now a car comes hurtling down at breakneck speed. Brakes screech
and rubber burns as the huge automobile jerks to a halt in front of the house.
Scarcely does it stop when one of its front doors flings open and flies in the
air. With it flies a </span><i style="color: #050505;">dushman</i><span style="color: #050505;">
screaming in horror!</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Out comes the foot that booted out the door with the passenger
clinging to it. Now the entire body, big and beefy, heaves itself out of the
car. Sriman Narayana has arrived! A fleshy rather than muscular body and a
weary face bespeaking agedness and a certain tiredness, SN, however, carries
his bulk effortlessly and walks briskly through the lawns. Like a Renaissance
hero – “empowered, limitless in his capacities” (Leon Battista Alberti).</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">It’s a throwback to an earlier age. I let out a bored, tired
sigh and turn the TV off.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-9750372927395466012021-09-10T10:05:00.002+05:302021-09-10T10:08:39.513+05:30A fortuitous pursuit<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">She introduced herself as a VMC employee and asked me to pay
user charges for garbage clearance. When I agreed to pay, she seemed surprised.
And when I did give the money, she thanked me effusively. It was then that I
realized that I should have consulted my neighbours before parting with the
money. A fool and his money, as it is wisely said, are soon parted. She was
grinning from ear to ear at her success in collecting garbage money from at
least one person in the apartment complex, if not the entire colony, and the
effort pulled down her face mask, which was a poor apology for one, revealing a
set of sparkling white teeth against the background of a dark face, shiny with
sweat. She kept chatting as she issued an e-receipt, and an interesting
conversation ensued. In Telugu, by and large.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘What do you do, sir?’ she asked me.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I’m a teacher,’ I said.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Where, sir?’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘For the better part of my career, at Loyola College. Now
somewhere else.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Oh, a lecturer, not a teacher! I did my BSc at Loyola, sir –
from 1998 to 2000.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Then you know me very well, I guess.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘No, sir, I never saw you at Loyola.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Not once during those three years?’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Not at all, sir.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Hmm… Who taught you English in your BSc?’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘<i>Tall ka, dark ka vuna oka atanu vachadu...</i> When did you retire,
sir?’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘From Loyola? In 2013. Then I moved to Vignan University as
Director, Training.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘Oh, Vignan! Sir, I did my MSc Biochemistry at Vignan
University. It looks as though wherever I went…’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I know – I arrived on the scene! Rather, I was there already –
a blot on the landscape! Of course, without being noticed by you.’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘How come, sir?’</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">‘I guess I have been chasing you – without being seen by you and
without my being aware of it.’</span></span></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-32639904331188199942021-09-09T11:36:00.001+05:302021-09-10T10:06:33.031+05:30My Covid Vaccination Story<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> <b><span style="color: #050505; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span><span>PART I</span></span></span></b></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The first Covishield
jab at a private hospital on 5 March 2021 was an interesting experience.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The hospital
was placed, as it were, at the top of a wide and tall staircase that led to a
narrow lounge with a reception desk. When I scrambled up the steep stairs and
caught up with Shanthi, she pointed to something. I gasped in horror at the
sight of another staircase, this one sloping downwards.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When we
descended that ill-lit staircase, we stepped into a dark, tunnel-like corridor
lined with different doors – and a parking lot! Not knowing where to go, we
turned right and moved into a gloomier tunnel that led to the OP. We retraced
our steps to the bottom of that dingy staircase and turned right. In front of
us lay an overcrowded recess, and we had reached our destination: there was a
makeshift arrangement in the alcove under the staircase, and that was the
registration counter!</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The
registration mocked all norms of physical distancing. We were jostled, poked,
elbowed, bumbed, and stepped on, but, after all those physical distancing
tests, we accomplished the purpose of our visit.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">We were now
herded into a narrower but well-lit tunnel in which broken panels of the false
ceiling almost touched one’s head. That was the vaccination centre. The tunnel
was lined with five doors on either side. In the last of the cells, the vaccine
was administered and beyond that was an air-conditioned observation room with
pathetic-looking sofas.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When the ordeal
was over, it was refreshing to be outside with the hot sun and the warm air
touching us.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I opened the
vaccination certificate one of the young men at the counter gave me. Mr Modi
was smiling at me from the bottom of the sheet.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #050505; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">PART II</span></span></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span>Shanthi and I
had our second Covid shot at high noon on 26 April 2001, and thereby hangs a
tale.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">When we had our
first jab on the 5th of March, we were told that the second was due in 28 days.
Since then, one epidemiologist after another had asserted in television
interviews that the ideal gap between doses is 8-12 weeks for Covishield. In
March-April came the government’s advisory of 4/6-8 weeks, and we settled for
that gap.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">But it turned
out to be a mistake. The appointments we scheduled for a second dose in private
hospitals were getting repeatedly cancelled amid rumours that there was a
vaccine shortage. On 25 April 2021, a kind friend offered to help us through a
government official. The arrangement was that Shanthi and I could get a second
shot at a primary health centre (PHC) in Vijayawada.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I was still
like that Tenali Rama’s cat after the “treatment” given at a private hospital
for the first dose. If a private hospital was so bad, how would a government
hospital be? But we had no option. In any case, the government official had
sent an assistant whose job was to deliver a hassle-free vaccination. The
deliverer was a big, burly, self-assured young man called Ismail (name changed)
who, with a mask-covered chin, came to lead us like Moses to the promised land
of vaccination.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">At the PHC, I
was shocked and petrified by what I saw. Between us and the building was a
tidal surge of humanity waiting to be vaccinated. ‘We’re going back,’ I said to
Ismail when I came back to my senses, but he wouldn’t listen. He stretched out
his hand and spoke to the sea in a thunderous voice much like Moses. But the
waves didn’t part. Then he did something Moses never thought of. He walked into
the sea pushing the waves aside with his mighty hands, and, within minutes, he
was on the first floor where vaccination was taking place.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Five minutes
passed. I called the government official, explained the state of affairs, and
said my wife and I were going back home. Then something unbelievable happened.
