Pleonasms

If you grew up in India, pleonasms are no doubt deeply ingrained in your DNA.  A pleonasm is the use of multiple words in a phrase where only one would have been sufficient to convey the meaning.  If you are asking yourself what growing up in India has anything to do with pleonasms, I urge you to reminisce the moments when your English teacher taught you the art of writing formal letters requesting the addressee to "please revert back".  If you want to maintain that your English teacher was better than this, I can assure you that mine was more better.  As an added bonus, my science teacher would ask us to divide the solution into two equal halves and pour them into beakers to fill them to capacity, with an advance warning not to break them.

Let me prove to you that this is not my personal opinion.  Tell me, have you not received the message "Wrong PIN Number (Personal Identification Number Number)" on the LCD Display (Liquid Crystal Display Display) of the ATM Machine (Automatic Teller Machine Machine)?  And have you not been unexpectedly surprised when the kitchenware store in Ravivar Peth offered you a free gift when you bought multiple different kadhais?  And, isn't it a true fact that FC College (Fergusson College College) Road has some of the best eateries to pick and choose from? 

However, I was quick to learn that India isn't the only country with a propensity for pleonasms.  Pleonasms have already existed throughout American past history.  For instance, I found that the tuna fish sandwich is one of the most ubiquitous sandwiches across the US.  Sadly, I also learned that armed gunmen caused more deaths in America than did the HIV Virus (Human Immunodeficiency Virus Virus), and that made me wonder if the US was truly a safe haven for individuals fleeing persecution in their home countries, but I did understand the difficult dilemma faced by the authorities and why they couldn't simply issue a cease and desist order to stores selling firearms.  

But what convinced me that the concept of pleonasms wasn't a foreign import to the US was the announcement made by my pilot that were were flying over the Sierra Nevada Mountains (Snowy Mountains Mountains).  I couldn't wait for the airplane to fly cross the mountains, glide over the Mississippi River (Big River River) and the Ohio River (Great River River), and touchdown in my current mid-western domicile, so I could get some Indian food, particularly some Naan Bread (Bread Bread) and a cup of Chai Tea Latte (Tea Tea Milk), and plop myself in front of the TV to learn about some major breakthroughs on the CNN Network (Cable News Network Network).

To Schwa, or not to Schwa

puNE (पुणे).  The Oxford of the East.  When the little boy asked the gentleman why Poona Club wasn't called puNE (पुणे) Club, the gentleman, true to his puNErI nature, gave the little boy an estoric reply.  The confused boy asked the gentleman to "say that again".  The pundit retorted impatiently: "मी  काय  कानाडीत  बोललो  का? (did I say that in kAnADI?)". 

kAnADI (कानाडी), he quickly learned, was a language spoken in bELgAv (बेळगाव), a town on the border of Maharashtra and karnATak (कर्नाटक ).  

So, the little boy went to bELgAv (बेळगाव), karnATak (कर्नाटक ).  

This time, he learned from the local kAnADI (कानाडी) speakers that he was not in bELgAv (बेळगाव) but in beLagAvi (ಬೆಳಗಾವಿ), and that it was not in karnATak (कर्नाटक ) but in karnATaka (ಕರ್ನಾಟಕ).  The kindly beLagAvi (ಬೆಳಗಾವಿ)-ians urged the little boy to go visit other cities in karnATaka (ಕರ್ನಾಟಕ).  

So, the little boy decided to go to bengaLUru (ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು), karnATaka (ಕರ್ನಾಟಕ).

