At Home, Writing

Q Everyone wants to know exactly what he said…

A: They were very serious things, very personal things.

Q About your mother and your sister?

A: Yes. They were very hard words. You hear them once and you try to move away.

But then you hear them twice, and then a third time… I am a man and some words are harder to hear than actions. I would rather have taken a blow to the face than hear that.

Soccer fans will know what the above snippet of conversation refers to. It’s just an effort to dissect an infamous moment of impulsiveness as was demonstrated by the legendary Zinedine Zidane, the former French football captain. The occasion, an important one—the finals of the World Cup—acquired a greater degree of relevance since it was also the last time Zidane was being seen on the professional soccer field. The man, loved by fans and soccer players across the world, must have dreamed of making the finals an enduring swan song, possibly with him lifting the coveted trophy. That was not to be.

A brief provocation, resulting in one of the most aggressive physical outbursts altered the course of the match once and for all. Minutes before the final game would slip into penalty shoot outs, the French maestro delivered a savage headbutt to his Italian opponent, Marco Materazzi. There was no way Zidane could have escaped a red card. As he exited the field, ignominy and a red blot on career accompanying him, French fans knew, the game could have a radically different outcome. Suffices to say, Zidane was aware of the results of his action himself. Yet, apparently, he couldn’t restrain himself. As for Materazzi, who is believed to have pushed the Frenchman to limits by making offensive remarks about his mother and sister, the desired effect—to distract Zidane in a game-altering way—was superbly achieved.

Image source: The Daily Telegraph

I first became familiar with sledging while watching live telecasts cricket matches, the sport that makes India crazy. Cricket is to India what football is to Brazil and perhaps baseball to America. During cricketing season, every Indian corner, from polished living rooms to atmospheric bazaars sports a festive look. One would often find huddles of impassioned cricket lovers, either watching the game on television or listening to radio commentary. And just as the game itself causes waves of emotions to rise and fall, sledging between players results in tempers flaring up.

Image source: http://www.cricketnet.co.za
Cricket, slightly similar to baseball, is a contest between batsmen and bowlers. You would occasionally see a bowler making remarks at the batsman, trying to distract and provoke him. A lot of batsmen tend to retort, some look the other way, and a few really smart ones, whack the ball to the boundary at the next delivery. There’s no microphone attached to the shirts of the players, and what they say isn’t ever audible to the audience or the commentators. Much the same as what happened between Materazzi and Zidane. The only way one would learn about the actual exchange of words was to rely on the players’ version once the game was over.

So what exactly do players say to opponents to crack their psyche? Here’s a random sampling from the world of cricket sledging:

Australian wicket-keeper Rod Marsh, to English batsman Ian Botham: “So how’s your wife and my kids?” The reply “The wife’s fine, the kids are retarded”

Australian pace bowler Glenn McGrath to Zimbabwean Eddo Brandes after Brandes had played and missed at a McGrath delivery: “Oi, Brandes, why are you so f*****g fat?” to which Brandes replied: “Cos every time I f*** your wife she gives me a biscuit!” Apparently even the Australian slips were in hysterics.

In the 1980’s Ian Botham returned early from a tour of Pakistan, and on radio joked “Pakistan is the sort of country to send your mother-in-law to.” Needless to say the Pakistanis did not find this amusing, and when Pakistan defeated England in the 1992 World Cup Final, Aamer Sohail told Ian Botham “Why don’t you send your mother-in-law out to play, she cannot do much worse.”

Perhaps the most famous sledge is reported to have taken place during the epic World Cup Super Six clash between Australia and South Africa. South Africa looked on course to a routine victory with Australian captain Steve Waugh at the crease and on 56. At that stage, Waugh clipped the ball in the air straight to South African fielder Herschelle Gibbs. In his haste, Gibbs dropped the ball when attempting to throw it in the air in celebration as he had not fully controlled it. As he passed him, Waugh is said to have asked Gibbs: “How does it feel to have dropped the World Cup?” Waugh carried on to make an unbeaten 120 and Australia posted an unlikely win and won the World Cup a few days later. Waugh has denied that quote, instead claiming that he said “looks like you’ve dropped the match”.

[Source: Wikipedia]

I find it somewhat unfair that while physical outbursts such as the one Zidane displayed are reason enough to penalize the player, verbal assaults, carried out repeatedly in the course of the play mostly go unheeded. This is not to condone physical attacks by the way. That’s not done, and Zidane himself admitted that, apologizing to any children watching the game. However, is it a fair deal for players to use racial slurs (Zidane has been at the receiving end of such taunts throughout his career because of his Algerian roots) or tasteless personal insults to the point of provoking the opponent to extreme physical reaction? Not in my book. A little banter here and there never harmed anyone, but insults directed at one’s family or place of origin are downright offensive and unforgivable as far as I am concerned.

