ONLY THE BRITS COULD HAVE INVENTED THIS LANGUAGE!!!

ONLY THE BRITS COULD HAVE INVENTED THIS LANGUAGE!!!

We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Then shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;
neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England ..
We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes,
we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square,
and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,
grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.
If you have a bunch of odds and ends
and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English
should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language
in which your house can burn up as it burns
down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out,
and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

And, in closing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother's not Mop?

I WOULD LIKE TO ADD THAT IF PEOPLE FROM POLAND ARE CALLED POLES THEN THE GERMANS SHOULD BE CALLED GERMS!!!

Note: No offense meant but found this on the net and felt it was a funny read...

RIP, Uncle Pai...

"The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it.

- By James Bryce

My journey with Amar Chitra Katha began even before I could talk and read. It began when I was a mere toddler crawling on fours all over my grandparents’ house. My granny strongly believed that book reading habit should be instilled in children as early as possible and as a result, the house was strewn with Amar Chitra Katha comics even when I could barely talk. She would show the colored pictures and narrate the stories of Rama, Krishna, Abimanyu and other mythological figures. As I grew up, I would spend hours together seeing the pictures and eventually reading the comics myself.

My first Tinkle copy was a gift from my mom dad when I stood second for the school in my first grade final examination. I’ve been a regular subscriber to this day and still enjoy the comic capers of Suppandi and Shikari Shambu. While Uncle Anu and Tinkle Tells You Why greatly appealed to the geeky me since I was a kid, the cheeky antics of Ramu Shamu and Anwar had me in splits. I would genuinely feel sorry for Chamataka and his partner in crime Doob Doob, every time Kalia outwitted them to save the sprightly Keechu and Meechu. I hated Tantri, the Mantri with all my heart, for trying to harm the loveable King Hooja.

I was always awed by the imagination of children like myself when I read their stories published in each issue. I secretly wished my name was published too and wrote letters after letters dreaming of the day I could show off my name and address published in the comic to my friends.

A very old edition of Tinkle first introduced me to the word “Tsunami” and I was fascinated by the power of waves. I even remember the Japanese folk tale associated with the phenomenon, which was mentioned in the issue. My family and I remembered this, years later, when the fateful Tsunami stuck our very own coast.

The greatest moment of my life was when I met Uncle Pai in person. This was sometime in Jan 2009 when Amar Chitra Katha conducted a quiz on Indian Mythology in schools across the country. The first round was conducted at individual schools and the top 15 of each participating school in that round were qualified to the regional round at Woodlands Hotel, Bangalore. Though I lost out in that regional round, I remember the hundreds of teenaged Amar Chitra Katha enthusiasts like myself looking forward to participating and winning the comic hampers. And not to mention, each semi finalist got to shake hands with Uncle Pai himself. When I requested him for an autograph, he laughed heartily, signed my prize copy (Amar Chitra Katha’s Lal bahadur Shastry) and said, “Do something for the country like this great man”.. I was on the seventh heaven for almost weeks after that.

It came as a shock today morning to read in the newspapers that our beloved Uncle Pai (17 September 1929 – 24 February 2011) is no more. It was funny, the way we were aware of Uncle Pai and never knew his real name for ages - Anant Pai. We referred to him as Uncle only, like some fond relative whose visit we always looked forward to. Albeit in the form of a 30 page comic book, once a fortnight!!

To the simple bespectacled man I met about 12 years back, who was responsible for making my childhood more memorable than it could have been otherwise, who was my role model on par with Enid Blyton, who was indirectly instrumental in turning me into an avid book lover and who is the beloved Uncle to thousands of children who grew up anywhere in the last three decades.. Rest in Peace, Uncle Pai!!

Paighaam laya saawan….

I don’t know if I’m merely reading between lines or if truly there is something called signs!!

I hate Mondays even in the best of my moods. I suffer from Monday blues all the way till 3 pm on a regular working Monday and today was worse than usual.

This monday morning began with my almost missing my office shuttle and the relief when I made it, kept me from catching my usual forty winks.

I’d fought with a close friend for no apparent reason over the weekend and we were still feeling raw about it.

