The red light flashed nothing but a routine traffic stop the drivers’ honks’ and the passengers’ yawns’ busy, crowded and urban amidst these…a little girl in a semi-tight top clung to her hips was a long torn skirt displaying young curves more than it should have glimpses of lascivious stares how long would she be safe knocked a faint thought but the blank look in her eyes echoed… maybe it was already too late the green light flashed speed, time-lapse… and a hurried thought all in a not so routine traffic stop…
Relationship…he said necessitates an irresistible involvement involvement? What kind of involvement? I asked… is involvement a mystery just confined in the contours of our bodies or is it my wild eyes when I feel your lips… is it your touch which loosens something at my chest or is it my fear of masks in the bedroom and bath is it your biological presence diminished by the volume of your Armani suit or is it my inflated ego with an open neckline
‘Oh! You question a lot’-he said. his hand wandering over my bare arm waiting for a second at the birth mark of my neck …the me-questioning again but in silence… is involvement the smell of Cartier... the perfume he is wearing…
After getting rid of the English men, we thought, we would be successful in driving out their language, because as things stand, we can neither really live with it nor, indeed do without it. National self-respect demands that we dethrone it from its status in our country but its utility has made it so indispensable to us, that we are not in a position to banish it either. Today English language has become the lingua franca of thought and commerce.
We all know that English was not listed as one of the 14 (now 22) Indian languages when the constitution was drawn up in 1950. It was to be an "associate official language" for a period of 15 years. But when the time came to discard English officially, there were protests by the people from the southern part who could not tolerate the hegemony of Hindi. In 1967, the government was forced to pass an Official Language (Amendment) Act, prolonging the associate status of English indefinitely.
In 1957 UNESCO issued a formal declaration declaring the right of every child to be educated through their mother tongue. Supporting this declaration, Skutnabb-Kangas (1994) argued that, in a civilized society there should be no need to debate the right to maintain and develop the mother tongue. It is a self-evident human right....Observing linguistic human rights implies at an individual level, that all people can identify positively with their mother tongue and has that identification accepted and respected by others whether their mother tongue is a minority language or a majority language.
Skutnabb Kangas (2000) also says that English is a killer language in India. But it is seen that English is not usually the direct cause of language death in India. Of late, the Government, policy makers and academicians are taking all possible measures to encourage multi lingual education (MLE). It has become a global movement seeking to provide quality education for all.
“Indians secretly believe, if not openly say, that competence in English makes a considerable difference in their career prospects…politicians and bureaucrats denounce the elitism of [English-medium] schools but surreptitiously send their children to them.” Gupta,1995.
...English plays a very important role in education, business and administration. It is the medium of instruction for higher education-both academic and technological. Those who seek jobs in private companies or professions must be proficient in English. It is recognized as an official language for purposes of administration at the national level. Kudchedkar, 2002.
On one hand the politicians say that no more English medium schools will be permitted and on the other hand without proficiency in English a student can’t dream of a decent job in future. At times, I feel we are a bundle of contradictions. All the national and international conferences are conducted in English (as that is the only link language). We laugh at people who cannot speak decent English and grammatical error…strictly no-no (that’s intolerable). How can one expect from a person who studied in a vernacular medium school, where the medium of instruction was the mother tongue and English was taught maximum five hours per week (5 forty minutes period) to speak fluent English? Today, success in the job market or for that matter even marriage market has come to be equated with fluency in English.
So, higher fees are no deterrent; parents are willing to make sacrifices to ensure upward mobility for their children by sending their kids to English medium schools. Before making policies, it’s the Government who has to understand that ‘no demand, no supply.’ If the Government ensures that irrespective of a person’s English language competence, he/she is sure to land up with a decent job in future, who would not love to send their children to vernacular medium schools. After all, we all love our mother tongues. Don’t we?