bengaLUru (ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು).  The Garden City.  India's Silicon Valley.  When the little boy stopped to buy a water bottle at a modest kirANi angaDi (grocery store), he asked the friendly shopkeeper how to say "water bottle" in kAnADI (कानाडी).  The mArwADI (मारवाड़ी ) shopkeeper quickly answered: "कन्नड़  गोत्तिल्ला (kannaD gottillA)".  Armed with the new knowledge that kAnADI (कानाडी) was called कन्नड़  (kannaD), he tried using it on a local bengaLUrian.  Unfortunately, the little boy was subject to ruthless censure.  "It is NOT कन्नड़  (kannaD)!", boomed the bengalUrian, "If you can't learn our language, at least learn to say it's name right!".  The poor boy countered with a "I'm so sorry!  The right name is kAnADI (कानाडी), right?".  It had to be, he thought, if it isn't B, then it has to be A!  Alas, this time he was met with heightened censure.  "How dare you!", thundered the angry bengaLUrian, "It's kannaDa (ಕನ್ನಡ)!  kan..na..DAAAaaaaa!  How would you feel if I said hind (हिंद) instead of hindI (हिंदी)!".  The little boy said he wasn't sure he he was supposed to feel.  "Okay...", the bengaLUrian faltered a little this time, "how about... how about if I said... um... tamiL (ತಮಿಳ್) instead of tamiLU (ತಮಿಳು)!"  

The little boy soon came to realize that bengalUrians called his beloved shrI rAm (श्री राम) rAma (ರಾಮ), and his favorite story, the mahAbhArat (महाभारत), was called the mahAbhArata (ಮಹಾಭಾರತ) here.  But if that was the case, why did his folks back north not say hind (हिंद) instead of hindI (हिंदी)?  Also, how come the bengalUrians said his friend amit (अमित)'s name correctly without changing it to amita (ಅಮಿತ)?  And which one was right, tamiL (ತಮಿಳ್) or tamiLU (ತಮಿಳು)?  In a super confused state, the little boy decided to visit a city that spoke tamiL (ತಮಿಳ್).  Or tamiLU (ತಮಿಳು).  He made a quick phone call home and asked his puNErI dad for recommendations.  "chEnnAi (चेन्नाई)!  It's in tAmiLnAD (तामिळनाड)", he said immediately.

So, the little boy went to chEnnAi (चेन्नाई), tAmiLnAD (तामिळनाड).

It wasn't long before the little boy learned that he was in chennai (சென்னை), not chEnnAi (चेन्नाई).  A particularly pious lady, whom he met at a temple, also advised him on the correct pronunciation of the language of the city.  "tamizh (தமிழ்)!", she said.  

The little boy was last spotted at a road side eatery somewhere on OMR (Old Mahabalipuram Road) eating "Gopi 65" (the "kogulized" version of gObhi (गोभी) 65), trying to pronounce zha (ழ).

Ambrosial Dualism

 

“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd.”

- Bertrand Russell

Nestled in northwestern part of the Parnon mountains in the Peloponnese region of Greece, is the village of Vourvoura. In the early 1950s, this modestly populated village was reeling in the aftermath of depression, a particularly ruthless Nazi German occupation, and a civil war between royalists and communists. The hardscrabble and burdensome Vourvoura life of this era however did not deter young Sam from acquiring a quality education. At the tender age of 20, young Sam, like many others in his village, decided to embark on a new journey in search of a better life and began a long voyage westward. His desire was to join his older brother in Canada. Sailing across the Mediterranean Sea, he first reached the shores of Naples. Uncannily, life seemed to come full circle as young Sam decided to quell his hunger with a local delicacy that was an adaptation of the plakous, a flatbread dish that his own Greek ancestors had invented back in the 6th century BC. The Neapolitans, Sam learned, called this pizza and considered this strictly to be suitable only for the plebs and had carefully preserved its status as street food for over three centuries. Young Sam took a big saucy bite of the yeasty comestible and was categorically unimpressed.

A decade later, armed with the experience of mining in Northern Ontario, a lifetime ambition of becoming a dentist, a propensity for tough grind, the wisdom of turning into a 30 something, an underwhelming Italian culinary experience, and an older brother with an entrepreneurial inclination, Sam decided to move to the Southwestern Ontarian town of Chatham that prophetically shared its name with the Tamil word for cooked rice (சாதம்) and run a restaurant with his brother. Ironically, the restaurant made pizzas, the same Naepolitan appropriation of the Greek plakous.  The restaurant decided to hire a Chinese cook to help diversify their menu and the association helped Sam soon develop an Asian-like palette for foods combining sweet, sour, and savory tastes. Seeking to broaden the pizza menu one day, Sam grabbed a can of pineapples, and threw them on a pizza base with sauce, cheese, and some bits of ham, and history was written.

