Ways People Talk

It can be a most engaging pastime, if you care to notice, and you don't quite need to have a linguistic bent for its appreciation either. Really, observing how people talk never ceases to amaze me, for it brings out how there are as many languages inside a language as there are people speaking it. You can always find out a great deal about a person from how s/he says whatever s/he has to say. An example that comes to mind readily is the typical vocabulary people in a particular profession get soaked into so completely, that they end up using weird words at the most inopportune moments, unwittingly verifying the Freudian sub-consciousness theories. A distant Uncle of mine who owns a medical store has perhaps been so busy flogging off curious supplements to his enervated customers all his life that his staple adjective for anything praiseworthy is 'powerful'! 'How cute is his little daughter, Uncle, isn't she just so angelic?' I asked only to hear 'Yeah, Powerful!'

And then, almost all students of my college would be aware of the swiftly repeated loud cries of 'DCE college' that the RTV conductor makes at the Metro station, because for the life of him he wouldn't give a damn to what DCE could stand for, whether Deesee is a bollywood bombshell or a sacred cow; but has to and indeed does take due measure to ensure that this lot of 'college'-goers standing near him doesn't, by any chance, leaves him unnoticed. But then this whole profession-vocabulary angle has been dissected so exhaustively by the now omnipresent TV's comedy kings, that there is hardly any novelty left about this entire exercise that I should explore. So, I'll just get back to some more of the oddities that I happened to spot recently.

A very good friend of mine, a mysterious character however, reveals some of his mysteries thus. An ardent lover of caps and hats, he often tells me he is always on the lookout for 'different-different kinds of caps' whenever he is out shopping. Yes, precisely that. Because, in his mind of minds, he actually looks out for alag-alag tarah ki topiyaan, he found it obligatory to add that extra 'different', and not because he was actually trying to be different, which he actually is! To think in one language while talking in another can be shoddier than not thinking at all while talking I'd say, unless hilarity is your first aim. This, then, is what I identify as the translator's plight. Of course, no language completely renders itself into being converted into another; not without the sprinkling of such amusing slips. This is also why one often finds many dubbed-into-Hindi movies hilarious enough to earn awards for their comedy, only to find out later that they have already won many for the excellence of their depiction of tragedy or action. Watch the 'Rocky' movie series in Hindi after you have watched it in English already, and you'll discover how Rocky's typical filler-words '..ya know' are each and every time so meticulously translated, as if they impart the dialogue all the meaning, into 'tum yeh khoob jaante ho'. So, 'It's gettin cold ya know' becomes 'ab yeh thanda ho raha hai, tum ye khoob jaante ho' and many more similar gaffes! Really, it is so clumsy it is actually great fun.

An old friend was to get married a week ago, and the occasion called for many of my other old friends to get together - it proved to be a reunion of sorts; all marriages are, on second thoughts. Some things derive their pleasure-quotient from their rarity, and this was just that. I know how bored we were three years ago hanging out with each other day after day after day, that once it had got down to all of us discussing how our social lives sucked, and each of us undisputedly accepting the conclusion that it sucked because each of us stuck it out with the rest of all of us. Ironically, we were in agreement upon the assertion that too much of being in agreement with each other all the time wasn't such a great thing after-all. But meeting after all these years was the best thing that could have happened to us at this time, we all agreed, yet again. However, as soon as I reached the venue, I was greeted with 'Saale tu bhi aa gaya' by the groom's brother as though 'the lesser the invitees turn up the preferable' was the mingy dictum that reigned supreme. Of course, it wasn't so. As I awkwardly took a seat close by, I saw that this was how everyone else was greeted too, some of them even more strangely, like - saale aaj nahi absent hoga chahe kabhi class na gaya ho. Perhaps someone had got it into his head that this was a particularly pleasing way to welcome people. The point I am trying to make here is that no matter how much you read into people's language to try and know about them, it isn't an ISO certified yardstick. For all you know, what you think as strange or stranger, could well have been funny or funnier, in intention. So, a fair bit of allowance had better be kept in these matters.

True, as much as how you mould a language can bring you embarrassment, the impact you generate is also a strikingly straight-line function of what treatment you give your words, your own way of putting the same old thing. This is so important it cannot be over-emphasised, but then it is so universal that it needn't be emphasised at all. The endearing Short-Film 'Historia De Un Letrero' (Story of a sign) made the most of this principle all the way to the bank, besides grabbing numerous international awards on the way. Since films are always better viewed than explained, I won't bore you with what happens in the film. Instead, I'll leave a link for you to entertain yourselves.

Totally unrelated, but since it has come down to pasting links in any case, I thought I'll paste this too. I found it awesome.

