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!

LET’S LEAVE IT TO NATURE

The sweets are for Doctor Sharma. He is a radiologist.

“Don’t forget to get some barfis and jalebis, when the baby is born. I relish those sweets.” 

Those were his parting words as we were leaving his office after he had a first look at our unborn child’s health.

“Sure.”

Our child came into this world last week. Born healthy.

I always keep my word.

So here I am, holding a neatly wrapped box of barfis in my hand, waiting outside his office this evening. It is the month of May and quite hot outside. You know how hot it is just before the rains.

I would have also brought a box of jalebis from the famous Morbiwala House of Jalebi for him, but Priti said that it would not be necessary. I always listen to her.

……

“Which is your favourite colour?”

“Nothing specific.”

“Given a choice, what would you prefer - the blue of skies or the pink of roses?

I paused to think. The questions being asked held no significance to me. Why ask me for choices of colours?

“Are you considering painting your bedroom, Doctor Sharma?”

“Um…ah…er. Nothing like that. I was wondering what colour you would like to paint your child’s room.”

My wife was in the ante-room for abdominal ultrasound sonography. We were expectant parents. Doctor Sharma was recommended to us by the gynaecologist for checking the development of the foetus.

“Listen carefully to what he says,” the gynaecologist had warned. “At times he talks mysteriously.”

So here I was listening to his words paying full intention.

……

Doctor Sharma came out of the ante-room, drying his hands with a hand towel.

“Rest assured that the baby is doing fine. It is in the pink of health and developing well. I shall give you the sonography report. Please wait.”

My wife came out of the ante-room. She was all smiles.

“The baby is doing well, the doctor said,” she informed. She was excited and so was I.

The report was handed over to us by the doctor’s assistant. She held a pink coloured envelope containing the radiologist’s report. She appeared to be sad. She looked at my wife and then to me as she handed over the report. As we prepared to leave the, the nurse called out to me and beckoned me with her crooked index finger. When we were out of earshot of my wife, she brought her mouth as close as possible to my ears and hissed – “Don’t ever think of harming that child. It is God’s wish.”

 ……

We were at the gynaecologist’s surgery now, with the report in our hand. As I handed over the envelope to the specialist, I felt I saw a tinge of sadness in her eyes. She reminded me of the middle-aged nurse at the radiologist’s clinic. I had seen similar expression on her face.

“So how are we doing today?” she asked my wife with professional concern.

“The baby kicks.”

“Really! Wonderful!”

“I feel so alive. I am going to be a mother.”

The excitement of anticipation in my wife’s voice was evident and I also was feeling on top of the world. Becoming parents for the first time was a huge source of joy and bonding between my wife and I.

“So would you like to be a mother of a son or a daughter?” the gynaecologist enquired.

“A son of course! He would be the first male child in our part of the family.”

“How does this really matter?” I interjected. “A child is God’s gift.”

Suddenly my wife was belligerent.

“My first child has to be a BOY!”

“Okay. Okay. As you say,” I pacified her. I always listen to her.

The specialist was looking at my wife and then at me.

“Mr Kay, please come to my surgery tomorrow evening. I shall study the report and also speak to the radiologist who did this report and then we shall discuss about the baby.”

……

“So what did the doctor say?”

I had visited the gynaecologist’s surgery and just come back to our home.

“It is a girl. We are going to have a baby girl.”

“The doctor said this?”

“Yes…..and…” I paused as I did not have the heart to speak further. I was in a dilemma. Should I or shouldn’t I.

“And what?”

I needed courage now.

“You want a son.”

“That’s expected of me, now that I am expecting.”

“You want a son.”

“Are you a parrot?” my love was asking me. “Indeed, I want my first one to be born a boy. My parents want to see a male born in the family. You are aware that Tai also has a baby girl and now she can’t conceive.”

“But the report says it is a girl. Our first child is to be a female.”

“Then I don’t want it.”

My wife was in an unrelenting mood. I chose to remain quite for some time.

“Kay, did the doctor advise to abort?”

“The time has passed. We cannot legally abort the foetus now.”

“We can do it illegally. There are scores of abortion clinics in Mumbai. Let’s do this.”

“Priti, let’s talk about this tomorrow. Today we sleep. May we be guided by the all-powerful in our decision.”

I always listen to her.

