THE HILARIOUS AFTERMATH OF SUBLIME EXPLETIVES

     As a member of a family which was quite often on the move from one part of the country to the other, my childhood is studded, peppered and maybe embellished with a few gems in terms of experiences. And the ones that occupy the foremost regions of the association areas of my cerebral hemispheres are the ones that I have had in terms of the most amusing situations around the rampant usage of swear words. They say that the first word that a baby comes out when she breaks into speech is 'ma' or 'mama' or 'amma'. So pure , so natural , so unadulterated ! And on the opposite end of the spectrum, it is also true that the first few words that one gets attracted to, in a foreign language is the string of cuss words so endemic to that language ! Pure ?? Natural ?? Unadulterated ??

     The first incident took place when I returned to Delhi, at the age of nine after spending a year in the South for a year, thanks to my father's recuperation schedule, post an attack of pleuracy. Needless to say, I wasn't treated to an array of oil lamps a' la Deepavali, as I couldn't lay claim to any link with the Ikshvaku clan of Lord Rama ! I knew I was a mere mortal ! But I was welcomed with open arms into the clan of local brats. During one of the scuffles between the ruffians of that clan, one scrubby member screamed at a fleeing brigand loudly with a hyperbolic screwing up of the face, 'maadar chhod' 'behen chhod'. I was suitably shocked more at the drama behind the situation than at the impact of the ' sublime' words. Later on, pondering over the incident, I was suitably impressed. Suitably impressed due to my amazement at the evolution of THE  Indian cuss word. I was elated to 'realize' that we had evolved to such an extent that even our cuss words were notches above mundane standards of  crudity . 'Abandoning' or 'chhod'ing one's sister or mother unprotected in an irresponsible fashion was a swear word of the worst degree ! I had obviously misheard the phonetically softer 'd' as the harsher version !Of course, it wouldn't have made any difference, as I really didn't know what the 'profound' word actually meant !

     Another instance that comes to my mind is the one which I had with my five-year old nephew when I landed on the turf of Mumbai, all of 21 in 1985. With the state of my knowledge of the State language being nothing short of something that would demand a shameful exile under the biggest boulder, I was shell-shocked when the little moppet screamed 'gandool' one fine day . I missed the terminal 'l' and concluded that the precocious one was 'ably' using the word ,which actually meant someone who tags a commercial value for the usage of  the terminal orifice of his egestive wastes'  for carnal pleasure !
I, like a true zealot, reported the matter to his morally upright  mother . And she, in all alacrity, gave him a royal pasting. The quizzed lad indignantly claimed that he had merely exclaimed at having seen a thick fat 'gandool' crawling up the wall. His loving mother gave a dramatic twist to her efficient neck-joint and shot a smouldering look , which when I later understood,  meant : 'Gandool' is the Marathi equivalent of ant, you virtual image of the fossilized remnant of a feather-brained nincompoop !

     And there was my aunt's mother , who had a great fetish for replacing her h's with p's. To add to this 'charm' she was heavily challenged as far as the national language, Hindi's vocabulary went.
On one of those rare occasions where she ended up 'serendipitously'  dealing with the family's washerman ( my aunt would religiously prevent her interception with the washerman, milkman, green grocer and their ilk, fearing thoroughly embarrassing situations ! ), she demanded that he needed to do the entire month's 'hishaab' ( accounts ) immediately . Then and there, right in her presence ! The assiduous lady added that she wanted to see how he did the 'hishaab'. Considering the fact that the sweet lady always mixed up her h's and p's and the modified word meant the holy act or urination, the harrowed man was pertrified at the 'promiscuity' of the octagenarian ! 
       And how could I forget the embarrassingly hilarious situations which would crop up in Delhi, when the milkman would ask my neighbour to unlatch her 'kundi' (latch of her door ) to facilitate delivery of the milk packets, or in Mumbai, where the local gardener would suggest that my aunt grow 'the yellow roses in her larger 'kundis' ( flower pots ). Before you start questioning the bawdy humour behind this, let me tell you that the sweetly dramatic sounding word , in our mother-tongue meant one's derrie're !

      My ardent obeisances to the holy souls who coined these sublime words and spiced up my otherwise drab memories !
 

