Poet Raheem says in this world varied types of humans abound
In around four decades of work life I have had more than twenty odd bosses to deal with. Each with their individual mechanism of getting work done by their subordinates.
The first seven years of my career I had to deal with a young lady who hated me. She was not alone. The leader of the Workers’ Union hated me as much. So did his followers. A novice, I followed the ‘sheep-or-is-it-goat- policy’ , i.e., if I ignored their misdoing they would eventually start ignoring me, which of course did not work.
When I got a transfer back to my home town my new boss had an odd habit of calling me up in the evening and telling me that I was no good that day in the office. I was then on 24×7 duty required to be available on landline even after office hours. It was not possible to not attend his calls. But why did he not pull me up (if at all what he said was true which it was not) during normal office hours was what I never understood. I boiled it down to pure sadistic pleasure in the absence of a rational explanation. Much later I came to know that other officers would tell him that I was being unduly burdened with work. They feared that I would be set as an example for them to follow suit. What an odd way of dealing with the situation it was!!
The one who made it his mission to totally spoil my career was a Bengali. The Department thought he had a soft corner for me being a Bengali too. But on the contrary, he made me a scapegoat every time he was compelled to take a stand in any matter. So, when others made mistakes I got rebuked verbally as well as in writing.
Every morning at 06.30 AM he would call and give me a list of work I was supposed to do that day. One day I asked him whether he was on leave that day as he could do this during office hours as well. He got offended very badly. Later I came to know that this was his routine with all the others in the Department who he called up one after the other early in the morning from 06.00 AM onwards.
This guy never failed to find new ways of torturing his subordinates. Those were the days when PCs had not completely taken over. Every time I took a draft note to him he would make corrections on a piecemeal basis , one word or one phrase or one sentence or one para or one dot or one slash or one stroke at a time. Every time he would tell me to make the note crisper. Every time he would find mistakes in it till he would be correcting what he had corrected a few minutes before. Phew!!
It was a surprise that such an ogre had to take Voluntary Retirement when the Company got merged with a Fortune 500 Corporation post disinvestment.
From a small to a large Corporate Sector, the style of working differed enormously. In the Corporate Office I had the good and misfortune of working under a workaholic boss who considered his subordinates as rivals. Very difficult to please he’d make it a point to delegate work right at the closing hour forcing his staff to stay beyond duty hours. According to him we were already late as the task was to be finished yesterday. Nobody asked him why he never delegated on time when the work was so urgent.
He was also a “copy-paste” master, that is, he had this peculiar habit of copying paras and sentences from previously approved notes and pasting them in a fresh one taking it to be a good strategy – if the proposal from which he copied had got approved smoothly the fresh one would get approved in no time too. Bizarre psychology but there it was. There were instances when he would call me back to the office when I was half way home because he had wrongly sent some email which now I had to resend on his behalf.
He was always in a hurry – to get a proposal sanctioned, to send an e-mail, to get a promotion, to get down first from the flight he was taking to an outstation tour etc. etc. Our office building was rumoured to be haunted. But the standing joke in the Department was that even the ghost would not dare to haunt when he was working late in the office.
There was no point resisting him because it was confirmed that he was obsessed with his work and would not care for two hoots even if his subordinates got down to a bloody revolt against him. But to give the devil his due I learnt a lot assisting him though at times I was hard pressed not to engage in a war of words with him.
So the poet Raheem’s observation did fit the bill in so far as bosses were concerned.
However, this story has no end and anytime I feel like venting I’ll pick up the threads again… 😂 😂
Sanskrit is a dead language because it’s no more in use. But it is also said to be the mother of all languages. However, we took up Sanskrit in high school because it fetched marks quite easily with the help of a little bit of rote learning.
But in the past two months as I started reading the holy Shrimad Bhagawat Gita I realised how elementary my knowledge was. Sanskrit grammar is logical like any other grammar but becomes complex in application. The verbs have 3×3 different persons – first person singular, dual and plural – that is, it also has a different application for “we” referring to “two of us”. So, similarly it goes for “you” and “they” as in “two of you” and “two of them”.
Every noun accordingly has three distinct categories and added with prepositions it becomes a long (declension) table which we had to learn by heart. No, the complexities did not end there. Add to it the two genders, male and female, including “it” as a separate one, and the whole table, if I remember correctly, (i.e., with 8×3 cases) , changed !!
This is just to put it very sketchily. I guess, it must be a similar experience with Latin or Persian or Arabic. Though I don’t know any these languages, but just going by their ancientness, I presume learning them must be equally difficult. Do the other languages too have complicated portmanteau words ? And that very interesting colon sign : suffixed to every word not as a punctuation mark but as a phonetic (for breath expulsion) giving the word a “huh” sound in the end !!
