Though I am a firm believer in Clint Eastwood school of thought “A man has got to know his limitations”, and yet sometimes I tend to get carried away and get into situations which are somewhat beyond my capabilities and quite contrary to my idea of fun….my (hypothetical) idea of fun is lying on the couch with a Wodehouse, while another member of household brings peeled, cut and washed fruit to within my arm’s reach.
How do I get into these situations? Well, the word “misleading” comes to my mind. Some misleading here was of my own making. I was lying on the couch watching a documentary movie, in which bunch of amateurs went up Mount Everest, including one seventy one year old Japanese Takao Arayama. I know fully well that I would be glad if I am able to find the bathroom, when I am seventy and yet something clicked. If saner thoughts had prevailed, my core engineering cerebrum could have convinced my-self that these amateurs are at the end of the statistical distribution and not the norm……statistically normal population hangs out at KFC and is featured in other documentary movies with apt names such as “Supersize Me” and “Food Inc.”. Unfortunately, at that moment, by the power vested in me by two “Peg Patiala” of Hercules XXX military issue Rum, I mislead myself into believing that I am still young and strong enough to learn how to climb on snow and actually attempt a small mountain. A timely “Google” search convinced me further that some of the glaciated mountains in Northern Cascades, in particular Mount Baker (10778 ft. of elevation), would be ideal for my “fit-ness” level.
Next day some sanity returned but then I walked into the second stage of misleading i.e. friends who have been there. In my case, exact words from Nick were “You have been hiking in the Rockies. Snow climbing is nothing but lazy man’s hiking. Take a step, rest, take a step, rest”. I must admit that while climbing Mount Baker, I did entertain thoughts of subjecting Nick to a fair measure of water boarding and other non-torture techniques from the Pentagon manual. Now that adventure is successfully over, I still put a jewish curse on him, “May all your teeth fall down except one. And the one remaining may develop a severe tooth ache”.
Among such vacillations, damage was done and I signed up with Alpine Ascents for a three day Mount Baker climb. Nothing else pushes a man forward on an adventure trail but the thoughts of a non-refundable deposit. I actually trained for this climb.
On 28th of july, I finally met rest of the team in Seattle. Ten climbers and three guides. Seven climbers had quite a bit of experience, one with some experience and two novices, henceforth, known as the “Slow Team”. The other novice was a graduate student from New Jersey. Six of the climbers came through a very commendable cause of Fred Hutchinson cancer research organization, which sponsors one’s climb when you raise a certain amount of money for the charity. We were told that weather forecast is great for next three days and no problems are expected. On 29th morning we met at the Schreiber’s meadow trailhead and the climb was on with ~50 pounds of backpack. The trailhead is at ~3300 ft of elevation. Part of the trail passes through dense forest, small brooks & bridges and as soon as you bust out of the tree line, front part of Mount Baker comes into view in distance. Mount Baker gets over 50 ft. of snow a year and due to its northern location, it remains under snow cover throughout the year. Snow cover started at some 5000 ft. and it took the “Slow Team” about six hours to climb to 6400 ft. level where we set our high camp. Snow was leveled and tents were pitched.
The views from high camp were expansive and timeless. Here we were, sitting on the snow with wind and cold and yet Pacific Ocean is visible in the distance. Sunlight lingers on till almost 10:00 PM and setting sun gives a reddish hue to beautify the surroundings. It is one incredibly amazing place to sit down with a book from the back section of your book-shelf…..Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. On one side we had the Easton glacier and on the other the Deming glacier. At dinner time, Macaroni and Cheese was served. It is common to loose your appetite as you go up but spiked with Tabasco, it tasted great. In the night time as you are trying to sleep, large slabs of ice in the Easton glacier come loose and fall down with great noise, giving you an impression as if a thunder is going on outside the tent.
Next day I woke up early to watch the sunrise over Deming glacier and perform “the task”, which has always posed great challenge for anyone, who has ever been on a camping trip i.e. ABLUTION Number 2. At 6400 ft. you are under "pressure". One side you have good folks of US National Park services who want you to keep it clean and on other, you have Alpine Ascents who insist on principle of “No Trace Left Behind”. You are about to expose your sensitive body parts to the mercy of Nature at high altitude only to find that privacy is not available, even at a premium. Together, these circumstances give rise to a whole new form of performance anxiety. It is a good thing that I grew up in a village in Punjab. Allow me to expose you to the invention called Wag bag. Ladies and Gentlemen, your tax dollars have not gone waste. Finest brains at NASA have developed a Wag Bag which offers human sanitation under extreme circumstances. You GO in a bag, tie the knot, knead it a little to mix with the chemical formulation inside, put it in the second zip-lock bag and voila….a true Port-a-potty. The problem however is that at 6400 ft., human refuse is a Dessert to Ravens, who will follow even a slight "aroma". One solution to this problem is to dig a small trench in the snow and bury the bag. But that gives rise to more issues…1) What if “pressure” returns and you forget where you buried it? Make sure you mark the location with a ski pole. 2)What if you can’t find the shovel?, keep one small shovel handy in the tent 3) What if there is fresh three feet snowfall while you were sleeping? Ha, Ha, Ha…..you are on your own now, unless you carry a spare Wag Bag or you can convince someone to borrow theirs....and remember No Trace Left Behind !!!
Now, I know many of you are going to say a very loud EEEEUUUUUU even in the privacy of your own homes, when I tell you that best location to store a used Wag Bag is the under the tent base. Once properly knead-in and secured in the zip-lock, a strategically placed Wag Bag actually solves the problem of not having a comfortable camping Pillow !!!!!
Second day was also the snow school day. Until this snow school, the word “Cramp-on” meant nothing more than a periodic feminine disorder to me. And ice-axe was something which a man must strive to keep out of eye sight during “Cramp-on” time. On snow climbs however, they are miraculous life savers. Learn how to go up in snow, how to come down in snow and most importantly, how to self-arrest with ice-axe when you (or others on your roped team) fall down and start sliding down the slippery slope. We were told to erase all images of Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger as he couldn’t have been more wrong and far from reality....hmmm, who knew. We were on the mountain when we heard the sad news of the team which fell into a crevasse on nearby Mount Rainier resulting in one death. It pays to pay attention to the Guide's words.