OF GUILT, GUILT COMPLEX, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

     Accomplished thespian painter Anjolie Ela Menon recently stated that anyone on the streets can take to protests these days. Call it the arrogance granted by democracy or the alliance between the 'protestor' and the media's assiduous penchant for snooping around for 'scoops' ! How else could you describe the recent tirade of hate protests against talented actor Rahul Bose for his opinions about considering amnesty measures and reformation chances for undertrials, of course, after considering that evaluation of the genuineness of the plea for the same has been made. Since he had categorically stated that the chances of such cases should not be entirely ruled out, he does believe that there may be just a few such rare cases. It just speaks volumes of his moderate temperament. And moderation indicates a high degree of descernment and mental, moral and spiritual evolution. What's wrong with many of us ? We get so cynical that we just jump to conclusions and throw a spanner into the moving cogs of any wheel, regardless of what the matter is . Having an opinion is almost diametrically opposite to being opinionated ! Or is it a pseudo sense of power we derive when we 'stand' up against somebody whom we subconsciously perceive as being more powerful than us ( Sadly, we do feel , though subconsciously, that any celebrity is the epitome of omnipotence ) ? 

    Lest one starts believing that I am championing Rahul's tweets, let me state that my views are not in exact consonance with Rahul's. I have a take that takes somewhere from where he started turning vague about the measures that should be taken to evaluate the degree of genuineness in the plea for reform. When a criminal facing the gallows is asked whether he would like to reform, he is bound to answer in the affirmative. Either to escape punishment or due to the guilt complex that pervades his psyche, owing to which he exonerates himself by blaming his background, his childhood and his parents. Every damn thing except himself ! It is in extreme cases of  crimes of this genre that warranties capital punishment and that are off-shoots of violently vicarious, perverted minds, that strong psychological intervention becomes mandatory. The criminal has to be 'psyched' into accepting the magnitude of his crime and his psyche should be rather 'purged' to transform his guilt complex to pure , unadulterated guilt , which is devoid of any excuses and is rather replete with true remorse. That will be when the beast or 'id' ( as Freud would have loved to term it !) is vanquished and the 'superego' or the spirit of ideal human behaviour  takes the driver's seat !

     But then , no man is an island. It cannot be ruled out that majority of the crimes, especially the violent ones against women and children are the results of a skewed and distorted socio-cultural milieu and ironically the value system inculcated in the perpetrators of the crime  by the older women of their households. Isn't it true that most of the heinous crimes against women have been commited either by 'more powerful' women or misogynists who are born out of the interaction between tender minds and irrational women, who nurse attitudes and behaviour heavily skewed from the normal ? Can all such related people be subjected to this kind psychological purging ? Tough question and a seemingly impractical task. But then , aren't we talking about setting up precedents ? No perverted mind thinks about  the horrifying consequence of  death penalty when it commits a crime. But when brought to the level of human purity, the same mind would suffer from a genuine guilt which is probably worse than capital punishment !

     Having said that, I would say that the judiciary has to function in a more objective way, for , it has to set  tougher precedents as well as arduous deterrents against all crimes. So, if it is a death penalty, so shall it be ! Let the soul face it ! But if it is a reformed soul, he will accept it with a smile on his face, which will speak volumes of the relief at having received deliverance, salvation, a chance for atonement and maybe even 'moksha' !
 

OF AMBITIONS, COMPETITIONS AND SELF-DEPRECIATION

     The triumvirate of poetic devices comprising of paradox, oxymoron and irony seems to be my current obsessive compulsive disorder. 'Emphasis through irony', 'Moronic oxymoron', 'Moron's oxymoron' are the common phrases that pepper my bland ( I suspect people opine so, though do not mouth it due to politeness! ) verbal articulations, these days. Sample this. A hapless corporate honcho ( I call him a 'slave' ,though) buddy of mine happened to be the most recent 'beneficiary' of philosophical 'pearls of wisdom',when I declared,"You know dude, the most selfless man is the product of acute selfishness !" This was met with an expression which could have jolly well vied with that of Pallas who was made to face Medusa after his shield was stolen by Nemesis ! And then followed the unsolicited verbal diarrhoea," Listen a truly selfless man reaches such a plane of motivation that, according to Maslow he revels in his self-actualization. He is just concerned about his opinions about himself. The only motivation for him to define a desire to do something is his personal happiness. So, now tell me chief, did I make myself clear ?" He shook his head with an oscillation significant more for its frequency than its amplitude and which implied:This incorrigible dimwit of a nincompoopic pseud is doomed for sure ! Incorrigible I am, for, I don't seem to learn the art of keeping my trap shut.