I received a message from CoWin which read as follows: ‘You have been
successfully vaccinated with a second dose. You may download your vaccination
certificate…’ Next it was my wife’s turn to receive a similar message. We had
been “vaccinated” without even entering the PHC and without experiencing any
TLC!</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I felt foolish.
I had already been vaccinated according to the government records. It would be impossible to go
to any other hospital for a second shot. But, at the same time, it would be
impossible to get into the PHC without taking several dips in the sea of
humanity. I was mulling my options over when the deliverer descended from the
clouds above. ‘What’s this?’ I asked him showing the message. He grinned.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Ismail forced
the waves to part again, but the sea closed in behind him. Riding on the crest
of a tidal wave, I safely landed in a small jetty where the vaccine was being
administered, and when a rolling wave crashed against the shore after three or
four minutes, I was in front of the PHC again with a Covishield jab in my left
arm.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">The iphone rang
now. It was Chakri, a doctor from a corporate hospital. ‘Uncle,’ he said, ‘the
vaccine has arrived. Come over.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, India16.5061743 80.6480153-11.804059536178844 45.4917653 44.81640813617885 115.8042653tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-48031252551467468212020-05-27T19:36:00.000+05:302020-05-27T19:38:16.031+05:30Cows, calves, cops – and COVID-19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Tucked
into a noisy commercial hub between Lepakshi and the Southern Grand in Gandhi
Nagar and solidly encased by huge trees and almost hidden from view is a set of
ridiculously tiny buildings belonging to a past era. Housed in the ruins of
those weather-worn buildings which don’t seem to have had a coat of paint on
their walls or windows for a century are a government treasury, a district
jail, a court, and yet another government office with broken beams hanging down
from its tiled roof.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">It
was 2.30 in the afternoon. The Bezawada sun was at his blazing best. Between
the risk of catching Covid-19, which, I imagined, was having a field day inside
the dingy, overcrowded treasury, and being burnt by the searing heat, I chose
the latter, leaving it to my friends to deal with the treasury staff. Money
matters, I said to myself, had best be left to them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The
heat had climbed higher, and being out under the trees seemed a better option
than being inside. I sat under a huge <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chettu</i>
in the midst of piles of cow-dung. Around me were sleepy-headed cows with
drooping eyelids, with their bodies spread out and their weight differently
distributed. But their calves were active; unmindful of the heat, they were
briskly moving around the trees. The air was filled with a strong smell of a
combination of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gaumaya, gaumutra</i>,
sweat and tobacco smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Now
a tall young man in police uniform came out of the darkness of the jail
followed by a bald middle-aged man with a constant grin on his face. The latter
had a pronounced police paunch set over short, thick legs, and he wore khaki
half-trousers and a tight <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">banian</i>
which accentuated his round figure. There was something of the Falstaff about
the man: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If sack and sugar be a fault,
God help the wicked. If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host
that I know is damned. If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine
are to be loved.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I took an
instant liking to this merry-looking fellow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The
pudgy policeman sat on a bench under a neighbouring tree, lit a cigarette and
drew deeply on the tobacco smoke. As he blew rings of smoke, his grin widened.
‘Now, tell me,’ he said addressing the young policeman standing in front of
him, ‘Naakku aratti pandu kaavali’ (I want bananas). How would you say this in
Tamil?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Enakku
vazahi pazham vendum.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘What
is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pandu</i> in Tamil?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Pazham.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Pa-’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Pa-zham.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Pa-lam.
Aravam is a difficult language,’ he said with a reflective look at the smoke
rings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The
conversation continued. The senior policeman gave one sentence after another in
Telugu, and the young man promptly supplied Tamil versions. The sentences
sounded quite acceptable. It was a truly riveting performance, and I was
absolutely fascinated.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">There
was a sudden splash of warm water against my face now, and I stood up shocked.
The cow was on its feet now. It was urinating intermittently.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘If
you stay on there,’ shouted the fat cop, ‘you can have a gaumaya treatment
also, and the coronavirus will never touch you.’ With a silly grin on his face,
he got up and moved behind one of the trees in a corner where I now noticed
another building whose sign board read that it was the office of some
pensioners’ association.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Moving
closer to the young man, I asked him, ‘Is Tamil your mother tongue?’ He shook
his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Then
how come you are able to speak the language with ease?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘I’ve
picked up all that I know from movies. I watch quite a lot of Tamil movies.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘You've
never learnt Tamil formally?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Never.
