English - A Colorful Language

The Talk of the Town - Nana Chudasama's message at Churchgate, Mumbai reads:
"Congratulations from us to US for a colorful victory"

It is believed that Obama's colorful victory was not a bolt from the blue but a carefully planned strategic one.

Some of my friends, who had passed their exams with flying colors, tried for a white-collared jobs, some took up a blue-collared job , while some others migrated to the US to earn greenbacks , but are now facing the prospect of pink slips . One such acquaintance cited an incident in his blog, about his colleague, who saw red , when another colleague mentioned that there was a black hole in their office! Though reference was to the frequent missing documents in office, an Afro-American colleague, took offence to being referred to as ‘black’, thinking it was directed to them.

Elementary Physics has taught us that white is a combination of all colors and black is in fact the absence of colors. But one does not understand why “whites” call “blacks”, “colored”?

Indeed it is a grey area that sets my grey cells into action!

Do read this interesting poem written by an African Child!

Back home, newspapers report several instances of red tape in offices, with the obvious intent to amass black money. Several such black deeds of greedy members of society, brings wealth and often impresses neighbors, who turn green with envy . But soon enough the illgotten money is wasted away in vices like drinking after which one sees pink elephants . This meteoric rise invites the attention of investigation agencies and income tax authorities.

These officials then try to catch the culprits red-handed . Often suspects tell a white lie to get away. Blackmailers then try to exploit the situation, if they have access to some dark secrets of such individuals. The Police who is beckoned to get hold of the blackmailer, beat him black and blue , to get the truth out. Some television channels then beam the story of Police brutality repeatedly, blowing the story out of proportion. Talk shows on competitor’s channels then call this kind of sensational reporting yellow journalism and condemn such news agencies and want them blacklisted. Politicians get away with setting up projects, arrive to a red carpet welcome to inaugurate them.

Such projects later prove to be white elephants .
Controversy erupts and the parliament then demands a white paper


Media interviews colorful personalities such as cricketers who have hit a purple patch and newspapers feature articles of wellness, which guide readers how to keep in the pink of health and how to drive away your blues .

English is indeed a colorful language! I just wanted to put my thoughts in black and white. I hope it will be red all over ... oops...read all over. After all, such posts appear only once in a blue moon! .

Blogger's Post-Script
This post is also on a special request from Priyank Thatte a fellow-blogger, who backpacks all round the world and captures the colors of nature in his camera and puts them up on his blog with some superb travel experiences shared for our benefit. I have blogrolled him!

Take Care, Friends!

Today is the World Day of Remembrance for Traffic Victims observed the world over on the third Sunday of November each year as endorsed by the United Nations.

On this occasion, in public interest, please read my serious post in my other blog link below:

Take Care!

For some weekend fun, read my last post "Barack Dance" if you havent read it already!

Barack Dance!

A Dance academy board said “Learn Barack Dance”

Last week it was Palin Dosa. This week, would I get a glimpse of ‘Barack Dance’? Before the world began to dance to his tunes, our locals had already caught up with the latest trend in dancing, one wondered? Curious to know what it was all about, I rang the bell and a thin, dark, tall guy in his mid-twenties opened the door. “Learn Barrrack Dance?” he asked.

“Just give me a demonstration so that I can decide”, I replied.
He began his gyrations and jerks as realization dawned on me – it was what I knew to be the same old Break Dance!

“No, thanks”, I said. As I turned to go, he made another offer: “How about Heap Hope?”

Barrack Obama had won the election on heaps of hope, for sure. So would there be something to hold my interest here, I wondered? Knowing his tendencies, I soon enough guessed he was talking about “Hip-Hop”!

I hurried away before he could hold me by my Taang (legs) and offer me some “Taaango” (Tango) or “Balle-Balle Ballet” as a fusion dance.

Our local guys sure know how to be in step with the world and keep up with the times!

A new Phobia
While working on my last post, I came across a new phobia - AIBOHPHOBIA – The fear of palindromes! But then who would be afraid of palindromes?

You would be more certain to find many people who love them. Considering that all philias are converted from phobias.

Would that not be AILIHPHILIA – The obsessive love for Palindromes?

Blogger's Post-script: How about some more word play in my future posts?