     Cut to a more recent frame ( Hopefully one that would put me in a more decent one !). The occasion happened to be one when I was having a poignant discussion with one of my lady friends who also happened to part of the Parent Teacher Association coterie of my nine-year old 'junior's' school. The subject veered into future plans about our children's education. And I stated quite innocuously about my plans to seek admission for the kiddo in a well-ranked and time-tested residential working on educational philosophies resembling those of mine. A school working on the thoughts of an erudite and modern thinker and educationist. She immediately went on a tirade against my decision, going on and on about how imperative it was for me to take a call on my decision ( As if 'Junior' had already secured admission in the aforesaid school !).Getting on the defensive, she almost stated ( she must have called the mode subtle !) that her kid deserved something much better and he was getting it all at home. To which, I (read unlike other parents) didn't nurse the 'holy ' notion that I could offer the best option to my child at home. And that, all parents had glaring limitations which were paradoxically being tom-tommed as assets by them. Having been politely shut up the assiduous lady's sermon ( ladies, at times, do love to go on with their lop-sided arguments, just because they perceive that they have won the previous round by sedulously rattling on !) now moved to competitive exams at school level and how important it was to build in young minds the 'competitive spirit' She gloated about the tutor who was 'training' her young turk for a State level competitive exam in Mathematics. And very kindly, she asked me ,"What do you think Mr.Iyer?" To which I replied, " I am more of a sucker for being ambitious. So , deliberate competitiveness is not my scene."
She gave me a quizzed look, which meant 'So what's the difference ?' And I went on with my 'gyaan' about how being ambitious was about carving a niche for yourself, about creating an inimitable slot for yourself and not about scampering around with multitudes for pre-ordained slots. I added authoritatively and quite 'male-bitchily' that competitions were meant for the mediocre who loved to delude themselves that they were notches above the commonplace , while being ambitious helped one take care of petty competitions without being so deliberate about it. The lady didn't know what hit her! And I on my part, resembled Oscar Wilde's Remarkable Rocket , which felt that it was so clever that it often failed to understand what it spoke !

     And, dear reader, on your part, it is you who has to perceive or judge ( they are two different ball-games altogether ! ) whether I have been honestly self-depreciating or dishonestly pompous or honestly pompous or dishonestly self-depreciating. Choose your combination . And do comment !
     

IS DARWIN ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE ?

       I remember having seen a brutally sensational movie, about a decade back.The intentionally futuristic movie , narrated in an almost mythical but grossly spine-chilling fashion, was one of a woman getting married into a womanless family and subsequently being brutalized by the men of the family. The story had the backdrop of a town, which had this traumatized girl as the sole woman member.

       Today, when I keep coming across newsbits ( I squirm at the concept of 'updating' myself ) about lexicon-defying  and human-behaviour-defying attrocities against women, I wonder whether the film was a clear prophetic paradigm. And I, for my part, have been at tremendous unease , although the post-Godhra riots and the post-partition upheavals were not unknown to me. The mere sight of a truckload of ironbars makes me traumatically break into bouts of sweats. What I am penning down is, probably an attempt at a sublimational release. Within a couple of months of a gruesome brutality wrought upon a student of physiotherapy in December 2012 ( I refuse to classify it as mere rape ), an entire Pandora's box , an entire  can of loathsome worms seems to have been left
open. And out is spewing an unending volley of similar crimes, each gorier in degree than the previous one. A pregnant woman raped and then stabbed several times. A disgruntled lover shoving an iron rod down his paramour's mouth. Or a goon threatening a harrassed woman with a fate similar to that of Nirbhaya , as if the incident was a standard, a prototype . I shudder at the thought that crimes similar in magnitude and manner would be termed as 'Nirbhayad', just as castration got a new nomencaltural identification as 'Bobbitized' !

        On one hand, it has woken up the equanimous and the less inhumane among us, out of  their reverie to understand the vulnerability of the human body and psyche. On the other, you almost fume in indignation and ask whether it has to be at the cost of  what a nubile
23 year-old had to go through for what would have seemed to her as epochs. On one hand we raise our voices against female foeticide, while on the other you wonder as to whether a woman has to aspire for a better life or to choose a better mode of dying !

        Is it a case of one sex against another ? Or as a 'well-meaning'
( let's give him the benefit of doubt ) political leader stated, a case a migrants against locals. I doubt this. For, the victim as well as the perpetrators of the crime were not locals. Sounds trite, but it is definitely a case of sanity, rendered weak due to minority in sheer numbers, losing a gory battle against insane and depraved brutality, strengthened by sheer numbers again.

