Let us all get an injection - A Sense of Humour!

'English Is Not My Mother Tongue!'

That is the response received on pointing out a few mistakes of his during a Whatsapp chat I was having with a colleague. Yes he is an Indian and I, like him, have the handicap of having as my mother tongue a language which is not English.

What is a language? Have you ever thought about that? According to me, language is nothing but a set of sounds which is gibberish to most others and meaningful to those who have mastered the rhythm of those sounds. As the North Indians say, the South Indian languages can be produced by knocking stones about inside a tin vessel!

I like Indian languages as they are spoken as they are written. Possibly, some other languages which are foreign to India, also are spoken as they are written. Definitely not English and French. We have a hotel called Papillon in a small town of Gujarat. Unfortunately this French word, which indicates a beautiful creature otherwise known as a butterfly, is pronounced, by the French, as 'Paapiyon'. I find it difficult to invite people to that restaurant. Yes, it is a restaurant and not a hotel. Ah, I spoke to the owner. He knows it and is happy that its patrons do not know the pronunciation. Paapiyon, to those uninitiated to the Hindi language, means sinners.

Language is a means of communication and not patronisation. One learns one's mother tongue to communicate within his family and neighbourhood. He also learns a few more languages which are spoken by others so that he can communicate with the world at large. Unfortunately, there are people with weak language skills, who defend themselves when they are not able to communicate in an alien language, with a weak comment that it is not their mother tongue. They use the words like 'pride' and 'self-respect' (Asmita) as they have not learnt that there is a world out there which would be glad to be one with them once they break the shackles of ignorance.

I wish that my command over mother tongue was as strong as my command over the number of other languages I know to read, write and speak or communicate in. I also wish that, those who know when I am wrong or have mispronounced any word(s), have the courtesy to point out my mistakes they notice, so that I could improve. Or at least I will attempt to.

I would rather not have an excuse that I do not know any language, which I use to communicate, but would be glad to learn of my errors from others who are better placed in the language. This is the message to those who know that they are weak in the English language but refuse to, or are lazy to, learn it and yet want to use it for their (mis)communications.

As a parting gift - the same colleague wrote to me - 'Let's celebrate the victory of good over evil. Happy Dassera...'.

My responses was - 'Place? Yours or mine?' Both live in different state capitals.

Now that man is unhappy! He wanted me to celebrate without him. How would I know? On other thoughts -  yes, that calls for a celebration!

I just wish somebody gives this colleague of mine an injection! A prick to release the balloon of his ignorance and inject a little sense of humour in him.

Disclaimer:

I have a wicked sense of humour. Sometimes I fail to understand what I am saying.

The Return Gift

We almost missed the train!

We were in the air-conditioned waiting room at Vadodara (Baroda) railway station since 23.15 hours, waiting for our train scheduled to arrive the next day at about 00.06 hours and leave  at 00.11 hours. I was watching the display informing arrivals/departure of all trains. Our train was scheduled to arrive at platform number 1.

Wait. What is that being displayed? Avantika Express to arrive at 00.05 and leave at 00.15 hours at platform number 1. Our train Gujarat Mail to arrive at 00.06 hours and leave at 00.11 hours at platform number 1. I wondered how could that be physically possible? I started keenly  listening to the announcements - if those could cast some light on the miracle that I was expected to witness shortly. None.

Was that our train which is chugging into platform number 1? No, it is Avantika. Now it was time to act. I rushed to the Station Master's cabin. Informed him that something was not right. He looked at me as if I am speaking Greek or maybe Latin. I was talking physics.

"No, no. We are announcing that Gujarat Mail is coming at platform number 2."

I was shocked to hear him say that as there were definitely no announcements. I had to ask him to come and see the displays. He sent somebody with me to outside the platform to convince that indeed there was an error. That meant that the Station Master had no control from his cabin! Once I could convince them that I was pointing out to a possible fatal error, I rushed to the platform, collected our luggage and with my wife I rushed to platform number 2 just as Gujarat Mail arrived. We are able to catch the train. What about the other passengers who were still in the waiting room? How many missed the train that day?

We had attended a marriage reception of the son of a friend in a hotel nearby to the railway station. As I wanted to spend maximum time with the family, we lingered on until the last guest had departed, bills paid, and it was time to vacate the premises.

The dinner was sumptuous. We enjoyed it! Great efforts had gone into the arrangements. A small item I missed. It was the after-mint. I just could not find it anywhere. Possibly, the hotel does not provide for mouth fresheners at its banquets.

Our host dropped us to the station at around 23.15 hours. We went to the air-conditioned waiting room, which was warm, stuffy and stuffed. Almost all seats were taken. I found a man signalling us to take seats right in the front - a stool and a plastic chair. I realised that it was the waiting-room attendant pointing out to his seat. Thanking our stars for merciful small gestures, my wife and I took our places on the stool and chair indicated. I observed that the attendant was unable to speak or hear. In short he was rendering his services in the world of sounds in a meaningful and silent manner. He was going about from occupant to occupant doing his duties faithfully in silence.

He came to me with the register for me to scribble the PNR and other particulars therein. He then proceeded to the next occupant. I nudged him a bit and almost furtively thrust a small insignificant currency note in his hands as a token of my appreciation. A short while later he was showing me something written at the top of a newspaper page. He had written in English the two words that thrilled my heart -

THANK YOU.

In acknowledgement, I gave him a Thumbs Up sign and then he proceeded to continue doing his duty.

We shifted seats when a better comfortable location was available. Just before we were to leave, he came to us again. He was holding something in his hand that he wanted me to take. I took a small pinch.

"No. The entire is for you," he gestured as he poured what he had in his hand to my hand. I shared the same with my wife. We were thankful to him for the return gift.

Roasted Aniseeds! After-mints!