The Rhyme Without The Reason
I was four when I spoke my first word. My parents insist I could understand everything and that I was just plain lazy, but I’m pretty sure they were worried. Needless to say, when the first excruciating word was finally extracted out of me, there was much celebration. I was expected, thence, to quickly race through the alphabet, dodge effortlessly past those pesky numbers and conquer the mighty Noddy books in a bid to make up for lost time. I’d be reading Shakespeare by July and fixing the hole in the ozone layer by next winter. Baajuhut, the young ‘un (,) was on a roll.
And then, suddenly, he wasn’t; waylaid by that dastardly fiend, that wrecker of self-esteem, the ultra-vile Nursery Rhyme!
I could never get the hang of those blasted poems. Granted, they were magnificently violent tales that dealt cheerfully with subjects as diverse as death, deception, adultery and communicable diseases – no complaints there – but why were/are they considered essential to a kid’s early education? You could just as easily strap a kid into his high chair, plonk him in front of the telly and play Scarface over and over again. He might even get a cool accent that way.
And what’s with the magnificently archaic language? What were these mysterious ‘poses’, for instance, that manifested themselves in my pockets, causing me to make asthmatic noises and get dragged painfully to the ground? And that treacle-eating weasel that went Pop! from time to time. Pop?
My brother, incidentally, knew every single one (he still does). Very likely, you too still remember a dozen or so of these jolly ditties. No doubt they take you back to a happier time and fill you with memories of Horlicks and Rice Paysam (or warm apple pie, as the case may be). Those were the days, eh? Yeah, me too! Hmph.
See Also: Zonuts
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August 16, 2008 at 4:54 pm
Sorry for sounding like a prick, but those were actually ‘posies of roses’, not poses. Go look up wikipedia and stories of the Black Plague and all that.
At least you got to the rhymes – one of my cousins would recite the alphabet with the 12th letter onwards as ‘al-am-an-o-poo-key-R-S-T’. But he said it damn cutely, so we didn’t really bother correcting him for a year. I got past the initial nursery rhymes, but those darn elocution-contest type things got me eventually, leaving me with a fear of public speaking ever after…
August 17, 2008 at 5:32 am
Shouldn’t it have been rosies, then? Maybe it was, actually. I wouldn’t know. I know about the Black Plague reference now, but nobody told me about that then, did they? I think I would have had a lot more enthu if I had known the gory details.
Those elocution competitions were super competitive. What scarred me, though, was the dramatics competition. I was Drona and my sage advice to the Pandavas was completely overshadowed by my lungi coming undone.
Also am still in Bby…visa issues.
August 17, 2008 at 5:55 am
Ah, I love my rhymes. Peas porridge hot is a favourite.
Where’s you’re sense of whimsy?
The Black Plague reference is debatable, actually. In the sense that it has been debated. By proper linguists, not just nitpickers.
(,): That signifies quite an elaborate pun-like construction. Well done, Pizzahut.
August 17, 2008 at 5:56 am
The three Blind Mice were the coolest, definitely. I always pictured them walking upright, with both hands on a little walking stick, an upturned snout with 6 whiskers, and Karunanidhi glasses.
August 18, 2008 at 2:45 pm
Hey my entire class was suspended from school in the tenth standard for singing nursery rhymes out loudly in a free period.
Balls to whimsy is what I say. They make no sense, have western references you have no clue about and learn them at an age when you need potty training. What can be more maddeningly impractical?
August 19, 2008 at 12:37 pm
I was once stuck in an auto with Tan and Han loudly singing nursery rhymes. Felt like suspending them myself – upside down from a crane, perhaps.
Whimsy, you say? I still have nightmares about this. I’m scarred, I tell you, scarred! My whimsy has gone to get oil (if I remember my Delhiisms correctly).
August 21, 2008 at 5:17 am
young ‘un (,)
is it a pun as i think it is??
August 21, 2008 at 9:34 pm
Practicality. Pffff.
August 29, 2008 at 7:19 am
I don’t somehow remember any of my nursery rhymes, it was all rote for me then. I hated the memorising and especially the reciting in front of relatives. If I remember correctly you said the first word you spoke was somethign about a cow right?
September 10, 2008 at 1:07 pm
That calling card thing you shared was pretty hardcore.
September 13, 2008 at 11:54 pm
Well for a word-smith you did take your time. Must have been that utmost respect you had for the word. I like this post. The Word.
There is this trippy tradition my family follows. I dont know if this tradition is followed by all Hindu mallus or all Hindus but nonetheless it is a trippy tradition . When the new entry into the family is a few months old the oldest member of that family (usually my dad if the family is holded up in a microscopic arab country that denies their expatriates denizenship ) follows a ritual. The baby is placed on the elders lap and is surrounded by incense , lamps and what not. The elder then curls his fingers into a “shell”(like a sea shell) and places one end at the infant’s ear and the other end at his mouth. The first word the infant “hears” is then spoken softly through the shell to the child. Then a plate of rice grain is placed below the infant and the elder guides the infinetesimal index finger of the child to “write” his first letter which is usually the “a” in malayalam. And thus ends the infants initiation into the infinite world of colluquy, lexicology, semantics and linguistics. In the end the whole family eats copious amounts of rice and veg and go back to bitching about each other.
And when you coming down Mr Baajuhut (neighbouring hut?)?