Words/Sperm Count

Writers who think blogging is a waste of words are like men who don't masturbate for fear of wasting their sperm or making them weak.

~F

Am I not sexy enough for you?

I thought these long sessions, foreplay with words, the urgency to do something, shed inhibitions and garbs, the languorous moments with the seen and the unseen, as sentences were caressed and teased worked.

Not anymore. Blogging is passé. Emails are...oh, no...



A new study has found that brief is in. People want quickies.

Danah Boyd, a fellow at Harvard University’s Berkman Center for Internet and Society, said, “Remember when ‘You’ve got mail!’ used to produce a moment of enthusiasm and not dread? (Now) people focus on using them for what they’re good for and turning to other channels for more exciting things.”

What is more exciting about tweets? Or leaving messages on walls at Facebook or other social networking sites? Is communication about just leaving behind a toe-print and not a trail? Yet, it is these sites that have ‘followers’. What are they following?

I took a quick look and found that this is just a way to make an asinine comment and then scoot off. Substance is lacking. I can understand celebrities doing that; I can understand if it is used to direct people to something of import elsewhere that they themselves have contributed to. But this is just one more element of fan culture where anyone with an account can claim to have fans. It also ends up as a means to make visible that you have said something about someone, even if it is a one-liner, to seem important.

There could be a few who may be able to convey something, but even they know it is only an appetiser.

Another distressing aspect is that the study focused on the young. It assumes that sexiness is connected in some ways with youth, and that stops at 30. This is only encouraging an attitude that will push the idea and target youngsters who will become commercial puppets. Will they stop and listen? Will they want to explore ideas? Sharing only means files, vids, plans for da party and latest pix. (Incidentally, if all this is getting fast-paced and short, then why the need for larger electronic memories?)

Commercial enterprises are quick to catch on to trends and they will be thrown the bait of cosmetics, clothes, and culture as a quick fix. It will, I am afraid, also result in ‘moving on’ even in careers and relationships.

How does any of this become sexy?

Language as we know it and experiment with cannot become a harridan only because of some punks who don’t even use their fingers well, that is why they trip so often and miss the vowels to save space. It is like missing a moment and talking about the eternal. The eternal flush that skims over and never enters the pores to tickle the flesh of a thought that rises to meet a paragraph created for it.

Did I just get a fatwa?

A thrill ran down my spine. I had got what would have been called a fatwa. I am not sure whether there was prize money offered for my head or something else but it sure sounded like an edict. It came from Blogger, which gave it international appeal and made me feel like I had crossed all barriers. As some of you might be aware, I have a special affinity towards this fatwa thingie.

At first I thought it was fake but the fatwa-hungry part of me took it seriously. I awaited the time when I’d be martyred. Salman Rushdie would pen The Boor’s Last Sigh; Taslima Nasreen would finally discover a Bengali ghetto in Sweden and live happily ever after in that free country. No one would care about those drawing Danish cartoons or doing things to holy books. All the world’s attention would be on me and my rantings about holes in ceilings and skies with feelings. My poems would be deconstructed even as it is known that they were never constructed in the first place.

Media houses would have debates on the freedom to express sexual desires towards oneself. I’d have mikes thrust near my mouth to emphasise the point just made.

The mullahs, sadhus, priests and transvestites would come on one forum to agree. Some literary giants would join in the chants because I was assaulting their idea of prosaic prosody and had transformed the iambic pentameter into an octometer only because I like things big.

Blogger was going to make me big. Next day I looked suitably rebellious and ready for e-martyrdom. The dashboard had a few lines written in red (I think. Yes, dammit, sometimes I do.) It said, “Your blog will be deleted in 20 days if it isn't reviewed, and your readers will see a warning page during this time. After we receive your request, we'll review your blog and unlock it within two business days.”

Business days? Readers? They knew I had readers? I did? It gave me other details which are not suitable for people planning families. Isn’t stuff that is unsuitable that goes into Spam? I wanted to cry my heart out and give a little speech about how I had given my blood (A+), toil (never mind), sweat (with expensive unisex deodorant), tears (the real McCoy and not crocodile) to this little space.

