I have been studying a lot of German lately. Though the language is quite similar to English in many ways, some German sentences are notoriously long and invariably end with a verb. What is even more exasperating is the German habit of splitting verbs, with one half in the middle of the sentence and the other at the end (ok –slight exaggeration).
All this makes for a painful learning experience. The poem below is my cry of ‘Ouch!’
How would it be if a German were to write a poem in English?
“My poor knowledge of English despite
I shall today a poem write;
We shall along with verbs
Hairs also split”
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Episode 2
As soon as we got off the train, our eyes fell upon an unkempt looking man with a long beard and even longer hair.
“In six months, magha, we won’t be able to recognize you. You’ll probably be like him”
said Gupta to Rakesh, pointing to the bearded wonder. (How can anyone translate the word ‘magha’? The term of endearment is only rivaled by ‘machan’ in Tamil. The word ‘mate’ doesn’t even come close). Rakesh seemed excited by the prospect.
We started bargaining with the auto rickshaw drivers outside the station to take us to Pahar Ganj, as our bible Lonely Planet had recommended it as an area where we could find cheap accommodation. The drivers kept telling us that they knew sastha hotels in other areas but we put our foot down. So, Pahar Ganj it was.
We didn’t know it then, but Pahar Ganj is what people would classify as a ‘dodgy’ (wink! wink!) locality. Considering the front of the auto was filled with stickers of gods and goddesses, I wonder what the auto-driver thought of us. It appeared that he became more talkative after we told him that Gupta had to write an exam.
“Oh! Paper dhenai hain?” he asked, in a perceptibly changed tone which seemed to exonerate and accept us as ‘good clean’ boys.
If not for offending Gupta, I would have probably said, “Yes, but it’s a foregone conclusion. A hopeless case.” (After the results were announced a month later, Rakesh said very comfortingly to Gupta that he hadn’t passed because he was too good for the institute).
As we rode through the heart of our national capital, our conversation varied. Right from the morbid thought of being mowed down by Delhi’s notorious buses to the best way to nick a brochure from a five-star hotel, we discussed everything. The answer to the five star question being “Tell the receptionist your uncle from Singapore is visiting India soon and would like to know the tariffs”. This is of course a tried and tested method and never fails to impress.
We entered Pahar Ganj and the auto driver negotiated a maze of streets before finally dropping us off at the rather suspiciously named Hotel Anand. I have no doubt that the driver had an arrangement with the owner and took his ‘cut’. To us, that seemed like a fair arrangement as long as everyone got his due share of ‘Anand’.
We registered rather hurriedly and without checking the colour of the water in the rooms above (which turned out to be a healthy yellow).After daring to freshen up, we had lunch at a Dhaba nearby, thoroughly enjoying every aspect of its filthiness, as we assumed all seasoned travellers would. Rakesh and I abandoned Gupta, for he had to ‘study’, and ventured out bravely to explore Delhi.
“In six months, magha, we won’t be able to recognize you. You’ll probably be like him”
said Gupta to Rakesh, pointing to the bearded wonder. (How can anyone translate the word ‘magha’? The term of endearment is only rivaled by ‘machan’ in Tamil. The word ‘mate’ doesn’t even come close). Rakesh seemed excited by the prospect.
We started bargaining with the auto rickshaw drivers outside the station to take us to Pahar Ganj, as our bible Lonely Planet had recommended it as an area where we could find cheap accommodation. The drivers kept telling us that they knew sastha hotels in other areas but we put our foot down. So, Pahar Ganj it was.
We didn’t know it then, but Pahar Ganj is what people would classify as a ‘dodgy’ (wink! wink!) locality. Considering the front of the auto was filled with stickers of gods and goddesses, I wonder what the auto-driver thought of us. It appeared that he became more talkative after we told him that Gupta had to write an exam.
“Oh! Paper dhenai hain?” he asked, in a perceptibly changed tone which seemed to exonerate and accept us as ‘good clean’ boys.
If not for offending Gupta, I would have probably said, “Yes, but it’s a foregone conclusion. A hopeless case.” (After the results were announced a month later, Rakesh said very comfortingly to Gupta that he hadn’t passed because he was too good for the institute).