Guides decided that team looks fit enough so instead of climbing on third day, how about starting the climb at 2:00 PM in the afternoon….idea sounded good at that time. That way you can rest on third day and get down to trailhead with easy pace. The “Slow Team” of three (and our guide Matthew) was given a head-start of forty five minutes and we were on our way. The higher we got, more exhausting it became. Half way through the climb, we came across the crater of Mount Baker volcano. Mount Baker is an active volcano and smell of sulfur is pervasive (remeber those experiments with H2S in the Chem Lab)…..needless to say, an all men crew couldn’t resist cracking some “Gas Jokes”. Near the final plateau, the incline became quite severe and my lungs opened clandestine negotiations with my knees about the possibility of staging a coup d’etat. We wanted to rest but our guide kept on shouting,”Not a good place to rest. You want to rest, Rest on the top of the hill”. And miraculously, we all made to the top. After snapping a few pictures, the cold started setting in. It was already over 7:00 PM and we began the equally difficult and slow task of descending. A few hours, Sun set and darkness made us bring out our head lamps. Slow descent became slower. At one point we realized that we had taken a wrong path as there was a crevasse in front of us. We had to turn and climb up again to find the right tracks. I think those were the longest twenty minutes of my life. It was almost midnight when “Slow Team” got back to the camp, to a thundering applause from two other teams, who were waiting for us. Appetite-less, exhausted and cold, we somehow shoved the food down and hit the sleeping bag. Next morning, we all woke up late, had a granola breakfast and began uprooting and re-packing our back packs. At about 1:00 PM, we were all back at the trailhead, wiped ourselves down, and as a first point of action, we drove to the nearest town of Concrete and hit a bar called Annie’s for Pizza and Beer.
A wise man once said that an Adventure is an adventure only in retrospect. When actually in progress, an adventure could be unpleasant and generally very trying experience. Perhaps it is time I should think about sticking to just Golf and Crosswords.....trying but pleasant (especially after the arrival of Beer cart/girl).
Enjoy the Pictorial Perusal of Mount Baker Climb.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Travelogue : A Lost city, Español & some wisdom
Damas y Caballeros (Ladies and Gentlemen)
Summer travel season is upon us and first step in a successful trip is to pick a right place. As some of you are aware that there are places in this world, where they entice you through your children by parading unemployed Arts and Humanities majors dressed up in “Mouse” and “Duck” costumes with cute english names such as Mickey, Minnie and Donald. Beware, as these corporate folks are out there to relieve you off your children's college fund. Thankfully, there are also places in this world which can touch your soul and offer an adventure. Deep in the Peruvian forests at an altitude of 8000 ft. is such a place: The lost Inca city of Machu Picchu.
The most difficult step in going on such an adventure travel: Obtaining permission for it. Yes, Department of homeland, Ministry of vague and arbitrary authority is extremely fickle about granting such permissions. National debt might register an unhealthy increase and two presidential administrations might pass into history before your request comes up for consideration. If it is any consolation, remember that we are mere humans and the even the denizens of heavenly abodes are not immune to her vagaries. Consider Lord Shiva for example. We know that Lord Shiva was merrily hiking on the trails of Kailash Parbat, laughing at Nandi’s bull jokes, consuming a steady diet of Shiva’s Regal, breaking into Tandava at a whim, supporting then economically vital Trident manufacturing industry and BANG…..Parvati came along and changed his calendar. Nandi has been relocated to a location off the main premises ever since. As much as I would like to believe religious literature and its soap-operatic interpretation by a popular TV serial, I have a sneaking suspicion that when Lord Ram and brother Laxman were packing their allowed gear for a compulsory and unusually long Camping Trip, Sita walked into the room, stood by the door, hands on hips and delivered a monologue with timeless opening credits “It seems to me that you are least bothered by the fact that………….”.
The beauty and mystique of lost city of Machu Picchu is beyond words. Who were these mysterious and accomplished people ? How did they manage to build such a city at such an unlikely location ? How did they develop a technology so advanced for their time ? How did they device such an ingenious water system ? An agricultural system which became the pre-cursor to present day crop modification ? And their seemingly sudden disappearance with no written records ? There are so many questions and so few answers. One thing for sure is that these ancient cultures knew how to live in-sync with nature.
Though one can take a train to the nearest city of Agua Calientes (Hot Water) and then take a bus to Machu Picchu but that is not the Inca way. Total immersion calls for taking the Inca trail (a longer 4 days with overnight camping or a shorter 2 days without). Advantage of being on the trail is that besides spiritual cleansing of your soul, you are bound to get a pressure cleansing of all the McDonald’s and KFC grease accumulated in your pores. If nothing else, I recommend that instead of going by Bus, take a short two hour trail from Agua Calientes right upto the entrance of Machu Picchu. It passes through lush green, dense forests and early in the morning, misty clouds will be rising through the mountains gleaning the sweat off the tip of your nose.
Machu Picchu are Quechua words, which mean "Old Mountain". Care must be taken however to pronounce the second word as "PiK-chu" and not "Picchu" as we all do, especially Los Gringos. I would disclose the altered meaning with incorrect pronounciation only if it weren't for the fact that this Blog is intended to be read aloud to young children, distinguished guests and lady companions on friday evenings.
If you have a few hours to kill in Lima, I suggest a visit to Museo de Oro (Museum of Gold). Gold, which turned to be the curse for aboriginal south american cultures. Gold section of museum is wonderful and located in the basement. Real surprise however was the upper section of the building, which, unbeknownst to me was called Museo de Armas (Museum of weapons). Apparently, Gold and weapons go hand in hand, in museums or elsewhere. Collection of weapons and battle paraphernalia is large and exquisite. Some pieces hold the charm for the hands which once held those weapons (Napoleon, Robert E. Lee, Nizam of Hyderabad and Fidel Castro) and some simply for their age and worksmanship. A set of 16th century chinese daggers came with a short dynastic poem.
Al oir el canto del Gallo,
Se empieza la practica,
De la danza de la Espada.
(Upon hearing the song of the rooster, start the practice of the dance of the sword)
It seems to me that I have been underestimating my Español ability. Unlike the French nationals, who begged me to cease, switch to Deutsche, and never attempt vocalizing French again without prior written warnings, Los Peruanos showed no such reaction to my español. Of course I am using the word "ability" in a fairly loose sense, as the cause and effect correlation here can also be explained on the basis of national tolerance levels. Spanish, a musical languange with notes, tones, volume and gestures. One look at Gabriela Sabatini or Shakira and the dire need for a romance language becomes crystal clear. With evolution, languages struggle to add new words and to balance expression and subtlety. Allow me to illustrate by presenting you the "original meeting minutes" of Spanish Linguists, men who were charged with graceful evolution of español. Meeting took place to induct new spanish word for what became the modern day Handcuffs. (English translation is provided by yours truly)
¿qué es esta cosa con anillos de metal.
[What is this thing with rings of Metal ?]
No se. Algo nuevo cosa.
[I don't know. Some new thing.]
¿cuáles son sus usos.
[What are its uses ?]
No se completamente, pero me han dicho que es una cosa para dominar los hombres.
[I don't know completely but I have been told that this thing is to subdue men.]
No me digas (Miradas de sorpresa !!).
[Don't tell me (looking surprised!!)]
Si Señor, especialmente los hombres indisciplinados y revoltosos.
[Yes sir, especially unruly and naughty men.]
Intresante. Muy intresante (Miradas de sorpresa y interés !!)
[Interesting. Very interesting (Looking suprised and interested!!)]