About Palindromes

In the comments section of my last post, Palin Talk, my old friend and fellow-blogger Mavin mentioned Palindromes in a Limerick which he so wonderfully produced instantly, which goes as below:

Long years back I learnt about the Palin-drome,
Whilst whiling away time at the aero-drome,
Later in life, I heard about Palin the dish,
Who had our dear Vinod in a swish,
It was later diagnosed as Gullible Sheep syn-drome.
:-)

What followed was a word play of anagrams, limericks and the like between fellow bloggers Mavin and Vinod Sharma!

I was fascinated by palindromes even when I was in college in the late 70’s. In fact my first published article titled “A way with words” in the Free Press Journal was all about wordplay such as palindromes, anagrams and lipograms.

If you thought Palindromes were some kind of private aerodrome for Sarah Palin, its not. Palindromes are words, sentences, paragraphs or numbers which, if read backwards are the just the same as when they are read forwards.

Nitin and Nayan, my friends in school had a penchant for palindromes ever since they learnt that their names were palindromes too. We had gathered quite a few in those Google-less days: Madam, malayalam, civic, level, radar, rotor were early palindromes we had in our list already.

One of the earliest palindromes possible was if Adam would have said to Eve:
"Madam, in Eden, I'm Adam". With this we had graduated to palindrome sentences. Was English the language Adam spoke? One wonders.

The historic utterance attributed to Napoleon upon the sighting of Elba, the island where the British had sent him to exile was the first palindrome we collected:
“Able was I, ere I saw Elba” , he is reported to have said.
Since he was a Frenchman, I wonder who translated it to this amazing palindrome?

The phenomenal feat of the construction of the Panama Canal gave us another popular palindrome that was next in our list:
“A man, a plan, a canal, Panama”
A fitting tribute to a great constructive work!

Next we learnt about this one:
“Straw? No. Too stupid a fad. I put soot on warts”

Dammit, I’m mad! With the advent of internet, Google Search, Wikipedia and such tools, why do I have to list them here? Read the entire list of palindromes here.

Our search for the longest palindrome ended with an article in the newspapers about the the longest palindrome, by Georges Perec, a treatise on palindromes, in French which had 9691 words published in 1969!

Georges Perec, member of the Paris OULIPO group (Workshop of Potential Literature), wrote a long piece of palindrome prose in 1969, consisting of 9691 words. The word 'palindrome' appears in the first sentence, and consequently, its reversal in the last. This is the first in a series of meta-palindromes (or, palindromes of the palindrome) by various authors.
Beginning and end read:
"Trace l'inégal palindrome. Neige. Bagatelle, dira Hercule. Le brut repentir, cet écrit né Perec. L'arc lu pèse trop, lis à vice versa. Perte. Cerise d'une vérité banale, le Malstrom, Alep, mort édulcoré, crêpe porté de ce désir brisé d'un iota" ...
...
"À toi, nu désir brisé, décédé, trope percée, roc lu. Détrompe-là. Morts : l'âme, l'élan abêti, revenu. Désire ce trépas rêvé : si va ! S'il porte, sépulcral, ce repentir, cet écrit me perturbe le lucre : Haridelle, ta gabegie ne mord ni la plage ni l'écart."

Georges Perec is also the author of a 300-page French Novel “La Disparition”, without using the popular vowel ‘e’ ever! Such a composition is called a lipogram. Amazing Frenchman this!

Thanks, Mavin and Vinod for taking me down memory lane, with anagrams, palindromes, limericks once again! Nostalgia indeed!
Now that is not a new drug variant of analgin for my nostrils!

Palin Talk

“Sprite bujhaye only pyaas! Seedhi Baat - No Bakwas” claimed ads of Sprite, a soft drink in India. Hindi for ‘Sprite only quenches thirst - Plain Talk No hogwash’. This revolutionary soft drink advertisement promoted plain talk more than the drink itself, one would imagine. I enjoyed this take on the tall claims made by competitors through their ad campaigns and liked the refreshing ad as much as the refreshing soft drink and the refreshing new idea of plain talk.

But alas, even this soft drink has stopped quenching only thirst and has started “ Sprite Express - Ghumo, Ghumao!” Who needs a soft drink to Ghumo Ghumao? Is it not the prerogative of our local politicians to do that? Advertisements can baffle as much as they can entertain.

