THE LETTER

Mrs. Bose can’t remember who this Nandini is. The letter opens with a few ordinary comments and queries ... goes on to talk about a gossip on Nita…how she puts on the extra eyeliner, her hairstyle, her doling on Biren… makes a few philosophical comments about girls of her ‘type’…then a whole paragraph describing her new saree in minutest detail, promising to show it to her as soon as the vacation ends… writes about the latest movie she has seen … ends saying how she hates the vacation, that she misses the college all the friends etc.

Mrs. Bose found the letter in an old songbook where she used to write down the classical songs. She remembers her song teacher distinctly. The tall bearded man always made it a point to close his eyes during songs, whether he himself was singing it or not. Mrs Bose herself was quite a good singer. In fact it is her voice that impressed her mother-in-law, a very strict woman, always had a stern expression in her face.

Mrs. Bose had not seen the songbook in many years. This fell into her hand when she was trying to tidy up the room. She was determined to do it today. She takes a look around. There are cloths all over the place. All of them seem to be unwashed. Newspapers, new and old are lying on the floor and on the writing desk, besides the bottles of medicines in all shapes and sizes. Some of the books in the bookshelf are lying upside down and some others, just piled on one side along with the old magazines. It is on this rack that she found the songbook.

Mrs. Bose looks at the clock. It is almost six. Mr. Bose will soon return from his evening walk. She placed the kettle on the stove and reached out for the teacups. Her knees are making it increasingly difficult to perform these tasks. She decided to rearrange the kitchen too. The tea utensils should be kept at an upper shelf where she would not have to bend down to get them. The other utensils may go to the lower shelf as they are used only by Urmila, the cook maid.

She stopped for a while and sighed. This flat is much bigger than her two-room flat where she lived for more than twenty years. She didn’t even have any maid to help her. But no one could find a trace of dirt there. Even when Ani was a child. Even his toys would have to be kept in the right places when not in use. And Ani was an exceptional child too. She does not remember him arguing with her about anything — candies, extra playtime, not going to school — things that were common with her neighbours’ children. He only used to follow her around clutching her saree and looking at her with his big eyes. She never had to give him an instruction twice.

And she was a perfectionist whether it was household chores or Ani’s studies. She personally took care to check each and every lesson as long as she could. She used to cut herself out even from the family gathering if there was an examination around, much to the disgust of her relatives. She was also a great cook and loved cooking for Ani and his father. And now she does not even feel like going to the kitchen.

Mrs Bose dragged herself to the kitchen to turn the stove off. It seems like Mr. Bose will be late today. Sometime he sits in the park bench to have a chat with his friends. He has made quite a few friends here. Mrs Bose does not even know her neighbours. They seem so different from her earlier neighbours. She never thought she like her earlier neighbours. In fact she was famous for picking up fights and lecturing them. They were jealous of her because of Ani. But she knew them, understood them. She thought she would be happy to leave them. But now she misses them.

Mrs Bose suddenly remembers that she had this habit of keeping old letters. She remembers packing them before moving into this flat two years back. But she can’t remember unpacking them. They must be still lying in the old trunk. She opens the lid with some difficulty. Seems like it has grown heavier. The letters are there, lying in a polythene pack along with some brass utensils she used to utilise for pujas. She pushes off some of the newspapers from the sofa and empties the pack there. Most of the letters are from Chandra, her best friend at college. There are a few letters from her school friends too, mostly concerning about studies. Some of the most cherished letters are from her mother advising her on the duties of a good wife and mother, along with household and cooking tips. She still remembers most of them by heart. She used to read them over and again when she received them. She tries to arrange the letters chronologically though many of them do not have a date on them. The most ancient letter seems to be the one from her grandfather from Ranchi. The letter was mingled with a lot of small drawings, that of her cat ‘barababu’, the new frock he bought for her for the puja, the new spectacles of grandmother.

This Nandini seems to be a friend from the college. She found another letter from her in the pack. She remembers Nita, she was in the same college as well as the same neighbourhood. She remembers Biren too, though she never saw him. He only existed in the college gossip. She remembers Rupa, Basanti, Chitra, the gossips, the college canteen, the building, most of the classrooms, the functions, the songs, the laughter, the tears but not Nandini. It is clear from the letter that they were close friends. Why can’t she remember her? A tear rolls down Mrs Bose’s chick, this is happening very often these days. She often feels like crying for no apparent reasons. These tears baffle her. She tires to think of her college days. Where did these moments go? She doesn’t have any contact with any of the friends. She wonders what Chandra looks like now. Suddenly a fear creeps into her mind. She prays to God for her well being. At one time it seemed like her friendship with Chandra would be everlasting. But she lost contact with her almost as soon as she got married.

