Last night, I received a ‘text’ from friend which read: i m gd. hw hv u bn? lng tm! wna cth p smtm? trng 2 gt in tch fr a whl nw. gv m a bz n lts tk. wt sy n hwr thngs newyz?
It took me almost 15 minutes to figure the damned thing out. What it turned out to be was: I am good. How have you been? Long time! Want to catch up sometime? Trying to get in touch for a while now. Give me a buzz and let’s talk. What say, and how are things anyway?
Clearly, with such a complicated dialect of English that has emerged over the past few years, the need for cryptic codes has diminished rapidly. Funnily enough, this dialect is neither recognized officially nor taught in school. So how does it still manage to be propagated so widely? Here are a few reasons:
TEXTing: Also called SMSing, which is again, short for Short Messaging Service. Every ‘text’ is charged per character and so, understandably, conjunctions (one of the eight parts of speech) and vowels (A…E…I…O…U, for those who do not remember them, thanks to too much TEXTing) are wiped clean from every ‘text’ to try and pack in as much information as possible, within the permitted 160 odd characters. It’s like a telegram. Except that it mutilates the language beyond recognition. The end result reads like the ‘text’ above. The race to conserve characters leaves English looking pretty characterless. Pun unintended.
The solution: Someone needs to send these policy makers back to school to get their language and grammar right. They need to be given a Wren and Martin as a standard issue perhaps.
Uncle Sam: English was supposed to be, for quite some time, a language Great Britain had a monopoly on. Those were the days when English was pure. And sweet. It had complete spellings, a clearly defined pronunciation guide, unambiguous grammar and all the parts of speech intact. Then, sometime in the mid 20th century, a new kind of colonization emerged. Linguistic colonization. Led by the notorious Uncle Sam, it was nothing short of a jihad or a crusade. There was a systematic elimination of pillars that bolstered the language. Z replaced S, so organiSation became organiZation and realiSe became realiZe. Letters we needlessly butchered and as a result coloUr became COLOR, judgEment turned into JUDGMENT. Z came to be pronounced as ZEE and computers started to sound like COMPUDRS. Even worse route (pronounced ROOT) became route (ROUT, which, in British English, has an entirely different meaning) and Iran became I-RAN (sometimes I really feel like asking Uncle Sam: where the hell did you run?). To ensure complete efficacy of this “Final Solution of the English question”, softwares like Microsoft Word began to set their default language to ‘English (U.S.)’ and promptly displayed a red line under the word when you typed the conventionally correct spellings. Talk about annihilation!
The solution (not to be confused with “Final Solution of the English question”): To begin with, set the default language to English (U.K.). So what if the software is from Uncle Sam’s land? It doesn’t mean we bow down to linguistic tyranny. Next, get the pronunciations right. ROUT to ROOT. ZEE to Z. I-RAN to IRAN. Third, if you can, go and bonk Uncle Sam on the head. Really hard.
KPO a.k.a. Knowledge Processing and Outsourcing: I am still a little hazy on the exact difference between a KPO and a BPO but one thing I know for sure is that whatever they process, it is definitely not knowledge. I mean, come on, there used to be a time when graduation was known to be the basic level of qualification one had to achieve in order to live a decent and comfortable life. Needless to say, since the benchmark of education was much higher, so was the knowledge of languages and their understanding. Then came the outsourcing boom. A boom that blew everything to smithereens. Another covert attempt at colonisation by Uncle Sam. Kids barely out of their teens, with an incomplete education, were being offered plum jobs; their pronunciation was being forcibly altered to suit Uncle Sam’s needs. Obviously, is kids of an impressionable age were offered such high paying distractions, they were bound to fumble!
The solution: If you have siblings, kids, nephews, nieces or any other relatives in that age group, deter them from the KPO life. Tell them KPO is a misnomer! Attack the root of the problem.