***
In school translation was a big exercise in Sanskrit either way – Sanskrit to Bengali/Hindi and/or vice versa. The common thinking was put a colon after a Hindi or Bengali word and it becomes a word of Sanskrit. How wrong we were when the word “rat” had to be translated in Sanskrit. The Bengali girls wrote “indura:“pronounced as ” indurahuh” and the Hindi speaking students wrote “chuha:” pronounced as “chuhahuh”. The actual word was mushika: pronounced as mushikaha – a word with a closeness to our dear old ‘mouse’.
But nothing to beat the ingenuity of one of our classmates when it came to translating a whole sentence in Hindi/Bengali to Sanskrit. The root sentence, given for translation, was (in English) :
“Dasharathasya choubaccha” and very knowledgeably put a colon after bachha.
Choubaccha in Bengali is not a portmanteau word but if bifurcated in two “Chou” can be a short colloquial form for four and “baccha” means a kid or toddler. But clubbed together the word means something totally different – a cemented trough to store water in the bathroom , or in very simple English, a bath tub.
So our dear friend’s translation actually meant King Dasharatha had a bath tub which the teacher hadn’t asked whether the king had or not.
Now going further back to a generation of our parents. In my father’s school the Sanskrit teacher was respectfully addressed as Pandit Mahashaya (Pandit from which the word Pundit comes) underscoring his expertise in the subject. Pandit Mahashaya was an imposing, austere figure. He not only taught but lived the language. He came to school dressed in an ankle high dhoti and short kurta, sported a long white beard and wore a kharau or kharam , that is, a wooden footwear worn by sages of yore and the (male) elders of that generation.
Notorious kids teasingly called him “beardie” behind his back which he happened to overhear one day. Entering the class he went straight to the blackboard and wrote in his big cursive handwriting:
When the teacher was coming to class in the morning a few notorious students happened to mock him by addressing him as “beardie” behind his back.
Finishing the sentence he turned to the class and commanded in his booming voice:
“Now students translate this sentence into Sanskrit“
PS : This was not an easy write given the difficult subject – memories of learning an ancient language which no longer has practical application or usage. If I have gone wrong somewhere, especially, the grammar part, I may please be corrected by my more knowledgeable readers and friends.
I hope I am able to put across the embedded humour and the difficulty in learning (read deeper understanding) a language which is only restricted to literature, scriptures and religious documents and does not find a place in colloquial conversation. Also comes in the generational and cultural gaps associated with the methods and modes of learning and the then and now student teacher dynamics. I guess, I have responded to both the prompts in the process. 😊
Staying present, for me, does not necessarily mean ‘staying in the present moment’ but also it implies ‘staying relevant’. How relevant is it to learn an ancient language? The answer is, yes, it is very relevant because it takes us back to our roots, culture, conventions, ancient wisdom and above all the very process of evolution. We cannot grasp our present, how progressive or regressive we have become, if we do not have a referral point to compare.
So, yes, learning an or any ancient language like Sanskrit or Latin or Persian, in an indirect way, has its significance in becoming the yardstick to measure our human worth in the present because language, I believe, is the reflection of human civilization in all its varied and disparate aspects.
Faith, out on probation from mental asylum, is the lone survivor of the gruesome multiple murders that took place ten years back in Marshfield, in which her father, sister, best friend and best friend’s mother were killed on her birthday by an unknown assailant. But for Faith the killer is not unknown. He is the Rat Face, with the hooked nose, stained teeth humming the Happy Birthday song, who has traumatized her day and night. But the cops believe that it was her father who killed the others and then shot himself to death.
As Faith lives on so does the perpetrator. And now it’s time for Faith to hunt him down. Or is she being hunted by him?
Christopher Greyson’s The Girl Who Lived is engaging to say the least. What makes the narrative tick is the pivotal character of Faith – an emotional wreck lacking in confidence and courage and fighting her own demons of the past. At times she appears to be stupid alienating the fist full of wellwishers that she has got by her impulsive and whimsical behaviour, on the other hand, the question “those who survive unimaginable trauma do they really get a life?” props up now and then as I walk through her tumultuous journey. And that is what makes Faith so real and understandable.
