If................

In ethics class so many years ago

Our teacher asked this question every fall:

If there were a fire in a museum

Which would you save, a Rembrandt painting

Or an old woman who had’nt many

Years left anyhow? Restless on hard chairs

Caring little for picture or old age

We’d opt one year for life, the next for art

And always half-heartedly. Sometimes

The woman borrowed my grand-mother’s face

Leaving her usual kitchen to wander

Some drafty, half-imagined museum.

One year, feeling clever, I replied

Why not let the woman decide herself?

Linda, the teacher would report, eschews

The burdens of responsibility.

This fall in a real museum I stand

Before a real Rembrandt, old woman,

Or nearly so, myself. The colors

Within this frame are darker than autumn,

Darker ever than winter – the browns of earth,

Though earth’s most radiant elements burn

Through the canvas. I know now that woman

And painting and season are almost one

And all beyond saving by children.

Poet-Anonymous

Lessons for the Lesser Mortals

“If music be the food of love, play on”. Simple idea, but no so simple grammar: why “if music be ” Rather than “is” ? The short answer is that “be” here is an old fashioned use of the subjunctive mood, where we today would use the indicative “is”. A longer answer is that this simple idea has landed us in two tricky quagmires of English grammar, the subjunctive and the conditional sentence. A reader’s email dropped me in them last week, asking whether he should write “if I was” or “if I were”. Here are some guidelines to firm ground.

The conditional looks simple. “If I were a rich man… (the condition), I’d … (the result).” But it has traps. You meet a sentence like “If Mountbatten esteemed Nehru, he esteemed himself more.” This is’nt a conditional at all : the last viceroy’s self admiration did not depend on his view of Nehru. In fact, it’s a pretentious imitation of French. Shun it.

Beware of such shortened conditionals as “should I discover that …”, “were I smarter …” or “had I known…” . All these substitutes for ‘if’ are idiomatic, but all others smell a bit of the past, especially in speech. And not even poets should imitate 17^th century Andrew Marvell’s plea to his mistress – “Had we put world enough, and time, this coyness, Lady were no crime” , where ‘had’ simply means “if we possessed”. Yeats did it in “Had I the heaven’s embroidered clothes”, but we lesser mortals should steer clear.

As for the subjunctive, few of us use it and often not even grammarians can tell whether it’s being used or not. That’s because in every verb except “to be”, where it substitutes “be” for the indicative “am”, “is” and “are” – the two moods are identical, except in the third person singular : in place of “I go”, “he goes”, “we/you/they go” , the subjunctive uses “I/we/he/you/they go” all the way through. A famous passage in 1611 translation of the Bible has St. Paul writing : “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels …”. Is that “speak” indicative or (more likely, in high flown English in 1611) subjunctive? No one can be sure.

Still, where the two can be told apart, should you use the subjunctive? Not in conditional sentences. “If music be the food of love” is fine for Shakespeare, but “if the bus leave on time (instead of leaves)” would sound as affected in today’s Calcutta as it is improbable.

Yet every rule has its exception, the one raised by that reader’s email. In phrases like “If I were wise” or “If I were you”, that “were” is a bit of the subjunctive. It’s bizarre : it refers to the present , not as one might expect, the past, and it always implies that the condition is unmet. But it is definitely preferable to “if he was wise” or “if I was you”.Both forms are acceptable (and with any other verb than “to be” you don’t have a choice); but “were” is better than “was”.

P.S. :- This is an excerpt taken from Telegraph, composed by Steph Hugh Jones.

The Happy Prince

Few days back, Prince William was in the limelight – not for some heroic deed but for a (according to me) zany episode of buffoonery that he committed – as a means of his chauvinist attitude, he landed a militia helicopter in the backyard of his girlfriend’s mansion. What would this chimerical attitude of this gentleman of aristocratic upbringing imply? What kind of role model does Prince William present himself as to the Gen X? Is it not an act of chicanery on his part to dabble with national property? But who cares? After all he is a prince.

Nowadays, the definition of aristocracy has wizened to the extent that in the name of Kings and Princes – what is left is a herd of yokels whose cupidity and avarice has made them materialistic zealots, who are busy wrenching money out of their own people to quench their thirst.

It would be quite churlish on my part to badger the image of a PRINCE by presenting examples of charlatans such as Prince William and Prince Gyanendra (of Nepal).