Summer travel season is upon us and first step in a successful trip is to pick a right place. As some of you are aware that there are places in this world, where they entice you through your children by parading unemployed Arts and Humanities majors dressed up in “Mouse” and “Duck” costumes with cute english names such as Mickey, Minnie and Donald. Beware, as these corporate folks are out there to relieve you off your children's college fund. Thankfully, there are also places in this world which can touch your soul and offer an adventure. Deep in the Peruvian forests at an altitude of 8000 ft. is such a place: The lost Inca city of Machu Picchu.
The most difficult step in going on such an adventure travel: Obtaining permission for it. Yes, Department of homeland, Ministry of vague and arbitrary authority is extremely fickle about granting such permissions. National debt might register an unhealthy increase and two presidential administrations might pass into history before your request comes up for consideration. If it is any consolation, remember that we are mere humans and the even the denizens of heavenly abodes are not immune to her vagaries. Consider Lord Shiva for example. We know that Lord Shiva was merrily hiking on the trails of Kailash Parbat, laughing at Nandi’s bull jokes, consuming a steady diet of Shiva’s Regal, breaking into Tandava at a whim, supporting then economically vital Trident manufacturing industry and BANG…..Parvati came along and changed his calendar. Nandi has been relocated to a location off the main premises ever since. As much as I would like to believe religious literature and its soap-operatic interpretation by a popular TV serial, I have a sneaking suspicion that when Lord Ram and brother Laxman were packing their allowed gear for a compulsory and unusually long Camping Trip, Sita walked into the room, stood by the door, hands on hips and delivered a monologue with timeless opening credits “It seems to me that you are least bothered by the fact that………….”.
The beauty and mystique of lost city of Machu Picchu is beyond words. Who were these mysterious and accomplished people ? How did they manage to build such a city at such an unlikely location ? How did they develop a technology so advanced for their time ? How did they device such an ingenious water system ? An agricultural system which became the pre-cursor to present day crop modification ? And their seemingly sudden disappearance with no written records ? There are so many questions and so few answers. One thing for sure is that these ancient cultures knew how to live in-sync with nature.
Though one can take a train to the nearest city of Agua Calientes (Hot Water) and then take a bus to Machu Picchu but that is not the Inca way. Total immersion calls for taking the Inca trail (a longer 4 days with overnight camping or a shorter 2 days without). Advantage of being on the trail is that besides spiritual cleansing of your soul, you are bound to get a pressure cleansing of all the McDonald’s and KFC grease accumulated in your pores. If nothing else, I recommend that instead of going by Bus, take a short two hour trail from Agua Calientes right upto the entrance of Machu Picchu. It passes through lush green, dense forests and early in the morning, misty clouds will be rising through the mountains gleaning the sweat off the tip of your nose.
Machu Picchu are Quechua words, which mean "Old Mountain". Care must be taken however to pronounce the second word as "PiK-chu" and not "Picchu" as we all do, especially Los Gringos. I would disclose the altered meaning with incorrect pronounciation only if it weren't for the fact that this Blog is intended to be read aloud to young children, distinguished guests and lady companions on friday evenings.
If you have a few hours to kill in Lima, I suggest a visit to Museo de Oro (Museum of Gold). Gold, which turned to be the curse for aboriginal south american cultures. Gold section of museum is wonderful and located in the basement. Real surprise however was the upper section of the building, which, unbeknownst to me was called Museo de Armas (Museum of weapons). Apparently, Gold and weapons go hand in hand, in museums or elsewhere. Collection of weapons and battle paraphernalia is large and exquisite. Some pieces hold the charm for the hands which once held those weapons (Napoleon, Robert E. Lee, Nizam of Hyderabad and Fidel Castro) and some simply for their age and worksmanship. A set of 16th century chinese daggers came with a short dynastic poem.
Al oir el canto del Gallo,
Se empieza la practica,
De la danza de la Espada.
(Upon hearing the song of the rooster, start the practice of the dance of the sword)
It seems to me that I have been underestimating my Español ability. Unlike the French nationals, who begged me to cease, switch to Deutsche, and never attempt vocalizing French again without prior written warnings, Los Peruanos showed no such reaction to my español. Of course I am using the word "ability" in a fairly loose sense, as the cause and effect correlation here can also be explained on the basis of national tolerance levels. Spanish, a musical languange with notes, tones, volume and gestures. One look at Gabriela Sabatini or Shakira and the dire need for a romance language becomes crystal clear. With evolution, languages struggle to add new words and to balance expression and subtlety. Allow me to illustrate by presenting you the "original meeting minutes" of Spanish Linguists, men who were charged with graceful evolution of español. Meeting took place to induct new spanish word for what became the modern day Handcuffs. (English translation is provided by yours truly)
¿qué es esta cosa con anillos de metal.
[What is this thing with rings of Metal ?]
No se. Algo nuevo cosa.
[I don't know. Some new thing.]
¿cuáles son sus usos.
[What are its uses ?]
No se completamente, pero me han dicho que es una cosa para dominar los hombres.
[I don't know completely but I have been told that this thing is to subdue men.]
No me digas (Miradas de sorpresa !!).
[Don't tell me (looking surprised!!)]
Si Señor, especialmente los hombres indisciplinados y revoltosos.
[Yes sir, especially unruly and naughty men.]
Intresante. Muy intresante (Miradas de sorpresa y interés !!)
[Interesting. Very interesting (Looking suprised and interested!!)]
No necesitamos palabra nuevo para esto. Ya tenemos una palabra para tal cosa (habla linguista viejo y sabio).[We don't need a word for that. We already have a word for such a thing (wise old linguist speaks)]
¿Tenemos. (muchas voces simultáneamente). [ We have? (multiple voices simultaneously)].
Si. Yo la llamo Esposa. [Yes. I call her Wife]
Hmmmm....Que bueno (muchas voces otra vez). [Hmmmm....that's good (multiple voices again).]
Vamos a decidir entonces. Esposa es la palabra. [Let's decide then. 'Esposa' is the word.]
And right there, a bold decision of profound subtlety was made, and left for posterity to awe and ponder. Esposa - Wife or Handcuffs - Same thing.
In Peru, a wise old Quechua man told me that Human War is always on. And most important war a human fights is when one is alone….a war with one's own self. The outcome however doesn't manifest until the last moments of one’s life. I presume that in the meantime, it is good to take time to do a fifteen mile hike in, around and sometimes atop the Peruvian mountains and forests. It is definitely a good location for shooting a war scene. Chirping birds, rain and gushing sound of Rio Urubamba (Urubamba river) far below provides a free background music for the scene. If not you, Peruvian economy is sure to come out a winner.
And last but not least, I always recommend carrying your own toilet paper. Perhaps I am just unlucky that one I bought was made from military surplus material. I am just guessing here but apparently military discontinued manufacturing Sabres and material was released for civilian use !!!!!
Click here for a Pictorial Perusal.
Hasta Luego y Buen Viajes (See you later and Happy Travels)
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Going up in 40s
Forties kind of sneak up on you though there are usually some subtle signs marking the arrival of fourth decade.