Sure there must be more reasons, and you’re welcome to point them out, but off the cuff, these are the three that struck me. Sure, I may sound archaic when I say that the language used in ‘text’ messages are a little difficult for me to decipher but that is not because I am averse to adapting, I just refuse to sit back and accept the mutilation of a language that brings me my bread and butter. Nothing personal. I mean, to evolve is one thing and to wipe out is quite another. Besides, it is a global language and hence any change will affect communication around the globe.
Till we restore English to its former glory – let’s keep the torch burning and the protest alive. Long live the revolution.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
तारीख
कमरे की सफ़ेद दीवार पे
एक पुराना कैलेंडर टंगा हुआ है
और उन् कागज़ के पन्नो में
सिमटी हुई हैं कुछ यादें
वो घड़ियाँ तो बीत गयी
पर उन् लम्हों की महक ताज़ा है
चाहे जनवरी की ठण्ड में ठिठुरती यादें हो
या जून की गर्मी में झुलसती हुई
कुछ तारीकें
पेंसिल से काटी हुई हैं
उस इंतज़ार की याद में
जो कभी पूरा नहीं हुआ
अखबारवाले के हिसाब से लेकर
कुछ चुनिन्दा लोगों के जन्मदिन तक
सब इस पुराने कैलेंडर के भरोसे ही तो
याद रहता था मुझे
जब भी इस कैलेंडर को देखता हूँ
लगता है जैसे वक़्त थम गया है
महसूस होता है जैसे
बीती तारीखें वापस लौट आई हैं
एक सुकून मिलता है दिल को
के बीता हुआ कल जाते जाते
कुछ सुनहरी तारीखों की
यादें छोड़ गया है
एक पुराना कैलेंडर टंगा हुआ है
और उन् कागज़ के पन्नो में
सिमटी हुई हैं कुछ यादें
वो घड़ियाँ तो बीत गयी
पर उन् लम्हों की महक ताज़ा है
चाहे जनवरी की ठण्ड में ठिठुरती यादें हो
या जून की गर्मी में झुलसती हुई
कुछ तारीकें
पेंसिल से काटी हुई हैं
उस इंतज़ार की याद में
जो कभी पूरा नहीं हुआ
अखबारवाले के हिसाब से लेकर
कुछ चुनिन्दा लोगों के जन्मदिन तक
सब इस पुराने कैलेंडर के भरोसे ही तो
याद रहता था मुझे
जब भी इस कैलेंडर को देखता हूँ
लगता है जैसे वक़्त थम गया है
महसूस होता है जैसे
बीती तारीखें वापस लौट आई हैं
एक सुकून मिलता है दिल को
के बीता हुआ कल जाते जाते
कुछ सुनहरी तारीखों की
यादें छोड़ गया है
Monday, January 31, 2011
Little joys of life…
Ever since I started working, life has, in a way, come to a standstill. Office, work, party and sleep. That seems to have become the routine. In between all this, sometimes there is a cup of tea at the neighbourhood tea stall where conversations segue from the most inspiring to completely banal. During one such discussion last week, an interesting topic came up. A topic that brought back the nostalgia of college, of the years we had spent growing up and of the dreams we had seen.
This tea stall is a place where tea costs Rupees 6 and the conversations are free but priceless. But the best part is that here we can exercise our credit limit endlessly. This is the reason why the conversation began. We realised we were Rupees 30 short and we told the owner we would pay him later. But just then, someone asked for another cup and as a chain reaction, so did everyone else. Somebody in the group just mentioned, “do you remember the way we used to run short of cash when we were students?”