The righteous in me always gets hooked to the justice seeker. That is why I get irritated with her callousness, her addiction to alcohol – a mistaken coping elixir – or when she loses track or when she is not able to muster enough courage to look in the eyes of her tormentors. I want her to not cower down and give in to her weaknesses. I buck her up when she fights back tooth and nail even in the face of incredulity and obstruction. She does not know who to trust and who not to. She falters, makes mistakes, stumbles, gets up and runs. I don’t want her to run. I want her to hold her ground and give back to those who have broken her irreparably and made her existence a hell of a mockery,
Therein lies Greyson’s power of storytelling, I guess, because he gets me emotionally invested in the rollercoaster ride that the protagonist’s quest shapes into making me oscillate between dead ends and clues, hopes and fiascos and slumps and soars.
This book has been lying in my Kindle library for a long time. Glad that it has come as a sudden rush of adrenaline in between heavy motivational and educational readings.
By the way it’s got a sequel too – The Girl Who Lived 2.
But I won’t go there. No…at least not now.
I want Faith to get a grip, make the most of what is left with her and be at peace…
My nephew and niece-in-law reside in a 3bhk apartment with a big hall and a long passageway. The master bedroom is flanked by two other bedrooms on either side. All three open into the passage. At night all the rooms have their doors open as with a new born baby assistance may be required anytime.
Both the master and the other bedroom (occupied by Didi and B-I-L) have attached bathrooms. The room occupied by me doesn’t have one. I have to use the guest bathroom just a few steps down the passage. One night after an hour’s sleep I got up to find my nephew and niece-in-law deep in conversation in the hall. Or so I thought. The apartment’s acoustic’s such that sound travels easily.
For my benefit, a soft light is always kept on in the hall or in the open kitchen. It was past midnight when I was required to visit the bathroom again. I was surprised to find the conversation was still on however now on a softer note… indistinguishable. The hall light was on but no-one was in sight. I presumed that the voices came from the master bedroom though it was dark. I came back to bed.
In the morning, when I enquired what kept them awake so late they were surprised. Nephew said they had slept like dead horses the night previous. No conversation in the hall or in the room!!!!
Another night.
As I was going to the bathroom I heard a noise in the kitchen as of water dripping drop by drop. In the nocturnal silence the sound amplified!! Though the kitchen was lit I didn’t have the nerves to check. My niece-in-law is usually the last to retire to bed. Next morning she checked on my asking and confirmed that there was no sign of water dripping in the kitchen.
It must have been the wind…the acoustic…my over active brain….wild and fertile imagination…
Yet I have had my fair share of paranormal experiences in life and I am still in the grey zone of believing and disbelieving…
But on the next visit…
I’d make sure whether the voices….the dripping… the flapping sound in the utility space….is the wind or just my fanciful ideas..
That is if there is a next time…if I have enough…you know what…
As I have said in my earlier post more than half the month of July was quite uneventful. On the 29th we went for a short community service as it was my father’s death anniversary.
Being quite far away from our home, nearing lunch time, we decided to grab a quick bite nearby. B-I-L selected a Japanese restaurant close by but instant reservation was not available there. So we went a little further down to Kofuku – again a Japanese restaurant tucked inside a Mall.
The usherer welcomed us in Japanese (which was kind of unintelligible because we don’t know the language) , seated us and the servers helped us select from an array of dishes. We chose sticky rice, a Tofu curry (Tofu Katsu Curry) and a Balinese curry along with a plate of Sushi. The side dishes were kimchi (as usual strong and spicy), very finely sliced, crisp lotus stem fries and baby potatoes dipped in brown sauce which tasted like molten jaggery. The lotus stem fries were also sweet to taste (perhaps honey coated). But the portion of side dishes were very small unlike ours.
Sorry, I clicked when we had almost finished. 😛 But this is to show how small the servings were.
The (shrimp) Sushi (Shrimp Tempura Roll) was good but I’d prefer vegetables anytime. The tofu curry was light and nice. The Balinese curry had broccoli, brinjal, beans, zucchini and chicken in a thick, creamy coconut gravy with a very strong flavour. Overall the dishes were prepared in a way to suit the Indian palate.
This was the first time that I had Sushi and sticky rice and I enjoyed both. But next time I wouldn’t go for a coconut based gravy which is too heavy. Though we Bengalis do use desiccated coconut and coconut milk in our preparations but the flavour of coconut is subtle in our dishes and balanced with other lighter spices. The Balinese curry had an overpowering presence of coconut which did not quite agree with me and even my sister.
Sticky rice and Balinese Curry. Again not a very good click but just to give an idea.
Also, surprisingly, I and Didi (elder sister) felt extremely sleepy on our return. Didi had a mild fever in the evening, B-I-L was also feeling indisposed and I had the beginning of a sore throat. A good rest made us feel better the next morning but we all seemed to have had some kind of allergic reaction maybe to the food.