First is the change in avuncular statistics. Forties have arrived if there is a noticeable uptrend in the number of people who begin to address you as Uncle, especially on days when you forget to use the Grecian formula. Uncle, a general purpose term used to describe an evolutionary stage occurring some time after monkeying-around peaks. In this stage, one is declared most untrustworthy by a group comprising of one’s spouse, her friends and one’s in-laws.
Second is the shift in one’s artistic taste. One’s appreciation for all things poetic, which until now was somewhat veiled, begins to express itself with a complete re-ordering of CD rack. Kishore and Lata are pushed to the passé section while Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Ghulam Ali and Begum Akhtar come to the forefront. Nothing wrong with Kishore and Lata but they don’t seem to go very well with one’s newly discovered appreciation for good wines. One can't help but reach for one more when a soulful sound arrives :
Is Sheher-e Be-Charag mein Jaayegi tu kahan
Aa-e Shab-e-Firaq Tujhe ghar hi le chalen
(Where would you go, In this city without Light
Perhaps I should take you home, O beautiful Night)
And last subtle sign is a noticeable shift in one’s proportionality of reasoning. One claims that he drinks for taste and no longer for effect. No point denying the scientific fact after all. I will be first one to admit that a good scotch tastes as good after Sunday morning service as it does before Friday night sins. On occasions, logic has to be embellished with phrases such as “medicinal value”….but you know what I am talking about.
Well, forties were about to arrive, single-malt tasted really good and I made an agreement with my knees – one more time, Go up over 14000 ft., and then revert to Golf forever…
Enjoy the pictures….Going Up in 40s
First is the change in avuncular statistics. Forties have arrived if there is a noticeable uptrend in the number of people who begin to address you as Uncle, especially on days when you forget to use the Grecian formula. Uncle, a general purpose term used to describe an evolutionary stage occurring some time after monkeying-around peaks. In this stage, one is declared most untrustworthy by a group comprising of one’s spouse, her friends and one’s in-laws.
Second is the shift in one’s artistic taste. One’s appreciation for all things poetic, which until now was somewhat veiled, begins to express itself with a complete re-ordering of CD rack. Kishore and Lata are pushed to the passé section while Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Ghulam Ali and Begum Akhtar come to the forefront. Nothing wrong with Kishore and Lata but they don’t seem to go very well with one’s newly discovered appreciation for good wines. One can't help but reach for one more when a soulful sound arrives :
Is Sheher-e Be-Charag mein Jaayegi tu kahan
Aa-e Shab-e-Firaq Tujhe ghar hi le chalen
(Where would you go, In this city without Light
Perhaps I should take you home, O beautiful Night)
And last subtle sign is a noticeable shift in one’s proportionality of reasoning. One claims that he drinks for taste and no longer for effect. No point denying the scientific fact after all. I will be first one to admit that a good scotch tastes as good after Sunday morning service as it does before Friday night sins. On occasions, logic has to be embellished with phrases such as “medicinal value”….but you know what I am talking about.
Well, forties were about to arrive, single-malt tasted really good and I made an agreement with my knees – one more time, Go up over 14000 ft., and then revert to Golf forever…
Enjoy the pictures….Going Up in 40s
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Encounters of the x-Word Kind
There is a subtle difference between getting old (Aging) and feeling old. One is a straight line process and the other is a straight line process accompanied by some un-intentional and unsavory acoustics.
As aging (ripening) mellows one down, there is a general tendency to incline naturally (gravitate) towards safe stimulators, and hence begin the encounters of the word kind, the Crosswords. Crosswords, an activity which New York Times once called “sinful waste of time” and “primitive mental exercise”, before some true American on their staff spotted (Espied) a $$ sign in every unfilled square. And now it has been purported to improve cognitive abilities, thanks to a spirited educational effort by a Senior Lobby (AARP). In this age, Texting has been touted as an alternative but activity is undoubtedly perilous. It is well known now that attempts to abbreviate Teen’s Best Friend Forever (BFF) have compromised the public safety of many, but there have been no reported incidents of endangerment from brooding to verbalize Exploding letters (TNT). I was given a free Texting 101 tutorial by my nephew Wellwired Singh. However, I failed when tested on texting the staple “LOL” to my wife. It came out as “SOS” on the other end…..did I tell you how perilous texting could be? Well, the issue is an innate design flaw. My thumbs were designed for clear, broad XL prints often required by law enforcement authorities after somewhat miss-guided youthful activity.
Semi-motivated by desire (wish) to improve cognition, I began over-exercising my cerebral muscle, with this colorless (No Hue) opponent. English majors among you will notice that I used the word “muscle”, a singular noun. It just happens that my mortal soul was destined for delivery in the rural area of Punjab. And God, in his infinite wisdom was unable to foresee any situation, where I would require any more than one. On the physical side though, I was allowed to avail my minimal entitlement of a standard military issue. Well, God had his plans and Charles Darwin had his own. As a part of evolution, I was routed to B tier schools, which I duly cleared with C+ grades.
I am unsure about improving cognition but I have definitely learned which Greek god or goddess to invoke when I am in mood for a really good bottle of wine (Dionysus), launching another Iraq war (Ares), petitioning for additional wisdom (Athena) or asking for Eternal Youth (Aphrodite). As a part of an unwritten gentle-womanly agreement, all “suggestive” words were kept out of Crosswords for a long time (eon). While younger generation is happy to see some recent peripheral exploration of this vast lexicon with Adult (R-rated), Capable of generating heat (Erotic), Bordering Porn (Racy), Went up in 70s (Hemline) and A support system? (Bra)……but Alas, unclasping the verbal mystery is all the excitement, doctor has allowed for the major target demographic.
Sheikh S. Pir of far-east mused after consuming a few gallons of unadvertised brands of brews, “When is a question not a question, that is the question?” Well, most common illustrative situation is a domestic one. Imagine, you have just returned from a Golf game and your spouse says, “Are you happy now”. No, it is not a question (so don’t answer it) and she is neither aware of, nor remotely interested in details of two birdies, which you made with sheer luck.
We must take a short sidebar, now that Golf has been mentioned. Besides outwardly sophistication, an added attraction is that this game allows one to consume Pale Drinks (Ales) before noon hours. It’s a game which demands such a unique combination of physical and mental agility (acumen) that it makes grown strong men and women, feel and measure their inadequacy on regular basis and call it a handicap. Golfers spend endless hours immersed in introspection, evaluation, determination and then, one bad shot on the fairway and who do they blame….JESUS CHRIST. Yes, outside the confines of churches, Golf courses are where HIS name is uttered most. Not in vain but not exactly in reverential tones either. He died for our sins but apparently not good enough for the non-due paying members of links organization (PGA). HE is expected to help some of us with our putting, chipping and bunker shots too. Well, maybe I have taken it too far because bunker shots definitely require some measure of divine intervention.