As we rode through the heart of our national capital, our conversation varied. Right from the morbid thought of being mowed down by Delhi’s notorious buses to the best way to nick a brochure from a five-star hotel, we discussed everything. The answer to the five star question being “Tell the receptionist your uncle from Singapore is visiting India soon and would like to know the tariffs”. This is of course a tried and tested method and never fails to impress.
We entered Pahar Ganj and the auto driver negotiated a maze of streets before finally dropping us off at the rather suspiciously named Hotel Anand. I have no doubt that the driver had an arrangement with the owner and took his ‘cut’. To us, that seemed like a fair arrangement as long as everyone got his due share of ‘Anand’.
We registered rather hurriedly and without checking the colour of the water in the rooms above (which turned out to be a healthy yellow).After daring to freshen up, we had lunch at a Dhaba nearby, thoroughly enjoying every aspect of its filthiness, as we assumed all seasoned travellers would. Rakesh and I abandoned Gupta, for he had to ‘study’, and ventured out bravely to explore Delhi.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Travels in the north of India
As I have temporarily run out of inspiration to write verse , I have decided to serialise my experiences while travelling in North India earlier this year . So here we go.
“They were like the ant, which can see small objects but not large ones” says George Orwell in his classic work ‘1984’ whilst describing the ‘proles’ (possibly from the word ‘proletariat’). I felt that he might as well have been describing me as I have often thought my life to be quite uneventful and sheltered compared to some of my friends.
So, what better way to open up the mind and cast away prejudices than by travel?
The Train
Rakesh had resigned a month ago and I, a couple of weeks afterward. Gupta, however was yet to cast off his working–class chains. So, he almost missed the train. Rakesh and I considered ‘punishing the ***tard’ for being his usual un-punctual self by deserting him. We couldn’t, because Gupta had the tickets.
When we boarded the train, we discovered, much to our annoyance, that Gupta’s very expensive travel agent had reserved only two seats for the three of us. Rakesh sneaked away to the top berth and had it all to himself. Gupta and I had to share a berth for the night after a heated discussion on the possibilities of whose feet would be in whose mouth.
We woke up to the cries of “Chai” – I more, out of fear of being scalded by the hot containers which the vendors carried, than anything else.
A train journey in India is one of the most enriching experiences anyone can have. The scenery is awe-inspiring and the train buzzes with life. The sight of a solitary tree in the middle of a field can move even a stone to poetry. Travel by train (preferably window – seat) is a great way to introspect and discover oneself.
Digression aside, we passed most of the morning reading books (I was reading ‘1984’, Rakesh ‘Catch -22’, while Gupta had to be content with his economics textbook).
All of us downed chai after chai in the afternoon while Gupta and I listened to Bob Dylan – Of course, Rakesh had brought his own music as he strongly disapproved of the very broad category of ‘stupid English music’.
One of the first major stops on the way was Nagpur. No, we did not buy oranges there!
Instead we sampled kachoris , while simultaneously avoiding a large number of inquisitive cows – yes, they wanted a share. I kept wondering what the poet Ogden Nash, who wrote
“The cow is of a bovine ilk
One end is moo and the other milk” would say if he happened to see these cows.
We passed some time by thinking up politically incorrect remarks about every state we passed through. We spoke of the great ‘Ghandi’ at Sevagram and at Ballarshah, where we had the worst idlis ever, we made observations on why a south-indian dish had to be crucified so in the north. (Is Ballarshah above the Vindhyas, I wonder? Sorry to bring up the north-south divide but it’s a pet topic).
What was comical was that Rakesh and Gupta tried to smoke a beedi every time the train stopped somewhere between stations, but they were always thwarted by the signal turning green at just the wrong moment. As they pondered a beedi-less day, I jostled with fellow passengers to re-charge my mobile phone. (Of course there was no queue near the re-charge point, for is not the railways a mobile version of India?) .
In the evening, we struck up a conversation with a man from Bangalore (Yes, you guessed it – he was working with an IT firm). He seemed convinced that we had been laid off due to the prevailing poor market conditions (the great depression of 2008 they ll call it in the future). So much for us telling him that we had resigned of our own accord and that we wanted to travel a great deal.
The rest of the journey was uneventful and we reached Delhi sometime in the mid-morning on our third day on the train.