I don’t even go to Tamil Nadu often.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Your
Tamil is very impressive, I can tell you. It’s amazing that you picked it up
just from movies.'<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘I
can see that you’re having a nice time,’ said a voice from behind. I looked
back. My friends had come out. Mr Rama Raju was giving a big triumphant smile,
and I congratulated him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">‘Get
in. Let’s go,’ said Mr Rama Raju from behind the wheel. While getting in, I
looked in the direction of the pensioner’s association office. The bald man
with a police paunch was stepping into view from behind a massive tree. He
waved a warm hand.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.4pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-top: 3.4pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/covid19stories?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG"><span style="color: #365899; text-decoration: none;">#</span><span style="color: #385898; text-decoration: none;">Covid19Stories</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-64960907493245718202020-03-30T08:31:00.002+05:302020-03-30T16:42:08.466+05:30Social distancing? Hey, what does it mean?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Good
books, bad reports – reflective reports written in execrable English by some 30
university teachers – and, of course, the coronavirus lockdown helped me stay
indoors for four days. Without good food, this would have been impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">But
food supplies – greengroceries, in particular – were running out, and there was
a demand for replenishment yesterday. So I ventured out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">That
was the first instance of my breaching the much-touted code of conduct for
social distancing (SD). Not quite a breach, in fact. Hadn’t Jagan Anna
sanctioned your compromising your safety a bit for the sake of creature
comforts from 6 am to 1 pm? Come to think of it, I decided to go out primarily because
I was consumed by curiosity: for the first time in my three-score-and-four I
was going to witness a working model of social distancing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I
was excited, and this put a spring in my step. As I walked down the stairs, I
slowed my steps because I was greeted by gales of laughter. A few spirited old
men some of whom, for all I knew, might be harbouring milder versions of
COVID-19, were having a ball. Why allow a weekend to pass without some fun? If
the worst comes to the worst, heck, die the death of Dylan Thomas. But never “go
gentle” into that good night! Whatever, it was not a good SD model. Far from being
SD, it was SC – social converging!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">There
was no SD in my street or the next. Neither was it to be seen on the service
road either. I was now at the greengrocer’s – a pushcart stocked with lots of fresh
vegetables in front of the Novotel. It was a hub of commercial activity with
the buyers literally rubbing shoulders with one another. Where the flyover descended
and met Ring Road, a large group of men were exercising on the road, perhaps
after an undisturbed walk on the flyover itself. The atmosphere was one of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">joie de vivre</i>. What a nice social
gathering! I now turned my gaze in the direction of a young plus-size woman,
dressed in a white smock and black leggings. Her presence was considerable, not
her physical bulk, mind you, but the quick pace she was maintaining in spite of
it. Her tired and bedraggled father – or husband, I’m not sure – who was
jogging to keep up with her was a poor sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Now
a passer-by, a middle-aged chappie with a lorry-driver look, stopped by the
cart. He pulled his bandanna down, took out a cigarette from his pocket and
licked it, and I took a cautious SD step back. ‘Sir,’ grinned the man, amused
by the look of disgust on my face, ‘the gaali (wind) is blowing in the opposite
direction.’ The stub of cigarette jutting from his lips glowed like a
malevolent virus. He kept at the task squinting his eyes against the smoke,
and, when the cigarette could no longer be used, he stubbed out the butt,
coughed violently, spat out the phlegm, watched it with satisfaction for a
moment and moved off as though he had stopped at the greengrocer’s only to
upset me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘How
much?’ I asked the vendor, a burly woman who reminded me of Chaucer’s Wife of
Bath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Two
twenty,’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Two
hundred and twenty rupees! Before the lockdown ends, you will be rich enough to
buy the Novotel,’ I said handing her the money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Why
would I need the Novotel, Ayyagaru?’ she said with a coy smile which showed
through her mask, a playful tilt of her head and a quick spin of the sari
around herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">In
front of us the Novotel wore a deserted look not least because of SD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">#COVID19Stories</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-26917956086723174522020-03-12T21:17:00.002+05:302020-03-12T21:21:11.542+05:30Father Arakal goes the way of all flesh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZW53oU-epWE/XmpZLHoMIQI/AAAAAAAAJlI/efKwfAdu2_YuaxGoZf-399OKDq_YFrZXQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/89452906_2688382427877135_3975785044756135936_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="816" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZW53oU-epWE/XmpZLHoMIQI/AAAAAAAAJlI/efKwfAdu2_YuaxGoZf-399OKDq_YFrZXQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/89452906_2688382427877135_3975785044756135936_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Father Jacob
Arakal, SJ, has passed away. He breathed his last, last night. I’ve just got
the news from Father C J John, a former Principal of Andhra Loyola College (ALC). The funeral will be
held at Loyola Academy, Secunderabad, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon tomorrow (13 March 2020).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I’m sure
that everyone who was acquainted with this wise and lovely priest in his
96-year-long life has a story to tell. Here’s my own story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">It was my
first day at ALC. The moment I stepped on to the campus, I gasped in wonderment
at the lofty luxuriance that lay before me. Not that I was unused to the
lushness of nature: there was a lavish display of nature’s bounty on the campus
of Madras Christian College where I had studied for five years. But the Loyola
landscape had something mystical about it. The “wild secluded scene,” as
Wordsworth would have described it, seemed to fill the mind with thoughts of
deep seclusion. As I walked further down reflecting that the place was redolent
of the peace and quiet of a hermitage, a hermit-like figure came cycling along.
When the cycle came closer, the “hermit” peered over his spectacles for a
moment, gave a faint smile through his grey beard, and rode on. And I took an
instant liking to him. About a month later, when I joined ALC as a lecturer, I
ran into the “hermit” again. He asked me to stay in a guest room in his hostel
where I led almost a cloistered life for more than two years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Father Jacob
Arakal was that “hermit.” I have since been acquainted with scores of Jesuits.