Shri Ram and Buddha are princes of yore. Don’t we have such heroes in Kalyug? Surely there’s some respite to the prevailing jungle raj. Prince Jigyel Ugyen Wang Chuck of Bhutan is one such example. This young prince, when he was aged 19, left the luxuries of Oxford to join one of the militia groups of upper Himalayas to protect his country from intruders from the Northern Terrains. Nowadays, at the age of 24, he is accosted by political and social groups from all over the world to speak in conferences. He gave a lecture in the Asiatic society (UK) emphasizing on the revival of art and culture. This gentleman is a follower of Buddha and is a staunch believer in liberation theology and is an internationalist. He is the only person in the present political scenario of decoy and counterfeit who can save is country from a gradual decadence or a debacle. I have a genuine deference towards his actions and speeches. I would like to suggest novices like Rahul Gandhi to take a leaf out of his life before sitting on the Prime Minister’s throne.

With Love to Mrs Clinton

The two big issues faced by the super Sam are racial discrimination of “Blacks” in the society and the inequality of status of women in the so-called male-dominated society.

The latter problem I presume, is rather poised to become bolsterous issue following Mrs Hillary Clinton’s act of abnegation from the Presidential electoral polls. The issue raised by her during the electoral campaigns seems quite an aberrant one provided the fact that the status of women in United States of America as compared to the Arab countries and the Third World countries is quite high.

The freedom regarding speech, freedom to work, to study and freedom for all other social amenities essential to life that the Western women are accoutred with is a strike contrast to the women of Mid-West Asia and other third world countries whose women are supposed to spend a major part of their lives in the aviary of an abominable institution of marriage.

These women are badgered by their obstinate husbands and in-laws. Day-in and day-out they have to brook the cathartic and acrimonious nature of their in-laws without being allowed to speak a word against the transgressors. My suggestion to Mrs Clinton is she should descend upon her callous cavalcade in one of these households so as to justify the actual meaning of Misogyny.

For the last few months, she had been openly executing her bigotry oratory. She attacked her opponents in highly acrimonious terms, all the time, complacently relying upon one notion-misogyny. Her followers too, abjured their rights to vote as she quitted the presidential polls- commiserating it as a sign against misogyny. But for a split second, if these reverend ladies would spare a fragment of their cerebration and divert their uncanny grey-cells on the actuarial surveys produced by WHO- they will discover that theirs’ is the country with the highest female literacy rate and highest female workmanship in the service industries, thus reducing these advocates of misogyny to the mere strata of buccaneers who would wear any disguise for fulfilling their avarice.

"Inter"VocaboPolitics

The present US presidential campaigns and the Indo-US Nuclear deal has made the last days of Bush regime in US look like an interim. The whole world is worried about who is going to hold the reins next but no attention is being paid to the current jockey.

Interim implies the intervening time. Tracing back to the history of the word ‘interim’- it stands for the truce pending a General council between German Protestants and the Papacy in 16^th Century. But in the current scenario the truce between the Democrats and the Republicans has given rise to an interregnum, interestingly, not in the host country where the elections are being held but among the sycophants of the US.

Ultimately in the recent interlude of the electoral pantomime, one of the contenders have decided against being internecine and instead has cleverly intercalated herself as an internuncio, so that even after the Black King will be crowned she can still interstate her position as an internationalist.

So enjoy the play till it goes on.

Life in a Metro

This post is not a review of the Bollywood film, in fact through this I would like to convey my experiences of daily life in a Metropolis.

A general idea that people have in their minds about the life in a metro is the life goes on a fast-track with a lot of frenzies. I being brought up in a small sleepy town had this idea infused in my mind that life in a big city like Kolkata is so fast that people rarely get to see their children. But after spending the four most formative years of life in this metro I found it is quite the contrary, maybe this is because of the fact that I am/was a student and I stayed with a family that found reasons for gathering and rejoice, no matter however small the occasion is. But that is how most of the people here are like. Be it India’s victory against a paltry team like Bangladesh or be it Big B’s next block-buster, their alacrity for celebrations is beyond any normal person’s imagination. A celebration need not be a huge party in a multi-star hotel. It is a small gathering in a household with some good home cooked food (Bengalis have a flair for good food) and a never-ending “adda “ session.

Bongs are like this. Bong is a newly coined term for Bengalis. It stands for those who are characterized by their typical chauvinist attitude teamed with an indolent attitude towards their profession.