She started sobbing. Ani never wrote her any letter. But, he calls her twice a week. There has not been any exception to that in all these years. He called yesterday only. They had a long conversation. He enquired about her health, whether she was taking the medicines regularly. They talked about the weather in Calcutta and Connecticut. Her heart swelled with pride to know that his article on some complicated economic issues was adjudged the best by most college professors. Ani never let her down. He was always the best in whatever he did. His voice on the phone makes her fill with joy, takes her out of the dirty room and all her ailments. But these conversations cannot be placed in a polythene pack to look at later on. As soon as she puts the phone down they are gone. And she has to wait for the next phone call. But then, she thought, it gives her something to look forward to. The only thing really. She tried to read some more letters. But her eyes were getting misty. She still can’t remember Nandini.

CRYSTAL IN CALCUTTA

If scholarship were essentially associated with serious boring theories and incomprehensible terminologies puckered brows, then David Crystal could not qualify as a scholar. For he is refreshingly different from everything dull and lacklustre that is usually linked with knowledge. In his one and half hour talk at the banquette hall at Park, on “the future of Englishes” he actually entertained his audience with his unmatched sense of humour along with his erudition. He explained the concept of “Englishes” as opposed to “English” with a story of what happened at a similar conference where the title was mistakenly written as “the future of English”. When he approached the hotel manager saying that the ending is missing, the manager hit his panic button running all over and even announcing in the mic “we have lost David Crystal’s ending!!!”… the tale ends happily, however, when they did find his ending “in a waste paper box”. In a similar fashion he explained the importance of understanding a culture for proper understanding of a language. “ How many of you would understand the allusion when I say: — BCL reaches the part where no other institution reaches?” very few did. The allusion was that of a catchy beer advertisement “Heineken beer refreshes the part where no other beer reaches” he narrates the popularity of the advertisement and the subsequent puns used of the same such as “Heineken beer reaches the pirate (as in the context of Longfellow who gets two wooden legs instead of a fractured one, two crutches instead of a broken one and a vulture instead of a dying parrot after drinking the beer), … reaches the pilot (who flies his plane to safety after doing the same),…. the parrot, …. the poet etc”With an adequate amount of statistics he showed that taking account of the various degree of fluency of English speakers around the world, for every one native speaker on English, there is three non native speakers and the number of English speakers residing in India is larger than the English native speakers in UK and USA combined. Which is quite an extraordinary situation. However, in the past, around 1600 or so the situation was quite different. The use of English was restricted and even in UK in places like Welsh and Ireland English was not used. And people learned French and Latin to secure better jobs. But then the scenario changed. The laymen came up with“because it is the most beautiful language in the world!” “the most logical one!” “ it has no grammar!” and other similarly silly reasoning. In Crystal’s words “if I were the god of language looking down upon the world trying to choose a world language English would not be it”But English spread for four reasonsi) political powerii) power of knowledge (85% of scientific publishing is made in Englishiii) economic power (money talks and it speaks English in today’s world)iv) cultural power (in the broadest sense of the term, radio, tv, big film industries)Countries like Nigeria tried to get out of their colonial past and so away English but could not choose one of the 450 languages available to them without resorting to communal violence. So they thought “better the devil you know” after all “everybody will hate it equally”. On the positive side with the adoption came the adaptation. There is now one Nigerian English. English being the vacuum cleaner of a language sucked in words and accents from languages that adopted it. Come to think of it, vocabulary-wise it is less a Germanic language more a Romance one. The French complaining about the intrusion of English words in their language should not do so since they came to English from French in the first place. Therefore the englishes are going from strength to strength with more and more literature being written in many of them. The “correct” usage has become contextualised. Crystal points our that even the concept of “correct” spelling was not so important and issue till 18th century when newspaper and other publications came in highlights. In present day, 2% of speakers of English speak the standard and they “learn” it. Crystal leant ‘Liverpool’ English when he was 10 because his parents moved to Liverpool and the older boys, who did not like his Welsh accent, threatend him with dire consequences if he did not, and then “learned” standard English to get a job. But, he says, he still has these three distinct englishes in his head. While the force of intelligibility maintained the standard languageThe force of identity induces the formation of non-standard onesNow the entire world is at least bi or tri dialectal and people in countries like India are multilingual. And human beings can handle multilingual situations with ease. “ we love languages”, Crystal proposes a modification on Chomsky’s LAD (language acquisition device). He says we are born with MAD (multilingual acquisition device) “babies are born with language scanners”. Proper monolinguals are poor minorities in the present day world. And in the multilingual world English is not going to maintain its singular identity, neither is it desirable. Days of native speaker prominence is a thing of the pastIn his first visit to India, something he is planning for the “last 63 years”, Crystal mesmerised the audience with his delightful combination of wit and wisdom

