Chronicles of Medu Vada – Language is a subject matter of interpretation…

Because life comes in a full circle. Like Medu Vada.

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If you have chronicles in your life that are funnier and worth sharing, please share the write up at indiawritestogether@gmail.com under 1000 words. I will post it in this blog. So, this is like the Sit-down comedy (and I just make that word from Standup comedy) of the blog!

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Experiences of Mukundhan Muralidharan

Please read his blog here

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Please read the Tamil to English to Hindi dictionary carefully before communicating!

Dude  ————————–दूध————————–தூது

(Referring to a man)           (referring to the drink)                (Referring to the envoy)

Usage: Eg. The dude was gulping down his दूध when the தூது brought him his important news.

 

As a parent, there are multiple decisions you tend to take for your kid. The name, cloth or nappies, whether to pass on the family tradition of woodwards gripe water or to believe frightening WhatsApp based scientific papers of the product, schools with the brand or school with a playground and so on. But none is tougher than the greatest choice of them all – selecting your kid’s second language!!!

My parents made that decision for me. The logic in their head was simple. Tamil can be taught at home. Hindi, however, requires specific external treatment. Now see, this is the problem of coming from a family of teachers – your special classes are scheduled much early. Am sure, if the Wachowskis were prominent in those days, they would have quoted this to me:

“You’ve already made the choice, now you have to understand it.” – Oracle, The Matrix Reloaded

The choice was in no way simple or logical. It so turned out that my primary school Hindi teacher too had similar choices enforced on her as a kid. With no Major Sundarrajan type translations (Yeh Teek Nahi hai. My walking stick is not made of teak”), the transition from Thamizh Thaatha to Rahu Thaatha was a painful process. As though adding new vocabulary to the repertoire wasn’t enough, came the thunderbolt. “In hindi, objects had genders”. I lost it when I realised “Pen was masculine”. Tamil Nadu’s elaborate anti-hindi movement now made complete sense.

However, thanks to not having questions like, “If Aanjum Chopra played the on-drive, would it be called the pen drive? Or should she have been called Penjum Chopra in the first place”, I scraped through my exams in school!

Reprieve, finally….

Or so I thought. The first assignment I was posted to at work was at Nagpur. Excited, I had made elaborate preparations in the build up to the trip – questionnaires were prepared, multiple relevant reports were studied, guesthouse for stay booked and the American tourister that had remained my faithful travel companion for over a decade now purchased. One (not so minor) minor detail was however missed.

The guesthouse caretaker, the client counterparts that I met and even the car driver who took us around spoke and understood only Hindi. And my spoken hindi was, at its best, “thoda thoda aatha hai” range. I think the first conversation, with the driver who asked me if he should bring the van or the car to the airport, had me referring to the festival of lights that follows Diwali (Car-teek-hai). The travails did not stop there. As a typical tambrahm, “curd/ more” was a critical part of any diet. When a polite enquiry for more was made to my guesthouse caretaker, it resulted in him dumping a little more poha into my plate. I knew he was symbolically telling me that I was full of hot air (Pohai).

Handling the client therefore called for a back-up – a colleague whose mother tongue was Hindi. The first few meetings went well. Me asking the client the questions (in English), the client answering in Hindi and my colleague making notes.  Divide and conquer. But then, there was one meeting where my colleague kept constantly nudging me from behind as I went on for over an hour putting questions to this gentleman. Not to be distracted from a meeting that according to me was going very well, I ignored those nudges until the end of the discussion. The proud me was confronted outside the door by the colleague and the nudge this time was almost a punch. “Dude.  The guy was speaking in Marathi and I have zero notes from the meeting!!!”. Damn it. Just when I thought I had figured a workaround!!!

From then to now, I have come a long way. So much so that in Chennai, a place usually known for people’s reluctance to respond in Hindi, for some reason, mistake me for a North Indian speak to me in Hindi. “Anna. Indha road ku epdi poganum” is usually responded to with “Dho kilometre seedha chaliye. Uske baadh left maaro”. Maybe my tamil, they figure, is worse than my Hindi!!