हमारी मातृभाषा

बहुत दिनों से सोच रहा था की हिन्दी भाषा में कुछ लिखू। एक हिन्दी भाषी होने के नाते मुझे आभास होता रहता की मेरा कर्तव्य है की यदा-कदा ही सही मैं हिन्दी में लिखूं अवश्य। बस इसी उधेड़बुन में था की बरसो से हिन्दी छोड़ चुका मैं, क्या इस से न्याय कर पाउँगा ? फ़िर सोचता, की क्या रखा है इस न्याय आदि के आडम्बर में, प्रयत्न तो किया जाए। इसी बीच अमिताभ के ब्लॉग पर हिन्दी में एक लेख देख कर मेरा निश्चय ओर सशक्त हो गया।

हिन्दी की बात चली है तो सोचता हूँ अब इसी विषय पर थोड़ा विचार विमर्श किया जाए । विद्यालय के दिनों में मेरी हिन्दी में बहुत रूचि रही। इसका श्रेय मेरे नवी कक्षा के अध्यापक श्रीमान डॉक्टर अशोक कुमार ‘लव’ को जाता है। हिन्दी के निबंध ओर कहानियो को बड़ी सूक्ष्मता से समझाते हुए वे पूरा ध्यान इस बात का भी रखते थे की इसके गूढ़ पहलुओं को नज़रंदाज़ न किया जाए। उनकी इस शैली से मैं बहुत प्रभावित हुआ। आज भी उन बीतें दिनों को याद करता हूँ तो एक मुस्कान मेरे चेहरे पर एकाएक आ जाती है। हमारे अध्यापक होने के साथ साथ वे एक सिद्धहस्त कवि एवं लेखक भी थे। फ़िर यह तो स्वाभाविक ही है की हिन्दी साहित्य के अध्यन में उनके समान परिपक्वता शायद ही कोई ओर शिक्षक रखता हो। उन दिनों मुझे हिन्दी में लेख लिखने में बहुत आनंद आता था। प्रतिदिन घर लौटकर मैं कभी कवितायें लिखता तो कभी अपने एक महान लेखक बन्ने के सपने देखता। थोड़ा ओर बड़ा हुआ तो महसूस हुआ की हिन्दी के क्षेत्र में जाना यूँ तो मुझे खूब लुभाता लेकिन जीवन के निर्वाह के लिये आवश्यक पैसे शायद न आ पाते। ओर फिर मैं बचपन से ही, ज़्यादा तो नही, लेकिन थोड़ा महत्वकांक्षी अवश्य था। केवल निर्वाह मात्र मेरा लक्ष्य होता तो मैं खुशी खुशी उसी क्षेत्र में पाँव जमाता परन्तु ज़्यादा पैसा कमाने की लालसा कब हिन्दी प्रेम को पीछे धकेल कर मेरे ऊपर सवार हो गई पता नही चला।

आज देश में हिन्दी की स्थिति को देखकर दुःख भी होता है, पछतावा भी। दुःख इसलिए क्योंकि जिस देश की मात्रभाषा का गौरव पाने पर यह भाषा कभी इतराती होगी, उसी देश का एक बड़ा वर्ग आज इस भाषा से बंधन छोड़ चुका है। इससे ज़्यादा पीधित करता है यह सच की एक बड़ा, साख ओर रसूख वाला, अखबारों ओर परदे पर चकाचौंध से पेश किया जाने वाले लोगो का समूह हिन्दी में अपनी विफलता के बारे में बताते हुए मन ही मन आनंदित हो उठता है, ओर एक बेशर्म हसी इस विफलता पर नाज़ होने का सबूत देती है। धीरे धीरे ये विचार लोगों के मन में घर करता जा रहा है की समाज के ऊंचे पायदानों में उठाना बैठना है तो हिन्दी से किनारा कर लेने में ही भलाई है। अपने ही देश में हिन्दी की यह दुर्गति अत्यन्त चिंताजनक है, पर इसके लिए जिम्मेदार भी हम ही हैं। डर इस बात का नहीं है की हिन्दी समाप्त हो जायेगी – वो इसलिए की करोडो हिन्दी बोलने वालों के लिए अन्य भाषाओ से अवगत होने का कोई साधन है ही नही; परन्तु इतना अवश्य है की अच्छे साहित्य से हिन्दी वंचित रह जायेगी, जिसकी वह एक समय जननी हुआ करती थी। अंग्रेजी में तो आज भी बहतरीन साहित्य लिखा जा रहा है, लेकिन पशचिमिकरण की होड़ में हिन्दी साहित्य ने एक गहरी चोट ली है। ऐसे में भारत को चाहिए की वे फ्रांस ओर रशिया जैसे देशो से सीख ले, जो आज के विश्व्यापी अंग्रेजीकरण के बावजूद अपने साहित्य को संभाले ही नही हुए, अपितु उसे रोज़ नई ऊंचाइयो तक ले जाने के लिए प्रयासरत हैं।