Isn’t it ironical that while children are taught to cut back on swearing and verbal abuses all the time, adults get away with those same things on the sporting field? Agreed Zidane didn’t set up such a fine example for budding soccer players, but did Materazzi set a better example either?

Why expend so much energy when even a glare followed by a real smart sporting move can do the trick?

For me, the enduring images following the blasts were these, though:

A boy hands water bottles to passengers passing by in vehicles on the day of the blast.

Image source: http://news.yahoo.com/photos

A lady providing water to commuters passing by.

image source: www.timesofindia.com
A young man donates blood at a Mumbai hospital on the day of the blast.

Image source: http://news.yahoo.com/photos

Children walk to school through the wreckage the morning after the blasts

Image source: http://news.yahoo.com/photos

Mumbaikars board local trains and get back to work the morning after the blasts.

Image source: http://news.yahoo.com/photos

11 minutes
8 blasts
200 dead
(and counting)
700 plus injured
One city
Bleeding
Mourning
Bouncing
back.

Mumbai blasts, Mumbai

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This, indeed, is the path to walk on.

So many people have passed by me on this path, some joining my company, others seen from afar; some with a veil over their heads, others without any; some walking to fetch water, others returning with water.

II

The day has retreated and darkness descends.

Once this path had seemed personal, intimately mine; now I see I carried a summon to walk on it just once, no more.

Past the lime trees, the pond, the riverbank, the cowsheds, the paddy mounds, the familiar glances, the known words, the acquainted circles, there won’t be any returning to say “Hey there!”

This is the path to walk on, not one to return from.

This hazy evening, I turned back once and found the path to be an ode to many a forgotten footstep, all entwined in the notes of Bhairavi.

This path has summarized all the stories of all its travelers in a single dirt trail; the one track that traverses between sunrise and sunset, from one golden gate to another.

III

“Dear walking path, don’t keep all the stories you have accumulated through the ages tied quietly into your dust strand. I am pressing my ears against your dust, whisper them to me.”

The path remains silent, pointing its index finger toward the dark curtain of night.

“Dear walking path, where have the worries and desires of all the travelers gone?”

The mute path doesn’t talk. It just lays down signals between sunrise and sunset.

“Dear walking path, the feet that embraced your bosom like a shower of wildflowers, are they nowhere today?”

Does the path know its end—where forgotten flowers and silent songs reach, where starlight illumines a Diwali of resplendent pain.

Translated by: Bhaswati Ghosh

Rabindranath Tagore, Bengali Literature

The chat didn’t just inject fresh ink into my parched scripting veins, but also put my work into perspective as we discussed the larger implications of using slang and colloquialisms—both of which form the raw material for Making Out in America—in writing.

SLANG/COLLOQUIALISMS IN WRITING

So I began the chat by asking the assembly of writers:

What do you think of using slang/colloquialisms in writing fiction?

The answers, which follow, enumerate the significance of using such expressions in works of fiction:

CC: It makes the character’s dialogue credible.

PW: It adds depth to the character.

TE: It can make characters stand out, have different voice.

LJ: Slang can tell a lot about the character–where they live, their age, what they do.

SS: People of higher education and economic levels would use less slang and colloquialism than someone without elevated status or education.

Me: The type of slang would differ between different social and economic groups.

BF: Slang dates the story.

Indeed. As much as beginning writers are advised against the use of slang, colloquialisms, and jargons, we can’t deny their hold in how people speak in their daily lives. And like the last writer quoted in the chat, once recorded in writing, it becomes a testimonial of the spoken culture of a period.

Image source: http://www.writingco.com/

Some literary critics feel the use of such informal speak in written language actually etched out a distinct identity for American literature. Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn (1884) is considered a watershed novel in this regard. It created characters that depicted Americanisms in speech and characteristics. So much so that fifty years after it was published, Ernest Hemingway said, “All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn…All American writing comes from that. There was nothing before.” In time of course, other notable writers including Hemingway, James Joyce, and J. D. Salinger joined Twain in incorporating colloquial expressions in their writing to make it closer to real life and accessible to a wider audience.

SLANG, SUBCULTURES, COMMUNITIES:

In the chat section posted above, I found LJ’s comment important. By definition, slang is innovative lexicon spoken and popularized by groups. It often becomes a ticket to “belong”—whether it be to your region—the American south has its own set of slang as does the north; social set up—rural, urban, slums; profession—military men have their own lingo and so do sportspersons; or age group—teenagers are coining new words all the time and giving new meanings to old words.