The mis-adventures with languages have not been without its advantages. I am now a multi-linguistic punster (wherein pun is interpreted in its tamil form by those subjected to my literature). Which is why, when my son showed his punster glimpses by pointing at a bird pictured from one side and asked “why is it called a toucan when it has only one kann”, I knew I had to put him through the same drill that I went through!!

I will teach him one day to repeat the following dialogue meticulously, so that people understand the limitations of Tamilians learning hindi:

Naaku                 Hindi                    Aatha         Nahi  (meaning) Hindi is not my mother tongue.

(Tongue)          (the language)   (Mother)     (No).

There are multiple debates around languages and their enforcement floating around. I have realised, language is not important, but communication is.

Chronicles of Medu Vada – Meaty Broccoli

Because life comes in a full circle. Like Medu Vada.

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If you have chronicles in your life that are funnier and worth sharing, please share the write up at indiawritestogether@gmail.com under 1000 words. I will post it in this blog. So, this is like the Sit-down comedy (and I just make that word from Standup comedy) of the blog!

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Experiences of Sadagopan Govindan

Please read more on his personal blog here

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He was from an orthodox brahmin family from South India. [A politically incorrect statement at many levels to start a post with]. He was not too orthodox or religious himself, but he did believe in some of the stuffs that were preached by the veterans in his family. According to the house rules, there were many violations that could attract the maximum punishment in the after-life. The most important of them all was eating non-vegetarian food. One may think this is a trivial issue. It is not. Nobody understood his everyday battles.

The first hurdle was to understand the concept of vegetarianism itself. His knowledge about vegetarianism was like the famous campaign of Zomato. There are two kinds of people – vegetarians and non-vegetarians. Life was simple. Then one day, his friend argues that egg was vegetarian. According to him it is not. Then a third friend joined the argument and announced that they both were wrong. He claimed fish was also vegetarian. This was now a complete chaos. They even graduated but never reached an agreement on what is vegetarian. It took lots of hours of painful arguments, research, and a couple of trips in international flights to understand that non-veg was rather simple, but vegetarian had subsections like lacto-vegetarian, lacto-ovo-vegetarian, Jain vegetarian, kosher, vegan and so on. Since he consumed milk and its by-products he settled himself for a lacto-vegetarian. He is still in argument with some of his friends about mushroom. That story is reserved for later.

He joined a multinational company and was staying with his friends in Bangalore. Let me stop you before you start thinking that his friends tricked him into eating non-veg. Nothing of that sort happened. They were good people. Except snatching his share of Maggi from him, they were harmless. These guys went to a theme park to spend a weekend. It was a fun day and they were soaked in the water like a careless bunch of buffaloes. Too much monkey business in the water made them hungry and they ordered lunch from the cafeteria. It took 20 mins to wait in the queue and order the food. And another 20 mins to get the food. He was famished and forgot all the table manners and started hogging the first dish that was placed. The steaming hot Gobi Manchurian. The moment he started chewing Gobi he realised that something was wrong. Gobi never has a strong stem. And it was extra mushy. It was only after his other friends joined his table did he come to know that they were incorrectly served “chicken 65”. He was horrified. A grave mistake but unintentional. His friends mocked him. He went to the artificial wave pool, took a dip chanting Holy river Ganga’s name and washed his sins away. He took an extra-long bath and changed his sacred thread next day to ensure that all sins were completely negated for.

This incident spread like wildfire at his workplace, thanks to his friends. Everyone was taking the piss at him for few days. He had frequent dinners and lunches with his team later and became quite conscious of what he was eating. He never let his guard down. Until another super-orthodox-tambrahm joined his team. Now this guy made his parents look like liberals. He started following this new guy blindly in team lunches/dinners. Whatever this guy ate would be an ISI certified pure vegetarian. One day, his team went out for lunch. As usual the number of meat lovers were more than vegetarians. They went to a place which is famous for meat food but also served good vegetarian dishes. So, they ordered many soups, starters, and main courses as was the norm. They were busy pulling each other’s’ legs when the food was being served. The new guy inspected a dish and then grabbed few pieces of it and started munching. So, he also confidently took that dish with his eyes closed. He got the same feeling as before. The food was mushy, and he could not identify what it was.He asked the new guy what it was. “Okra Fry”, came the reply. Now, he had tasted Okra fry in 100 restaurants. All of them had different tastes and textures. But this was nothing close to anything like an Okra. So, he enquired the waiter who told them it was a mutton(lamb) dish. He ran towards the washroom to spit the pieces and wash his mouth. He slightly felt better as he had only chewed it but didn’t swallow. The new guy though was devastated. Everybody could hear him throw up in the restroom and it was disgusting. As usual, he took a holy shower to wipe of his sins and was back to normal the next day. The new guy didn’t come to work for 3 days.

