Haze and Mist

 Already half the May gone,  not so far from resolution– for four months isn't far.  Six decades long habit has grown old in the body,  touched ground, turned soft.  I have been practicing reclination.  supine, for when they box me in the corpse mustn't revolt.  Nothing to be done now of all those procrastinations.  You are gone; they, as good as gone! 

If we expose ourself to any language we learn it. An illiterate beggar on the road is more likely to surprise us with a turn of phrase which a scholar may not. It is the same reason why an ordinary German may know fluent German than a foreign scholar of the same language. It is because language thrives on the open streets, not in closed biblioteques.  Why we accept the elitist opinions on the beauty of language is beyond me. A workable grammar, proper syntax & a reasonable vocabulary are the survival kit of any language. What gives language its vitality is its easy use with the purpose of carrying a thought across and not ornamental doodah! It is not what the 'Shastrys' of language claim and whose advise is taken by the Goverments in their official documents, circulars, etc. It is not a living language but a pile of dead bodies of words, put together to sound officious only to be, more likely, misunderstood. On Indian railway platforms you read notices with words like ...

I sleep deep & so don't remember dreams. I dreamt last night and on waking up past 3.40, remembered parts of it. Decided to write it down lest I forget.  I was lost in a village, deep inside Tamil Nadu.  Much of the dream is forgotten. Don't know why or how I went to that village. Perhaps in passing, got down in that village mistakenly.  It was a hamlet through which buses passed. There was a temple, small shops selling groceries, etc. It was difficult to communicate with the people because the people there spoke only Tamil & I don't speak Tamil. I have no phone with me, didn't remember any number to call, didn't see a post office or a government building and I had no cash! Had no idea what the name of the place was. One or two people I tried to ask for help waved me off. I wasn't looking like a beggar, I'm sure, not shabby in appearance but I didn't speak Tamil! That was the only reason why they didn't speak to me, is my conclusion. Remember...

 

The habit some people have of giving funny names to passers by.  There were two cousins, Sanjay and Mahesh, who stood at the window of their house and called passers-by all sorts of strange names in Konkani. Something about their appearance made them come out with the most ridiculous names. A short, roundish man waking with a limp would be, for instance, "polio-pedha". 😄Sanjay was the one who shouted out aloud so that people would actually hear. At times he would address the person. The best part is, some of the passers smiled at Sanjay's mischief but most just ignored him. Mahesh, his cousin would usually simply laugh, holding his palms across his mouth in order to suppress his own laughter. Sometimes he would improve on his cousin's suggestive name. I used to watch them doing it.  The trait developed in me with good fertilizer of idleness & productive alluvium of boredom.  I have christened many school mates in this fashion. A classmate of mine, Vallabh (we did...

 This morning a bird fell from the sky with a damaged wing. Not a fledgling but not fully an adult, a common Indian hawk. That's the generic name. On refining my search it is most likely to be a common hawk cuckoo, 'Brainfever' as it is popularly known owing to its call.  ( This is not Bal-mukund but a common Hawk cuckoo"brainfever" )  I'm not into ornithology. I like looking at birds. They are an industrious lot. Peacocks and other "elite" birds are fine because they are bestowed with glorious plumages, breath taking coloring, some with purposeful, strong beaks and others with fascinating crests. But a bird without beauty is beautiful too. I am intrigued by babblers. What do they have, really, just one indeterminate tawny color with some variation – like an embarrassing consolation! They keep babbling and they are busy picking this and that from here and there. A babbler is the underdog and I am the supporter of any underdog. I used to take lunch at...

Luca and Jean Pierre were seated bare chested on a rock, basking, sipping beer from the bottle. Bala saw them.  He rolled a joint quickly & started walking in their direction.  As he approached them, he lit the joint. The scent of hashish mixed with the marine sea-smell briefly soothed his nose before disappearing in the breeze. Bala was looking towards the sea, not the firangies, deliberately, because he wanted them to smell his joint but not him looking at them. He wanted a conversation with them. He wasn't a drug peddler. Bala was curious about white people like his million other countrymen.  He blew a large cloud of smoke and hoped the scented cloud would target the European noses. It did. Luca and Jean Pierre suddenly acted like two Salukis in the sands of the Sahara. They sat up and sniffed at the air, their necks straining. Bala, without looking at them saw, his peripheral vision informed him that his scent-cloud had achieved its objective. He blew another....