This could not be happening to me. I had not reproduced salacious pictures, and I cannot help it if Modigliani and company did nudes. I had not written anything that adults under 30 have not experienced and those over that age might desire. I did write about politics, but who does not? I wrote about religion, but everyone prays. I even exposed my soul because our culture talks of the atman/rooh as though it is something tangible. I did it without any expectations or benefit to self.

I have suffered, uff, I have! Yet, I put on a brave face and sallied forth, thinking that those few people who Blogger assumes read me would take me for what I am.

Those words in red stared at me as though I were a common criminal. And, mind you, the red was ordinary font, not even embossed or engraved. I smiled the shaheed smile, the one which looks like you are carrying cyanide pellets in your head. I would be in hiding and imagined being exiled in some country where the temperature dips to an inelegant low; how would I look in faux fur and mannequin mink? And why should I not alliterate, after all it would be F’s Fatwa? I started thinking about the bodyguards who would one day pen a book about what all I did not do.

It must have taken 15 minutes of my useless time for such cogitations. By then I had read all the dos and don’ts of the Blogger Das Kapital, and nothing that I had written crossed any limits.

Yes, do what you want, I muttered. I did a cocky head nod and my mouth curled into a sneer. I was mid-way into my ‘hah’ when my test post went through. I had entered the den as a tigress and ended up chasing a ball of wool. I clicked on request to unlock. Okay, it was 20 days away before I was told to clean up and move the hell out. Then I checked the dashboard and those red words had disappeared. Did they do their checking already? Was it some Ku Klux Klan doing its underground research and waiting for me to bite the bait? Or did they believe that I wasn’t worth the fatwa spewed from the mouths of greater believers?

I knew it. This fatwa desire shall remain unfulfilled. It is entirely possible that in this holy month, it is god’s idea of doing zakat towards me.

So, friends, desperate housewives, gigolos and whoever else I have offended, do remember to keep up the vigil and all. Meanwhile, I am assuming this may just fizzle out. But if you see a note that does not let you access this blog and you really want to access it, then remember to write a nice little obit.

In my next birth I will be a blog.

PS: My other blogs here have no writing in red. Yet.

Countdown to the One Millionth Word?

This is among the worst instances of dumbing down. They are catering to everyone’s fantasy of concern - something from fashion, pop culture, the greens, music, sports; they are also trying to balance cultures and countries.

Tomorrow, June 10th, 2009 at 10:22 am (Stratford-on Avon Time) The Global Language Monitor in Austin, Texas will announce the winning word. I find the location rather quaint. Maybe these Texans just wanna go on vacation. Are you not all excited to know whether Indian women’s panties, “cuddies”, will get the green signal or will it be the real green McCoy, locally- produced “locavores” that are part of “slow food” which isn’t fast?

Now, there is something for fast moms called “octomom” that is, believe it or not, “the media phenomenon of the mother of the octuplets”. Huh? Do the sperms like consult newspapers and TV channels about how to hit different ova at the same time so that you get a few nice bundles of eight?

You can “de-friend” someone from your social network and if you send them steamy messages via email you will be “sexting” them. You may send steam and sauna in other ways, but there is no word for it.

The US President's popularity would be “Obamamania”, which is kind of lame, but what is surprising is “Mobama” – relating to the fashion-sense of the US First Lady. I thought it would be green, given her penchant for dresses and gowns that look like they are made from feathers or the colour of flora and fauna.

After the success of the film Slumdog Millionaire, two words from India figure. “Slumdog” would qualify as slang although it goes under the ‘politically incorrect’ category and “refers disparagingly to someone living in the slums”. If it is disparaging, then why is it qualifying at all? And “Jai ho” is a phrase taken from a song.

The issue is not with words from varied cultures; English language speakers and writers do employ Latin, French, Spanish phrases, and ancient English is nothing quite like we know it now.