As I entered my ODC, my manager motioned me to join a call that I could not make heads or tails of. This was followed by a meeting with my lead and my manager where I began with a volley of complaints and problems. Uff, my week never had begun this bad!!

The day somehow dragged on and while I was groping over a particularly tricky code implementation, I suddenly went blank. It was around 7.00 in the evening and I’d already reached my daily quota of saturation. On a usual day, I’d take a walk outside my office building when I feel saturated; the cool breeze and moon have a good effect in clearing my head. Today, I just picked my bag on an impulse and caught the 7.30 bus home.

Surprisingly, the bus was quite empty and I got a window seat. I randomly chose a song on my iPod and it turned out to be my favorite – Chaiyya chaiyya from Dil Se..

I slowly began to relax and as the bus moved out of EC and on the elevated Hosur road flyover, I realized the heat was stifling and that was part of my discomfort unconsciously. I wished for a cool breeze and as if in summons to my wishes, the strong smell of earth instantaneously filled the air and within seconds, heavenly droplets of water started falling everywhere.

As the heat dissipated, I kind of calmed down and eventually started humming along with Sukhwinder Singh’s raspy vocals. The change gradually put me in an introspective mood and I started going over the day’s events. The song changed to Shaan’s Paighaam laya saawan, yet another favorite.

Then I don’t know what happened; it was as if a voice from within spoke, that I was doing my best at work and if that was not enough, fretting would be of little help. For one and for all, I had to stop taking it all personally and, forcibly ensure family and office remain separate without interference. And the best sentence of all – today might have been bad; but thank God for that, it could have been worse!!

The rain, the songs and that voice within managed to put everything in perspective. And so simply at that, while a conscious effort would undoubtedly have been tedious.

There is always a silver lining. We just need to look more carefully. From different perspectives. And voila, the sentimental side of me took over – truly a paighaam from saawan…

IYER POEM.. A time line of an Iyer life!!

Age: 6 Months
All these mamas and maamis have come here...
For a grand welcome of their new born fellow Iyer...
And my parents will feed food to me with a ring...
And give me a name long enough for you to sing...
(Krishnamurthy Venkataraghava Krishna Doraiswamy,
but will simply call me Dorai!)

Age: 10 years
Topping my class is an inborn talent I possess
(We are an exception)
Teachers & relatives, whom I never fail to impress
Daily dosage of idli, dosai, sambar, rice and curd
Who on earth do you think will not turn into a nerd! (hehe)

Age: 22 Yrs
(Just after graduation.. . preferably Electronics Engineering)
Yipeee Yipeee Yipeee... I completed my BE in IIT...
Also got a call from Infy... Ya right...Narayana Murthy...
( Proud fellow...Southie ! )
Up & Away to Bangalore by the next morning flight...
And then someday to USA... Yay Yay Yay... Onsite. ..
(You are right... rhyming no?!)

Age: 26 Years
(Single status in USA)
It has been four long years since I have come here...
And not a single girl who is ready to come near...
Here in United States, I thought I'd get laid...
Down came crashing, all dreams that I'd made...

Age: 30 Years
(8 yrs Onsite, somewhere in USA)
I miss my sambhar rice and the tasty thair saadam (curd rice)
Will speak to amma to find me a homely madam...
Will leave for Thirunelveli on a 30 day leave...
And come back with a maami right up my sleeve...

Age: 45 Years
(Still onsite, we think)
I have two kids, but there is a gripping fear...
Both of them have no signs of being an Iyer...
Krishnaswamy & Sreemaha*lakshmi* I named them fondly...
But Chris & Sally I call them if I want them to even reply...

Age: 60 Years
(retire hogaya baap)
I am back to Thirunelveli with my ever faithful wife...
But my kids stayed there and think I don't have a life...
Tirupati, Guruvayoor, Shabarimala all we've been to...
Sun TV is our faithful friend which we always turn to...

Age: 75 years
(Now everything seems impossible)
Ayyayyo, what happened to all my dreams?
They have all simply turned into screams.
Children have already married and divorced thrice,
Playing with our grandchildren would've been nice.
Left with us are only aches and pains,
Life is full of only losses, with no gains.
Are we going to be the last of the brilliant Iyer generation?
To our chidren, tradition and culture are only a botheration!