Memories came flooding back. I remembered the time we used to sneak out of home to catch a late night show. The time when neighbourhood tea stalls used to be our stronghold. Someone dug up the memories of getting drenched in the rain and binging on any kind of edible, cooked substance that was classified food. The time when one cigarette was shared between 4 people and Old Monk was the warmest companion of winters. A lavish birthday party would only mean “you will be fully fed” and weddings at friends’ places were always welcome because it gave us limitless access to food. On the days of an absolute cash crunch, we would share one plate of idly or a dosa or a sandwich between three people, with everyone aiming for the lion’s share. We would borrow friends’ bikes to drop pretty girls home, in the hope that something constructive would materialise. With some people, it was always “pay for me now and I will pay you later” when we went to the movies. That “later” never came. The hassles of exams and attendance brought back incidents that we would have rather forgotten. But looking back, it seemed fun. There were deadlines and curfew timings at home, but post that was when the fun began. A mobile phone was a luxury with call rates that meant we could only give missed calls. For the ones with girlfriends, it meant huge (by student standards) bills. Which in turn meant that we would have to lie at home for extra cash, and innovative lies at that!
Playing pranks on teachers and creating a ruckus was commonplace and so was the resultant “get out of my class”.
If I start making a list, I will probably run into hundreds of pages. But the important part is that we all realised that somewhere, along the years, we have probably forgotten how much those little, insignificant moments meant and how much we have missed them in the work life. Those years seemed so long back in the past!
It rekindled a flame, the embers of which, were dying out and as I end this piece, I will just say that let’s not allow anything to interrupt the little joys of life because these are the moments one savours. Let us raise a toast to a promise that we will live and breathe such moments every day. What say?
This tea stall is a place where tea costs Rupees 6 and the conversations are free but priceless. But the best part is that here we can exercise our credit limit endlessly. This is the reason why the conversation began. We realised we were Rupees 30 short and we told the owner we would pay him later. But just then, someone asked for another cup and as a chain reaction, so did everyone else. Somebody in the group just mentioned, “do you remember the way we used to run short of cash when we were students?”
Memories came flooding back. I remembered the time we used to sneak out of home to catch a late night show. The time when neighbourhood tea stalls used to be our stronghold. Someone dug up the memories of getting drenched in the rain and binging on any kind of edible, cooked substance that was classified food. The time when one cigarette was shared between 4 people and Old Monk was the warmest companion of winters. A lavish birthday party would only mean “you will be fully fed” and weddings at friends’ places were always welcome because it gave us limitless access to food. On the days of an absolute cash crunch, we would share one plate of idly or a dosa or a sandwich between three people, with everyone aiming for the lion’s share. We would borrow friends’ bikes to drop pretty girls home, in the hope that something constructive would materialise. With some people, it was always “pay for me now and I will pay you later” when we went to the movies. That “later” never came. The hassles of exams and attendance brought back incidents that we would have rather forgotten. But looking back, it seemed fun. There were deadlines and curfew timings at home, but post that was when the fun began. A mobile phone was a luxury with call rates that meant we could only give missed calls. For the ones with girlfriends, it meant huge (by student standards) bills. Which in turn meant that we would have to lie at home for extra cash, and innovative lies at that!
Playing pranks on teachers and creating a ruckus was commonplace and so was the resultant “get out of my class”.
If I start making a list, I will probably run into hundreds of pages. But the important part is that we all realised that somewhere, along the years, we have probably forgotten how much those little, insignificant moments meant and how much we have missed them in the work life. Those years seemed so long back in the past!
It rekindled a flame, the embers of which, were dying out and as I end this piece, I will just say that let’s not allow anything to interrupt the little joys of life because these are the moments one savours. Let us raise a toast to a promise that we will live and breathe such moments every day. What say?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Kaash...
Intezaar hai mujhe tumhara
Kyon, yeh pata nahi
Bas aisa lagta hai jaise
Bina tumhare zindagi mein koi khalal hai
Kehne ko toh roushan hai yeh zindagi
Par zehen ke kisi koney mein
Ek gehra andhera jaise
Ghar kar baitha hai
Yaad aati hai tumhari jab bhi
Ek khushi ki leher daud jaati hai mayoosi ke beech
Aur pal bhar ko mann karta hai
Sameyt loon inhe tinka tinka karke
Par jaise yaadon ki raet pe
Likha tumhara naam
Gumm ho jata hai
Haqeeqat ki aandhi mein
Ghadiyaan lamha lamha kar beet jaati hain
Par na tumhari khabar aati hai
Aur na hi intezaar ke samundar mein
Saahil kahin dikhta hai
Pata nahi kashti ko sahara milega
Yaa doob jayegi isi samundar mein
Bas itni ummed hai ki kal jab aankh khule
Toh tum paas baithi ho..kaash!
