Monday, November 21, 2005

slings, arrows, outrageous fortune lalala.

I could say many things today. I could inform the passing reader that I possess a "stayin' alive" tee-shirt especially for Mondays; I could snark about how it does not significantly improve the quality of said days; I could moan about how the already limited market for foreign languages in Hyderabad, even the Indo-European sort with Latin scripts seems, to add insult to unparalleled injury, to be chronologically inflexible. How can I take Spanish at six in the morning when autorickshaw drivers at large are out to cheat me of my money and/or my virtue? How can I take German at six in the evening when I'm working at the time? How can there be no weekend classes? I mean, it's enough of a compromise to eschew long-cherished desires to study Ancient Greek (imagine Homer in the original!) or Hebrew (much of the Old Testament in the original!) or Sanksrit (cultural oppression in its purest form!) because they aren't practical enough. How much more practical can you get than German?

(Naturally no attempt to combine desire and compromise in the convenient form of Yiddish study exists in this city - one person so far claims to have detected a synagogue somewhere about - and apparently there is a Parsi community here too, but of course Avesta is out of the question.)

Goal to gain working knowledge of Telugu by the end of the year remains rock-steady, although as December approaches I see I will have to be more proactive than provoking my stroppy maidservant (sneakily trying to teach her Hindi all the while).

I could of course complain about all of this. But I won't. Instead I reproduce in this blog a poem introduced to me long ago by Lindsey, that I forgot about and stumbled upon again today, standing still (figuratively) with thumping heart and thrilling pulses, face framed against the rail, longing to get between the lines.

Come. And Be My Baby
by Maya Angelou

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that’ll burn
Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail
And you sit wondering
where you’re going to turn
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.

Some prophets say the world is gonna end
But others say we've got a week or two
The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror
And you sit wondering
what you’re gonna do.
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.

If sixteen year olds were introduced to poetry instead of grunge they would all have this poem on their tee-shirts instead of despairing suicidal grunge! (Not that there is no appropriate time and place for such things. Except for Pearl Jam, ick.)

Congratulations to you, L, on the close of some tough but very successful exams, to say nothing of the rear-admiral iPod and the vacation in Paris you are currently on. (item: I have already studied French so there is no point in me taking weekend classes at the local Alliance.) And congratulations to Kaushik, on surviving one of the world's toughest exams. Joy! To the world.


  1. Adarsh3:33 pm

    Brilliant stuff!

    I'll stop by a lot more from now on. BLOG on!

  2. I think you got the link to kaushulu's blog wrong..

    What do you do on weekends, btw?

  3. Come to Bombay...I'll teach you Yiddish.

    I'm upto my tukhes in Yiddishkeit, madchik!

  4. @ adarsh: Thank you, I'll be sure to let you know the next time I update, seeing as how I sit six feet away from you.

    @ kate: I'm too lazy to change it, Kausha's well-known enough. And I read or write or sleep on weekends. And eat unhealthy food. When, you understand, I'm not suffering from malaria.

    @ vik: Oh dear, that's a shallow sort of immersion, isn't it? Surely it should reach at least to your neck for you to be a good teacher, boychik.

  5. Aw, baby. Just saw this now due to the being in Paris with the rear-admiral. :))


  6. I trust you had the gayest time. :) Loff you also!