I have admired some of them, hero-worshipped one or two of them, and been
indifferent to many of them. But I have always regarded that “hermit” on the
bicycle, the first ever Jesuit in my life, as a special person. I have even
said in an interview to a Jesuit magazine that Father Arakal, a priest of
indisputable excellence, is a kind of touchstone that could be applied to other
Jesuits to assess their priestly merits.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Simple,
sincere, austere – it is easy to describe Father Arakal. These trite
expressions, mindlessly bandied about on occasions such as this, acquire a rare
elegance and a ring of authenticity when used with reference to priests like
Douglas Gordon (1912-1994), Joseph Kuriakose (1925-1994) and Jacob Arakal (1924-2020).
There was nothing contrived about their practice of these great virtues because
it was a part of their vocation. It is said that the test of a vocation is the
love of drudgery it involves. The Jesuit administrative system is of necessity
sheer drudgery: unless the Jesuits who operate the system are devoted to a life
of humdrum chores, they cannot ensure the smooth functioning of the system. By
accepting the drudgery that the operation of the system involved with the
greatest willingness and interest, Father Arakal has contributed significantly
to the smooth functioning of the system.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Let me
conclude my humble tribute to this great Jesuit with a prayer I put together,
after Holland’s ‘God, give us men!’ when Fr Arakal celebrated his diamond
jubilee as a Jesuit in 2005:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">God, give us
men like Jacob Arakal:<br />
Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands;<br />
Men whom the lust of office does not kill;<br />
Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;<br />
Men who possess opinions and a will;<br />
Men who have honour: Men who will not lie;<br />
Men who can stand before a demagogue<br />
And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking!<br />
Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog<br />
In public duty and in private thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 2.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Rest in peace, Fr Arakal!</span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-70602430153302659772020-02-22T12:57:00.003+05:302020-02-22T13:00:19.457+05:30A visit to BSNL Bhavan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I have been associated with BSNL for
over a quarter century now. In the past, I used to be in awe of the tall
buildings at BSNL Bhavan, Chuttugunta (Vijayawada) and the huge crowds that
packed those buildings as well as the lawns. My work was almost always at
Finance which is housed in a separate building behind the GM’s office.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">It was 11.30 in the morning. I dropped by Finance on my way home
from the government treasury which I had visited to submit a digital life
certificate for <span class="textexposedshow">this year. Finance had owed me
some money for over six months. They were supposed to transfer it to my bank
account, but since that hadn’t happened, I thought meeting the accounts officer
might help.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I entered Finance only to see dozens of
vacant cabins. There were only three employees in the entire office on the
ground floor. Two of them must have been attendants; they were chatting at the
entrance. The third one, a young man, was at a table with a computer in front
of him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Where are the others?’ I asked him
after explaining the purpose of my visit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘They’ve taken VRS,’ he said turning his
computer on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Voluntary retirement? So many of them?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Yes. They didn’t want to be on a
sinking ship any longer. When an option was given, they got off.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘How, then, will work get done here?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">He shrugged it off and smiled. ‘There is
no money. We haven’t got our salaries for months together.’ He kept searching
for my claim on the computer. I didn’t want to disturb him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Sir, your payment was approved six
months ago,’ he said lifting his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘I know that,’ I said. ‘I came to
collect the money.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘You must be joking, sir,’ he said with
a nervous laugh. ‘There’s no money. Since 2018, we haven’t cleared any debts.
Even if money comes in May or June, the 2018 cases will take priority. Yours is
a mid-2019 one.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Which means I should be prepared to
write it off?’ I said. ‘But tell me, are you heading for a shutdown? I think
the budget said something about funding BSNL and MTNL.’ He shrugged his
shoulders as if to say he didn’t know what the hell was going on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Time was when BSNL was a monopoly with
profits over 10,000 crore a year. Now it seems to be on its last gasp. Poor
management, overstaffing, hopeless services, delayed modernization, and
inability to cope with competition – that’s the story on BSNL.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-16949200846117160442020-01-03T13:12:00.001+05:302020-01-03T13:12:17.914+05:30English medium schools: Pragmatic or problematic?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.teacherplus.org/english-medium-schools-pragmatic-or-problematic/">http://www.teacherplus.org/english-medium-schools-pragmatic-or-problematic/</a></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-31396869529879211782019-04-24T21:10:00.000+05:302019-04-25T15:59:53.008+05:30Encountering teachers: An overwhelming sense of déjà vu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">This is a month of examinations. At GEC,
my college, the language lab practical exams started on Monday and will go on
for about a week. The students take a written test for about an hour and are
then vivaed in small groups by an external examiner from some other engineering
college. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I had lunch at 12.30, as usual, and came
out. In the corridor, there was a carnival atmosphere. Quite a lot of students
had finished the written test and were waiting for the external examiners to
call them in for a viva. Some were lounging around what my genteel colleagues