These were the two instances when he had tasted meat. But there were many instances where he came close to. During one of his road trips in the US, he and his friends got stranded in the snow storm near Grand Canyon. The car that they had rented was towed away after they rammed into the car in the front of them; inexperienced drivers on the snow. They hitchhiked to a place called Flagstaff and checked into a motel. It was late in the night and they were completely knackered. The regular food joints like McDonalds, Burger King, Chipotle were closed. Only one Chinese restaurant was open, and they decided to order the delivery. He was the only vegetarian of the three, so he went through the menu list very carefully. Unable to find anything vegetarian, he ordered the only dish that was safe – Vegetable Fried Rice. They waited painfully for 90 mins for the order to be delivered. Another 30 minutes and they could have ordered breakfast. Finally, the food was delivered and when he opened the box, he was furious. He saw a shiny white egg sitting in the middle of the rice. He was enraged. He called up the restaurant, not minding the charges that he incurred from the hotel phone and started yelling at them.

‘I ordered a Vegetable Fried rice’

‘Yes, mister’

‘Then may I ask why I see a shiny egg sitting in the middle of my food?’

‘Yes, sir! You ordered the vegetable fried rice’.

‘Exactly! Why is there an egg then?’

‘Because it is vegetable fried rice and not a vegetarian fried rice. You should say ‘no egg’ when you order it’

He had given up hopes. He never felt that stupid in his life before. His large intestine was eating his small intestine and he was getting educated about the difference between Vegetable Fried Rice and Vegetarian fried rice in the wee hours of the night.

‘Can I change my order?’

‘Yes please. What would you like to have?’

‘A Margherita pizza with thin crust base and cheese, with tomato, capsicum and olive toppings cut using a clean knife which was not used to cut any meat; meat includes – egg, fish, livestock, poultry, seaweed, and mushroom; no oil’

‘Yes, Sir! You want a kid’s vegan pizza. Is that correct?’

‘Fuck You!’

Chronicles of Medu Vada – Twisted tales

Because life comes in a full circle. Like Medu Vada.

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If you have chronicles in your life that are funnier and worth sharing, please share the write up at indiawritestogether@gmail.com under 1000 words. I will post it in this blog. So, this is like the Sit-down comedy (and I just make that word from Standup comedy) of the blog!

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Experiences of Sadagopan Govindan

Please read more on his personal blog here

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“It’s almost time, can we wind up now and continue in tomorrow’s call or continue now?”

He was in a late night conference call that could have been easily confused for a webinar. This call was like his Sunday masses. Somebody else was driving the call but he had to be present to say ‘Amen’. Else he will be tried for his blasphemy. He needed to say a line or two; email would have been sufficient. But his boss was as adamant as a child in a candy shop. He insisted him to dial-in. It was, undoubtedly, the longest two hours of his life. He was famished and managed to help himself with some pieces of watermelon stuffed in the darkest corners of his refrigerator. He found the biggest piece of the lot that he could stuff and slowly removed all the seeds one by one using a fork. Mentally, he was skinning his boss. After a bit of a struggle, he emerged victorious and stuffed the trophy in his mouth. That is when he heard the organizer calling out to check if the meeting should be continued then or later. He was in a dilemma for a moment. He wanted to continue the call for few more minutes and get it done with then rather than having to join the next day again. But he could only mumble “Mmmmm…” Bloody watermelon in his mouth. He was stuck like the infamous monkey with the peanuts in his fist. He was neither able to swallow the watermelon faster nor spit out. Without any room in his mouth, his frantic attempt to breakdown the pieces was as effective as an overloaded mixer. By the time, he managed to break the wall and shout “We can continue for 15 more minutes”, it was too late. “The organizer has ended the meeting” was the reply. This wasn’t the first time he was in such a situation. Never will be his last time either. Some people’s lives are ruled by their in-laws. His life was ruled by Murphy’s Law.