Ah, teenagers. As I researched for the book, teen slang made its presence clear time and again, and of course, I couldn’t ignore it for long. The book has a chapter, Student Speak, based on the rapidly-changing adolescent lingo of America. Back to the chat. Since TE happened to be a high school teacher, I asked him:

You work with teenagers everyday. Why do you think they like to talk in slang?

TE: It is “cool”, it is their own language. It is faster.

I couldn’t agree more. As did most of the chatting writers. Another member put it across like this:

It is true that school-going teens pick up the language floating around school corridors more out of habit than as a conscious choice. But, how and why did the “different” manner of speaking come about in the first place? I am in agreement with my writer-teacher friend that it is the adolescent way of stamping distinctiveness and even a mild form of anti-establishment rebellion. I see a lot of young people using swear words in their speech as well as informal writing venues such as blogs. The fact that they use such language without any seeming provocation indicates to me it is more about hormone-changing rebels spewing out angst by flouting language etiquettes rather than an act to show deliberate disrespect. That is what I would like to believe, at least.

Bill, the chat organizer, made a pertinent point, too. To my initial question of what he thought of using slang in writing, he remarked:

BA: Slang could be used as a way of getting around censorship.

This, of course, sparked off a discussion on how songs often use slang as a device to convey hidden meanings. A lot of covert allusions make their way into song lyrics, thereby serving the purpose without sounding overly offensive. A similar use of slang is for the purpose of maintaining secrecy. You may remember the teen acronym coinages I spoke about a few posts back, which tells us how innovative use of language can be a way to get around prying minds.

How do you feel about the use of slang in writing? Have you done it yourself? Care to share examples? I could do a separate post highlighting excerpts you share with me. Of course, only stuff you may want to put out on the Internet.

For now, I will let you mull over the fifteen reasons British lexicographer, Eric Partridge (1894-1997), cited for the use of slang in everyday speak:

1. In sheer high spirits, by the young in heart as well as by the young in years; ‘just for the fun of the thing’; in playfulness or waggishness.

2. As an exercise either in wit and ingenuity or in humour. (The motive behind this is usually self-display or snobbishness, emulation or responsiveness, delight in virtuosity).

3. To be ‘different’, to be novel.

4. To be picturesque (either positively or – as in the wish to avoid insipidity – negatively).

5. To be unmistakably arresting, even startling.

6. To escape from clichés, or to be brief and concise. (Actuated by impatience with existing terms.)

7. To enrich the language. (This deliberateness is rare save among the well-educated, Cockneys forming the most notable exception; it is literary rather than spontaneous.)

8. To lend an air of solidity, concreteness, to the abstract; of earthiness to the idealistic; of immediacy and appositeness to the remote. (In the cultured the effort is usually premeditated, while in the uncultured it is almost always unconscious when it is not rather subconscious.)

9a. To lesson the sting of, or on the other hand to give additional point to, a refusal, a rejection, a recantation;

9b. To reduce, perhaps also to disperse, the solemnity, the pomposity, the excessive seriousness of a conversation (or of a piece of writing);

9c. To soften the tragedy, to lighten or to ‘prettify’ the inevitability of death or madness, or to mask the ugliness or the pity of profound turpitude (e.g. treachery, ingratitude); and/or thus to enable the speaker or his auditor or both to endure, to ‘carry on’.

10. To speak or write down to an inferior, or to amuse a superior public; or merely to be on a colloquial level with either one’s audience or one’s subject matter.

11. For ease of social intercourse. (Not to be confused or merged with the preceding.)

12. To induce either friendliness or intimacy of a deep or a durable kind. (Same remark.)

13. To show that one belongs to a certain school, trade, or profession, artistic or intellectual set, or social class; in brief, to be ‘in the swim’ or to establish contact.

14. Hence, to show or prove that someone is not ‘in the swim’.

15. To be secret – not understood by those around one. (Children, students, lovers, members of political secret societies, and criminals in or out of prison, innocent persons in prison, are the chief exponents.)

(From Slang: Today and Yesterday)

Note: This is the third of a series of posts in which I share the process of writing my debut book, Making Out in America. Read Part I and Part II.