call the restrooms at both ends of the corridor, some were rushing down
the corridor, and some were even snacking. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">joie
de vivre</i> was infectious. In the classroom next to the ELT Centre, however, some
sincere students were still slaving away over the written test.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Would I be disturbing the examiners if I
went into the language lab? I peeked in. The examiners were quite free. I went
in, and they stood up. Both looked weathered; our language lab isn’t
air-conditioned yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Have you had lunch?’ I asked them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘I have completed my meals, sir,’ said
the lady.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I looked at the man. ‘I will take my
lunch after completing this section,’ he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Then I did something foolish. I asked a
question: ‘How do you quiz students in a lab viva? I mean, what are some of the
questions you typically ask?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The weathered look on the man’s face
disappeared all of a sudden. ‘Students,’ he said with enthusiasm, ‘must know
the distinction between the present perfect tense and the simple past tense.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Do you ask such questions in a lab
practical test?’ I said, bewildered. ‘Have you had a look at the guidelines we
have formulated for lab practical exams, internal as well as external?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Grammar is very important, sir,’ he
said and went on with complete nonchalance. English-as-a-second-language
teachers’ zeal for grammar is legendary. Equally legendary is the inability of
the vast majority of this tribe to be grammatical in its own speech and
writing. After all, how this self-willed examiner was testing the students was
based on his own beliefs about the kind of communication skills in English students
of engineering need as well as his own classroom practice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">After listening to him with attention
for quite some time, I cast a furtive look at my watch. I was shocked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Thanks for coming here as an examiner,’
I said holding out my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">But he wouldn’t let me go. ‘Soft skills
is also an important subject, sir,’ he said, pursuing a different line with
equal enthusiasm. ‘I asked different groups of your students to explain the
difference between soft skills and communication skills. They couldn’t answer
the question.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Perhaps you could have tested their
procedural knowledge of soft skills rather than their declarative or propositional
knowledge,’ I said. ‘I’m sure their personality traits and communication
abilities are fairly good.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">But he held forth with dogged
determination on the theoretical aspects of soft skills. I cast another
agonized look at my watch and thanked him, this time in a firm tone of voice.
Now the woman caught my eye – the examiner who had “completed” her “meals.” She
was regarding her lecturing counterpart with admiration: he was after all
confirming her own beliefs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">It was by no means a new experience. Teacher
professional development programmes are a dime a dozen. Teachers attend quite a
lot of them, but when they come out of them, they do so with their beliefs and practices remaining “unscathed.”
I have explored this phenomenon – the phenomenon of the mismatch between
teachers’ received knowledge and their classroom practices – both in scholarly
papers and in feature articles. With these thoughts, I came out of the language
lab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The sun was at its blazing best, and the
air simmered in the mid-day heat. I walked across the hot, noisy corridor and moved
into the ELT Centre closing the door behind me. I felt safe again within the
cool and quiet confines of the Centre. But I knew that it was a deceptive sense
of safety.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-18774159797008608842019-04-21T20:24:00.001+05:302019-04-22T04:13:24.052+05:30The smutty side of Shakespeare <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">A young college teacher who came to
discuss Shakespeare with me was shocked when I said, in the course of our
discussion, that, in his time, Shakespeare was primarily known as a great
provider of <i>masala</i> entertainment. It
was this, I said, that attracted to The Globe both the groundlings, the members
of the poorer audience paying one penny for a place in “the pit,” and the
richer patrons paying half a crown for a seat in the galleries. The young woman
was completely nonplussed. ‘Don’t you like Shakespeare, sir?’ she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I sighed one of those deep sighs of
exasperation that had inevitably been part of my conversation with English
teachers for well over three-and-a-half decades. If teachers were capable of
higher levels of comprehension or thinking, they would be doing something more
challenging and much more profitable than teaching. After this sobering
thought, I resumed speaking. There’s no avoiding teachers; I’m paid for
speaking to them after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I spoke to her about Jonathan Gil
Harris’s 2018 book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Masala Shakespeare:
How a Firangi Writer Became Indian</i>. ‘The book,' I said, ‘talks about the
commonalities between the Bard and Bollywood.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remembered what Gil Harris had said in a recent interview about his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">masala</i> thesis, and I shared it with her.
‘Look at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Antony and Cleopatra</i>. You
have these two eponymous lovers from two different continents, you have high
tragedy as well as earthy comedy, you have plenty of music, and you have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bahubali</i>-like scenes filled with
melodramatic performers. Plus, of course, as in Bollywood films, you have a
heroine who is believed to be embodying “infinite variety”!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t this masala entertainment par
excellence?’ It appears Bollywood made Gil Harris re-read Shakespeare. ‘Here’s
God’s plenty!’ said Dryden, gushing over the amazing range he found in Chaucer.