(these are thoughts which can't be a part of strict academic discourse, I wanted to but I can't make it a part of my dissertation so here's commonsensical academics-as true academics is beyond commonsense)
Heaven opened and the water hammered down, receiving the reluctant old well, greenmossing the pigless pig sty, carpet bombing still, tea-coloured puddles the way memory bombs still, tea-coloured minds. The grass looked wet green and pleased. Happy earthworms frolicked purple in the slush. Green nettles nodded. Trees bent…Avi turned page no. 10 of God of small things… this is probably for the fifteenth time he is reading the book. He felt a piercing pain in his eyes, maybe the dimly lit room is the cause of his pain-he thought. As he pulled the pillow to sleep…he re-discovered that he is not alone in the bed. He overcame the urge to pull her towards him instead moved to her side and remembered the slight blush on her face.
'Do I really love her?' he whispered to himself.
He thought of her beautiful eyes…laughter…her voice which once sounded like ringing of bells…their college and university days…
then what is missing? Why am I not feeling the same? He questioned.
She became my wife the night before… Avi concluded (still whispering).
Refreshingly delightful, poignant and simple…every time I read O’ Henry, I feel so. Few days back, Amal offered me this forgotten experience (of late, not reading much). Simple story and great actors make a good film and Richie Mehta's low-budget film Amal stands as a witness to that.
A rich hotelier, disillusioned by ways of the world finds a humble, honest autorickshaw driver. O’ Henry’s stories are full of irony. Amal’s chance, his life-altering encounter... the disillusioned old man as his passenger…his chasing a little girl who stole a purse from a regular passenger…the accident… Amal’s need for the money to help the hospitalized girl…the sudden favour of luck…wealth at his doorstep. Irony at every turn..
Henry’s endings are generally ‘tender’ with a ‘twist’…(the smile that says where you’re from). Amal was no different…at the end, I kept smiling for sometime with Amal.
Agastya was reminded of Joshi's room on the first day, and Ahmed's voice dropping to a hush to pronounce 'Mrs'; to all the admission of conjugality seemed a cause for embarrassment. ‘What's your full name?’Mrs Srivastav was wearing a black bra beneath a yellow blouse. Agastya sneered at Menon (startling him a little), that would be a hilarious dress sense in Trinity, but it's OK in Madna, no? ----------
'How old are you, sir?’ 'Twenty-eight. 'Agastya was twenty-four, but he was in a lying mood. He also disliked their faces. 'Are you married, sir?' Again that demand that he classify himself. Ahmed leaned forward for each question, neck tensed and head angled with politeness. 'Yes.' He wondered for a second whether he should add 'twice'. 'And your Mrs, sir?' Agarwal's voice dropped at 'Mrs'; in all those months all references to wives were in hushed, almost embarrassed, tones. Agastya never knew why, perhaps because to have a wife meant that one was fucking, which was a dirty thing. 'She's in England. She's English, anyway, but she's gone there for a cancer operation. She has cancer of the breast.' He had an almost uncontrollable impulse to spread out his fingers to show the size of the tumour and then the size of the breast, but he decided to save that for later. Later in his training he told the District Inspector of Land Records that his wife was a Norwegian Muslim.
Well well…these are excerpts from English August…where Chatterji tells the story of this Agastya Sen, a young civil servant posted for his training in a nondescript district in India. And I am not trying my hand at writing a review of this novel. There are plenty in the internet. What fascinated me is the role of the ‘Mrs’ (the bitter halves-as they say) of these Babus depicted in the novel.
“We will have to speed up things as I have to pack my stuff for the forthcoming holidays and go to the market to shop for some important stuff.”
Isn’t this the much-conceived image of a bureaucrat’s wife enjoying the pleasure of bossing around the fleet of servants? Well…that’s what Suchita Malik wanted to prove wrong in her maiden attempt ‘Indian memsahib.’ In India, being the wife of a bureaucrat comes across as the best fortune (unfortunately, this mindset is rampant even today). She tried to highlight the wives struggle… involved in adjusting one’s career, routine and even social circle according to the husband’s status. Indian Memsahib: The untold story of a bureaucrat's wife... depicts the roller-coaster journey of Sunaina, a bureaucrat’s wife. (But as one reads the book, one discovers.. more than the untold story of the wife, it’s actually Raghu, her husband’s life being described for most of the book—the most common problem with Indian wives, can’t stop discussing their husbands).
(Unlike English August, people hardly know about this Indian Memsahib. Nevertheless, have to say, the latter gave a better description of the ‘Mrs’ of the August *servants*)