“They were like the ant, which can see small objects but not large ones” says George Orwell in his classic work ‘1984’ whilst describing the ‘proles’ (possibly from the word ‘proletariat’). I felt that he might as well have been describing me as I have often thought my life to be quite uneventful and sheltered compared to some of my friends.
So, what better way to open up the mind and cast away prejudices than by travel?
The Train
Rakesh had resigned a month ago and I, a couple of weeks afterward. Gupta, however was yet to cast off his working–class chains. So, he almost missed the train. Rakesh and I considered ‘punishing the ***tard’ for being his usual un-punctual self by deserting him. We couldn’t, because Gupta had the tickets.
When we boarded the train, we discovered, much to our annoyance, that Gupta’s very expensive travel agent had reserved only two seats for the three of us. Rakesh sneaked away to the top berth and had it all to himself. Gupta and I had to share a berth for the night after a heated discussion on the possibilities of whose feet would be in whose mouth.
We woke up to the cries of “Chai” – I more, out of fear of being scalded by the hot containers which the vendors carried, than anything else.
A train journey in India is one of the most enriching experiences anyone can have. The scenery is awe-inspiring and the train buzzes with life. The sight of a solitary tree in the middle of a field can move even a stone to poetry. Travel by train (preferably window – seat) is a great way to introspect and discover oneself.
Digression aside, we passed most of the morning reading books (I was reading ‘1984’, Rakesh ‘Catch -22’, while Gupta had to be content with his economics textbook).
All of us downed chai after chai in the afternoon while Gupta and I listened to Bob Dylan – Of course, Rakesh had brought his own music as he strongly disapproved of the very broad category of ‘stupid English music’.
One of the first major stops on the way was Nagpur. No, we did not buy oranges there!
Instead we sampled kachoris , while simultaneously avoiding a large number of inquisitive cows – yes, they wanted a share. I kept wondering what the poet Ogden Nash, who wrote
“The cow is of a bovine ilk
One end is moo and the other milk” would say if he happened to see these cows.
We passed some time by thinking up politically incorrect remarks about every state we passed through. We spoke of the great ‘Ghandi’ at Sevagram and at Ballarshah, where we had the worst idlis ever, we made observations on why a south-indian dish had to be crucified so in the north. (Is Ballarshah above the Vindhyas, I wonder? Sorry to bring up the north-south divide but it’s a pet topic).
What was comical was that Rakesh and Gupta tried to smoke a beedi every time the train stopped somewhere between stations, but they were always thwarted by the signal turning green at just the wrong moment. As they pondered a beedi-less day, I jostled with fellow passengers to re-charge my mobile phone. (Of course there was no queue near the re-charge point, for is not the railways a mobile version of India?) .
In the evening, we struck up a conversation with a man from Bangalore (Yes, you guessed it – he was working with an IT firm). He seemed convinced that we had been laid off due to the prevailing poor market conditions (the great depression of 2008 they ll call it in the future). So much for us telling him that we had resigned of our own accord and that we wanted to travel a great deal.
The rest of the journey was uneventful and we reached Delhi sometime in the mid-morning on our third day on the train.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Ode to a dead mouse
A mouse died recently. I am unsure of the cause of his death, but he probably strangled himself among the cables that suspend the elevator in my apartment. He hung there for a few days thereafter , going down when the lift went up, and up when it went down. Talk about being denied dignity in death. What's more, his remains were the centre of a bureaucratic wrangle between the pest control department and the sanitation department.
The mouse has been missing from his gravity defying grave lately. I ll remember him though - whenever I use the elevator . I wonder what I would have told the mouse if I had met him before his tragic end. Here's some verse on our imagined rendezvous.
Out of his hole he did peek
With a very plaintive squeak
I said to him: " Stop being so musical!
You'll soon be de-composing"
The mouse has been missing from his gravity defying grave lately. I ll remember him though - whenever I use the elevator . I wonder what I would have told the mouse if I had met him before his tragic end. Here's some verse on our imagined rendezvous.
Out of his hole he did peek
With a very plaintive squeak
I said to him: " Stop being so musical!