My quarrel is with the limited idea of “the coming of age of English as the first, truly global language”. One does not need to blow trumpets to announce such an event. Languages evolve and those speaking it in different countries add bits and pieces of the local dialect. No one goes to check whether such a word has been anointed by the English dictionary or this gimmick.

But these Language Monitor people are serious:

“Due to the global extent of the English language, the millionth word is as likely to appear from India, China, or East Los Angeles as it is to emerge from Stratford-Upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s home town.”

This isn’t expanding the horizons but clasping them in a clinch to draw attention to their ethnicity. How does it add to a language?

The Chosen Word will depend on citations, usage, appearances in the media, the Net, blogs and networking sites. This is just to confirm the celebrity status of the words, irrespective of whether they make sense or not.

Poland’s contribution is about predatory lending practices, bankers behaving like gangsters. Every stud imagines he is a “bangster”. I don’t even want to think about some guy in a suit and tie ripping me off my money…even if he is one in a million.

We’d be poles apart.

Election sidelights: Milind Deora's two daddies, Rahul Gandhi's poor babies, and some more...

But you love me daddies…

Milind Deora, pulling strings?

Milind Deora may be a badey baap ka beta, but he does not have only one dad’s support. Murli Deora who virtually ruled the roost as BRCC head and was stuck to the seat with adhesive as facilitator and lobbyist has definitely played a role in his son’s rise. Now we have don Arun Gawli openly supporting him.

Arun Gawli, daddy cool

This man is in jail for murder under the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act (MCOCA). His daughter, Geeta Gawli, a municipal corporator, said:

“Although there was huge public demand for him to contest, he has decided to opt out in favour of Deora. The ABS will now support the Congress in Mumbai South.”

Almost in an Adi Godrej-like language, she calls him a “secular and dynamic youth leader”! If Dagdi Chawl’s ‘Daddy’ could contest, he would not be considered secular or a youth.

However, what surprises me (why do I still manage to get surprised?) is that Milind Deora has not issued a statement strongly disassociating himself with this gangster. I can understand if some regular roughneck was a candidate and one of the ganglords supported him. Remember Dawood Ibrahim’s brother’s ambitions? Or how Varadarajan blessed a lot of candidates?

What will all those SoBo (that is South Bombayites – nah, they won’t call it Mumbai) club types think? It is not like diamond merchant Bharat Shah, also a jail regular, giving him the thumbs up. What makes Milind not tell the Gawlis to shut up and stay away from messing around with his name? Or, is no one bothered anymore? These are the same people who are going to vote against the “sab chalta hai” attitude. What is this if not chalta hai?

Karan Johar has written a long article in today’s TOI telling the readers about what all Milind has managed to do. No one needs paid advertisements anymore? Or is it all about ‘kind’ now? After all, this paper charges you to get featured in some of its privileged sections.

Here are some of Karan’s bon mots:

“So what if he is the son of a cabinet minister? I am the son of a producer, does that make any of my films any less relevant? In our country, a lot of newsprint is focused on dynasties — film, political or otherwise — but what most forget is that ultimately, being born with a silver spoon doesn’t guarantee a platinum-lined future.”

He clearly cannot tell the difference between reality and make-believe. The country is not a film and the fate of millions is not the same as a show at multiplexes. The point is not about being born with a silver spoon; there have been cases of individuals from notable families who have contributed substantially. But his words are a dead give-away when he talks about a “platinum-lined future”. It only means that it is about individual aspirations.

And the concerns these people have are clear when he writes:

“On 26/11, my city changed. Irrevocably. As we all watched glued to our television sets for the next 72 hours, it seemed almost surreal that our beloved home was burning — a city that had always held the promise of fulfilling dreams was suddenly everyone’s worst nightmare.”

Your beloved home has burned several times, but many kilometres away from where you and Milind live, so obviously you did not notice. Also, it was not covered with such intensity for you to be glued to your television sets.

Had these attacks not taken place, let me assure you all these corporate waalas and waalis would not have cared. The city has not changed. These people have. The dabbawallas, cabbies, domestic helps, drivers do not find the city has changed “irrevocably”.