And now back to the original question. Question marks (?) in NYT crosswords are an additional clue, which speak directly to you, “Mr. Dumb, answer to “Virgin’s Parent?" is not “No Virgin”. Think beyond the obvious, if you can”. Such stimulating dialogue continues as one encounters Circles above Heads? (Halos), Grande opening? (Rio), World record? (Atlas) and Mobile Home? (Crib). Take a Course? (Eat) but do not Take too Much? (OD). Can’t Home? (Zero) in on the answers, seek a PC way out? (ESC). And I seriously question Singer Speculates? (Stevie Wonders). British, who always had issues with anything straight and regular, as evident by their cro-magnon dental work, have taken this to whole new level with invention of cryptic crosswords. And boy, are those clues fun to read…..Fellow extracting energy from metal ?????? The answer is LAD. Lead sans E….get it. New dimensions are added to no man’s land between yes and no with maybe and might. Some might be checkered (Pasts), Some might be inflated (Egos) and Some might be proper (Nouns). Someone who is short might run to it (ATM). And no Punjabi can get this one wrong – Sky might do this in inebriate’s dream (Rain Alcohol).
My motherland India makes an occasional appearance in American crosswords with Indian royalty (Rani or Raja), Indian caretaker (Amah), Indian holy man (Sadhu), Indian composition (Raga), Indian wrap (Sari) and Slumdog Millionaire locale (Agra). Too mundane. Here are some India-centric entries, which might spur some not so mundane brainwaves. Folksy ending to a boom town (Bangalore), Warning of explosive, reversed in India (Bombay), New meat vendor heard by the old one (New Delhi) and lastly, A sarcastic state with punch (Punjab). British have taken on Indian words with some par excellence cryptic clues. Some wonderful ones are I suffer from this in Indian city (MySore), Place showing prosperity right now, but had trouble in 1857 (LuckNow) and some real gems, Fool preceding PM in Indian state (AssAM) and A parisian hit out with truncheon (LaThi). Pakistan is expected to make its crossword debut with Pakistani hooker in France (LaHore).
I am unsure as to what word to use when describing people who attempt Crossword puzzles. Are they “Puzzlers” or are they just “Puzzled”. Perhaps this profound topic should be left to English majors while I continue to look out for (Abet) Virgin’s Parent?
As aging (ripening) mellows one down, there is a general tendency to incline naturally (gravitate) towards safe stimulators, and hence begin the encounters of the word kind, the Crosswords. Crosswords, an activity which New York Times once called “sinful waste of time” and “primitive mental exercise”, before some true American on their staff spotted (Espied) a $$ sign in every unfilled square. And now it has been purported to improve cognitive abilities, thanks to a spirited educational effort by a Senior Lobby (AARP). In this age, Texting has been touted as an alternative but activity is undoubtedly perilous. It is well known now that attempts to abbreviate Teen’s Best Friend Forever (BFF) have compromised the public safety of many, but there have been no reported incidents of endangerment from brooding to verbalize Exploding letters (TNT). I was given a free Texting 101 tutorial by my nephew Wellwired Singh. However, I failed when tested on texting the staple “LOL” to my wife. It came out as “SOS” on the other end…..did I tell you how perilous texting could be? Well, the issue is an innate design flaw. My thumbs were designed for clear, broad XL prints often required by law enforcement authorities after somewhat miss-guided youthful activity.
Semi-motivated by desire (wish) to improve cognition, I began over-exercising my cerebral muscle, with this colorless (No Hue) opponent. English majors among you will notice that I used the word “muscle”, a singular noun. It just happens that my mortal soul was destined for delivery in the rural area of Punjab. And God, in his infinite wisdom was unable to foresee any situation, where I would require any more than one. On the physical side though, I was allowed to avail my minimal entitlement of a standard military issue. Well, God had his plans and Charles Darwin had his own. As a part of evolution, I was routed to B tier schools, which I duly cleared with C+ grades.
I am unsure about improving cognition but I have definitely learned which Greek god or goddess to invoke when I am in mood for a really good bottle of wine (Dionysus), launching another Iraq war (Ares), petitioning for additional wisdom (Athena) or asking for Eternal Youth (Aphrodite). As a part of an unwritten gentle-womanly agreement, all “suggestive” words were kept out of Crosswords for a long time (eon). While younger generation is happy to see some recent peripheral exploration of this vast lexicon with Adult (R-rated), Capable of generating heat (Erotic), Bordering Porn (Racy), Went up in 70s (Hemline) and A support system? (Bra)……but Alas, unclasping the verbal mystery is all the excitement, doctor has allowed for the major target demographic.
Sheikh S. Pir of far-east mused after consuming a few gallons of unadvertised brands of brews, “When is a question not a question, that is the question?” Well, most common illustrative situation is a domestic one. Imagine, you have just returned from a Golf game and your spouse says, “Are you happy now”. No, it is not a question (so don’t answer it) and she is neither aware of, nor remotely interested in details of two birdies, which you made with sheer luck.
We must take a short sidebar, now that Golf has been mentioned. Besides outwardly sophistication, an added attraction is that this game allows one to consume Pale Drinks (Ales) before noon hours. It’s a game which demands such a unique combination of physical and mental agility (acumen) that it makes grown strong men and women, feel and measure their inadequacy on regular basis and call it a handicap. Golfers spend endless hours immersed in introspection, evaluation, determination and then, one bad shot on the fairway and who do they blame….JESUS CHRIST. Yes, outside the confines of churches, Golf courses are where HIS name is uttered most. Not in vain but not exactly in reverential tones either. He died for our sins but apparently not good enough for the non-due paying members of links organization (PGA). HE is expected to help some of us with our putting, chipping and bunker shots too. Well, maybe I have taken it too far because bunker shots definitely require some measure of divine intervention.
And now back to the original question. Question marks (?) in NYT crosswords are an additional clue, which speak directly to you, “Mr. Dumb, answer to “Virgin’s Parent?" is not “No Virgin”. Think beyond the obvious, if you can”. Such stimulating dialogue continues as one encounters Circles above Heads? (Halos), Grande opening? (Rio), World record? (Atlas) and Mobile Home? (Crib). Take a Course? (Eat) but do not Take too Much? (OD). Can’t Home? (Zero) in on the answers, seek a PC way out? (ESC). And I seriously question Singer Speculates? (Stevie Wonders). British, who always had issues with anything straight and regular, as evident by their cro-magnon dental work, have taken this to whole new level with invention of cryptic crosswords. And boy, are those clues fun to read…..Fellow extracting energy from metal ?????? The answer is LAD. Lead sans E….get it. New dimensions are added to no man’s land between yes and no with maybe and might. Some might be checkered (Pasts), Some might be inflated (Egos) and Some might be proper (Nouns). Someone who is short might run to it (ATM). And no Punjabi can get this one wrong – Sky might do this in inebriate’s dream (Rain Alcohol).
My motherland India makes an occasional appearance in American crosswords with Indian royalty (Rani or Raja), Indian caretaker (Amah), Indian holy man (Sadhu), Indian composition (Raga), Indian wrap (Sari) and Slumdog Millionaire locale (Agra). Too mundane. Here are some India-centric entries, which might spur some not so mundane brainwaves. Folksy ending to a boom town (Bangalore), Warning of explosive, reversed in India (Bombay), New meat vendor heard by the old one (New Delhi) and lastly, A sarcastic state with punch (Punjab). British have taken on Indian words with some par excellence cryptic clues. Some wonderful ones are I suffer from this in Indian city (MySore), Place showing prosperity right now, but had trouble in 1857 (LuckNow) and some real gems, Fool preceding PM in Indian state (AssAM) and A parisian hit out with truncheon (LaThi). Pakistan is expected to make its crossword debut with Pakistani hooker in France (LaHore).