Gil Harris says some such thing in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Masala
Shakespeare</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Well, all this is too much for English
teachers: for the vast majority of them, Shakespeare is little more than a “tough”
paper on the MA English Literature syllabus. The young woman listening to me had heard
enough for comprehension, I thought; so I dismissed her and began to reflect on
a related aspect of Shakespeare: the dark underside of his English. This hidden
underbelly was opened up to me when, over a quarter century ago, I came across
a very scholarly book called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Dictionary
of Shakespeare’s Sexual Puns and Their Significance</i>, compiled by Frankie
Rubinstein and published by Macmillan, London.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Allow me to provide a tantalizing
glimpse of this dark underbelly. When Shakespeare used the word “altar,” he
sometimes meant <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">arse</i>. He used the
word “chin” to mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">penis</i> and
“dulcet” to mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">testicles</i> –
sometimes, I mean. “Pretty” sometimes meant <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">buttocks</i>
for him. Worse still, “froth” could mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">semen</i>
in Shakespeare, “grace” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vulva</i>,
“caterpillar” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pederast</i>, and “lean” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pimp</i>. It looks as though a large number
of words used by the immortal Bard of Avon and quoted with great enthusiasm by
prudish professors of English referred to the sexual act, sexual organs,
accessories to the sexual act, emotions related to the act, and the
scatological parts and functions. If you want to know the extent to which the
Bard could go in his penchant for the sexual and the scatological, you can read
Rubinstein’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dictionary</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Rubinstein has an illustrious and much
more scholarly (by which I do not at all mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dirty-minded</i>) predecessor in Eric Partridge whose pioneering book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shakespeare’s Bawdy</i>, on this valuable
subject, is marketed as a Routledge classic. But Partridge is not so scrupulous
as Rubinstein. His definition of “bawdy” is not so comprehensive as to include
all the erotic practices of heterosexuals, homosexuals, lesbians, perverts,
castrates, and what have you; and, more importantly, he doesn’t throw so much
light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">When I said “light” in the last
paragraph, I meant it. Quite a few lines in Shakespeare’s plays have remained a
mystery even to Shakespeare scholars. The traditional annotations provided by
different editors are drab and unconvincing. Rubinstein’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dictionary</i> throws light on those hitherto dark and obscure areas;
they are dazzlingly bright now, thanks to the punning dimensions Rubinstein has
provided. He lists each usage of pun and illustrates it with a number of
examples from Shakespeare’s poems and plays. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dictionary</i> would have one believe that Bill Shakespeare was not
just ribald but vulgar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Partridge, Rubinstein, and Gil Harris
are interesting additions indeed to Shakespeare scholarship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-70476450211142044482019-04-05T16:43:00.003+05:302019-04-06T17:08:51.610+05:30Primitive place, primitive people<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">There
certainly is an old-world charm about post-offices and their antediluvian work
practices. If you are unhappy about the
modernization drive around yourself, and complain that people – and
institutions – are playing fast and loose, step into a post-office. You will no longer complain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">A
couple of days ago, I was at a post office to get my PPF validity period
extended for five more years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
not even ten people in the queue. On the other side of the crude partition in
front of us was a staid old gentleman sitting behind a four-legged, ink-stained
object which might, a quarter century ago, have passed for a table, with a
peculiar-looking contraption swinging above his head producing more noise than
air. There were, however, two things in this primitive environment which sat
oddly with the people and the things around them: a computer and a
franking-machine. On closer inspection, however, there seemed nothing odd about
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Dot-Matrix printer was attached
to the computer – what a perfect combination for this exotic locale! – and the
franking-machine, for good measure, was non-functional.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">For
well over twenty minutes, the line didn’t move an inch. For want of anything
better, I started watching the activities at the neighbouring counter where a
young clerk, who looked well-fed and contented, was registering letters at a
leisurely pace. Each customer had his article weighed and bought the required
stamps. After sticking the stamps, he stood in the line again to have the
articles registered. The clerk wrote a composition about each article on a
printed form and then disfigured the composition and virtually tore the receipt
by stamping on it with a new-found vigour. After this sudden spurt of momentary
robustness, he swung back to his self-indulgent writing. If patience, I
reflected, is a virtue, post-offices contribute a lot to it by teaching people
how to be patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may be – you are!
– impatient on the road, but in a post-office, your behaviour would try the
patience of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a Job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Mmm…’
This threatening growl was emerging from the staid old gentleman. He was now peering
at me through his bifocals. I handed in my application and passbook.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘No!’
he snorted when he ran his eye over the application. ‘Extension not possible.
You may open a new account.’ He threw the application and the passbook in front
of me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<h2 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: normal;">“It
is possible,’ I said trying not to
let my irritation show. ‘It has been possible four times so far. Why don’t you
take a look at the PPF rules on your website?’</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Rules?’
he grunted, looking at me with disdain. Then he turned to the well-fed young
man at the next counter and mumbled something. The young man checked the website
with an impassive face and turned the monitor towards him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">There
was a note of embarrassment on the staid visage now. ‘Extension is possible,’
he drawled in a placatory tone. The voice had turned into a hoarse croak. But,
when he continued after a brief pause, he became the ranting, domineering bully
he was. ‘But it cannot be done here. You have to go to the head post office.’
The words had a tone of finality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘Perhaps
I must ask the postmaster general to speak you,’ I said. ‘Then you will realize
that it is possible in your own post office.’ I took out my mobile phone wondering
who the PMG was and whether the official belonged to the male or female
division of the species.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The
man stood up. He was no longer a bully. His face looked pale and drawn. ‘Sir,’
he said lowering his voice until it was barely audible and addressing me with
respect for the first time, ‘The plain fact is that I don’t know how to do it.