If you havent seen the ad, Watch the Video here.

You may be familiar with the surrogate ads of hard-hitting liquor drinks, which are otherwise not allowed to walk down the advertisement ramps unless they disguise themselves to be some music cassette or rock band or some holiday package,apple juice or life-saving nectar. So they appear in a tribal costume dancing to the taal (beat) of drums and making Taal Claims of their products-parading-incognito. Tall Claims, I mean.

Of late, ad campaigns have been hijacked by competitors. As in a recent campaign that had attempted to build suspense and curiosity by declaring “See you at Home Soon”, without revealing the product being advertised. BIG Rivals being a BIG time Industry house was also BIG time into corporate spying. Reliance BIG hijacked their theme by advertising their product was at home with all their BIG features to boast of. Everything about the product would be BIG, one was convinced. We shall see a BIG shake-out in the DTH (Direct-to-Home) TV business. The consumer must also be prepared for BIG discounts and some BIG disappointments if promises are not kept or services are not upto their BIG expectations.

But hijacking is not restricted to advertisements. Political parties are now claiming that their hard hitting manifestos (or the very purpose of their existence) are also prey to hijacking. The ‘original’ tiger cub, Uddhav says so in an interview to the Mumbai Mirror, recently. He says it is a remake like Sholay!

But hasn’t Raj roared louder, hogged prime-time national channels and front pages of national newspapers with the very same agenda? Has he not ushered in the competition to the claim for the real Grand Savior of Marathi (hereafter referred to as GSM)? One cannot rule out more claimants of GSM from all parties present and future in the times to come!

Now hold it! I cannot be hijacking my blogpost from being a humor blog to a political blog and speculate on who the GSM would be and have fellow bloggers committed to political blogs fretting and fuming for infringing into their domain and let down my readers who wait for their regular dose of rib-tickling humor. I cannot let this happen. It’s my blog! I may not know who owns Mumbai, but I certainly know who owns this blog - Me!

So let me share a futuristic joke I heard from a chaste Marathi Manoos, while travelling in a BEST Bus yesterday , which goes thus (translated from Marathi) :-
“Time came when the Grand Savior of Marathi (GSM) had become very powerful and no foreign investment could be made without his blessing. The head honchos of several foreign companies lined up at His office. One such foreign industrialist invited him out to a Multi-Star Hotel for Lunch. This MNC hotel served exotic food from Italy, Bangkok, Korea, Lebanon, Japan and Singapore. Sigh, but none from Kolhapur. When asked what he would have, GSM promptly replied in Marathi, “Kombdi”. The Chef, an enlightened soul, had known of the primary rule of learning Marathi equivalents to dish it out in Marathi and thankfully knew that “Kombdi” meant Chicken.

When the dish arrived, GSM found some extraneous meat other than the “Kombdi” in his dish! Having heard of the habits of over-zealous Far-easterners of adding some forbidden meats as garnishing, he declared further:
“Fakkta Kombdi!”

The poor chef had not heard of this before and went shouting into the kitchen repeating what he had uttered! The Sous Chef, also a foreigner, replied, “I have killed it, removed its feathers, cleaned it and also grilled it thoroughly.
How in hell do I now F**K THE KOMBDI?”

Moral of the Story: If you want to be in Maharashtra, learn proper Marathi, guys!

After this incident, would the mighty GSM change his long standing slogan “Fakkta Marathi”, meaning “Only Marathi!”, to protect its pride from the wild mis-interpretation of outsiders? One wonders.

If this post is about slogans, adlines, hijack, change, advertising, political manifestos,why is this post titled “Palin Talk” if it has nothing to do with Sarah Palin? Is this another hijack? No, sorry, it is only a typo. It should have been ‘Plain Talk'. Like ‘Palin Dosa’ served in a Mysore Restaurant - the board should have been saying ‘Plain Dosa’. If you want foreign tourists to come visiting, learn what they would like to have! I just learnt from them.

Seeing is Believing: Palin Dosa Board
(Times of India Page 7 dated 02.11.2008)


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The Roti or Chapati Maker for our Kitchen!