Cricket, football and politics (both national and state level) are what they virtually thrive on. A high-quality tape-recorder would accept defeat when compared to Bongs, because even a tape-recorder has to stop at the moment when the cassette is over but a Bong would go on with his (mostly) enigmatic views on topics that range from nation’s security, to oil prices, to despising present educational system, to the brand of chappals that should be worn during rainy seasons. Sometimes they will actually make you wonder what would have happened to the country had these Bongs and their precious comments not existed. These beguiling discussions emanate irrespective of place and time or the persons who are participating in them. Wherever more than one Bong is juxtaposed- be it in bus, in train, in auto or even waiting in queue outside a doctor’s chamber, these discussions are bound to creep in.

The discussions are unique in themselves. They are started with a topic which is perversely changed in due course of time by the speaker(s) when no one finds any point to show-off their punditry on the subject or when there happens to be more dissidents on the subject than there should usually be. In the end all these discussions take a preposterous turn when the speakers become utterly discordant.

Bongs’ allegiance for the political party they vote for is something that can be rarely seen in any other state. Whether it is to commiserate for the victims of the recent industrialization fiasco or to exhilarate the wrong done by BCCI on their very own “Dada”, they have only one way to show their disgust- prodigous strike (mostly headed by Mamta “didi” Banerjee). This city is governed by a set of polito who are busy in sardonically diatrinbing the opposition for the “Bandh”s and the opposition busies itself in criticizing the ruling party for its insensate polity, thus giving rise to a political pantomime.

All these and so many other issues that the aboriginal Bongs fathom to live with, yet they are cheeriest people I have ever come across who carry an undefined determination in their heart.

Otherwise how would you describe the actions of a desparate lady picking bricks from the street for building her house.

All this along with the blatant and plangent noise of the traffic which no other Calcuttan can parry makes life in the Metro all the more foxy and exciting.

Local train and Ladies' compartment

My experience with local trains began with my first year of engineering. To reach my college I have to spend five hours of my daily life in local trains, to be more specific- in ladies’ compartments.

Every morning at 8, one has to wait on the platform for the train to arrive as a predator waits for its prey. Clutching one’s bag to your chest, ready to pounce into the ladies’ compartment the moment the train comes to halt. Ladies’ compartment is characterized by the state of profound pandemonium. Then after some shoving and punching, which might put a professional rugby player to shame you are welcomed into the compartment with a diatribe for having stepped on some fat lady’s feet. Though you concede your guilt from the inside, of having caused such an injury, you can’t really help it at the same time can’t admit it on her face lest you want to be slapped. Till here, you have won only half the battle, the next step is to get in between a seat of rows by trampling a few more pairs of so-called ‘pedicured’ feet which belong to forty somethings who hate themselves to be called “aunties”. This is a major problem of Ladies’ compartment- even after traveling for the last 4 years, I have failed to figure out the mode of addressing my co-passengers. It’s neither by their first name (then it becomes an issue of prestige), neither as aunty (do they seem that old?) nor didi (“we are almost the same age!!!!!!!!!”)- I don’t know how?

Now that you have finally got your foot-hold in the compartment (here I must specify that standing on one foot or standing on a toe is also considered as a foothold), you have to attain the impossible- reserve a seat for the last 3 stations (in a 15 stations journey) in an unreserved train compartment. How? Well, for this you need to have “contacts” or “informers” or you should be in good books of an “influential” compatriot. You have to follow your compartment’s rules in making reservations- if you break it, you are handed an indictment- may be life time ban from the compartment.

Let me introduce you to my co-passengers- people who have never traveled in local trains may never have an idea of what wider range of professions exist where only ladies can be employed.

If I have to describe my train buddies- it would be really difficult to put all of them in a single mould. In fact their personas are poles apart, and not all of them belong to a single strata of society. Most of them have a veneer on them, which disables a person to guess about their personal selves at first glance. Why first glance? Even after I have spent nearly 4 years traveling with the same set of ladies- talking to them for nearly 5 hours everyday, I don’t know their names or where they go, what exactly they do. They prefer it that way- no personal questions should be asked unless they prefer to tell you themselves. But what is common in most of them is, their speech is characterized by staccato and most of them have a proclivity towards covetous desires.

Once inside the train, most of them acquire their second personality- they are beautician, doctor, chief minister, caring guardian, expert cook and so many other things at the same time.

Their real professions range from charwoman, to sales-girl, to factory worker, to manager. Some don’t want to name their professions- you can guess why.