“The last few years, the focus on India has been tremendous, Mumbai has been called the new New York, Shanghai, London — and the city and country has gone from strength to strength.”

Then, honey, why don’t you shoot your films here? Create employment, help with the infrastructure.

“Our usually press-friendly, vociferous leaders were suddenly shy, it seemed, hiding in their ivory towers with their Z security. The only political face Mumbai saw in those abysmal days was that of the quiet, unobtrusive Milind Deora.”

Well, Milind is not exactly muddying his hands, unless it is rubble from the Taj/Hilton. And he will be answerable to the same people with Z security. Incidentally, that night he was returning from a social engagement and he has been quoted as saying that when he heard some gunshots being fired and a car being chased he thought they were headed towards his vehicle!

Those 72 hours created many wannabe martyrs.

For those who haven;t read it, here is my take again: 1992 vs. 2008: Mumbai’s Charge of the Lightweight Brigade

Amar, Azam and SP

Amar Singh says he will quit the Samajwadi Party and ditch his ‘brother’ Mulayam Singh Yadav. I would have been happier to see him change his bungalow’s name again from Aishwariya to whatever it was called originally. He is sulking because of his differences with Azam Khan of the same party. Yadav has said he will help resolve this feud.

I suspect there is no such feud. Everyone in the SP knows that Amar Singh brings in the shor-sharaaba (yeah, you can delete the ‘a’ at the end too). This looks like a neatly planned division. With Mayawati going for the upper castes, they want the Amar Singh faction to play that role, while Azam Khan woos the Imambara types on the side. See, politics too is becoming like modern medicine – too much specialisation.

Laloo-Rabri talk the baulk

Laloo-Rabri during the Chhat puja

They are insisting that Laloo Prasad Yadav should be arrested under the National Securities Act for his hate speech against Varun Gandhi.

What did Laloo say?

"Had I been the country's home minister, I would have crushed Varun Gandhi under a roller and destroyed him without caring for the consequences for his hate speech against Muslims.”

This would amount to attempted homicide, and depending on whether he was driving a BMW or a tractor he would be meted out a sentence accordingly.

His wife and RJD chief took on rival Nitish Kumar:

"Nitish is sitting in the lap of L K Advani, who was directly involved in pulling down the Babri mosque, but his dream will never come true."

Which dream won’t come true? The mosque has been demolished and he seems to be already sitting in the dream lap…maybe it is the dream to get somewhere. Like godi ke baad gaddi (Throne after the lap)?

Rahul’s new slogan: ‘Garibi bachao’

Rahul Gandhi with his 'pride'

One fine day Rahul Gandhi invited a British minister to a village in his constituency to show him the spirit of the poor. What is so difficult to digest about that? Wouldn’t a British MP invite one of our ministers for a spot of fox hunting or to watch the changing of guards or the spirited jugglers at Covent Garden?

Rahul had to justify himself:

“I don’t believe in hiding things I am proud of and I don’t believe in hiding the spirit of the poor. The difference between the Congress party and opponents… We are proud of the poor people of India. We believe in the poor people of India and they are ashamed of the poor in India.”

I honestly think this guy must be sent for some urgent classes. How can he be proud of the poor? Has he created them? Or their poverty? Or even their spirit?

If the Congress believes in the spirit of the poor, then does it follow that they plan to let them remain like this - “as they faced difficulties with a smile and they believe in this country”? It is called survival. Stop romanticising all this.

Neither the Congress nor the Opposition can be proud or ashamed of the poor. They have to jolly well do something for them. Unfortunately, our largest majority, the poor, cannot do a thing.

If anyone is interested

Mallika Sarabhai has responded to the post on her and I have replied. Both are here

The media hierarchy - who gets to say what and other crap

This news would not have bothered me, except that the discussion has been brought up on my blog as well. How many people have ticked off PM Manmohan Singh for asking for the US president’s autograph? And then how many have dissed a television reporter for a banter with Barack Obama?