When my better half mentioned that we needed a new water purifier and some kitchen accessories, my joy knew no bounds. Diwali was approaching and it was my heartfelt wish to surprise her with a modern, innovative upgrade for the kitchen. If a woman found her way to her hubby’s heart was enroute his tummy, a hubby would most certainly find his way to her heart through the kitchen, the provider for the tummy, one thought.

Ever since a television report had demonstrated a roti-maker or chapati making machine, it was my earnest desire to go in for one to aid her in performing routine kitchen chores. Wanting to spring a surprise at the opportune moment, no mention had been made about my plans.

She sensed my rare enthusiasm in joining in for the shopping expedition and was pleasantly surprised, mixed with a tinge of suspicion, though. What made me sacrifice a couple of hours of reading pleasure? Normal circumstances would have found me with an unputdownable thriller. One would also find me incessantly surfing the net or punching away the keyboard in an attempt to write some utter nonsense for my next blog post.

Once at the electronic superstore, my wife began to check out water purifiers and stuff like that. But I began enquiring about this strange new gadget that rolled out roti after roti that I had seen on TV. I was perplexed at the ignorance of the sales persons at the electronic megastore! “Which Channel? Which program?” They asked. But I pursued my dream gadget at every store in the neighborhood. The missionary zeal with which one was eager to acquire this exotic new gadget, without much background information or reference checks about its performance, aroused her suspicion.

“We don’t need a roti-maker or chapati making machine for our kitchen!”, she announced firmly and with the dash of finality.

My heart sank! My efforts to replace the old with the modern appliance had met with cold denial. Even the Indo-US nuclear deal had seen a smoother passage, one thought. Here was an opportunity to relegate that innocent looking wooden implement to the pages of history. One which had ruled the kitchen for several centuries, going beyond its call of duty, it was responsible for depriving husbands world over, from indulging in their important, passionate activities which included playing golf, reading bestsellers, watching important debates on national TV Channels, or cheering your country's team in a closely fought cricket/soccer/whatever-your-passion-sport match, forwarding emails, playing rummy or chess with friends, bird-watching besides socialising (read: getting drunk)in the evening. It had been instrumental in compelling husbands the world over to drop their important indulgent activities midway only to take up menial, unimportant, petty jobs which go by the name of ‘household chores’.

For the uninitiated, household chores are domestic boring errands like hunting for a plumber to fix the leaking tap (that has already caused quite a deluge, btw)or getting the electrician to attend to a spark in the switchboard (that could have burnt the entire neighbourhood) or get some dough (of any kind that your imagination can stretch to).



The “rolling pin”, as it was humbly named, played a crucial role and proved to be another ‘unputdownable’ (for the wife of course). My previous attempt to trade it in for a pillow fight yielded no result. With so many years into our marriage, my wife could easily evaluate the role and function of a pillow-fight as compared to the terrifying effect of the very prospect of hurling a rolling pin. Pillow-fights are only to be watched in advertisements and movies to suggest an ongoing romance. It was only symbolic and had nothing to do with real life.

She declared in a Javed Jafri-esque manner – "It’s different”!

Not wanting another encounter with the domestic 'Head-On Collider', the next trip to the electronic megastore - all by myself this time.

I tried my luck with the roti or chapati making machines.

“It is for industrial canteens – not for homes” he replied firmly.

“There is a really huge one in operation at the Golden Temple at Amritsar and there are some smaller ones for caterers and industrial canteens! Never heard of one for the kitchen of a small family”, he explained.

With faint hopes, one asked, “Do you have a sturdy laptop, which can double up as a shield and can withstand the impact of a rolling pin hurled at the speed of the fastest Brett Lee delivery?”



The poor salesman at the counter remembered my fondness for “unusual necessities” and had been praying hard, that this time around, I would want any of the several gizmos the superstore offered!

But would you call a perfectly normal husband wanting to do what he loves most, on his weekend holiday, “Someone with ‘unusual necessities’”? Or would you rather invent and design gizmos to help husbands the world over stay on course with the important tasks at hand? Did someone not say, "Necessity is the mother of Invention?" I can see this happen - only if mothers and wives allow this to happen!

Seeing is Believing:
Click on the weblinks below to watch some related videos:

1. Chapati making automation of mammoth proportions at the Golden Temple, Amritsar.

2. The smallest chapati making machine in commercial use as on date. A small scale down of this model would serve the purpose and serve humanity (read: husbands world over)

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The Baap Trap!