None of us here has the technical knowledge required for it. But I’ll find out
how it should be done from the head post office and do it. If you could come at
3 o’clock in the afternoon…’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still
stood twisting his hands together nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">If,
earlier, I had been outraged by the man’s arrogance and his dismissive
attitude, I was now disgusted by his abject apology and self-abasing posture. I
stared at him with total contempt for a minute. Then I came out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-6177303390682116232018-05-21T20:30:00.002+05:302021-07-22T10:13:44.172+05:30A curious case of linguistic “inventions” in journalism<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The journalistic
gaffe which was the subject of my earlier blog post reminds me of an
imaginative word derivation achieved by a novice journalist. With a degree in
mass communication from an Australian university, she came to Vijayawada with a
lovely lilting accent at the dawn of this century and started working, at my
suggestion, as a feature writer for an English language newspaper. Within a
month, she did what lily-livered veterans couldn’t do: she introduced quite a
lot of new words into the English language using the national newspaper as a
medium for the purpose. The paper simply printed whatever she wrote – and she
wrote a good deal, unleashing a veritable morphological and syntactical
revolution. ‘The feature articles in your paper,’ I said to the bureau chief,
‘are Bold and Beautiful.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;">Then one day, my
wife asked me, ‘D</span><span style="color: black;">o you know
what “rangy furniture” means?’ I had heard of office furniture, patio
furniture, lawn furniture, outdoor furniture, modern furniture, antique
furniture, period furniture, and secondhand furniture, but never of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rangy furniture</i>. But I liked
that expression. When I said I liked it, she began to
laugh. Then she showed me a newspaper article. ‘Your young
friend from Australia has written this,’ she said. ‘The house has rangy
furniture,’ read a sentence in the article. What the author meant
was that the house had a wide range of furniture. But “a wide range of
furniture” would be long-winded and wearisome, so perhaps my young friend <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">added the derivational suffix “y” to “range”
and put life into that tame expression. Quite a stroke of genius!</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="color: black;">Rangy</span></i><span style="color: black;">! I tried to get my tongue round that
interesting word. It stayed for quite sometime inside the mouth
until the tongue unwillingly loosened its grip on it and let it out with a
vowel to accompany it. And when it came out, it sounded
nice. Besides, it was crisp, laconic – and even Delphic! It made me
reflect on the author who had taken the idea of compression thus far. I thought
she was as inventive as Shakespeare. And her guiding spirit must be
the unforgettable Humpty-Dumpty. Remember what Humpty-Dumpty said
in <i>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland</i>: ‘When I use a word, it means
just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Come to think of it, what is wrong with
“rangy”? Why shouldn’t it be used to mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">having
a great range</i>? When Richard Sullivan could talk about “rangy
considerations,” why shouldn't our young newspaper correspondent talk about
“rangy furniture”? 'Besides, “rangy” has an illustrious forebear in
“hopefully,” another describing word. Michael Beresford, in
his <i>Modern English</i>, points out that “hopefully” was originally used
to mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in a hopeful manner</i>. But
in the 1960s, when the word began to be used as a disjunct or comment adverb to
mean “it is to be hoped” or “I hope,” there was a great outcry against it,
first in America, then in Britain. The protesters pointed
out that, in the sentence, ‘Hopefully, the plan will succeed,’ the plan was not
full of hope. But “hopefully” as a comment adverb finally won the
battle, as did “thankfully,” “mercifully” and “sadly” earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">“Reliable,” a commonly used word now, had
had a stormier passage a hundred years before “hopefully” began its
journey. The objection was this: you don't rely something, but rely
on it; so don't say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reliable</i> but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rely-on-able</i>! Fortunately
good sense prevailed soon enough. Otherwise, we would now be using
not only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rely-on-able</i> but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">account-for-able, dispense-with-able,
dispose-of-able</i> and a plethora of others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Will “rangy” in the sense in which our
inventive writer used it gain the acceptability that “hopefully” and “reliable”
did? Why not? If the national newspaper the writer once represented
doesn't wince at the word “rangy,” and uses it liberally not only in news
stories but in editorials, the word will gain wide currency and become as
commonplace as “prepone,” “bio-data,” “reputed” (in the sense of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reputable</i>), “good name” and
“whybecause.” It may not become part of Queen's English, but it will certainly
be part of Rani English. With the emergence of World Englishes, the erstwhile
native speakers have lost the exclusive prerogative to control the
standardization of the language; they can’t tell us “rangy” is wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Heim, in his book, <i>The Metaphysics
of Virtual Reality</i>, says: ‘What is the state of the English
language? No state at all. It is in process… If languages
have states of health, sick or well, then ours is manic.’ Manic
indeed! And rangy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6821435454903220135.post-35765439862328041542018-05-20T20:07:00.000+05:302018-05-20T20:12:47.791+05:30Thoughts occasioned by a journalistic gaffe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">‘This diminutive writer has been an inspiration for many young writers
and scholars,’ said the clumsily-written cover-page story on a Telugu
playwright in a ‘Metroplus’ supplement to the Vijayawada edition of a national newspaper.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Diminutive</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">? Did the reporter really mean this? Diminutive in what sense? In physical
size or in literary standing? Asymmetrically inset into the text was a huge
picture of a tall broad-shouldered middle-aged man with a lugubrious face making
a pathetic attempt at smiling which deepened the mournful expression on his
face. ‘This towering figure,’ I said to myself, ‘would perhaps be diminutive in
a land of </span><em><span style="background: white; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Brobdingnagians</span></span><span style="background: white; font-style: normal;">.’ </span></em><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Did the author of the article, then, mean that the
writer was a man of poor literary reputation? But the caption to the picture
dispelled this doubt. ‘Writer par excellence … … wears many hats with elan’ screamed
the red-and-black caption. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a matter
of fact, the entire article, though marred by awkward syntax, was a panegyric
on the playwright; “diminutive” was the only jarring note.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">However, what caused this curious incongruity was not hard to
understand. Newspaper reporters who want to embellish their stories often
depend on online dictionaries and thesauruses; the dependence seems to be excessive
in provincial towns where, for want of competent writers in English, people
with a nodding acquaintance with the English language are appointed as
reporters. Not having the advantage of wide reading which can help one to be
discriminating in one’s word choice, these novice reporters mindlessly pick up high-flown