I am unsure as to what word to use when describing people who attempt Crossword puzzles. Are they “Puzzlers” or are they just “Puzzled”. Perhaps this profound topic should be left to English majors while I continue to look out for (Abet) Virgin’s Parent?
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Slowing Train of Thoughts
I am not aware of any divine decree that Christmas morning should be any different from a weekend morning. I contended so dreamily when I felt quilt being pulled. Retracting into fetal position, I opened my eyes half-way to find my wife, who had just finished her Pilates and Yoga routine, staring at me….with that look. I had seen this look before. It is the look of a traffic court judge who is waiting for defendant’s opening statement. I reached for my intellectual reserve of statements. Drawing a few blanks, I thought about yelling “Jesus Christ” but it didn’t seem right to invoke Him…not this day. So I said what most Punjabi men say in this stressful situation – I think I am going to have “Mooli da Parantha” this morning. I was about to specify the side dishes to accompany this light breakfast, when she stopped me with a correctional order - First thing you are going to have is a shower, second thing you are going to do is…..and third……and tenth……do you understand? Imagine my surprise, the top ten list just conveyed to me had no resemblance to “Mooli da Parantha", not even remotely. Mooli da Parantha is a proper noun but the top ten could be mostly classified as unnecessary verbs. It must be a Merry Christmas.
With snow on the ground, life is slowing down into the holiday season and I am beginning to pay more attention to small everyday pleasures of life…..Scotch and Samosa. I am also getting in touch with my softer, sentimental, spiritual and understanding side. Inspired by an Ansel Adams calendar (a gift from work in lieu of salary raise), I take pictures of snow flakes hanging from leafless branches of an Aspen in my backyard, while trying to forgive my neighbor’s dog who jump over the fence to perform ablutions under the same tree. And I get teary eyed just watching my fellow Punjabi Sardar Dilbagh Singh put Christmas Sale (20% off) sign in front of his liquor store – Colorado Spirits! When I put warm covers on my Golf clubs to prepare them for hibernation in the basement, I hear a comment – There goes man with a handicap……I Ha Ha it. I come out of the basement with a snow shovel and I get a hero’s welcome. I am beginning to understand women.
Fairly soon, 2009 will be upon us and we will prepare to take stock of our yearly resolutions and things we did not get right in 2008. Don’t be disheartened if they bear uncanny similarity to things you did not get right in 2007, 2006 and even in prior years. There is a reason why God has allowed calendar system to flourish. A new chance every year before bundle of “things you did not get right” gets unbearably large. Spooked by ongoing recession, I am cutting down on my yearly resolutions. I inform my wife of my simple plans. I will not procrastinate anymore. I will cancel that unused Gym membership first thing in 2009. No more fits from fitness routines and that will automatically satisfy my second resolution – Save Money….pretty smart eh. She proposes taking up Yoga and even lends me her DVD of Swami Ramdev. But I am more keen on inspiring myself into Yoga by a talented pupil of Swami Ramdev – Shilpa Shetty. I have given some thought to a Scotch-free year but Sardar Dilbagh Singh quashes my resolve with his rendition of "Hungama hai kyon barpa, Thodi si jo pi li hai".
Well, be it Yoga or Bhoga – hope you will get them all right this coming year. Just don’t let anyone crucify you for demanding your most basic right – Mooli da Parantha.
Happy holidays to all of you.
With snow on the ground, life is slowing down into the holiday season and I am beginning to pay more attention to small everyday pleasures of life…..Scotch and Samosa. I am also getting in touch with my softer, sentimental, spiritual and understanding side. Inspired by an Ansel Adams calendar (a gift from work in lieu of salary raise), I take pictures of snow flakes hanging from leafless branches of an Aspen in my backyard, while trying to forgive my neighbor’s dog who jump over the fence to perform ablutions under the same tree. And I get teary eyed just watching my fellow Punjabi Sardar Dilbagh Singh put Christmas Sale (20% off) sign in front of his liquor store – Colorado Spirits! When I put warm covers on my Golf clubs to prepare them for hibernation in the basement, I hear a comment – There goes man with a handicap……I Ha Ha it. I come out of the basement with a snow shovel and I get a hero’s welcome. I am beginning to understand women.
Fairly soon, 2009 will be upon us and we will prepare to take stock of our yearly resolutions and things we did not get right in 2008. Don’t be disheartened if they bear uncanny similarity to things you did not get right in 2007, 2006 and even in prior years. There is a reason why God has allowed calendar system to flourish. A new chance every year before bundle of “things you did not get right” gets unbearably large. Spooked by ongoing recession, I am cutting down on my yearly resolutions. I inform my wife of my simple plans. I will not procrastinate anymore. I will cancel that unused Gym membership first thing in 2009. No more fits from fitness routines and that will automatically satisfy my second resolution – Save Money….pretty smart eh. She proposes taking up Yoga and even lends me her DVD of Swami Ramdev. But I am more keen on inspiring myself into Yoga by a talented pupil of Swami Ramdev – Shilpa Shetty. I have given some thought to a Scotch-free year but Sardar Dilbagh Singh quashes my resolve with his rendition of "Hungama hai kyon barpa, Thodi si jo pi li hai".
Well, be it Yoga or Bhoga – hope you will get them all right this coming year. Just don’t let anyone crucify you for demanding your most basic right – Mooli da Parantha.
Happy holidays to all of you.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Ramblings of an American voter
Halloween hasn’t arrived but the horror is arriving early this year. I got my retirement and benefits statement and it scared the “Jesus” out of me….and appropriately so….possibility of “The Last Supper” is looming large. If you are wondering how strongly American retirement plan is tied to the S & P 500, consider that at the height of tech boom, mine included South of France; market forces downgraded it later to South of Florida. And now, even South Dakota is closing its doors. And in spite of this financial turmoil, I bailed out some recent shopping bills, where store names were dead giveaways to the excesses - Needless Marcus and Pier 1 Extorts! I know you are thinking regulation. Well, a politic mind would recognize that regulation can upset the delicate nature of capitalistic democracy in the long run.
And talking of democracy, the exciting event of American elections is just around the corner. There is something about general elections, which turn novices into experts and experts into werewolves. Though indecisiveness can get one out of some sticky situations in one’s Youth, but since that short span of life ended long time back, my indecisiveness has been regarded and recorded in the liability section of balance sheet. Not any more though…Now, I am a prized catch for major party candidates running for oval office. Pollsters make it clear that the fate of this election will be decided by indecisive people and I am feeling proud of my kind. We the undecided do not see the voting decision as easy as “Black and White”……as some extremely decisive folks from Mississippi would have you believe.
