Zzeblog

MANY years ago I was on a sponsored trip to Austria . My government-appointed driver was a youth doing MBA. During a conversation with him, he said, somewhat haughtily, that all Austrians know at least two languages. "That's nice," I said, and then gently punctured his hauteur.

I told him that in Mumbai (Bombay then), any ten-year-old is familiar with five or six languages. "What!" he said. So I gave him this account. "Consider a Bengali married to a Tamil and they reside in a Gujarati neighbourhood. Their child goes to an English-medium school where Marathi and Hindi are compulsory. Six languages? In high school the child may take up Sanskrit, German, French or some other foreign language." The young man was awed and said he'd like to visit India . After that he was deferential towards me.

That's one of the advantages of visiting unicultural countries. The locals display a sense of superiority towards the visitor from a developing country. So you tell them, subtly, about India 's cultural and linguistic diversity. They gasp in wonder.

India's diversity and globalisation of the Indian people are attracting foreign attention. It is very likely that in the near future Indians will be teaching French in France, German in Germany , Spanish in Argentina . What fun it is to imagine a Marathi or Malayalee from Mumbai's suburban Chembur teaching Portuguese to Brazilian children in Brasilia . Indians may also be invited to coach foreign bureaucracies and corporate executives in Indian languages and customs.

New York has got much publicity for its cultural and linguistic diversity. But it can’t match Mumbai's. It's not just Mumbai's educated who speak many languages; everyone does. Even beggar children are coached in foreign languages to target tourists. In many Mumbai homes, parents speak to the children in the mother-tongue, but the children answer in English or Hindi. In fact, it is difficult to identify Mumbaikars as Marathi, Gujarati, Malalayee, Kannadiga or whatever. They do not have distinct regional looks because of mixed marriages. Even when in groups, their conversation shifts casually from one language to another.

A Marathi girl and I exchange greetings in French. Then we converse in English or Marathi. The girl is fluent in French; I am not. But she and her close friends speak only French among themselves, as other Mumbaikars use English as a common language.

I do borrow French magazines from the Alliance Francaise library. I used to read German newspapers and magazines in the Max Mueller Bhavan's library, which is now closed. I occasionally SMS my son a Latin maxim which I have picked up from an English book. He replies in Latin. I have to struggle hard to decipher his message. I don't know Latin. The son knows Latin, Italian, Farsi, English and Hindi, but not Marathi.

Sometimes I buy Malayalam, Kannada, Urdu or Gujarati newspapers and read the Sanskrit 'Chandamama' magazine though I don't know these languages. But I can get the gist of the stories. Playing with languages is fun, especially because I own many dictionaries which I can consult – German, French, Spanish, Sanskrit, classical Greek, Urdu, Kannada, Malayalam, Marathi as well as books on the histories of various languages and scripts. Anyone who sees my bookshelves will not believe that I am a pukka ‘Marathi manus’ with a dehati upbringing. There must be many such dilettantes in Mumbai. Some are polyglots who speak many more languages than an ordinary Mumbaikar does. Others, like me, speak few languages, but are interested in language as a subject of study.

My most memorable moments in propagating English were in a school in Kerala. I took the English class and discovered that almost all the children, except those of transferable bureaucrats, were primitive in English. I scolded them for being so retarded in terms of their future prospects. The scoldings were interspersed with Malayalam gaalis, which a waiter in Mumbai's Press Club had taught me. I think I really shook them.

All this is about the past. What of the future? Interesting possibilities are ahead. Many foreigners are coming to India for jobs and studies. There will be a mingling of Indian-foreign cultures and languages on an accelerated scale. Imagine an Indian-educated youngster venting his anger with Indian gaalis in his hometown of Frankfurt, Marseille, Khartoum or Hanoi . And Indians borrowing from these foreigners to become globalised Munnabhais. What India , especially Mumbai, can expect is the formation of an Indo-global tapori language which, as it develops, may produce its own class of literature and films. The future of global language adventure is in India .

Politicians can't imagine the exciting times ahead. At the moment they are scared that they will lose their grip on vote-banks. Vote-banks must be kept at minimal levels of survival skills, and they must be conned into believing that their mother-tongue and regional identity are under threat. Politicians hope that these people will create ghettoes for themselves, dutifully line up to vote, and seek favours from political patrons in an approved obsequious way.

