A Glossary of Scottish Terms

As much as the Scots like visitors, they like to confuse tourists and make them work hard for their pleasure. The simplest way to do it is to call everything by another name - almost always it is the Scottish Gaelic term for the word - but it does take time to sink in. On the contrary, it did give me a sense of excitement as I'd end up thinking that I'm going to see something very special!

Some of the terms that I'll be commonly using in future posts are as follows:

Loch - Lake
Glen - Valley
Strath - A wider valley
Ben - Mountain
Doune - Castle
Blair - I'm not quite sure but as far as I remember, it refers to an area
Trossach - Roughly translated as the bristled country

These are the ones that'll come up the most. If I think of any more, I'll add them here and also explain them wherever I mention them.

The first travelogue coming up in a few hours!

Felt Like Writing in Hindi

अर्थ, काम, देह सब नश्वर है|
रूह को छूने वाला ही इश्वर है||
वो अतुल है, पावन है, वो पृथक है|
उसका मर्म, उसका ही जीवन सार्थक है||

पृथ्वी और अम्बर का अजब नाता है|
रूह की गहरायी शायद दर्शाता है||
आत्म का अस्तित्व तू ही है|
खुशी, चंचलता, हर्ष रूही है||

तेरा हर लफ्ज़ ज़िन्दगी के नए मायने सिखाता है|
करुणामयी पलकों को जैसे प्रेम से सहलाता है||
सरलता, सुमति, सौंदर्य का तू संगम है|
माया से मुक्त, तू ही खुशी, तू ही ग़म है||

The First Ever PJ Post!

The uninitiated, please read the previous post first.

PJ1

Q: What does an author, distressed at the fact that his books aren't selling and he's running short on money, say to his books?
A: Damn! Sell(, I'm) in distress.

PJ2

Q: What's the female counterpart of the infamous "male gaze"?
A: A female gazelle!

So, there you go. That's my two cents. Start with your own PJs in the comments section, or email them to me. I'll put them up in future posts with appropriate acknowledgments.

A New Feature!

Yes, yes, I know I'm supposed to be on a sabbatical and leave my workaholic ways behind. I just had an idea and I thought I'll write about it as the last thing before I leave.

I''ve been told over and over that I'm a PJ person and that I have horrible PJs. Must really thank Manisha for bringing it to my notice. But, that's the point, no? They are supposed to be poor.

Anyway, so I've decided to start a daily PJ feature on this blog. It's a big demand on such a creative pursuit and I'll try to follow it as rigorously as possible.

We'll also make it contributive with people leaving their PJs in the comments section and I'll pick out the best and put them up in the next PJ post. They can also be emailed to me at swetankgupta@gmail.com.

I start with it in the next post, with, not one but two, yes two PJs as the opening offer. And we'll tkae it steady from thereon once I'm back from my trip.

Paulo da Costa: Magic Realism and Metafiction

I was reading a short story 'Turn The Page' by Paulo da Costa (Luso-Canadian author) and it really struck me as something brilliant, the idea at least. I've come across metafictional works before but this seemed different (rest assured, it isn't a marketing pitch for a Bollywood movie). The story itself is a part of a collection 'New Writing 14' published by British Council in association with Granta, so I'm not sure if you'll be able to find it elsewhere, but the idea is as follows:

The book starts with two characters who have been abandoned by the writer. They have to look for their own destinies, figure out their role in the scheme of things. They sleep at night and when the male character gets up, he realizes that the female character has been 'deleted' from the script. He wonders how it would have been in the pre-computer era when they would either be together because there wasn't an option, or simply be torn apart. Today, through cut-copy-paste mechanisms, their characters, their lives could be modified. He moves out of the 'white room with paper-thin walls' and is thrown in the 'real world' where his quest for an identity begins. He constantly wonders if his author has abandoned him for good, or if his story has been told earlier and he is just following the script, or if this exploration, this abandonment is his story, so he really hasn't been abandoned (sorry for using 'abandon' so many times, I just can't seem to abandon it! :P). Beyond that it gets into the usual realm of the meaning of his life, his purpose in this world, etc. etc. as he takes a more material shape from a nebulous, rather ephemeral existence and ultimately ends with him being slashed by red lines by the editor.

I fell in love with the idea of a character and/or characters being abandoned (again!) by the author and them trying to figure out their own lives. Would make for an interesting writing exercise, if nothing else. I realized that towards the end, the story had a more philosophical bent, but I missed that meaning, and would have to go back to again a few times to understand that. If I do, I'll share it with you.

I found an interview of da Costa here. Do visit the link. He talks about magic realism and how he has been compared to Allende, Marquez and the like. Also, his take on writing, the life of a writer, primarily after a million Creative Writing programs have cropped up in the past decade and how it has become even more difficult to break into mainstream publishing as they all flock to these programs (Creative Writing MFAs, but for Columbia and Iowa, have seen rather low publishing success, and even there it's more related to 'contacts' rather than creative brilliance - that's basically his point - it's forming a nexus that excludes more than it includes, and gives primacy to a certain sort of brilliance, often referred to as MFA Fiction as opposed to literary fiction or just fiction).

Maybe we could have our own Writing competition on this theme (of abandonment of a character by his/her/its progenitor) right here!

It isn't? It's not!

Roy Robin's short story 'The Caretaker' ends with the following sentence:

'It isn't the responsibility,' my mother said. 'I mean it is, but it isn't just that.'

Good story, nice ending, but that isn't why I'm writing this post. After I finished reading it, I was replaying the last sentence in my mind over and over again, and I realized I would have never written it isn't just that. I'd have, instead, gone with it's not just that. Both are valid contractions, but I never thought such differences could exist.

I don't know why this is so, if it's just a personal thing, or has it got anything to do with 'Indian English' as compared to 'British English'. Thought it was an interesting observation nonetheless.