Last January, like any other normal temporarily-optimistic citizen of this world, he decided to change his life. The long hours at work and the sedentary lifestyle have troubled him enough the previous year and this time he decided to take control of his life. Committed to a changed lifestyle, he went through a lot of videos about waking up early. He was dead sure that he was going to be the life time member of Robin Sharma’s 5 am club. That night, he went through 2 giga bytes worth of motivational videos on YouTube. He was pumped. He set the alarm for 30 minutes earlier than the usual for the next day. He would get up 30 minutes earlier and go for a decent run. This was the life changing moment. This day was like that five minute song in which the protagonist will turn from rags to riches. This day would be as historically important as the day when 300 Spartans bravely fought against the mighty Persians. The alarm went off as planned and he woke up with full enthusiasm. All he had to do was brew a cup of smoking hot filter coffee before he heads out for a run. He entered the kitchen and stepped on something cold. He switched the lights on and he was annoyed. The refrigerator had turned to auto-defrost mode and the mini Gangotri had melted and occupied the territory on the floor. It looked like the ice had decided to start slimming today just like him. He started cleaning up the place. After mopping vigorously for about five minutes, he looked at the clock to see if he had time for a coffee before the run. He had time only for a coffee and not the run. What looked like five minutes of mopping was actually 25 minutes. One may plan whatever he/she wants to, the universe always has a plan B.

His everyday life was a struggle. If there was a biography involving his bad luck alone, it would be bigger than the novel ‘Ponniyin Selvan’.  The other day, he boarded the public transport to get to work. Previous day was a long one. He was cranky as he had to burn the midnight oil to resolve some critical issues at work. So he was in an irritable mood. Isn’t it amazing what a lack of proper sleep could do to you? The beautiful flower that you would pick from the road and smell on any other day suddenly becomes a hindrance in your path. You step on the flower and mash it while yelling ‘THIS. IS.  SPARTAAA!’

He thought some music would help him relax and took out the earphones. And it was tangled for life. After 20 minutes of trying with mother-of-all-focusses, the knot became worse. He had no idea where the ends were. After playing quite a bit of thumb wrestling, he solved the life’s greatest mystery. He was able to unknot (if there is such a word) the earphones and started playing the song ‘It’s my life’. The bus halted suddenly and, all thanks to law of inertia, he banged his head on the front seat. His frontal lobe became a frontal globe. He had reached the workplace.

If he was sure of anything ever in his life, it was this: He was the living proof that what could possibly go wrong will definitely go wrong.

 

Chronicles of Medu Vada- Plum Charades

Because life comes in a full circle. Like Medu Vada.

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Story to this post :

I am a human being of dearth talent. I am musically challenged, don’t have opinions and cannot move a muscle in the body. But, I have awarded myself being good at just two things – incessant cribbing and self-defeating humor. This chronicles of Masala Vada is about me throwing some self-defeating words (which is blah humour) at myself.

If you have chronicles in your life that are funnier and worth sharing, please share the write up at indiawritestogether@gmail.com under 1000 words. I will post it in this blog. So, this is like the Sit-down comedy (and I just make that word from Standup comedy) of the blog!

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Experiences of Subhashree Srinivasan.

In 2003

She twitched her nose under the bright brown eyes, and shouted “brother!”

All the lady’s finger that she had eaten during lunch time gave her the brains. Her secret  to the overwhelming brain was also contributed by me staying in the position of half-ape , half – Egyptian. Releasing myself from the infinite strained bulges of my body, I proceeded to enact the next word.