You'll soon be de-composing"
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Marketing
Like everyone else, I feel sick of having to listen to the same advertisements over and over again on radio , especially if a jingle gets stuck in my head. Such a constant attack on my senses makes me wonder as to how many people are out there trying to convince me what I should be buying today and what special offer or discount I should be availing.
I had this notion that marketing will probably pursue me till the grave (Another one of the things that one can't help I guess ). Therefore, the piece of nonsense verse that follows is about the possibility of a novel marketing idea - products for the dead.
I have decided to call it ' The over-eager sales girl '
I said: "You're making a blunder
I'm already six feet under
And my best friend's a spade "
She said: "Sir, you can still take ghost-paid"
I had this notion that marketing will probably pursue me till the grave (Another one of the things that one can't help I guess ). Therefore, the piece of nonsense verse that follows is about the possibility of a novel marketing idea - products for the dead.
I have decided to call it ' The over-eager sales girl '
I said: "You're making a blunder
I'm already six feet under
And my best friend's a spade "
She said: "Sir, you can still take ghost-paid"
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The Olimpics
In the book '1984' George Orwell says 'Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows. ' He depicts the hero's struggle against a totalitarian state.
I could see eerie coincidences between the state in '1984' and China's admittance to 'fixes' at the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics. First, they made a little girl mime on stage while another actually sang ( she wasn't cute enough to be on stage ). Then they decided to liven up the fireworks with some graphics. Talk about taking the audience for granted.
It seems that there is nothing beyond the power of the government. Even the weather can be controlled, what with anti-aircraft guns (filled with chemicals) being fired at passing clouds to prevent rain.
So here 's some nonsense to commemmorate the Olympics.
"Rain rain go away
Little Chang wants to play!
To keep your clouds at bay
Anti-aircraft guns we'll fire away!
Since now we've taught you our nursery rhyme,
The next lesson is how to mime"
I could see eerie coincidences between the state in '1984' and China's admittance to 'fixes' at the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics. First, they made a little girl mime on stage while another actually sang ( she wasn't cute enough to be on stage ). Then they decided to liven up the fireworks with some graphics. Talk about taking the audience for granted.
It seems that there is nothing beyond the power of the government. Even the weather can be controlled, what with anti-aircraft guns (filled with chemicals) being fired at passing clouds to prevent rain.
So here 's some nonsense to commemmorate the Olympics.
"Rain rain go away
Little Chang wants to play!
To keep your clouds at bay
Anti-aircraft guns we'll fire away!
Since now we've taught you our nursery rhyme,
The next lesson is how to mime"
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Institutions
One of the reasons I quit my job was because of the feeling that I was getting institutionalised at the workplace. One look at the rows and rows of seats in that office could lead to the question " So where do I as a person fit in here ? ". There was something disconcertingly impersonal about the place and it was unnerving to be identified just by the company I worked for. It certainly was the last straw when I took out my office ID card while entering "The Forum" mall. I did not want to end up like the old man in "The Shawshank Redemption" who, after having been in prison for the majority of his life , hangs himself on his release. Only because he has always been told what to do ( and what not to ) , he cannot handle his new found freedom.
Now, back home in Chennai, I m repeatedly asked " What do you do ? " . The question might as well be framed as " Which institution/company do you belong to or work for ? " . Even getting a new moblie phone connection requires me to 'belong' somewhere. This is extremely frustrating as I was glad to be liberated from the fold when I quit. So I have lately taken to saying that I am a student at XYZ driving school.
It maybe that I m an escapist or a misguided 'angry young man' ( as my mom asked - " Who do you think you are - Pink Floyd ? " ). At the same time , I know that I ll have get back to the corporate world after my higher studies. I guess there is no escaping institutions after all. I shall therefore take consolation in mocking them by writing verse.
Presenting - a short piece that came to be banned in office.
" I have absolutely no regard
For my corporate ID card
But even if I threw it to mars
I d end up with a day- pass"
( day passes were issued to those who had forgotten their ID cards :) )
Now, back home in Chennai, I m repeatedly asked " What do you do ? " . The question might as well be framed as " Which institution/company do you belong to or work for ? " . Even getting a new moblie phone connection requires me to 'belong' somewhere. This is extremely frustrating as I was glad to be liberated from the fold when I quit. So I have lately taken to saying that I am a student at XYZ driving school.