       What comes to my mind is a case study that exemplifies Darwin's Theory of Natural Selection, in which he propounded the paradigm of 'survival of the fittest'. It is about two sets of moths, grey ones and black ones, in Birmingham, with the grey ones being larger in number in the pre-Industrial Revolution era , due to their ability to camouflage themselves against predators, among the  clusters of fungi that formed a thick patina on the barks of trees. But the Industrial Revolution changed the scenario, what with soot spreading itself all over the trees. In the following few years, genetic mutations in the following generations ensured a step-by-step conversion of the grey moths into black ones. So much so that black moths became almost extinct in that geographical region !

        Should I nurse the temerity of prophesizing a similar change in the structure of human population ?     

AM I GROOMING A LIAR ?

"Couldn't you pick up something more ... say .... suitable ? Has it to be pink tees and blue jamaicans ? " That vociferation , though softly articulated comment, is met with a wide-eyed, what-do-I-do  , flabbergasted expression from my cherub-faced nine-year old junior. And that look, non-verbally said, 'But didn't you ask me to choose ?' The verbal and non-verbal pow-pow between us terminates with my trite "Well, ultimately you have to choose. So, fine Zeph, go ahead."The moppet is left confused and riddled with guilt for his sartorial faux pas of having chosen to don something that the cat had pinched from the cellar !

This, though an instance of a lighter vein, is just one of those many instances when I 'projected' (Long live Sigmund Freud !) my own value confusion on to the hapless kid and goaded him in subtle and not-so-subtle ways to convince him that it was he who was perenially confused. I, being a single parent, and he being a late issue ( while I am currently the biggest issue for him !) and to top it, he being an adopted child, there was a lot of idealism that had been drilled into his head from early childhood.When he was a year old, I started 'educating' him about adoption and how he was 'no less and no better than any other child'. I did not spare  any effort to keep him grounded by regularly keeping in touch with and taking him to the child care centre from where he was adopted. All this, in an attempt at being 'honest'. The innocent was taught, like a
keyed-up doll, to say "My dad is my mom too", whenever any of his friends put him to the test of pesky questions. Concepts of sharing were drilled into his tender psyche .While other toddlers of his age would cling to their parents and refuse to allow anyone else to be molly-coddled by them, my little one would merrily allow me to cootchie-coo with any moppet of his age. And the perks were eyebrow-raising compliments raised to his advantage ( 'Such a secure child !'). But there was this one incident which I can never forget,just because it was an antithesis to the above theory.

He was just two years old and had not even broken into speech. On one of those harrowing days,my little one rudely pulled out his closest friend Jaden from the seat next to mine in the car, by non-verbally threatening him with his transparent-as-distilled-water eyes 'Bugger off man.That place,next to my dad, is mine.' I was shocked then,at having failed in drilling effectively the'sharing and caring' regimen.Then, as like today, the little soul was made to feel that he had committed a crime worthy of the fires of hell !

When I look at him today, quiet and more often than not , melancholy,my heart gets wrenched into cogitating on what he might have really missed. These days, his responses are indicative more of   what he 'should' do than what he 'would' naturally do under specific circumstances. He is often totally at bay when he has to decide on how he would deal with the simplest of strifes. His sense of belonging to a space and what belongs to him seems to be slowly withering away even before blossoming. Often lost, he shows responses which are below the benchmark set for children of his age. A naive mind, drilled with and by adult idealism, his has umpteen adult questions to ask, with not clue of how to articulate them. The resultant is, a steady plummeting down , into the safe cocoons of regressive baby-like behaviour.

On my part,in my attempt at playing a dual role of a father and a mother, I often seem to be neither here nor there. In an attempt to make him an 'ideal' selfless child, I have almost truncated the growth of his 'self '. And he on his part, is subconsciously smothering the natural growth of his cognitive process. And the effect on me is a constant spate of temper outbursts, which is more conspicuous in the space outside my home. As one wise man (was it Freud ?) aptly put it,'When nations cannot manage the civilized peace at home, they go to war'.

But lest this long drawn confession lures the reader into believing that I am in the clutches of maudlin tempered with self-pity, I would like to take a detour here. Being a kinky,quirk of the ultimate variety, I work best in an atmosphere of negative reinforcement. Hence, what is done shall be undone and what is undone shall be done ! I look at a few silver linings in an otherwise sombre cloud. I take heart when my son refuses to buy the 'Tvameva maata cha pitaa tvameva' ( Dad, you are my mom,dad and the entire universe) bit, when his sedulous friends relentlessly badger him with questions about his mom. He comes out promptly with "I think my mom is dead. When I get to know the real story, I'll share it with you guys. So, till then, why don't we get to know our Play Station better ?'

He may or may not have uttered the truth, but he has learnt to deal with a situation whose verity is dubious.  And I, on my part,  am not worried that my son has not uttered the truth.