……

I am an advisor and counsellor. I am a self-called therapist. I counsel people to help them improve their lives. I help them make decisions. I am a catalyst. I change people. No. Don’t think I am an egoist or an egotist. That’s my profession. That’s how I earn my money.

Who will help me to decide? Who will help me to choose?

The entire night I tossed and turned.

“Given a choice, what would you prefer - the blue of skies or the pink of roses?”

Blue for boys and pink for girls.

“What colour you would like to paint your child’s room.”

Lilac. Lavender. Purple.

I was screaming as I woke up. I could hear Priti humming as she was preparing tea for us. Did she not hear me scream?

“Good morning, Kay. Had a good night’s rest?”

My wife was solicitous. I was perspiring. It was winter.

“Come, freshen up and have tea.”

Ours was a love marriage. We fell in love and our parents got us married. Love continued after marriage. We were made and mad for each other. The baby brought the twist. I did not want to disappoint or sadden my wife. I, the father, determined the sex of the child. X & Y chromosomes. YY! Why? Why?

“Priti,” I began as I took the first sip of morning tea. “I did not sleep well last night.”

“I know. You were muttering in your sleep, when I was just waking up.”

“What was I saying? Could you discern?”

Lilac. Lavender. Purple.

“It was gibberish.”

Thank God for such kindness! No harm done.

“Do we have to do it?” I was asking.

“Do what?”

“Let the baby go? We have a choice.”

“Do I have one? My parents……”

“Priti, we have our family. You, I and the little one. What if the next one is also predicted to be a girl?”

“What if?”

Suddenly my wife was seeing the issue about the issue in a different light. What if the next unborn child would also be a female? And, then the next? What does the law of probability say about this?

“Kay! Kay! I am confused.”

“I love you.”

“I also love you, Kay. I am confused.”

“Now, now, are you a parrot?” I teased her as she had teased me yesterday.

“I am really confused, Kay.”

The baby kicked!

“There I felt it!”

There was excitement in her voice.

“Felt what?”

The baby kicked!

I held her hands over the table. Looked into her eyes and said –

“We shall get the baby’s room painted. I give you choice of three colours. Choose one.”

Lilac. Lavender. Purple.

“What do you mean?”

“Neither pink nor blue. Let it be a mix of the two.”

She smiled. She accepted. She chose.

I smiled. I accepted. She chose. She helped me choose. I always listen to her.

The unborn baby lived.

……

“So you have decided to save?” The specialist was asking as she came out from behind the screen after having examined my wife’s progress with the baby.

“Save? Save the child?”

The gynaecologist gave a guilty laugh.

“Save for her marriage. I understand that in your community you have to give a huge sum of money as dowry and lots of gold jewellery along with the bride’s hand in marriage.”

“That’s the situation now. It shall change by the time she comes to the age of marriage.”

“Things do not change. Greed for money will remain a human nature.”

“I hope it changes,” I said suddenly diffident.

“Mr Kay. I congratulate you on your choice of letting the baby live.”

“It was a joint decision of both of us, doctor. Priti is a part of the decision.”

I always listen to her.

I was looking affectionately at my wife who emerged from behind the screen and was hearing what we were speaking about.

“Kay, you always drag me into your decisions,” she accused good humouredly. “It was one of the most difficult, yet wonderful decision that we had to take.”

“Be well prepared,” the doctor advised us as we left her surgery.

……

“Kay. You have become a miser.”

It was my father who was visiting us who made this observation.

“Why, Papa?”

“Since the time my daughter-in-law is expecting, you did not visit us. Where is the lungi you promised me when you last visited?”

My father has excellent memory. Especially for irrelevant matters.

“I shall get one for you today evening, Papa.”

“No, I don’t want one. I understand that you are saving money for my grandchild.”

“Nothing like that, Papa. Just being careful about money. Following the financial planner’s advice.”

“Don’t forget to enjoy life. Living doesn’t mean only having to earn monies. Living means having a life.”

Profound words. Profound statement. Father makes the son proud! Should it not be the reverse?

I shall make you proud someday, Papa.

……

The baby bump is now clearly showing. The baby’s room is ready.

I have personally painted it in my spare time. No. I am not a painter. I am a counsellor. I painted out of love for my would-be child. I painted, as it was therapeutic. I painted as I wanted to be near my Priti. I painted as I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I painted as I planned for my…our…future.

So many ‘I’s. I am an egotist. Or is it egoist? I don’t know. I don’t care.