Having recently taken an oath to abide by the American constitution, I am taking my civic duty seriously by educating myself into an expert.
American constitution (n.): A collection of governing principles for the American government. It is responsible for supporting the livelihood of many who spend most of their waking hours devising ways to get around it. Glorified in the civics classes, expounded upon in law schools, quoted frequently by American politicos and un-used by most presidents. Pursuit of life, liberty and happiness is possible, preferably with a loaded semi-automatic.
No politico (or Politicoe) since Dan Quayle has tried a hands on approach in improving the educational standards of American children. The mantra of “No child left behind” is catching steam among people who have never met a teenager left behind the counter of a Sandwich shop with a dysfunctional cash machine. My parents, who often like to weigh in on important policy matters, offer their alternative and claim to have two data points to prove its efficacy – If the child falls behind, hit his behind really hard.
The adage ‘Health is wealth’ must be true considering every discussion on healthcare in America is less about health and more about “whose wealth will be used to pay for it”. Would it come from Joe the plumber, Dirk the pornographer or Ranganathan the programmer? We also have a vigorous debate going on as to how many Americans put ‘Country first” and how many put “McDonalds first”. Perhaps we can convince Al Gore to introduce and present a new slide show titled “A convenient Solution”. For the purpose of simplicity, we will call this innovative solution “Fat boy credits”. They work just like carbon credits. You want to gorge on Krispy Kremes, fine. But then you must pay someone to consume broccoli. I am sure that revenues from Al Gore only should be able to support healthy diet for the population of a medium size country.
Believe it or not, the question “When does a life begin?” is on the Colorado ballot this year. Now, here is the question which gives our well rested brains another pause, especially when asked by precocious children. I have always considered my C- grade mortal brain inadequate to answer this profound question and when pressed, I have always referred children to a Higher Authority,” Go, ask your grandfather”. Grandpa, who is usually busy in the yard, countering the economic forces by growing his own foodstuff, answers with assuredness of a higher authority,” I do not know when life begins but it ends the day you get married”. “It will end sooner for you if you try to steal money from my wallet” He throws in an extra lesson as “Thou shall not steal” hasn’t worked for two millennia.
Now why is that, only the president has to bear the brunt of a hard job. What we need is a vice president who can regularly put some “vice” into vice presidency. And I am not just talking about vices invloving white house interns, which by way would have been much easier to explain if the vice president had also been known to admit inventing the internet…..well, I mistakenly clicked on the pop up window titled “Interns Available”. We should at least expect from VP hopefuls to go all out to help the oil lobby, get their aides to leak classified information, get the president to issue pardon for the aides convicted of leaking information and engage in occasional community service by shooting a lawyer in the face with lawyer's shotgun at lawyer's ranch.
And now if you will please excuse me, for I am turning into a werewolf. I must go and practice voting on the “Play Ballot”. The undecided are very decided on leaving no chads hanging behind.
And talking of democracy, the exciting event of American elections is just around the corner. There is something about general elections, which turn novices into experts and experts into werewolves. Though indecisiveness can get one out of some sticky situations in one’s Youth, but since that short span of life ended long time back, my indecisiveness has been regarded and recorded in the liability section of balance sheet. Not any more though…Now, I am a prized catch for major party candidates running for oval office. Pollsters make it clear that the fate of this election will be decided by indecisive people and I am feeling proud of my kind. We the undecided do not see the voting decision as easy as “Black and White”……as some extremely decisive folks from Mississippi would have you believe.
Having recently taken an oath to abide by the American constitution, I am taking my civic duty seriously by educating myself into an expert.
American constitution (n.): A collection of governing principles for the American government. It is responsible for supporting the livelihood of many who spend most of their waking hours devising ways to get around it. Glorified in the civics classes, expounded upon in law schools, quoted frequently by American politicos and un-used by most presidents. Pursuit of life, liberty and happiness is possible, preferably with a loaded semi-automatic.
No politico (or Politicoe) since Dan Quayle has tried a hands on approach in improving the educational standards of American children. The mantra of “No child left behind” is catching steam among people who have never met a teenager left behind the counter of a Sandwich shop with a dysfunctional cash machine. My parents, who often like to weigh in on important policy matters, offer their alternative and claim to have two data points to prove its efficacy – If the child falls behind, hit his behind really hard.
The adage ‘Health is wealth’ must be true considering every discussion on healthcare in America is less about health and more about “whose wealth will be used to pay for it”. Would it come from Joe the plumber, Dirk the pornographer or Ranganathan the programmer? We also have a vigorous debate going on as to how many Americans put ‘Country first” and how many put “McDonalds first”. Perhaps we can convince Al Gore to introduce and present a new slide show titled “A convenient Solution”. For the purpose of simplicity, we will call this innovative solution “Fat boy credits”. They work just like carbon credits. You want to gorge on Krispy Kremes, fine. But then you must pay someone to consume broccoli. I am sure that revenues from Al Gore only should be able to support healthy diet for the population of a medium size country.
Believe it or not, the question “When does a life begin?” is on the Colorado ballot this year. Now, here is the question which gives our well rested brains another pause, especially when asked by precocious children. I have always considered my C- grade mortal brain inadequate to answer this profound question and when pressed, I have always referred children to a Higher Authority,” Go, ask your grandfather”. Grandpa, who is usually busy in the yard, countering the economic forces by growing his own foodstuff, answers with assuredness of a higher authority,” I do not know when life begins but it ends the day you get married”. “It will end sooner for you if you try to steal money from my wallet” He throws in an extra lesson as “Thou shall not steal” hasn’t worked for two millennia.
Now why is that, only the president has to bear the brunt of a hard job. What we need is a vice president who can regularly put some “vice” into vice presidency. And I am not just talking about vices invloving white house interns, which by way would have been much easier to explain if the vice president had also been known to admit inventing the internet…..well, I mistakenly clicked on the pop up window titled “Interns Available”. We should at least expect from VP hopefuls to go all out to help the oil lobby, get their aides to leak classified information, get the president to issue pardon for the aides convicted of leaking information and engage in occasional community service by shooting a lawyer in the face with lawyer's shotgun at lawyer's ranch.
And now if you will please excuse me, for I am turning into a werewolf. I must go and practice voting on the “Play Ballot”. The undecided are very decided on leaving no chads hanging behind.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Punjabi for Beginners (Fem.)
Considering that previous discourse of Punjabi was a little too male-centric, here is a linguistic endeavor of documenting words from Punjabi femina sapien….harsh words from Harsh Kaur.
Moya
Literally meaning Dead, as in Why aren’t you dead? Often reserved for eve teasers, word is commonly used as “Mar Moya”, which translates to “Die you dead man”. If your DNA-lingua is cringing at her being harsh with redundant use of the language, wait till she riles up a little bit more and introduces the three tiered redundancy for enhanced effectiveness …..Mar Moya Marjaneya !!!!.....You death deserving dead man, why don’t you just die ???