Kyon, yeh pata nahi
Bas aisa lagta hai jaise
Bina tumhare zindagi mein koi khalal hai
Kehne ko toh roushan hai yeh zindagi
Par zehen ke kisi koney mein
Ek gehra andhera jaise
Ghar kar baitha hai
Yaad aati hai tumhari jab bhi
Ek khushi ki leher daud jaati hai mayoosi ke beech
Aur pal bhar ko mann karta hai
Sameyt loon inhe tinka tinka karke
Par jaise yaadon ki raet pe
Likha tumhara naam
Gumm ho jata hai
Haqeeqat ki aandhi mein
Ghadiyaan lamha lamha kar beet jaati hain
Par na tumhari khabar aati hai
Aur na hi intezaar ke samundar mein
Saahil kahin dikhta hai
Pata nahi kashti ko sahara milega
Yaa doob jayegi isi samundar mein
Bas itni ummed hai ki kal jab aankh khule
Toh tum paas baithi ho..kaash!
Friday, September 17, 2010
On the man they call the Mahatma
To begin with, this piece is not to hurt the sentiments of those who believe in him. Neither is it political propaganda. It’s just an average Joe’s take on Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi a.k.a Mahatma Gandhi.
Having said that, lately I have come across way too many people who scream from the rooftops to tell the world how great a man he was. At least for me, it was way too many people to handle. So here’s my response.
First of all, with my limited intellect, I fail to see how a man who was never on the frontline of the Indian independence movement, be called the greatest of heroes! Before someone misinterprets that statement, let me clarify that by ‘frontline’ I mean someone who was there in the thick of the action – like Lala Lajpat Rai, who suffered fatal injuries during the “Simon Go Back” agitation when the Simon commission was setup. Or Bhagat Singh, who took the battle to the enemy’s turf! For me, that’s a true leader. Not a man who sits at the command station while his followers are assaulted.
Second, I do understand that Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was a believer in non violence but there is a very fine line between being non violent and being blind. During the Non Co-operation Movement of 1920, when the Chauri Chauraha incident occurred, why did he call off the movement? Did he not realize that the people he was leading were not a herd of sheep? Their patience had limits and the British had breached it a few times too much. I am not justifying needless violence but I do not advocate the “slap my other cheek too” logic either. People had quit their jobs, schools, colleges and changed their entire way of life! And a good leader is supposed to be good at reading his followers’ minds. Mere criticism of subjugation doesn’t really prove to be a constructive solution.
Third, please, somebody, remind me again – why is he called the Mahatma? I mean, I haven’t really come across any articles on his enlightenment. Follow a leader. Respect him. Be proud of him. Buy why on earth should he be given the status of a demigod? Just because he preached non violence? Russia, France, America and China have all undergone violent revolutions. And yet they are more developed and better placed than we are. So, what does that say? And yet their leaders are not worshipped.
Fourth – why do we have only Gandhi on our currency? Does it mean that the contributions made by Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad, Jatin Das, Subhash Chandra Bose, Lala Lajpat Rai, Khudiram Bose, Ashfaqullah Khan, Rash Behari Bose, Ram Prasad Bismil and Rajguru not significant enough? Or is it because we called him the father of the nation since he was the only one in the list to have survived the struggle? Frankly, I find it a tad bit surprising that he was the only one to live through the whole period. Looks like non violence does have its perks!