Since it is being reported in the blog world as well as some sections of the media, there is reason to raise some questions. One bloke even said that he had not commented thus far because he thought he might give a fellow scribe her moment of glory. Ooh, how considerate!

The IANS story mentions:

A young Indian reporter was "walking on air" after being treated to a bit of the old Obama magic at the end of the G20 summit here Thursday.

So what? If it was not important at all, then why even bother to report it? They are flashing her ‘before Obama’ and ‘after Obama’ pictures, for god’s sake, and linking the video clip!

Did anyone diss Neeta Ambani when she talked about the Obama charm and how he remembered to address her by name, which was pinned on her lapel anyway? What about those groupie NRIs who were behaving like lapdogs during the pre-election rallies? What about Hollywood celebrities who were singing paeans about “change”?

We always tend to pick on the soft targets.

The report is by a senior journalist and this is how he goes about it:

When Obama picked her out of nowhere, Ghuman asked how his meeting with Prime Minister Manmohan Singh went, and whether the two had discussed Pakistan and terrorism.

What the hell does “picked her out of nowhere” mean? She was a part of the press conference where 2500 journalists were present. Is there an element of jealousy here that she was chosen? If so, then it is Obama’s problem, not hers. These fat cats always want to be the first among equals. And please note her question – it is about his meeting with the PM and whether they discussed Pakistan and terrorism.

Why did Obama choose to reduce it to the level of banter (”I am only teasing you”)?

The reporter has every right to say she is proud of our PM, if indeed she is, if the subject of her interview does his patronising act; the report mentions that this was his first meeting with Dr. Singh. So, was Obama walking on air when he skirted the question she posed him and decided to salivate over our PM?

"I think he's a very wise and decent man. And he's done a wonderful job of guiding India, even prior to being prime minister, along a path of extraordinary economic growth that is a marvel, I think, for all the world," Obama said.

I hold no brief for this reporter; I have watched the channel she represents maybe about five or six times. But let us not get all holier-than-thou and give this issue our self-righteous treatment.

The fawning over Obama was visible ever since he became the candidate. And at his inauguration there was a poem “Praise Song for the Day,” written and recited by Elizabeth Alexander.

And those who are talking about being professional please watch some of the seniors in action. Damn, they dress up specially for their interviews with foreigners and make it seem like it is the best thing to have happened to them.

Some TV reporter climbs up a tree to get a scoop on the Abhishek Bachchan wedding; where is the self-respect?

Does anyone question the presence of hi-fi society writers at sponsored events when they would run down a junior reporter for being there? Hey, one of these divas, who did not get the treacle treatment she expected, had the gumption to even say that the journalists who she had invited were sponging on her husband’s expensive whiskey. What do these creatures themselves do when they attend yacht parties and other shit? Oh, I forgot, they go as legitimate saath phere liye hue arm candies.

Senior columnists go ga-ga over a little trot on the ramp by Naomi Campbell while running down our own models.

Where are the bloggers and commentators when it is time to pull up these media hypocrites?

Nuff said.

Quote uncoat -14

“Silence is of different kinds, and breathes different meanings.” - Charlotte Bronte

Have you experienced that about to say something feeling? That tip of the tongue feeling? That bite my tongue and swallow every morsel of a sentence feeling?

I am thinking about this. We interpret and misinterpret words. Have we ever thought about the way silence can work? I have had conversations with people who want to know why I have not expressed an opinion on something or the other. “You have not said anything about the curfew in Kashmir, what is happening in Orissa, Malegaon, Assam…”

They are topical and it isn’t that I don’t have an opinion. Sometimes, I cannot formulate my thoughts. Sometimes, my thoughts cannot find words. Sometimes, my words run ahead.

So, in that sense, my silence is indeed being perceived and conclusions are reached.

When I hibernate, there is a reason. That silence is melancholic, meditative. Or it may not be silence at all. It may be numbness. That is not akin to silence, which is a choice. When you are numb you feel nothing.

Despite my written output, which essentially amounts to speaking through words – and this is post #1001 on this blog! – I do leave a lot unsaid.

