Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts

07 April 2010

Scrabbling for words

Is that a word? Scrabbling? I don't know, you tell me. But perhaps that won't matter one whit considering that Mattel has announced that proper nouns are now allowed in Scrabble. Proper nouns. Meaning your aunt's obscure embarrasing first name Tallulahdelilahchimchimneychim is a triple word score.

Now you may be wondering why I'm choosing to comment on something insignificant like Scrabble changing some rules when there are deaths galore in Iraq, India, Indonesia, Baja and Pakistan. When Gordon Brown v/s David Cameron v/s Nick Clegg is going to make a mad world of a difference (not) to Blighty. What's the significance of Scrabble eh?

Probably nothing. But it's my blog, remember. If it matters to me, then I'll write about it. Do I sound high-handed? Good. Because that's how high-handedness sounds. That's what Mattel sounds like. It's our bloody game. We market it. We'll change the damn rules if it suits us. And yes 'LOL' is a legitimate word. After all, you use it in chats and text messages and emails, don't you? Then why can't you win a few measly points off of it?

I'm not extremely resistant to change. I can embrace it if it comes to me with logic, champagne and a new pair of pantyhose. Really, I'm quite flexible then. But when Mattel went all GW Bush on my pretty posterior, I got annoyed. This is a game which actually helps educate the youth, some of whom write like this: Gr8, C U ltr and thinks it's perfectly reasonable to expect an A in the essay paper for the final exam. So by taking away its illuminating quality of words in the Oxford English Dictionary or Webster or Collins what does it hope to create?

First of all, family feuds. How easy will it be to cheat here? How will you ever find out if my aunt living on the shores of Lake Malawi isn't named Tallulahdelilahchimchimneychim? By the time you try and make a call to her, the game will be abandoned for a quick round of whatchamacallit play station something or the other.

Secondly, you're turning a generation of non-readers into non-speakers as well. How do you propose to enunciate Gr8? Grrrr-eight?

Thirdly, you've no business to mutilate beyond acceptance and redemption a game that so beautifully upheld the grace of the English language.

And fourthly, if this is a rejuvenating drive for cheap publicity and to compete against other games, shame on you for thinking that what has endured several wars and generational conflicts, won't survive the current onslaught of games that cost more than a pied-a-terre in Kensington.

Now if Mattel had announced a brand new game where only proper nouns and SMS language are allowed, then it would have truly contributed to the education of the senior generation. After all, they don't understand what Grrr-eight means and probably think it's an announcement of the Apocalypse at eight pm and run into their cellars every night.

Don't screw with what's good. There's plenty bad in the world already.




11 May 2009

M for Music. M for Manooghi Hi.

I am not, repeat NOT, a big believer in 'fusion' music or 'fusion' anything. I am hopelessly old-fashioned with my music and I don't like adulteration in any form. Don't mistake this for me not knowing my music. I'm happy to say I know music and it knows me and we have a deep and meaningful relationship that has not been interrupted for 36 years. And then a few months ago, along came this upstart called Manooghi Hi, who challenged my ideas about global music and wagged a mongrel finger and said: Hey, listen here and suspend your prejudices. Or you're not worth the paper you write on. My first instinct was to ask the upstart to leave and go back to my Chet Baker but like an obstinate child, it pulled out its bag of tricks, undeterred and played.

I am not, repeat NOT, easily impressed. In fact, trying to impress me will have the opposite effect and I was about to warn the upstart about this when I heard something.

And I saw Buddha here
And I met Jesus there
And I heard Hendrix there
And I felt Shiva there
And I touched Gandhi there
And Andy Warhol there
He just didn't care
He was in his underwear

I am not, repeat NOT, immune to clever poetry. Especially if it smacks of Miss Dorothy Parker and offends the general ignorant populace. As the cheeky little offender continued to play unbidden, I found my tongue clapped to the roof of my mouth while the lead singer twisted the sinews of urban poesie to curl around the belly of a raga and throw itself shamelessly naked upon the flat back of the tabla before being delicately stomped on by the piano and finally disappearing into the mist of a final rising violin's note.

I'm an elevator
Where everyone pretends to be alone
I'm a hotel
Where everyone pretends to be at home

I am not, repeat NOT, easily fooled by ideas stolen from T.S. Eliot but I am astounded when they are strung like offerings around the Hindu goddess Kali's neck and hang there in perfect harmony like pearls embedded in skulls.

I am not, repeat NOT, immune to the beauty of various pure languages. When I heard English, Hindi, Bengali, Persian and Tamil slide in and out of songs without losing the shimmering thread and balance between lyric and melody, even though metre was unconventionally seduced, I was an espresso short of being completely mesmerised.

I am not, repeat NOT, interested in namby pamby praise or advertising. Probably why I'm unemployable. So in the spirit of full disclosure, Mehnaz, the lead singer, is a friend. If you call being overly critical of every last full stop and comma of her work, friendship. She will attest to this with a painful smile. The rest of the Seattle-based band are strangers to me.

I am not, repeat NOT, going to tell you how great Manooghi Hi is. I would rather credit you with a brain and ears. If you're certain that you are strong enough and open enough to deal with the volcanic inner core of their lyricism, then log on to their site and listen. www.manooghihi.com.

I am not, repeat NOT, going to admit I'm a shameless groupie.