The Joint Commissioner of Police, Mumbai Shri K L Prasad’s statement “Mumbai kisike baap ka nahin” (meaning, Mumbai is not the property of anyone’s father) brought out the individuality in all Mumbaikars (a resident of Mumbai), like never before. The statement stirred up a hornet’s nest among local politicians.

A historian was quick to point out that Bombay, as Mumbai was called then, was Catherine of Braganza’s Father’s. Until he gave it away to Charles II’s as dowry in 1661. From 1661 to 1668 it was Charles II’s child’s father’s, I would suffice it to say, since my hours of google-searching did not yield Charles II’s child’s name. But, Charles II did not want the trouble of ruling these islands, Bombay was made part of the British East India Company in 1668 by way of lease.

There is no evidence of it being of anyone’s father’s thereafter.

What came to my mind when all TV channels flashed the Police Chief’s uttering verbatim, that evening was, “Just hope it was someone’s!” One always lived on the hope that someone would own up the maximum city, instead of being nobody’s, or nobody’s baap’s (father’s). Everybody’s would be even better! It would help overcome the “Kiske baap ka kya jaata hai? Attitude”, which has been comically translated to “Whose Father’s What Goes? Attitude”.

In Mumbai, it is believed that to learn how to swear, one needs to drive on its streets. Every driver believes that the road belongs to him, and the moment someone gets in “his” way, it is time to emerge from behind the wheel to give others a piece of one’s mind. Flashpoint is reached within a few seconds and choicest abuses follow, drawing reference to one’s parentage, without any gender bias whatsoever. But then no argument is complete without the mandatory “Yeh rasta tere baap ka hai kya?” meaning, “Is this road your father’s?” But asking whether the road was his would just not make the Mumbai mark! It would not get the intended impact on the opponent and the crowd would be so disappointed.

Whether the yelling match proceeds to the next level of exchanging physical blows depends on their muscle power, adrenaline flow and the urge for PDA, public display of anger, in this case. Finally one explains everyone that had it not been for the other getting to his “baap”, one would have endured any insult on oneself. With this background, one needs to understand the inability to bear anything being said about one’s baap.

If a driver thinks the road belongs to him, so does the pedestrian, the children who live there and the hawker. In fact, it also belongs to the future generations wanting to live in this city, because, no matter what happens to the world economy, the builders wouldn’t bring down prices to affordable levels for the common Mumbaikar. That brings future generations out on the street with the street dog.

It is joked that when a Mumbai dog ventures out to other cities, he is recognized by his habit of wagging his tail vertically, due to the lack of space around in Mumbai. It may be due to the “think vertical” campaign for developing the city. Some street dwellers are now thinking vertically, too - of settling in their humble pad - in potholes - two levels below the national highway!

Another popular joke tells about a Mumbaikar who approached a Chennai Traffic policeman to seek directions, during his brief stay there.
“Tamil teriyamma?” asked the traffic cop.

The amchi Mumbai manoos thought he said “Tamil teri amma” and promptly retorded with “Hindi Tera Baap!”
Since half of Chennai does not understand Hindi and the rest pretend not to, he topped it up with “Hindi Tera Poora Khaandaan” for good measure and felt victorious!

Though the question “Whose Mumbai is it anyway?” may have done the rounds. But if one were to ask what Mumbai is when compared to other Indian cities, all Mumbaikars would predictably join in a chorus to declare,
“Mumbai To Baap Hai, Bhai!”.

One would not dare to say “Mumbai mere baap ki hai”, even if one’s father would really say “Mumbai is mine” - in a sense of belonging. It has been our hope that everyone does own up Mumbai as one’s own. If that were to happen, it would then be everybody’s.

The Top Cop would still repeat the same line, though he would actually mean to say “Mumbai Sabhi ki hai, kisi ek ki nahin”, meaning, "Mumbai is everybody's not any one person's"
But by dropping the “baap”, he would just not make the cut as a true-deep-blue Mumbaikar. He would still be questioned by you-know-who as to who was he, to declare “Mumbai is everybody’s?”

The self appointed moral police, (or should we say moral ministry?), would continue to tell our Top Cop,
“Papa, Don’t Breach!!”

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