To add to that, Nathuram Godse, the man who shot Mr. Gandhi was once his follower. So is it possible that somewhere he had let his followers down to an extent that one of them actually decided to put an end to it all? I mean come on, anyone who undertook an attack like that would have know that he didn’t even have a snowball’s chance in hell to get out alive. Yet he did it. Why?
Again, I was not present there. I am too young to have been there so I am not making a moral judgement. Just asking a few questions. Making a few statements. Any answers?
Having said that, lately I have come across way too many people who scream from the rooftops to tell the world how great a man he was. At least for me, it was way too many people to handle. So here’s my response.
First of all, with my limited intellect, I fail to see how a man who was never on the frontline of the Indian independence movement, be called the greatest of heroes! Before someone misinterprets that statement, let me clarify that by ‘frontline’ I mean someone who was there in the thick of the action – like Lala Lajpat Rai, who suffered fatal injuries during the “Simon Go Back” agitation when the Simon commission was setup. Or Bhagat Singh, who took the battle to the enemy’s turf! For me, that’s a true leader. Not a man who sits at the command station while his followers are assaulted.
Second, I do understand that Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was a believer in non violence but there is a very fine line between being non violent and being blind. During the Non Co-operation Movement of 1920, when the Chauri Chauraha incident occurred, why did he call off the movement? Did he not realize that the people he was leading were not a herd of sheep? Their patience had limits and the British had breached it a few times too much. I am not justifying needless violence but I do not advocate the “slap my other cheek too” logic either. People had quit their jobs, schools, colleges and changed their entire way of life! And a good leader is supposed to be good at reading his followers’ minds. Mere criticism of subjugation doesn’t really prove to be a constructive solution.
Third, please, somebody, remind me again – why is he called the Mahatma? I mean, I haven’t really come across any articles on his enlightenment. Follow a leader. Respect him. Be proud of him. Buy why on earth should he be given the status of a demigod? Just because he preached non violence? Russia, France, America and China have all undergone violent revolutions. And yet they are more developed and better placed than we are. So, what does that say? And yet their leaders are not worshipped.
Fourth – why do we have only Gandhi on our currency? Does it mean that the contributions made by Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad, Jatin Das, Subhash Chandra Bose, Lala Lajpat Rai, Khudiram Bose, Ashfaqullah Khan, Rash Behari Bose, Ram Prasad Bismil and Rajguru not significant enough? Or is it because we called him the father of the nation since he was the only one in the list to have survived the struggle? Frankly, I find it a tad bit surprising that he was the only one to live through the whole period. Looks like non violence does have its perks!
To add to that, Nathuram Godse, the man who shot Mr. Gandhi was once his follower. So is it possible that somewhere he had let his followers down to an extent that one of them actually decided to put an end to it all? I mean come on, anyone who undertook an attack like that would have know that he didn’t even have a snowball’s chance in hell to get out alive. Yet he did it. Why?
Again, I was not present there. I am too young to have been there so I am not making a moral judgement. Just asking a few questions. Making a few statements. Any answers?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Reflections…
Life was a baffling puzzle,
In the scorching heat,
I sought a little drizzle.
And at times, a retreat.
The world was a buzzing place,
But in my lonely heart,
I often fell asleep pondering,
And woke up with a start.
What was I looking for?
I didn’t really know.
Where I was headed,
I didn’t want to go.
Life was a baffling puzzle,
In the scorching heat,
I sought a little drizzle.
And at times, a retreat.
I stayed up nights,
Looking at the lights.
Filled with fathomless gloom,
Like preparing for my doom.
But one single morning,
Changed it all.
When you walked into,
That empty hall.
All it took was,
One look at you.
And the whitewashed walls,
Turned into a million hues!
Your sparkling eyes,
Like the untamed sea.
Sometimes an open book,
Sometimes, a mystery.
I wished I could hold,
The sands of time.
Or let it be lost,
In the labyrinth of my rhyme.
But time is a wily beast,
It flew.