Best regards
A Tamil Brahmin Iyer!!


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Note: This is not my original poem. I came across this while browsing and putting the same on my blog so I can read and have a good laugh when ever I feel like it.
The original poem link: http://www.indusladies.com/forums/poems-and-poets-place/27840-iyer-poem-time-line-iyer.html

Nostalgia..

I was driving back home from JP Nagar last weekend when a surprising memory of my childhood came in a flash.

Some folks were probably relocating to a new house I suppose; a van in front of me was taking all their house furniture and other stuff. The sofa set was upturned and I could even see a writing table, few chairs, bureaus and many pieces of furniture. On top of that upturned sofa, they had placed a few rolled mattresses and two small boy aged around 8-10 yrs were excitedly sitting on it. The ear to ear grin oozed excitement but they smiled in embarrassment when someone looked at them. They seemed so proud that they were going in van, along with furniture; as if it’s something never done before.

I suddenly went back to the early 90s when I, along with a few cousins of mine, was in Mysore for the summer holidays and an elder cousin’s wedding. I remembered how 5-6 of us helped loading a van with vegetables and grocery stuff required for the wedding, and how all of us got in and hitchhiked a ride to the choultry that was barely 10 min away. I faintly remember an elder cousin brother shouting “Collection aitha, Govinda??” and all of us, the younger kids, screaming in unison, “Gooooovinda”.. And something like “Madve mane bantha, Govinda??” “Gooooovindaaa”.. Lol!!

The glee on those boys’ faces brought back this long forgotten memory and I laughed. My mom, who was beside me asked what happened and when I recounted the sweet childhood memory, she laughed too reminding me of few other things that happened during that wedding.

Apparently, I’d gotten close to another little girl of my age at the wedding and we were inseperable. When the muhurtham was over and the families were busy teasing the bride and the groom at the “bhoomada oota”, this friend of mine and I were busy blushing in embarrassment when the groom fed his bride. We even sniggered and covered our mouths when the bride fed her groom.

(This was sadly covered on video and to my utmost disbelief, shown around at a recent family get-together!!)

Another incident was sometime that very evening. My cousin, the bride was getting ready for the reception and the discarded garlands she and her groom wore earlier that morning were lying on a chair. This little friend of mine and me, it seems, took turns to sport those huge heavy garlands and go all round the choultry, puffing with pride when spotted by any adult!!

Aaah, the lovely childhood days.. :)

What if...

1. What if you lose your vision (not eye sight) in the hustle bustle of everyday life?
2. What if all the moral premises you held sacred are actually pointless?
3. What if every valued relation you trusted are actually farces?
4. What if you start dreading those few lonely minutes every night (just before falling asleep) because the silence of the hour accuses you of sinking into mediocrity?
5. What if you get into that monstrous lethargy where even the very act of wanting something requires effort?
6. What if everything you are doing is because it is expected of you, and not because you want to do it?
7. What if you realize you are not living, but just biding time with every passing minute?
8. What if there is no tomorrow?

The most romantic gesture ever...

One of my aunts was ill recently. After the regular tests, the docs found out that she is now a border-line diabetic. She has been advised to cut down on carbohydrate intake, exercise moderately and is starting with medication soon.

My aunt apparently is a huge foodie. She enjoys good food and never misses a single festivity anywhere. She is one of the favorites in the family, known for her wise cracks, witty remarks and incomparable knack of imitating people. She always has us in splits when narrating funny anecdotes from her heydays.

Diabetes does not deserve a second thought these days. But my aunt was depressed and very unhappy with the new changes she was required to adopt, and that made it seem like something severe.

After the reports came, my uncle (her husband) gave up sugar. He now prefers sugarless coffee/tea and has drastically cut down on sweets. He goes on long walks with her everyday where (he confessed this) they talk about their time together so far, about the trials and tribulations they have faced together, their promotion in life from being a newly wed couple to becoming parents, to parents-in-law and grandparents recently.

Out of curiosity, I could not help asking my uncle what he feels when people around tease him for treating his wife like a new bride even after thirty plus years of marriage. His answer was a sweet smile, all he said was, “you will understand as you grow up.”

Somehow I knew I’d witnessed the most subtle and yet, the most romantic gesture ever.