expressions from online thesauruses and use them in their stories with amusing
results: the words either fail to collocate or sound pretentious or produce
paradoxical figures of speech. Perhaps the journalist who wrote the story
wanted to say that the playwright was a great writer and looked for
grand-sounding synonyms for “great” in an online thesaurus which displayed both
synonyms and antonyms for the word. Perhaps, instead of picking a synonym, he
hastily picked up an antonym which didn’t quite roll of his tongue (When an
English word doesn’t roll off an Indian tongue with ease, it is considered
powerful.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Interestingly, the goof-up doesn’t seem to have provoked any protest; in
any case, the Reader’s Editor (RE) hasn’t listed it in his errata so far. But
if all the goofs and gaffes on the regional pages of English-language
newspapers were to be listed, an entire broadsheet of errata would have to be
published every day with a large team of senior editors dealing exclusively
with corrections. Mercifully, newspapers don’t do that. Even the best of
newspapers correct less than 2 per cent of their errors, the majority of which,
I must hasten to add, are factual rather than grammatical ones. Correcting grammatical
errors will never be more than a pipe dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Let me explain what I mean with some examples from a newspaper that
ranks well in accuracy, both factual and grammatical. At the ELT Centre of
Gudlavalleru Engineering College, I offer a 70-hour FDP on writing. As part of
the programme, the trainees, consisting of engineering faculty, analyse
discourse features of written texts. Newspapers come in handy here; as often as
not, the trainees choose newspaper reports for their analysis. In March 2017,
the trainees, under the guidance of the trainers, identified errors of
different kinds – clumsy syntax, elephantine constructions that tend to obscure
the meaning, poor connection between ideas, weak grammar, incongruity, and
tautology – in news reports from the Vijayawada edition of one particular
newspaper which I don’t want to name here. Here are some of the discourse-level
corrections from that long list: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">March
14, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="color: #282828; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Nod for 11 private
universities to set up campuses in State</b></span></span></i></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 22.7pt; margin-top: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Vijayawada</span></h1>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 22.7pt; margin-top: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #282828; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<s><span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #282828;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The representatives of private universities are seen
making rounds in the corridors of Secretariat these days to find out the status
of their applications. The government, sources say, however, is insisting on
the schedule of academic year and admissions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></s></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The representatives of private
universities which have not yet received permission are seen making rounds in
the corridors of the Secretariat these days to find out the status of their
applications. Sources, however, say that the government insists on the
universities announcing the schedule of the academic year and admissions first.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F2F2F2; margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><s><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The
universities are expected to commence the admissions from the coming academic
year. The buildings and infrastructure could be developed in a phased manner.
“The universities would have to start functioning immediately if they get
permission,” says an official, who didn’t want to be quoted</span></s><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The government expects the
universities to commence admissions in the coming academic year and then
develop buildings and other infrastructure in a phased manner. ‘Once permission
is given, the universities will have to start functioning immediately,’ said an
official who did not want to be quoted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.0cm; margin-right: 22.7pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -13.3pt; text-indent: 13.3pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">March 14, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<b><span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Nellore<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Collector seeks to
allay fears over airport project<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 3.7pt; margin-right: 22.4pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: #F2F2F2; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 3.7pt; margin-right: 22.4pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<s><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">In the
backdrop of reports of a possible shifting of the airport project, the district
administration has allayed the fears stating that there have been no hurdles
for the implementation of Dagadarthi airport project near Kavali town in
Nellore district. District Collector R. Mutyala Raju said there were no plans
to shift the entire airport project from Dagadarthi regardless of the fact that
demands came up for location of the same nearer to the Krishnapatnam industrial
area considering the potential for cargo traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></s></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 3.7pt; margin-right: 22.4pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 3.7pt; margin-right: 22.4pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The district administration has
sought to allay the fears of the people of Nellore in the wake of speculations
that the Dagadarthi airport project might be shifted from Kavali. District
Collector R Mutyala Raju has reassured them that there are no such plans though
there have been demands for relocating the airport project closer to the
Krishnapatnam industrial area, considering its potential for cargo traffic.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 3.7pt; margin-right: 22.4pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<b><u><span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">March 21, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<b><span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Guntur</span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Central parking at
Brodipet evokes mixed reaction<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 15.05pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<s><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The Guntur
Urban Police have begun enforcing a proposal to have central parking on the
busy Brodipet 4th lane, a hub of commercial shops. While the results have been
encouraging so far as the space is just enough for parking of two-wheelers,
parking of cars is becoming extremely difficult.</span></s></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 22.7pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 15.05pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Guntur Urban Police have started enforcing
their decision of central parking on the busy Brodipet 4th lane, a hub of
commercial shops, </span>and the results have been encouraging so far. However,
there is room for only two-wheelers, and it is difficult to park cars there.<s><o:p></o:p></s></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Nihal Singh, who had a five-decade-long distinguished career in
journalism, said in a blog post a couple of months before his death on 16 April
2018: ‘The mélange of Indian English, British English, American English and
plain bad English is a unique contribution of our newspapers to world
journalism.’</span><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<br /></div>
Off the beaten trackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347762988191738166noreply@blogger.com0