जाते जाते अपने पसंदीदा कवि रामधारी सिंघ ‘दिनकर’ की कुछ पंक्तियों के साथ आज्ञा लेता हूँ। संयोग ही है, कि यूँ तो ये पंक्तियाँ कर्ण (महाभारत) के मुख से प्रस्तुत की गई हैं, लेकिन अपनी जड़ो से अनजान आज के भ्रमित युवा-वर्ग की व्यथा भी ये खूब सुनाती हैं। शायद उन्हें आने वाले कल का आभास हो चुका था ॥

मैं उनका आदर्श, कहीं जो व्यथा न खोल सकेंगे ।
पूछेगा जग उनसे, किंतु, पिता का न नाम न बोल सकेंगे ,
इस निखिल विश्व में जिनका कहीं कोई अपना न होगा ,
दिल में लिए उमंग जिन्हें चिर-काल कलपना होगा ....

Lives, media, society

Normally I don’t touch upon sensitive issues on this space. There’s no special reason for it, probably I am just not sensitive enough. The one sensitive issue that has created quite a stir of late is the enigma surrounding the murder of Delhi schoolgirl Arushi Talwar.

And then, there are the very active internet as well as light-a-candle campaigns which want the girl’s case to reach its right conclusion and pray for her soul to rest in peace. Very noble indeed, and it does show people do come together if there’s a reason for it; and doubts about neo-solidarity are only figments of a few pessimists’ prophesies. I pray for her peace, I join them in their campaign, I so wish it hadn’t happened.

Infact, what I want to write about is not how bad what occurred was – I don’t need to say what happened was very unfortunate; as for whodunit - I think I should better leave that to more able authorities the kind of which I believe there are many; and whether her Dad was or not the man who did it – I don’t know shit about it.

I don’t even remotely intend to take sides. ‘Papa, mummy ya Police ?’ is the kind of coverage that suits only the IndiaTV people. Nor am I the sophisticated NDTV who said they won’t cover this case until something concrete comes out of it. Their reasoning being the mental turmoil that the girl’s family has to cope with, due to this very public undressing of a very private affair.

The only point worth raising that occurs to me in fact is not one that stems from the murder, but one that stems from the hoopla that followed it. At the risk of sounding cynical, I want to put up a few questions. Have we forgotten that there was one Hemraj who also died that day? Why does it have to be called Arushi-murder-case across all TV channels? Why haven’t we prayed, at least as visibly, for the peace of Hemraj’s departed soul? How come Hemraj’s family, we never thought, is also equally capable be feeling turmoil?

After all, what determines the relative importance of one life against another? What does? Is it again – money?

My stance is evident from the questions themselves. Just in case.

The Online Ennui

An atmosphere of dissatisfaction surrounds our present day social setting. And this is particularly true of the setting that exists only virtually, inside our very own fluffy computer set. Not all of them are fluffy though, especially now that sleek and stylish notebooks and laptops rule the roost. The new idiot box that it has come to be regarded as, together with internet – its enduring companion, would have us think that nothing’s really working for anyone. If life were a zero sum game as some game theorists would have us believe, then ‘it’s going trashy’ for a hundred people should translate into ‘it’s rocking’ for an approximately equal number. But from what is apparent, it is trash all over the park. Have we ever stopped to wonder why it’s a desert of woes with an occasional oasis of hope and not the other way round? If the desire for ‘other way round’ is foolish optimism, we could at least settle for a fifty-fifty which was so true of a time not long gone, couldn’t we? Even with that yardstick, the existing equation is alarmingly lopsided.

The trend can be seen amongst a wide array of people, cutting across boundaries of age, religion, location and gender. The young most prominently fall in its line, but the old and middle aged are not far behind. Everyone cosies up to their virtual avatar on the internet to seek solace and reassurance. It is available without much hardwork, and works in a way strikingly similar to our good old analgesics. Instant gratification notwithstanding, it makes one forget, even if fleetingly, that he’s any less, or that he’s not worth. The catch however remains – it’s virtual.

