The Bad Bed and Open Letter to Indian Manhood

The Americans did it with their phonetic spellings. India gobbled their burgers and even the Oxford-educated returned with American accents, forget those on a vacation rolling their tongues going khurrie while aching for a spicy curry.

I am in no hurry, but Kolkata schools have decided that the Oxford English dictionary can go take a walk and S can comfortably be replaced with a Z. But, then, why is His still spelled with S in the US? Why is it not ‘hiz’? And the Americans still Cough; they don’t Coff. And, when they do go round the corner, it is to the lavatory and not the lav-a-tory, which would make the last bit very British, innit? And they invent and work on scientific endeavours (they drop the O…which conveys they aren’t orgasmic about it, but that’s okay) in a laboratory and not a lab-ra-tory even if their Pavlov’s dog is a Labrador.

Back to the Indian schools, one principal said that the world has shrunk and there are more people shrinking into each other - well, he didn’t say this, but it means the same thing – we need to accept change. This means we have to accept words spelled the way they are pronounced.

This can have hilarious consequences in India. Now, we are talking about Bengalis who have a peculiar manner of transforming S into Sh and Sh into S. So Subhash is pronounced as Shubhas. The broad spectrum of the South is quite something else when the Tamilian states. “I yam underrstaanding”, would you understand what he has understood? And the Gujarati who has already got fame for merely having some snakes in the mole (snacks in the mall) and enjoyed rape in the hole (rap in the hall) would elicit more than phonetic censure. Up north, the Punjabi likes the Bad more than anything else; it isn’t just candid admission of wickedness…all he desires is a Bed. And when he remembers the Dad, it is more often than not the Dead.

I dread to think what could possibly happen if you let these pronunciations – mostly pronounced as pronounciations – into the American linguistic trail. It would result in chaos as consonants run over vowels that are trying to escape each other.

I am a bit finicky about spelling and the moment a Z sneaks into S territory, I organise it in a manner almost evangelical. It is my cosmic (there, I got you, we are the same) connecshun.

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Yet, I do so love some good Indianisms, especially if they are not deliberate and smart attempts at pidgin. Since there has been some anger over my earlier blog on the Indian male and the foreign woman, I thought of formulating a letter in the language that is spoken by many and has a charm all its own…

My dearest Indian manhood…

I am only saying to you with utmost sincerity and openness of heart that I was not wanting to hurt you with tall tales of our mens and their likeness for white skin and light eyes. Whatfor you getting angry and angrier. I knowing that you are sometimes pavitra paapi, that is pure sinner, but you are inside like Amul butter and underwear banyaan (vest).

I know you are treating all womans with respect and consideration and showing Taj Mahal to say how big king made big monument where big queen Mumtaz ji is laid. You are sentimental and kind. Cash also, but you are nice. You like ma ka halwa, no, no, not making halwa out of mother but what mother makes for you, even if wife or daughter making, you say ma ka. For you all womans are like mothers only.

You are misunderstanding my motioning about foreign woman having trouble with Indian man. Some mens are like that only, some are not. What to do, not all fingers in hand are equal, some are long, some short, like other parts of bodies and other peoples parts of bodies. You getting me? No, no, I am not saying you must get me. You don’t want, say no straight. I not minding. I not even wanting your wanting. I am ok, you are ok. Live and let live. Wah, wah, what line.

You like line? Not queue for waiting for latest iPhone addition. Why addition and not subtraction or multiplication or division. I sound like mathematical genius, no? Hehe. I also feeling like that sometimes when I give grocer five rupees extra by mistake, I say with moving of hand, keep change. He say it is not change, it is rupees. Stupid illiterate fellow not knowing English.

So cutting long story short and making it dwarf, I want to say to you with full sincere wishes that I am only liking Indian manhood more than anything. I am swearing on Indian Constipation that I am not liking conspiracy theories and no foreign hand.

Happy? Ismail pliss… Good-good.