When she had destructed all words in the dictionary and guessed the name of the movie as ‘O Brother, Where Art Thou ?’  under 2 minutes, we won the round of Dumb Charades in middle of our Botany class. I mentally did a self-appraisal of my acting skills and affirmed that I was good at Dumb-Charades.

Today

Last year, I broke the curse that was spelled on Srinivasan’s family and travelled to a foreign country for the first time. As much as everyone didn’t know where the country was on the map, English language was treated with the same effect in this city by its inhabitants. As an Indian, I have experienced the situation of ignorant person in my own country when I moved towards any other State other than mine. So, this wasn’t surprising or bothersome at first.

But, as I started to mingle with the crowd and ecology alike, I was as clueless as the integral sign on a Maths paper. I would stare at the lady who had her entire devotion on the heavily manicured nails for two whole minutes, at the post-office, before I began enacting. I would draw squares in the air, cup my fingers on both sides, lick at the air and she would understand that I was referring to an envelope. She would finish the conversation with her eyes, nod like we had just agreed on a universal bill in the parliament and hand over me a sheet of paper to write down my name. And my name being pronounced in any other country is a story for another Chronicle.

Even though, I was continuously practicing some words in the native language here by grunting and whistling some words, I had hardly used any translation applications on my phone in the past. Now, in times of desperation where my tongue died of no spicy food, I had managed to write an entire letter to the customs office to let me receive a package of Puliogare mix, by using multiple translation applications. When I received my package looking like a perforated filter paper, I realized that the custom officer had poked extra holes in all the packets under the pretext of inspection, after he had read my translated letter.

Dumb-Charades was, ironically, mostly used in a place that demanded silence and where at least one murder scene in English thriller movies took place – the library. Whenever, I needed any particular book from just one shelf of the entire three storeyed building, I would just write it down on a paper and the librarian would hunt it down for me. But, when I had to ask how much I needed to pay for the books or how much was the fine, I had to hunch like Uncle Scrooge and show the money symbol. Even in my Gollum turned posture, the librarian would understand and give me a number.

Everything seemed like a paradise with my Tom Hanks levelled Dumb-Charades skills.

It was one of those days when I was feeling absolutely positive about everything – bus was on time, lunch was heated uniformly and I hadn’t slipped on the ice. In the self-assured and confident manner, we entered a café that had only people who spoke in their native language. Much to my disappointment, we were able to order French fries and mayonnaise by showing the waitress, the pictures on the menu card.

“What would you like to drink?”,  I asked two of my Indian colleagues , not looking up the Menu card.

One of them answered Beer and, the other Plum Beer.

(If you are alcoholically challenged as I am, plum beer is one of those sweet beers which I assume is made from Plum or has a plum essence. Mentally noting that I need to read more on this)

My services to translate weren’t needed her as the ‘Beer’ is in itself was a universal language. I lumped my weight on the table, and placed the two orders with no interest.

“Plum ?”, she asked innocently , parting her lips and blinking like I had uttered a curse word.

The fact, that she didn’t understand what a plum was, gave me an adrenaline rush.

I sat upright, gave a wide big smile and stared at her for 30 seconds as a preparation for the world’s greatest and toughest word show. I lifted both my hands in air, made a gesture that I thought looked like two small spheres of plum. As awkward it seem as I am writing this, this was also the case when I enacting the plums using two circles.

Everyone was staring at me as the fish that lay dead on our table.

Oblivion to everything that was happening, I continued to show that one of the spheres could be eaten and gestured towards the mouth.

The waitress squirmed her face in utmost disgust.

“No!”, She quipped.

I rolled my eyes in victory, made a face of accomplishment and whispered “Sorry, there is no plum beer”.

It was only after eons that the neurons worked in my head, and with some of my Indian colleagues burying themselves in a non – English menu, I understood that I had matched the anatomy of the plum with a woman’s body part.

I had given the biggest flop of my acting career by being the most disgusting female that anyone could come across.  I wished that everyone washed down this incident with all the alcohol that I was going to sponsor.

The aftermath of the Dumb-charades at the café meant only one thing.

Rest in peace my acting skills and stay buried as long as you can.