Linguists. Others. Any opinions?

Flights of Fantasy

A dialogue between a call centre executive and a stewardess.

“Good Morning, ma’am. I’m calling from ICICI Prudential. Your number has been selected for a special scheme on our life insurance policies. We’d like to offer you a reduced premium on all our schemes. It’s a completely hassle-free process, with the least amount of time requirement from your end. I’ll be glad to read out the benefits if you are interested,” rambled the call centre executive on the phone as Tanya listened.

“Is this offer open irrespective of profession?” asked Tanya.

“Why yes, ma’am. Most definitely. Our only concern is to serve our customers and their interests,” said the executive, elated at finally having found a customer who was interested and listening.

“I do think I need insurance right now. I’m an in-flight attendant with one of the international airlines. Just this morning I got back from a, personally, highly eventful flight.” She hesitated, but decided to go through with the entire story. “I was complicit in a regicide, having poisoned the King of Brunei’s drink for a healthy sum. The autopsy reports are out, I have been in hiding ever since I stepped off the flight, and I have no clue how you managed to get this number.” A couple of deep breaths later, she continued further. “Every country has issued a statement denying me international immunity, and as soon as I’m found out, I shall probably be hanged, if not murdered by the King’s retinue of vengeance-seeking loyals. Yes, insurance would truly help my husband at this stage,” finished Tanya in a harrowed voice.

The executive realized he was wet. Sweating all over. Forehead, palms, armpits, groin, all the places where the sweat glands offer their fealty rather too generously. “I shall call you back in a moment, ma’am. I have some urgent business to attend to,” he managed to blurt before jamming the receiver back into its cradle.

“Hey! At least sell me a policy before you go,” screamed Tanya, howling with laughter, as the Bruneian head of state fondled her breast, the gleam of gold in his eyes.

Of Alternate, Unintended Meanings

WARNING: Adult content

My short story Kaleidoscope begins like this:

Expanse of green. Sheer silk…white…flowing. A pearl necklace. Pearl earrings.

I gave it to Mat, our instructor at the British Council for some feedback. Apart from some pretty useless comments (e.g. it's a horror poem!?), he marked on the phrase "pearl necklace" (adult content - think before you click) and asked me to look it up on Urban Dictionary, if I dared. Of course, I had to check it out once he'd said as much, though I wished I hadn't. "Pearl earrings" carried a similar meaning. Even though I found it pretty disgusting that instead of telling me something useful, that was what Mat was doing with my piece, but it is also strangely fascinating with respect to the people's imagination!

Gagging Rushdie

On the occasion of Midnight's Children winning the booker of Bookers, BBC has come up with this competition where the entire 672 page saga has to be retold in 67 words - yes, 67 words. Rushdie does have a way with words and language is his forte, but he also tends to overdo it at times. Can you cut out the gibberish and tell us the story of Salim Sinai in 67 meaningful words?

I'm thinking of Amiya right now. She has both the inclination and the talent to do it, and it helps that this book is one of her all time favourites. Go, girl!

The others may try too, of course.

High on Haiku

Some attempts by yours truly. My motto is:

We shall invent new forms of pain, and then find ways of inflicting them upon the world.

1.
Dark, damp, humid night;
A drop trickles down the neck.
Red! Equality!

2.
House on fire, flames leap,
Smouldering, scorching, savage.
Intertwined bodies.

The word haiku reminds me of the 90s song 'Hai huku hai huku hai hai...'. :D Makes me want to write a haiku using that.

Can you get any more pathetic than this? Try in the comments section.

Charming Charbagh

There’s a regular din of traffic from behind the roseate walls that envelopes the subconscious. The drizzle, accompanied by the wind flitting past, sprays my face with tiny droplets. I squint my eyes to keep the water out, then relax, closing them completely and losing myself to the invigorating concoction of air and water, and that musty smell of raw earth. The ground blushes as some of the drops rush forward to embrace it with a splatter, and then slowly disappear, imparting a tinge of rosy hue. I walk barefoot on the textured floor, a pebble pricks the toe, turning it a beetroot red. The breeze turns to wind, the vines swing and sing. I run my fingers along the wall, feel the crests and troughs on the uneven surface, quietly exploring the vertical terrain. I draw a little closer, tentatively, putting my ear to it, and hear the wall humming slightly, a dull vibration, a silenced thunder concealed under the stony bosom. The fountain makes one valiant attempt after another but sky-high is an ambition too tall for it. It rises a nimble foot, and plops back into the reservoir, an orchestra, a symphony of bubbles bursting to order.

Creativity

There's a Ghazal by Jeet Thayil that I'm reproducing here. It's one of my favorite pieces of poetry, mainly because of the flow. It's such a pleasure reading this one aloud.

Listen! Someone’s saying a prayer in Malayalam.
He says there’s no word for ‘despair’ in Malayalam.

Sometimes at daybreak you sing a Gujarati garba.
At night you open your hair in Malayalam….

…Visitors are welcome in The School of Lost Tongues.
Someone’s endowed a high chair in Malayalam.

I greet you my ancestors, O scholars and linguists.
My father who recites Baudelaire in Malayalam.

Jeet, such drama with the scraps that you know.
Write a couplet, if you dare, in Malayalam.

Here's a link to a page with two short stories of Angela Carter. Both of them are rewrites of the 'Little Red Riding Hood'. I had read the first one a couple of years ago. While looking for it today, I came across the second rewrite, which is a little longer. Haven't yet read it but I can bet it's going to be as good and innovative as the first one.


If anyone's interested in a review of the linguistics in Amitava Ghosh's new book 'Sea of Poppies' by Jai Arjun Singh, it can be found here. Click here for Ghosh's full-length interview with Singh.