ART AND AND CRAFTS OF TELENGANA

ART AND CRAFTS OF TELENGANA

The district of Warangal, Andhra Pradesh, is strikingfor two different artistic viewpoints. This placeused to be the kingdom of famous Kakatya Dynasty, thegrandeur and power of which is reflected in the relicsof its magnificent fort, in the ruins of its majesticpalace, in the temples built during that period. Allbuilt in black stones with intricate designs. The palace, or rather its ruins, is particularly notablefor its strange, shattered flamboyance. Miles of area protected by ASI is scattered withunbelievable pieces stone carving. There is oneenormous palace hall with a huge throne facing an evenbigger dancing stage. All carved with amazing finesse.The same hall also accommodates a giant statue ofNandi, opposing a shivling. All the remains of walls,broken pillars, pieces of carved stones lying on thefloor all reflecting the past grandiose. Thestructure looks even stranger as it stands without aceiling. The two temples built during that period is, however,still functional. The surya-visnu-maheswar temple isnow basically a shiva temple with devotees dailyoffering their prayers. The other two idols aremissing; an angry looking lady sells prasadam in whatlooked like visnu temple. The other temple, thebhadrakali temple, was a pain to watch, not because itwas destroyed (it wasn’t), but because it isrenovated, and brightly coloured in white, pink andbright green removing all traces of antiquities. Theruins of palace looked much more awe-inspiring,proving that sometimes intention to preserve can domore damage than invaders. Far from the magnificence of the kakatya kingdom, inthe same district of Warangal, there existed an art ofnarrating stories with the help of dolls and scrollpaintings. Nobody determined the exact antiquity ofthis practice because it escaped the hullabaloos ofpower and grew in the quite of a village called ofCherial. They painted khadis in bright colours withlegends from puranas as well as local tales, from bothhindu and mulim legends. The ‘nakasi’ in older dayscould run into several feets depicting long episodes.Similar tradition is also available among the patuasof Bengal. It is also possible that the idea travelledfrom one place to another. The balladers of differentcommunities, like the Dakkilis, Madigas, Mallas,Padmashalis used them to narrate stories. TheMandahechulus, a sect of wandering performers useddolls for the same purpose. And like the nakasis,these dolls also reflect the simple excellence ofCherial artists. These light dolls were made on astructure of light ‘Poniki’ wood (the masks aresometimes made on coconut shells), plastered withtamarind and sawdust paste. These are then bandagedwith strips of cloths and smothered with lime and calkpowder paste. Lastly the dolls are coloured andvarnished.Apparently, in an age where even entertainment isstandardised and homogenised, such rustic form ofcraft gradually died down. But it revived, thanks tothe effort of a man named Ventakaramaiah. He continuedto keep this beautiful tradition of nakasis an Cherialdolls alive. Till now he and his family has no othermeans of livelihood than creating these art pieces.His educated grandsons now bear the responsibilitiesof marketing along with making them. To day Cherialdoll, masks and scroll paintings are becoming more andmore popular getting prestigious assignments andorders.There is a story regarding the fall of Kakatya dynastyand rise of Vijanagar Kingdom. It goes like this…after the fall of Warangal fort in the hands ofAllauddin Khilji, the associates of the slain kingPratapaditya ran into a forest for refuge. There theysaw a tiger chasing a rabbit. After reaching a certainplace the rabbit turned back and attacked the tiger.Confused and shocked, the tiger fled the place. Theassociates of the king, among whom were Harihara,decided to build the new kingdom there.Cherial craft like that small rabbit resisted theravages of time, while the palace lies in ruins.