Leaving me with,
Memories of you.
Then I saw you again,
Walking down the street.
I think I skipped,
Just one heartbeat.
Today it’s been,
A long, long time.
And I am trying to capture time again,
In the labyrinth of my rhyme.
So I can spend a moment with you.
With your memories.
Forget my mundane life.
Escape all my worries.
We knew each other,
For a very short while.
But you infected me,
With the desire to smile.
So today in the scorching heat,
When I look for a retreat,
All I do is think of you,
And lose myself in your million hues…
In the scorching heat,
I sought a little drizzle.
And at times, a retreat.
The world was a buzzing place,
But in my lonely heart,
I often fell asleep pondering,
And woke up with a start.
What was I looking for?
I didn’t really know.
Where I was headed,
I didn’t want to go.
Life was a baffling puzzle,
In the scorching heat,
I sought a little drizzle.
And at times, a retreat.
I stayed up nights,
Looking at the lights.
Filled with fathomless gloom,
Like preparing for my doom.
But one single morning,
Changed it all.
When you walked into,
That empty hall.
All it took was,
One look at you.
And the whitewashed walls,
Turned into a million hues!
Your sparkling eyes,
Like the untamed sea.
Sometimes an open book,
Sometimes, a mystery.
I wished I could hold,
The sands of time.
Or let it be lost,
In the labyrinth of my rhyme.
But time is a wily beast,
It flew.
Leaving me with,
Memories of you.
Then I saw you again,
Walking down the street.
I think I skipped,
Just one heartbeat.
Today it’s been,
A long, long time.
And I am trying to capture time again,
In the labyrinth of my rhyme.
So I can spend a moment with you.
With your memories.
Forget my mundane life.
Escape all my worries.
We knew each other,
For a very short while.
But you infected me,
With the desire to smile.
So today in the scorching heat,
When I look for a retreat,
All I do is think of you,
And lose myself in your million hues…
Thursday, July 15, 2010
With love, from India.
Acknowledgements:
Joel Stein – for the wonderfully written piece of trash with insecure and spiteful undertones. (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1999416,00.html
Rahul Parikh – for the truly amazing comeback to Joel Stein’s article which inspired this piece. (http://edition.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/07/13/parikh.stein.rebuttal/index.html?hpt=C2&fbid=Ee7Dj34bC72)
Kapil Dhawan – for posting the link to Rahul Parikh’s article.
Now, let me have my take on what Joel Stein had to say. And let me be very clear that this piece is not about insulting Americans in any way because I personally know some really nice Americans. It is just a rebuttal to Joel Stein’s “humorous” piece.
To begin with, for a nation Joel Stein so kindly referred to as poor and not-so-bright, we have had way too many “bright” people that the world admires. In fact, if one types “famous Americans” on Wikipedia, there is a list of 33 names that springs up. If one types “famous Indians”, on the other hand, the list runs into pages. Moreover, there is a separate list which talks of famous “American Indians”. And guess how many names are listed? 347! The names span all walks of life. So, looks like we are not that “not-so-bright” after all, are we? As for being a poor country, we’re one of the fastest growing economies in the world, besides holding a roster entrepreneurs who lead some of the largest organizations in the world. Yes, we are poorer than America but that is also probable because we do not go around declaring wars on smaller countries, accusing them of hoarding weapons of mass destruction, while the actual objective is just to acquire oil reserves. Plus, the world knows the reality of the American dream and how fulfilling (note sarcasm) it is!