After talking to them, (i.e. even if you don’t talk they will make you talk by their piquant nature) what I found common amongst the most is not all but the majority have to face obscene treatments from their husbands who refuse to abstain from gambling and alcohol, and their in-laws despite of the fact that these ladies are the sole bread-winners of their families. Yet what seems surprising to me is even after leading a life of depravity , these tortures and sufferings are the least petulant to them and they become all the more debonair as they enter the train and chatter away like school girls till the end of the journey. All of them have a strong determination teamed with indefatigable energy to redeem their and their families from penury and abysmal living standards to a better standard.

Their daily struggle has enabled them to face whatever situation they are put into with utmost alacrity. Once I forgot my monthly ticket at home and to top it, I couldn’t make my way inside the compartment. So I had to stand on the dashboard. I had noticed from the day one of my train journey that a huge group of ladies (mainly domestic helpers) sit on the dashboard. That part of the train is their property by birth-right and any trespassers are duly put to “punishment”. That day I knew that I have to face a series of slang and so many other abuses half of whose meaning I would not be able to decipher. One of those ladies (seeing me standing there) asked me to sit down. On seeing my troubled face, she asked me ‘what’s the matter?’ I told her that I had forgotten my ticket. She laughed like a clown and said “You know what, I have never bought a ticket in my lifetime. Once a ticket-checker caught me and asked for my ticket, do you know what I told him? I told him- ‘See sahib, yesterday I got married, but last night my groom had run away, I an going to kolkata to find him, by evening if I don’t get him I’ll take you back home as my groom-so either you become my groom or you let me go so that I can search for him.’ After that , that ticket-checker never asked me for my ticket.” Good story, but can I repeat this if I am caught? Next she asked my how many houses do I work in? God help my appearance, anyways the train arrived at my station and I have to get down. I couldn’t give her a number but a smile is all that came to my lips- she probably thought me as an illiterate.

My friends who had spent their college life in hostel tell me that I have missed hostel-life. But can I explain them what I have gained and they have missed.

I can go on and on about my comic experiences on train which is a mirror to exactly how rude the world is, but yet people smile, laugh and try to find happiness in their own way. May be this is why this city is called “the city of joy”.

What does spirituality means in this era of consumerism?

In today’s era of big retail stores, fashion brands and plush shopping malls, what role does spirituality play in an individual’s life, rather the question should be rephrased as whether spirituality at all exist for the generation next or its stature has reduced to being a mere word in old texts of sexagenarians whom the generation next has felicitated as hypocrites.

Before we further go down the line arguing the existence of spirituality, there’s an exigency of knowing exactly what spirituality means? Spirituality in simple terms imply the existence of a superior being; “Spirituality” – its root word being spirit, hence spiritualism in wider sense is the belief that spirits of the departed communicate with the living, especially through medium.

But why should there be a need of the existence of the superior being or why should there be need to communicate with the spirits of those who have already left this sordid and materialistic world? The answer to this question lies in the weakness of man – his fear of defeat, his sorrows, grievances and the guilt feelings that he unconsciously buries in his heart for the transgression he consciously or unconsciously commits. Every human being is conscientious enough to have feared his wrong-doing, difference being, some show it through confessions while others simply bury the hatchet, but that too only in façade. However infamous a criminal or gangster, everyone wants to be in His providence. This is spirituality, to believe in the existence of God.

We say – God exists and to believe in him is called spirituality, but has anyone actually seen God – there are prophets, saints and like people who claim to have felt His presence in some way or the other, but then we only have their word for it – no evidence whatsoever. However, even though most of us have no such divine experience yet we have an image of a divine being with his resplendent glow, and the belief to communicate with this divine being is what we call spiritualism.

Coming back to our argument of existence of spiritualism in this era of consumerism where the modern generation of agnostics and atheists whose actions lead to sacrilege. So-called religious leaders and god-men through their narcissistic actions, which involve terrorism in the name of religion, terminations, ex-terminations and communal riots in the name of resurrecting the “supposed to be” birthplace of God have given rise to a state of pandemonium and has made religion and spiritualism all the more abominable for the present generation. Yet in all this depravity, there are certain spiritual leaders who have euphemized the spiritualism through consumerism. Whether it is through “Art of living” or through Yogic discourses or through Lord Krishna’s hymnbooks and rosary – the young customer is being attracted to the chapel or temple in some way or the other, hence making spiritualism congruous with the consumerism. The spiritual leaders instead of teaching just religious and spiritual discourse, have made religion and spiritualism the “in” thing, the fashion statement which has made the fashion-savvy young generation lackey to spiritualism.