……

“Time to send Priti to us for the delivery. Should I ask Priti’s papa to fetch her? When shall I send him across?”

Priti’s parents lived in Nagpur and we were in Mumbai. Nagpur is an excellent city. But this was March and Nagpur would be sweltering by May. Priti and I had taken joint decisions.

No baby shower. No sending to maternal home for the first child’s delivery. No following of traditions.

Save. Save. Save.

Were we overdoing it? Was I overdoing it?

……

At the end of the seventh month of gestation, three elderly ladies came to our home in Mumbai to help us to welcome the expected child to this world.

Before Priti delivered her mother said, “Oh, you are having a boy! Congratulations! I can tell by the way you are carrying.”

Before Priti delivered her mother’s elder sister said, “Oh, you are having a boy! Congratulations! I can tell by the way you are carrying.”

Before Priti delivered my mother said, “Oh, you are having a boy! Congratulations! I can tell by the way you are carrying.”

Elders. They always seem to know.

Doctors know. God knows. Nature knows.

We did not. We knew what the specialists told us. We were ready to receive our daughter. We already had a name for her. We both agreed to that name. We were made for each other.

……

The baby came a bit early. Preemie.

“Mr Kay,” the nurse said, “Hold your baby. The mother’s sleeping now.”

I stared and stared at the child as it cradled in my arms.

Three days later Priti and I took our son home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Resolved That .........

"RESOLVED THAT .........".

As a practicing Chartered Accountant and a qualified Company Secretary, I have drafted and finalised many a resolution for my clients. The resolutions always begin with 'Resolved That' and at times also have the words - 'Further Resolved That'.

This is new year eve and a time to think about new year resolutions. Thank God, that I do not have to draft and finalise resolutions to those multitude of souls who take upon themselves to undertake some resolutions at the beginning of every new year and then it is only a matter of time the resolve peters out. How many times have you resolved to lose weight and ended up losing patience instead? How many times have you decided to make your life miserable by going on a strict diet? How many times have you resolved and then broken the resolve in the next month/week/day?

Well, the right time to make a resolution to make any changes to self is NOW. You do not have to wait for the grand date of 1st January. Want to make a resolution? Lets have an old year resolution. Make one today, the day you read this. 

If you want to sustain the resolution, involve at least one buddy who will not laugh at you but will empathise with you. If you cannot do it alone, together you both can, even if it is only you who has made the resolution. For what are friends for if they cannot boost your morale against the upward improvements that you seek for yourself?

A resolution for myself? One that I will not break? Just want to be a better person, a better human being. Hope this is one resolution that I don't have to break.....ever! Just need a buddy to give me the support .... or have I to go it alone?

Need your critical comments. 

Happy New Year!

Marriages are made in Heaven.....!!!

Thanks to people considering us worth to be a part of their moments of joy, my wife and I got a chance to see Kerala uniting with Gujarat in proper Kerala style in the city of Ahmedabad due to a - blink and you shall miss - holy matrimonial alliance between two families belonging to different and diverse states of India in so many different ways. The Kerala family, incidentally, also had a member married to a foreigner and living in Italy.

We take pride in the fact that my family is totally averse to be bound by the rigours of the caste system and to some extent religion also. My mother led the pack with having married my dad outside her caste, though it was difficult to tell if the castes were different due to the surnames being common in both the castes. My brother is married to a Roman Catholic who is a better Hindu than most of us. My three sisters married a Hyderabadi, a Maharashtrian and a Kashmiri. I have married both within my caste as also out of it as I am the product of the union of two different castes and my father-in-law gave me his daughter's hand because he thought I belong to his caste! (I learnt about it much later)

We have in our family all married out of our so-called caste except for my elder brother, who's marriage incidentally happens to be like mine, both within and without the caste, we were supposed to be born in. The marrying out of caste or to persons belonging to different states is continued by the progenies, with the Hyderabadi's son marrying a Maharashtrian and daughter marrying a Keralite. The Roman Catholic's son marrying a Marwari and the daughter marrying a  Keralite. My son is married to a Brahmin girl.

And all are happy and well adjusted.

Does religion or state to which a person belongs to really matter?? Do the boundaries of various nations really make a difference to the ways of the human heart? Love overcomes all.

That reminds me.....that one Mr. Thackerey recently warning Kannadigas to let go of Belgaum and cede it to the state of Maharashtra!! Does a Belgaum or a Telengana really matter?? All have their view-points. For this I shall come back to you with some more of my views in a different post.