For, in the large desert I am only willing to share my vision of a sand castle with you…maybe you will be here on days when there is a sand storm or I spot an oasis. It will be conveyed as I take a sip of grit and let the water drip off my lips to form a patch of a temporary memory.

Up mine?

Nooo… have been auto-suggesting this for a few days now. No writing about how I started writing this blog three years ago on this day. No senti stuff. Just go on as though nothing has happened. No one notices. Really.

But what to do? Even Khomeini was born on this day 106 years ago.

Now, you can read what you want about the Ayatollah, but no one will tell you a thing about me.

So, here’s to me, each applies at different times:

When you want to tear your hair

When you think I am half-way there

When I am doing something right

And finally:

“I love talking about nothing. It is the only thing I know anything about.”
- Oscar Wilde

Anonymous incorporated

There is some confusion here about anon versus anons. To tell wheat from rice and not to chaff, I shall list out possible names depending on the sort of comments the anonymous people make:

• FV is a jihadi: Green with ennui
• Her heart belongs to Pakistan: Dil rue-ba
• This blog stinks: Skunk
• Ohh, she is so vain: Pig-on-lipstick
• You must read Faiz/Neruda/Falooda: Mirza Ghayab
• You can’t cook, so here’s a recipe: Khan Salmon
• You keep talking about hair: Zulf fikar bhugto
• She is such a bitch sometimes: I-am-da-bone
• Too much sex here: Gees Pot
• She is after those poor Kashmiri Pandits: Dal-dal Lake
• It is not cyanide but rat poison: Mickey mouse in diss-ney
  
• I am the only one who likes her: Dinosaur

Some news...

It's not our duty to expedite Afzal's execution, says SC

The Supreme Court on Friday refused to entertain a PIL seeking directions to the Government to expedite execution of the death sentence of Mohammad Afzal, convicted in the 2001 Parliament attack case.

"It is not our duty. It is for the executive to decide how to consider the matter. We cannot pass such a direction," observed a Bench presided by Chief Justice K G Balakrishnan.

"This court cannot give such directions. We already passed the final order. You go to the executive," the Bench told the petitioner, Lashkar-e-Hind, an NGO.

I have already held forth at length on the case in two blogposts:

Parliament attack: Why should Mohammed Afzal be hanged?

Mohammed Afzal ko ghussa kyon nahin aata?

I am tagged!

I love labels. What do the labels here mean - do they convey what the content carries? Here is some Sunday tattle...

Talking to myself: An attempt to confuse others about the confusion in one’s own head created out of the desperate need for clarity about the idea of confusion. Clear?

Quote uncoat: Wanting to add two-paise worth of crap to two-paise worth of crap. That is four paise, which is no currency and has no currency.

Trivial pursuit: Deconstructing little things that nobody cares about except the blogger because the blogger is a nitpicker.

Death: Something the blogger has no experience of yet writes about with much authority.

Life: Ditto.

Rewind: As though the current output is not enough, blogger takes a time-machine to the past and gets all nostalgic about something that probably never happened.

Feedback: What the whole world considers spam, blogger believes is addressed to her. Does any sane person think a note that says, “You can make someone happy” is about their writing skills??

A very short conversation: Blogger is telling people she knows how to keep it short. And that people actually talk to her.

Doodles: An activity indulged in when the blogger does not have words. Mostly the doodles look like words fattened on air.

Ten poems: This has taught her discipline, to count, and the aesthetic appeal of squiggles to demarcate each poem, so that no one mistakes one for the other, which is quite possible given that she herself often does.

Critique: This is to tell people who might not realise it that she is being unkind, little knowing that no one expects her to be anything but unkind all the time.

Let’s not get too serious: Blogger is asking you to laugh even if you don’t find it funny.

Just wondering: Blogger does not know what is going on.

Musings: Watch ceiling, watch sky, watch clouds, watch sun, watch underconstruction building, watch walls, watch monitor. Write something. Call it musings because it sounds better than fly-swotting.