Now coming to culture. India has had a civilized history is one of the oldest in the world. We have a menu of languages that is as varied as our spicy cuisine. And we do not borrow foreign languages, mutilate the spellings like changing “colour” to “color”, rape the grammar and try to make the world follow our version of the ravaged language. India is the place where Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism originated. And Rabindranath Tagore has been rated to be a multi faceted genius, second only to Leonardo Da Vinci. Moreover, an average Indian with a mother tongue other than Hindi grows up learning three languages at least! One look at politics will also clear the fact that India has already achieved the feat of putting a woman in the highest office of the country. America hasn’t. But despite all these achievements, our idea of the world doesn’t just revolve around India. We do not say that if aliens ever invade, it will only be India, or Indians are the only ones who will put up a fight. Neither do we say that every volcanic eruption, vampire epidemic, tectonic shift of earth’s plates has to begin or occur in India. Our view of the world pans 360 degrees.
Having said all of that, yes we do have our share of black sheep as well. But we have Charles Shobhraj, America has Jack The Ripper! Point being, nothing is black or white. Not viewpoints, not issues, not people. It is all grey. And I think considering the fact that most of the population that has moved to America is a part of the cream in their generation, if anything, Joel Stein should be thankful to us Indians. And I would like to agree with Rahul Parikh on the fact that a meaningless footnote for an apology doesn’t work. It just doesn’t. And next time, please leave the humor to people who know a thing or two about it.
Joel Stein – for the wonderfully written piece of trash with insecure and spiteful undertones. (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1999416,00.html
Rahul Parikh – for the truly amazing comeback to Joel Stein’s article which inspired this piece. (http://edition.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/07/13/parikh.stein.rebuttal/index.html?hpt=C2&fbid=Ee7Dj34bC72)
Kapil Dhawan – for posting the link to Rahul Parikh’s article.
Now, let me have my take on what Joel Stein had to say. And let me be very clear that this piece is not about insulting Americans in any way because I personally know some really nice Americans. It is just a rebuttal to Joel Stein’s “humorous” piece.
To begin with, for a nation Joel Stein so kindly referred to as poor and not-so-bright, we have had way too many “bright” people that the world admires. In fact, if one types “famous Americans” on Wikipedia, there is a list of 33 names that springs up. If one types “famous Indians”, on the other hand, the list runs into pages. Moreover, there is a separate list which talks of famous “American Indians”. And guess how many names are listed? 347! The names span all walks of life. So, looks like we are not that “not-so-bright” after all, are we? As for being a poor country, we’re one of the fastest growing economies in the world, besides holding a roster entrepreneurs who lead some of the largest organizations in the world. Yes, we are poorer than America but that is also probable because we do not go around declaring wars on smaller countries, accusing them of hoarding weapons of mass destruction, while the actual objective is just to acquire oil reserves. Plus, the world knows the reality of the American dream and how fulfilling (note sarcasm) it is!
Now coming to culture. India has had a civilized history is one of the oldest in the world. We have a menu of languages that is as varied as our spicy cuisine. And we do not borrow foreign languages, mutilate the spellings like changing “colour” to “color”, rape the grammar and try to make the world follow our version of the ravaged language. India is the place where Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism originated. And Rabindranath Tagore has been rated to be a multi faceted genius, second only to Leonardo Da Vinci. Moreover, an average Indian with a mother tongue other than Hindi grows up learning three languages at least! One look at politics will also clear the fact that India has already achieved the feat of putting a woman in the highest office of the country. America hasn’t. But despite all these achievements, our idea of the world doesn’t just revolve around India. We do not say that if aliens ever invade, it will only be India, or Indians are the only ones who will put up a fight. Neither do we say that every volcanic eruption, vampire epidemic, tectonic shift of earth’s plates has to begin or occur in India. Our view of the world pans 360 degrees.
Having said all of that, yes we do have our share of black sheep as well. But we have Charles Shobhraj, America has Jack The Ripper! Point being, nothing is black or white. Not viewpoints, not issues, not people. It is all grey. And I think considering the fact that most of the population that has moved to America is a part of the cream in their generation, if anything, Joel Stein should be thankful to us Indians. And I would like to agree with Rahul Parikh on the fact that a meaningless footnote for an apology doesn’t work. It just doesn’t. And next time, please leave the humor to people who know a thing or two about it.
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