On social networking websites, on blogs, and on discussion forums – the writing is on the wall – we’re not very happy the way we are. It is a particularly intriguing category of gloom, the one that appears most widespread on the web. It is not a sadness of loss of job, it does not reflect an epidemic or extensive medical illness, it doesn’t give a picture of a hard-up man struggling to make ends meet, and no dear, it’s no love lost either. In fact, it is no clearly visible crisis, this one that seems to be ailing scores of us. As a basis, it is this absence of a distinctly defining explanation of this category of gloom, which sets it distinctly from others. Dissatisfaction comes close to describing it appropriately; boredom comes closer, and loneliness closest. But none of them quite captures it comprehensively.

As a case in point, consider blogs – although the content holds equally for other realms of the internet. Scores of amateur writers and hobbyists turn up regularly to give text to their thoughts and publish it for everyone to see. As has become a practice, one goes and appreciates fellow bloggers’ work – which, make no mistake, can at times really make the day for the one being appreciated. For he might never have guessed that something he mumbled out of sheer boredom and angst, something that took two minutes to prepare and publish could be hailed as a masterpiece or compared to the prudence of thought reserved as a label for the likes of William Wordsworth. The veracity of these lavished praises will however remain doubtful as long as the possibility of a hidden motive of being appreciated back on the part of the one who showered the praises can not be eliminated. And, umm, well, ok, it can’t be eliminated. Scratching backs is completely sanctioned here, and goodness, it’s rampant. Citing a personal experience here, the first and only time I went to a particular blog and commented on it off the cuff, the first thing I got back was an invitation to be part of their mutual appreciation circle wherein they shall appreciate whatever I write, in return for me appreciating theirs. The ‘invitation’ came in a tone of humorous disguise though; the one that signals: “If it’s taken positively – great! If not, then it’s just a joke.” This delusion, as I increasingly discovered, is getting so firmly embedded among avid netizens that they no longer consider how absurd receiving an admiration would be when you already know it’s under a contract, whether or not you want to acknowledge it. What kind of fulfilment can be derived out of it is beyond logical understanding, but it’s welcome as long as it comes. There, you see, is an anomaly, and it's only the proverbial drop in the ocean when seen in the larger perspective.

The one logical backing that I can think of for the thing I just referred to as an ‘anomaly’ is the neural circuitry that says ‘applause garners further applause’. People with a sub-urban and rural grounding would appreciate this principle more than others, for they must have seen halwais and street-food-hawkers deliberately getting bogus customers to surround their stalls, so that wandering souls would come flocking too, thinking of their stall as a popular food-haunt. This precept might have one tempted to beg, borrow, steal, or ‘make arrangements for’ some applause initially in the hope that more of it would eventually follow. Often it does. But quite often it doesn’t and we’re back to square one – more dissatisfaction and dejection, and higher levels of despondency than before. Even when it does the desired there still remains an iota of suppressed conscience trying to outburst, which even though might forever remain unable to actually burst out, but carries out the task of spoiling the unblemished gratification (that true appreciation otherwise gives) pretty effortlessly.

Now let us move out of the web for a change. Even though a leading radio station would want us to accept a frivolous report that considers Delhi-ites amongst the happiest people on earth, you don’t need to be a social scientist to be aware that in India’s capital city, cases of suicides have risen exponentially ever since the new millennium dawned on us. A more sombre fact that concerns is that for every suicide committed, there are nearly twenty attempted. Psychiatrists never had their bank accounts this bubbling, and spiritual healing has mushroomed into becoming a full fledged industry in itself. The problem however is that all this isn’t showing the results. The situation is only getting grimmer by the day, and it is there for all of us to see and fret. Don’t fret. Chose to ponder and make a dignified way out.

I would like to sneak in another personal experience at this point. Recently, a company that rewards the students it appoints with an initial remuneration of around Rupees Forty Lacs per annum, short listed one from my class for the final selection. Far from being proud or wishing that he makes it, their must have been a hundred silent prayers going up the heavens from my class-fellows themselves, all wanting that this guy doesn’t make the cut. Just for the record, eventually he didn’t. However, this leaves it very clear, that the students measured their own success based on how successful their peers are. Ponder closely, and you will find how absurd this line of thought is. The forty lacs dream job, for which you were already out of reckoning, will now not go to your mate who you also rivalled all these years. Reason to be content, it seems. But it won’t come to you either, and it will certainly go to some other guy now, only that you don’t know him. You’re still going to get your four lacs an year, but your mate didn’t get forty either congrats, but it’s not as though no one’s going to get it now, someone who’s not your mate is going to get the forty. Figure an anomaly here? There it is. Another drop in the ocean, one into which we must save ourselves from drowning. As long as we measure how rich or popular or accomplished we are according to how rich or popular or accomplished the guy we envy is, we are doomed to languish in our self made cocoons of frustration, grief, and general ennui. Because, at the end of the day, the guy we envy is invariably going to be better than we, isn’t that the reason we envy him in the first place ?