Posted by Atreya at 3:30 AM | Permalink | Comments

WHILE climbing the steps of the Golconda fort near Hyderabad recently I was inspired to make a witty comment. I was suddenly confronted with an awesome sight – an extremely obese woman with a huge backside. I waved to my companions and drew their attention to the woman's behind. "That's golkundi," I said. 'Gol' is 'round' in North Indian languages, and 'kundi' is 'buttocks' in Malayalam.

There was much laughter and applause. I was so pleased that when I returned to Mumbai I told the story to everyone whose attention I could grab for a moment. In my senile days someone will surely thrash me for telling it for the 500^th time.

Obesity is not breaking news, of course. It's discussed in the general media and science magazines. There is scientific speculation on the biological consequences for the future of mankind. But so far the benefits of obesity have accrued only to the pharma industry, cosmetic surgery business, and gyms. The multiplier effects on other sectors of the economy have not been considered.

Obesity will provoke drastic changes in the transportation industry. Bus seats can't accommodate two passengers any more; the one on the aisle side can rest only one buttock. Cars meant to carry three in the back can't take more than two. Train seats and berths are inadequate now. In the low-class three- and four-seat parts of aeroplanes passengers sit in cramped positions. Will cars, autorickshaws, buses and planes have to be redesigned so that they are wider? Will train seats be reconfigured so that three seats are converted into two?

Then there are the toilet commodes which have to be re-engineered to accommodate excess weight. They will have to be wider and made of stronger materials. Else, an unusual malfunction that I read about on the Internet could become a common occurrence in homes, offices and transport machines.

An obese woman passenger had a horrifying and embarrassing experience in an airline toilet. When she pulled the flush, the vacuum system flushed out not only the woman's contribution but also all the air in the commode. The woman was stuck on the commode like the cap of a soda water bottle. She screamed for rescue, but it was impossible. The woman had to stay on the potty until the plane landed and engineers were called. They reversed the flushing system and pumped air into the commode, and the woman bounced off it. This could be a common problem soon and provides lots of opportunity for commode manufacturers, insurance companies and lawyers.

Interior designers and furniture makers will also have to reinvent. Chairs, sofas and tables will have to be stronger to accommodate excess mass. Beds will have to be wider, firmer and less creaky. Else, every home will repeat a scene from the 1991 French film 'Delicatessen' in which a couple is making love on the top floor of a house. Their bed makes a loud, rhythmic creaking sound. The people on the floors below adjust their routine tasks, like beating a carpet, to keep pace with the sound. The tasks speed up towards the climax.

Imagine this rhythmic creaking happening in homes in India's metros. Along with the usual noise pollution, there will be sex-noise pollution to distract everyone, including naughty children. Show-off couples might add sound magnifiers to their beds so that the whole neighbourhood knows. That may create marital discord among less active couples. This would lead to a boom in booster sales, Kamasutra courses, and the psychotherapy business. Moralisers, like the kind who closed down Mumbai's dance bars, will organise protests against noisy sex.

Obesity is not a modern problem. It's been around throughout history. All ancient civilisations have stories about fat people. They got into stories and plays and into histories about the debaucheries of the ruling classes. But fat people were rare then. They did not have an impact on economies.

Today's widespread obesity will have economic fallouts, as in the few speculations I have given above. Widespread obesity will affect every aspect of human activity – from architecture (wider doors and windows, bigger bathrooms, stronger elevators, etc) to Zen (meditation, discourses, spiritual tourism, etc) – and transform manufacturing as well as service industries. To cope with the demand, there will be innovations and inventions that further stimulate needs and wants.

Interesting times are ahead. One linguistic change round the corner is about the expression "fat chance". Today it has the same meaning as "slim chance", or low probability. Soon, "fat chance" will indicate good opportunity, or boom time. Perhaps "boom time" will change to "bum time'. The new obesity-based economics may even be called ‘Golkundi’nomics.

Posted by Atreya at 3:19 AM | Permalink | Comments

Posted by Atreya at 12:37 AM | Permalink | Comments

Zzebrain writes:

WHEN I recently saw a beggar woman masturbating on a busy Mumbai street, I was reminded of swashbuckling Hollywood star Errol Flynn. The woman was obviously mad; there was the light of madness on her face. She lay on her back on the pavement under the shade of a bus stop near the British Council library at Nariman Point. Her hand wriggled under her salwar. The time was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon.

Since I am a professional observer of Mumbai's street life and walk around in search of stories, I stopped to see what the woman was up to. Her face made several kinds of grimaces and then lit up with ecstasy. Her smile showed all her deformed teeth. Then she went to sleep. I moved on.