Making Out in America, Slang, Colloquialisms, American English

Image courtesy: Indian Saga

A writer of Anglo-Indian descent, Bond is the quintessential Indian writer in English and a lifelong lover of India. Born in pre-independence India, he has lived through more than seventy autumns. The love of books and writing started early for him, thanks to his father, himself a bibliophile. Young Ruskin or Rusty as he was called, found encouragement from his father to scribble along in a small note book. Bond senior would often take Ruskin on nature trails, and wild flowers, trees, birds and other nature’s wonders became a permanent part of Bond junior’s psyche. These elements would become inseparable from his writing, too.

In 1944, as the Second World War still raged on, Ruskin’s father passed away, succumbing, not to the war, but to malaria. Rusty, along with his siblings and mother, had to move to England. During the four years he was there, a terrible homesickness for India overtook him. Yet, there wasn’t any feasible means of crossing the sea once more. Young Ruskin continued writing, though.

He was seventeen when The Room on the Roof, his first novel came out. The book won the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize. The book’s advance, 50 pounds, helped him buy a ticket to return to India—his home forever.

Upon returning, Bond set up base in the hills in north India. He chose the charming landscape of Dehra Dun to begin his career as a freelance writer. Here was someone, who only wanted to write, refused to be bound by the dreariness of a nine-to-five job, and who dared to eke out a living off freelance writing at a day and age when such a vocation was risky, bordering on eccentricity. Yet, he did it successfully through all these years—long hand and a rickety typewriter aiding him loyally.

Any day now, I shall have to shut up shop and join the ranks of salaried clerks or teachers. Any day now, I shall find that I no longer make a living as a freelance. Any day now…

I’ve had this dread for the past five years, but somehow, just when the going gets really rough and my bank balance touches rock-bottom, something does in fact turn up…and if I can go on writing, not always in the way I want to—because, if cheques are to be received, deadlines and editorial preferences must be met—but pretty much as I want to.

Any day now…

[From My Notebook, Ruskin Bond]

The books continued getting published, too. Vagrants in the Valley picked up from where The Room on the Roof trailed off. A series of short stories came along too, most of them marked by a stunning simplicity of language and an innate intimacy with nature.

People often ask me why my style is so simple. It is, in fact, deceptively simple, for no two sentences are really alike. It is clarity that I am striving to attain, not simplicity…Of course some people want literature to be difficult. And there are writers who like to make their readers toil and sweat. They hope to be taken more seriously that way. I have always tried to achieve a prose that is easy and conversational. And those who think this is simple should try it for themselves.

[Introduction: The Best of Ruskin Bond]

His novella, A Flight of Pigeons, set against the backdrop of the 1857 Sepoy Mutiny, the first Indian rebellion against the British Empire portrays human emotions and passions with a sensitive touch. Adapted for the silver screen as Junoon by acclaimed director Shyam Benegal, the book recounts the story of a young British woman whose father, a clerk working for the British authority in India, is killed in the Sepoy Mutiny.

About half a dozen novels and novellas, hundreds of short stories and essays, and more than thirty children’s books later, Bond’s pen is far from retirement. Settled in the quiet charm of Landour, a hill station in the lap of Himalayas, he doesn’t have any dearth of story material. A lifelong bachelor, Ruskin Bond doesn’t live alone. He is surrounded by the mirth of his adopted family (he adopted a boy from the hills and has since graduated to become a proud foster grandfather). Indeed, he is more Indian than many of “pure” Indian descent can claim to be.

It must be the land itself that holds me. But so many of my fellow Indians have been born (and reborn) here, and yet they think nothing of leaving the land. They will leave the mountains for the plains; the villages for the cities; their country for another country…

But it’s more than the land that holds me. For India is more than a land. India is an atmosphere. Over thousands of years, the races and religions of the world have mingled here and produced that unique, indefinable phenomenon, the Indian; so terrifying in a crowd, so beautiful in himself…

Race did not make me an Indian. Religion did not make me an Indian. But history did. And in the long run, it’s history that counts.

[At Home In India, Ruskin Bond]

Ruskin Bond touches a cord in me the same way as Wordsworth and Tagore do. For, his heartwarming relationship with nature and the spectacular simplicity of his words never fail to remind me of the magnificent beauty a glistening dew drop or the song of a skylark hold.

And the natural thing for me to do now would be to lead you all to Matt, the next link in the AW chain. Follow the trail…

Loving Twilight
Forbidden Snowflake
At Home, Writing
Fireflies in the Cloud
The Road Less Traveled
Mad Scientist Matt’s Lair
Jennifer Sando
Youth – Our Most Valuable Natural Resource
Peregrinas
Organized Chaos
Flying Shoes
Kappa no He
Untainted Enrapturement
The Secret Government Eggo Project

awchain, Ruskin Bond, Indian Writing in English