It maybe that I m an escapist or a misguided 'angry young man' ( as my mom asked - " Who do you think you are - Pink Floyd ? " ). At the same time , I know that I ll have get back to the corporate world after my higher studies. I guess there is no escaping institutions after all. I shall therefore take consolation in mocking them by writing verse.
Presenting - a short piece that came to be banned in office.
" I have absolutely no regard
For my corporate ID card
But even if I threw it to mars
I d end up with a day- pass"
( day passes were issued to those who had forgotten their ID cards :) )
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Mother , should I trust the goverment ?
Red Tape
In every government office lurks
An army of clerks
Who're unmindful of the filing backlog
And refuse to register your dog
Under the table you ll have to pay
If you forgot form 124A
The Compromise Candidate
On his name there's no smear
By him both sides swear
But what can be brought to bear
Is that he's neither here nor there
In every government office lurks
An army of clerks
Who're unmindful of the filing backlog
And refuse to register your dog
Under the table you ll have to pay
If you forgot form 124A
The Compromise Candidate
On his name there's no smear
By him both sides swear
But what can be brought to bear
Is that he's neither here nor there
Monday, August 4, 2008
Entertainment
The Ageing Star
There's no greater mirage
Than an ageing star's visage
Even Botox can't save her
But will she play mother ?
24 Hour darshan channels
They had a vsion
That God was on television
So now it's idiot box heaven
And its twenty four- seven
There's no greater mirage
Than an ageing star's visage
Even Botox can't save her
But will she play mother ?
24 Hour darshan channels
They had a vsion
That God was on television
So now it's idiot box heaven
And its twenty four- seven
Where are we heading?
Icons
The rebel is dead
It's bleak days up ahead ?
It won't really hurt
He ll soon be on a T-Shirt
The Beggar
Nothing seems to indicate
That he's controlled by a syndicate
But do a double take
You ll find all his scars are fake
He ain't got a missing limb
As much as a pseudo limp
The rebel is dead
It's bleak days up ahead ?
It won't really hurt
He ll soon be on a T-Shirt
The Beggar
Nothing seems to indicate
That he's controlled by a syndicate
But do a double take
You ll find all his scars are fake
He ain't got a missing limb
As much as a pseudo limp
Friday, August 1, 2008
Sporty Nonsense
The armchair cricket expert
Thinks he wields immense clout
But when the batsman's given out
All he can do is spout
That the umpire's a lout
The new-age football fan
He sports a brand new jersey
But ought to die for heresy
When after a goal scoring melee'
He asks 'Who was Pele?'
Thinks he wields immense clout
But when the batsman's given out
All he can do is spout
That the umpire's a lout
The new-age football fan
He sports a brand new jersey
But ought to die for heresy
When after a goal scoring melee'
He asks 'Who was Pele?'
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Sheer Nonsense
The Side-dish ( Needs a little understanding of North Indian Cuisine to read this )
Though he's more wholesome than butter
Why does aloo mutter ?
Because - whatever he might wish
He s only a sidedish
Ode to my lost hair
I have to be germane
It wasn't thick as mane
But as the barber cut away carefree
I became sadly hair-free
Though he's more wholesome than butter
Why does aloo mutter ?
Because - whatever he might wish
He s only a sidedish
Ode to my lost hair
I have to be germane
It wasn't thick as mane
But as the barber cut away carefree
I became sadly hair-free
Natural nonsense
The Mushroom
The Mushroom is a fungus
Immortalised by rock-singus
It can grow up to be so humungus
That it can hold a caterpillus
The Crow
I love the common crow
For he isn't high brow
All he wants is a lizard
Settled nicely in his gizzard
The Mushroom is a fungus
Immortalised by rock-singus
It can grow up to be so humungus
That it can hold a caterpillus
The Crow
I love the common crow
For he isn't high brow
All he wants is a lizard
Settled nicely in his gizzard
The Origin of Nonsense
The purpose of writing this blog is to put together all the random thoughts that I keep having and pen down as " nonsense verse " . What started off as frustration with the corporate world moved on to other topics such as sheer nonsense, rage against the system ( Yes - social commentary :) ) and even sports . So here goes nothing ( or should i say , here goes nonsense ) .
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