Word is also used for significant others, especially the ones who habitually mistake Friday mornings for Saturday mornings……Uth Moya, Aaj kamm te nahin jaana, sari umar sutta rahoonga…..Wake up Mr. Dead-pan, aren’t you going to go to work today? Are you going to sleep for rest of your life?
Dur Phitte muhn
What better way to curse a bad mouth than to mouth a bad curse on the bad mouth……Dur phitte muhn…..Your mouth burn (presumably in hell). Phrase is often hurled at pre-teen and teen males who are careless enough to exercise their recently acquired four-letter vocabulary within an earshot of any senior female…relative or not. If a close relative, then it is usually also accompanied by a sound thrashing.
Khasma nu Khaniye
It is a general observation that junior-ettes in Punjabi households become increasingly smart to cover up their slips while the juniors become dumber by the hour. But once in a while junior-ette slips and harsh words from Harsh Kaur Sr. come stinging…….Khasma nu Khaniye…..literally you can eat her husband….and thus cannibalizing his life-span. And at the same exact moment, somewhere in the world, a male feels a chill down his spine for apparently no reason at all.
Tun apne Pe warga
Junior progresses exponentially on the dumbness curve. In due time, he achieves an irreversible steady state and becomes immune to all the usual verbal and non-verbal attacks. And that is when the psychological weapon is launched with “Tu apne pe warga aan”…You are just like your father.
Thapri
Thapri is wooden laundry tool of an unknown origin which was used by womenfolk to beat the dirt out of the clothes. Somewhere in time, a well meaning mother discovered its alternative use….a character builder and discipline inducer in the junior males of the household. Junior slips on his language…..Thapri…..Junior disobeys grandmother….Thapri…..Junior fails his English Grammar…..Thapri, Thapri. “But Mom, you don’t even know what English grammar is”, protests junior. Mother replies, “I may not know English grammar, but I know you failed”……Thapri, Thapri, Thapri.
Thapri is beginning to go out of fashion and urban Punjabi mothers are looking for replacements in their arsenal, but its ceremonial usage continues in the form of ‘Thehar Ja, Mein tere thapri pher di aan"……Wait, I give you a thrashing with a Thapri. I am personally cognizant of effectiveness of this instrument. I know quite a few “Rural Singhs” who were otherwise written off educationally, but thanks to a regular dosage of Thapri, have now gone on to earn graduate degrees….some are even teaching English grammar.
Kuttiyaa !
Kuttiya (You dog) is the canini-cal expression and need I explain any more. Now here is the word which transcends all linguistic and cultural boundaries without losing the luster of its meaning or intent. Word is used equally by grandmothers (lovingly), mothers (admonishingly), elder sisters (overtly), younger sisters (covertly), wives (befittingly), friends (occasionally) and girlfriends (almost daily). Many years back, my mother used it to describe the general environment surrounding me and my brother. And that would immediately evoke a quizzical and somewhat painful expression on the face of our family dog Jimmy. However she would clear the situation to him in a most soothing ,”Tu nahin putt, tu nahin”….not you my son, not you.
And talking about transcendental phrases, I can smell another transcendental and particularly mal-odorous sound wave which is approaching me right now on this lazy Saturday ,”Sofey to uth te kooda chak ke bahr sutt”…..get up from the Sofa and take the trash out. Well, what can I say….Hor ji, Phir Milan ge.
Moya
Literally meaning Dead, as in Why aren’t you dead? Often reserved for eve teasers, word is commonly used as “Mar Moya”, which translates to “Die you dead man”. If your DNA-lingua is cringing at her being harsh with redundant use of the language, wait till she riles up a little bit more and introduces the three tiered redundancy for enhanced effectiveness …..Mar Moya Marjaneya !!!!.....You death deserving dead man, why don’t you just die ???
Word is also used for significant others, especially the ones who habitually mistake Friday mornings for Saturday mornings……Uth Moya, Aaj kamm te nahin jaana, sari umar sutta rahoonga…..Wake up Mr. Dead-pan, aren’t you going to go to work today? Are you going to sleep for rest of your life?
Dur Phitte muhn
What better way to curse a bad mouth than to mouth a bad curse on the bad mouth……Dur phitte muhn…..Your mouth burn (presumably in hell). Phrase is often hurled at pre-teen and teen males who are careless enough to exercise their recently acquired four-letter vocabulary within an earshot of any senior female…relative or not. If a close relative, then it is usually also accompanied by a sound thrashing.
Khasma nu Khaniye
It is a general observation that junior-ettes in Punjabi households become increasingly smart to cover up their slips while the juniors become dumber by the hour. But once in a while junior-ette slips and harsh words from Harsh Kaur Sr. come stinging…….Khasma nu Khaniye…..literally you can eat her husband….and thus cannibalizing his life-span. And at the same exact moment, somewhere in the world, a male feels a chill down his spine for apparently no reason at all.
Tun apne Pe warga
Junior progresses exponentially on the dumbness curve. In due time, he achieves an irreversible steady state and becomes immune to all the usual verbal and non-verbal attacks. And that is when the psychological weapon is launched with “Tu apne pe warga aan”…You are just like your father.
Thapri
Thapri is wooden laundry tool of an unknown origin which was used by womenfolk to beat the dirt out of the clothes. Somewhere in time, a well meaning mother discovered its alternative use….a character builder and discipline inducer in the junior males of the household. Junior slips on his language…..Thapri…..Junior disobeys grandmother….Thapri…..Junior fails his English Grammar…..Thapri, Thapri. “But Mom, you don’t even know what English grammar is”, protests junior. Mother replies, “I may not know English grammar, but I know you failed”……Thapri, Thapri, Thapri.
Thapri is beginning to go out of fashion and urban Punjabi mothers are looking for replacements in their arsenal, but its ceremonial usage continues in the form of ‘Thehar Ja, Mein tere thapri pher di aan"……Wait, I give you a thrashing with a Thapri. I am personally cognizant of effectiveness of this instrument. I know quite a few “Rural Singhs” who were otherwise written off educationally, but thanks to a regular dosage of Thapri, have now gone on to earn graduate degrees….some are even teaching English grammar.
Kuttiyaa !
Kuttiya (You dog) is the canini-cal expression and need I explain any more. Now here is the word which transcends all linguistic and cultural boundaries without losing the luster of its meaning or intent. Word is used equally by grandmothers (lovingly), mothers (admonishingly), elder sisters (overtly), younger sisters (covertly), wives (befittingly), friends (occasionally) and girlfriends (almost daily). Many years back, my mother used it to describe the general environment surrounding me and my brother. And that would immediately evoke a quizzical and somewhat painful expression on the face of our family dog Jimmy. However she would clear the situation to him in a most soothing ,”Tu nahin putt, tu nahin”….not you my son, not you.
And talking about transcendental phrases, I can smell another transcendental and particularly mal-odorous sound wave which is approaching me right now on this lazy Saturday ,”Sofey to uth te kooda chak ke bahr sutt”…..get up from the Sofa and take the trash out. Well, what can I say….Hor ji, Phir Milan ge.
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