An abomination!

Repugnant!

Revolting!

Nasty!

A Polynesian perversion!

Hell hath no fury like a pizza partisan scorned. Critics spared no effort to denigrate Sam’s new sweet and savory breakthrough. Teenagers and housewives however reportedly loved it. Soon, the combination was a rage. “Hawaiian Pizza”, Sam decided to call it. Why Hawaiian? Was it Sam’s idea of the food Hawaiians in Hawaii ate? After all, Sam had never even been to Hawaii. It so turns out that the brand of canned pineapples Sam reached for on that fortunate day was called “Hawaiian”.

A little after the turn of the century, as the Greek inventor of fruit on bread Mr. Sam Panopolous was basking in four decades of his still controversial glory, a young Indian student set foot on US soil. Armed with romantic views of American rock music and the greatest pizza ever, he walked into a dingy little Hungry Howie's pizzeria in downtown Akron, just a couple blocks away from the rendezvous of a week old drug related shooting. A colorful pizza flyer adorned one of the dirty window panes that seemed to have more liaisons with colorful pizza flyers than with Windex. The graphic on the flyer was that of a succulent pizza topped with pineapples and jalapeño slices. The young Indian student was immediately enamored and his taste buds were transformed forever.

Nature is where you park your car

America has perfected the art of providing glimpses into the great woods that once dominated the continent through cracks in the veneer of the concrete jungle that has now colonized them.  These small capsules of nature, pockets of enforced wilderness, if you will, paradoxically called “parks”, give one a deceptive sense of competence in a primal paradigm, almost in a I-am-a-homo-sapiens-I-can-survive-in-the-woods sort of way, without one having to really divorce the comforts of civilization.  Walk through such a park at the break of down, or whenever you can really, and you will no doubt be captivated by how effortlessly the woods make the most rudimental of things, the sun, the soil, the leaves, all come together to paint a perfect picture of natural tranquility.  But how “real” is this?  Are you really in the woods?  While you bask in the gratification of seemingly being away from civilization, you cannot but chuckle at the irony of the proximity of this Eastern American deciduous perfectness “protected for your pleasure” by the parks authority, to your car parked a mere mile away.  After all, isn't the civilized world all about having to first get into your car and drive a few miles if you want to go for a walk? 

In any case, lest you mistake my sardonicism for world-weariness, which I realize is totally uncalled for, do know that I took these photos on one such morning walk on the super short (1.1 miles) yet picturesque Ledges Trail at the Liberty Park in Twinsburg, OH.  Don't let me enjoy my soapbox for too long!

 

The Haunted Hour

True story: 

5:15 pm
She starts preparing the kids for trick-or-treating.  The costumes are laid out.

5:20 pm
She starts feeding the kids dinner while they run, play, refuse to eat, etc.

5:40 pm
She starts feeling hungry (hangry?) herself.  Not a good sign.  
She decides she will eat dinner at 6 pm when he chaperones the kids around the neighborhood.

5:45 pm
He walks around looking tired.  
She offers to chaperone the kids instead.  
He declines.

5:55 pm
He changes mind.  
She gets furious at the last minute change.  
Sparks fly.  
A kid or two wail in the background.

6 pm 
She herds the kids and escorts them outside.  
One child complains of hunger, the other doesn’t want to wear a scarf. 

6:05pm
He offers to take the kids.  
Weak offer.
She gives him the look.  More sparks fly.  
She storms off with kids.

6:10 pm
It begins raining.  
He departs home and runs behind the ladies, umbrellas in hand.

6:15 pm
One child has had enough and wants to come back home.  
At home, her dad has turned into a witch and is handing out candy, having the most fun amongst all.