Till then, keep reading and making your comments. Happy married lives to all of you.

Jaywalking is an Art!!

Dear Mumbaikars,

Who of you are not aware about the art of jaywalking?  Possibly you do not know what is called 'jaywalking' and that it is an offence to do so, but we do it all the same...for we are Mumbaikars.... and at times we do not have any choice. For the uninitiated, 'jaywalking' is normally used for crossing a road from other than the designated place for crossing it.

Can you help if the nearest pedestrian crossing is fifty metres away? Can you help it if the signal to enable you to cross the road is only 15 seconds hence due? The first available gap in the traffic, the mass of people waiting to cross the roads, dash themselves to the other side....some amble over... some just nonchalantly walk with their mobiles stuck to their ears, oblivious that they are crossing a busy road.

The traffic police are helpless to control the surge of people and at times they use ropes to contain the people spilling over on streets, onto the oncoming traffic. At times they plead, cajole and frighten you to submission to await the green 'walk' signal. At times they fine you. Do the Mumbaikars ever learn?

Subways have been built to enable people to cross the busy streets with safety. Why does one not use these? The subway at the Vakola junction is plain dirty, full of litter and at times stinking of human faeces. At times it is also cleaned, but why should one go to check if it is clean enough to be used? Especially when the lights are stolen one by one, leaving the place in the dark or semi-darkness. The choice between two dangerous places - the dark dirty subway or the thrill of crossing the busy streets. Mumbaikars prefer to be thrilled or possibly they are more afraid of the darkness. Or they simply want to avoid the stairs.

You may wonder, why does the subway get dirty if people do not use it? Definitely some people use it to cross from underneath the busy roads and some just because they want to throw their litter. Some street-dwellers also wrap their morning outthrows and hurl it in these ways for people to trample upon.

This is life in Mumbai and one of the reasons why there are jaywalkers. Jaywalkers....continue jaywalking for you have nothing to lose other than your lives or limbs.

I am one such reluctant jaywalker.

Your comments are awaited.

Ghanshyam Karkera

I had a choice

Boarded the early-morning Shatabdi Express, a super-fast train, to take me from Borivali in Maharashtra to Vapi in Gujarat last Wednesday. My waiting list got confirmed and I was allotted seat in bogie number C4 with seat number 5. What do I find when I board .... a person merrily sleeping after having drunk water from the complimentary bottle of mineral water given by the Indian Railways to all the passengers in that train and also having appropriated the free daily newspaper. I did not have the heart to wake him up, but as the seat was allotted to me I had no other choice and loudly wondered as to what I should do. The person seated at seat number 6 nudged the person awake and then this happened......

Me: This seat has been allotted to me, kindly vacate it please.

Encroacher: The TC (Ticket Collector) has informed me to sit on this seat as my seat is now confirmed as per him. Please wait for the TC to come.

(It is possible that by the time the TC would come, the train would be reaching my destination)

Me: (After once again checking the PNR on my smart phone and showing the same to him) This is the proof of this being my confirmed allotted seat.

Encroacher: Please wait for the TC.

Other co-passengers: He has shown you his confirmation, kindly vacate the seat.

Me: (My voice showing irritation) Please show me your confirmation. ( I repeat this).

Me: (Suddenly realising that my voice is now on edge and that this is not correct and also realising that I could help the chap... I had a choice. Now lowering my voice): I think I can help you, show me your ticket, read out your ticket PNR.

Encroacher: (Reads out his ticket's PNR and manages to invert the last two digits)

Me: You have boarded a wrong train.

Seat No. 6: No, his ticket is for this train. (He then reads out the correct PNR)

Me: (After checking the same on my smartphone): You are still wait-listed and your wait-list number is 7. Kindly get in touch with the TC now.

The encroacher-wait-listed person vacates the seat. 

Me: Here, carry this water bottle, you may need it. (I know that wait-listed passengers do not get the complimentary water bottle.)

In the evening when I take the same train back to my home town, a fellow passenger greets me and refers to the morning incident. He tells me that the sudden change in my behaviour and the desire to help a co-passenger was really appreciable. It helped me win some more friends.

I only remarked, "I happened to remember that I had a choice."

Our destiny is based on the choices we make. At times we forget that we have a choice and end up in misery.