Incidentally, Kofuku means happiness, bliss or well-being – a combination of two words: ko means fortune or luck, and fuku means blessing or good fortune.
The humid weather this part of the globe enervates easily. The last two days of the month were spent resting.
As the caption goes, today I want to write a short and amusing post yet which in its lightness conveys something deeper and thought provoking.
I am recounting, in very brief, a column I had read in a popular Bengali women’s magazine named Sananda. The anecdotal article is by a very famous and much acclaimed Bengali writer Shri Sunil Gangopadhyay.
The story goes like this :
“My friend and his wife were very excited about their latest acquisition – a house in the suburbs. “In the lap of Nature”, as my friend had describedit. They had invited me quite a number of times but due to various preoccupations I was unable to visit them. However, last weekend Idrove down to take a tour of their luxurious home.
It was a sprawling property. A well ventilated house with all the modern amenities. Every room had an open balcony overlooking lush green grounds with big trees. It was a short drive from the couple’s workplace as well. Just as they had wanted.
Surprisingly, I found the house owners unenthusiastic and exhausted this time. They looked worried and had dark circles under their eyes.
Post lunch, upon enquiry, the cause of their unhappiness came to light. The grounds on which the house stood was infested by a band of monkeys. They were not harmful but made it a point to visit their balcony every day – sit on the railings and inspect the interiors.
The imps were specifically taken up with the living room where the TV was. Apparently they had taken a liking, nay got addicted, to the moving, talking colourful pictures and insisted that the Idiot Box be on 24×7 for their entertainment. If it was, by any chance, switched off they created such a ruckus that it was impossible for my friend and his wife to stay put. Helpless they had to pay heed to the simians’ onerous demands whatever the circumstances be. I now understood why the TV was on non-stop, that too at a high volume, even when we were not in the room.
Unhappy and at their wit’s end my friend was now thinking of relocating back to the citywhich he had left because of the crowd, congestion, pollution, etc. etc.“
***
Guys! Let me know in the comment what you gather from this humorous but at the same time sad anecdote.
PS: It seems I am writing quite a lot about rodents, squirrels, pigeons and monkeys of late . Will do better next time.
I guess I have mentioned this somewhere in my earlier post(s) but in the wake of fresh assaults a retelling assumes relevance.
We live in a locality infested by rodents, squirrels and pigeons. The rodents have displayed an unexplained enmity towards my plants. They appear to be immune to sprays and disinfectants. They also love chewing wires and pipes of unused vehicles parked for long.
Squirrels have shown a special fondness for air conditioners. They home inside and cause unimaginable damage to the machine skyrocketing the cost of maintenance.
The pigeons have a fetish for nesting in the weirdest of locations – under the window AC, inside the exhaust fans and at the mouth of the drain pipes.
Past a few seasons, harassed by a monstrous pigeon, B-I-L put up a net around the AC causing great consternation to the nesting family. However, the next day the head of the family brought along his adviser for site inspection, who according to B-I-L, appeared to be some kind of an engineering expert.
What followed next was further more disturbing. Every morning one of the engineering team would stick its neck inside the net and perform a “hara-kiri”. After a few such suicidal protests, considering it to be an abshagun (bad sign) for the household, a finer mesh (with lesser gaps in between) replacing the earlier one was put up.
The disheartened but undaunted protesters reviewed their strategy and shifted base to my front gate dirtying it non-stop by every possible means. This went on for sometime till the tactics got revised to make it more effective. They have now relocated to the exhaust fan in the bathroom. As a result, it has conked off.
But the miscreants have not stopped at that. Whenever I am inside the pugnacious lot embark on loud, verbal sloganeering which flusters me the most. Guess what would be their next move?
Not exactly figure-out-able…!!!!
Nature is not only trees, plants, fruits and flowers. It’s also bees, bugs, beasts and birds who do not always care to see eye to eye with “hoomans”. When peaceful coexistence comes under attack both prove deadlier than the other. Currently, they are on the offensive and I am on the defensive. Hope I do not have to take recourse to the alternate.
Till then the pigeon peril continues unabated…
PS : I loved Esther’s poster hint on the prompt and couldn’t resist using it. Well…the other way…
Trivia : This is one of the stories from a book I used to read very often as a child. I neither remember the name nor the author of the book. In fact I have forgotten the other stories also. Only this story (shortened further to be within the word count) and the lessons learnt from it have stayed with me till this date.
Trivia : Those who are new to Mrs. Crow, she is my pestilential neighbour who is in the habit of giving me her two bit ‘gyaan’ on anything and everything under the sun and sharing her caustic observations on the conducts of humans in general.
