Chez Moi

Have you wondered where your English language is from? As in, the type of language you speak is it English, American, Australian or any other. I never questioned the source of mine till very recently. From school, I learnt the English left over from the colonial days. Spelt armour, valour, colour etc with a u, waTer with a ‘t’ and not a ‘d’ well, you get my drift. But thanks to STAR TV and Hollywood, I also learnt some Americanisms along the way I knew about Route 66, pronounced schedule as skedjool, route as rout and could generally follow the plot of an American movie without subtitles.

When I moved to UK, I did not feel out of place as after all, I have been learning English all my life! Till the day I blurted out loud at work ‘where’s the F in lieutenant?’ and caused a mini uproar (‘please don’t swear ….’, ‘I beg your pardon’) of sorts. After my team mates had stopped wetting themselves, they set up educating me in the ways of the world. So I learnt to say ‘leftinent’ and ‘shedule’ and words of similar ilk.

You would think, having grown up learning Colonial English, I would have no problems fitting in with the Brits. Right? Wrong! I was under that mistaken impression till I switched on the telly and sat through day-time TV. I did not understand a word and had to fumble along, aided by that marvellous invention called Teletext! I ended up begging people’s pardons every other minute, asking them to repeat what they said. Of course, they couldn’t understand what I was going on about, when in my eagerness to sound less desi, I tried mimicking the accent oft-heard on STAR TV and ended sounding like Buffy gone bad.

For starters, there was the accents - hundreds of them. Geoff Boycott’s ‘crickeet’ and ‘wickeet’ had me in splits when I used to watch the game but now, when I had a lady asking me if the boos would be along soon, it took me a long time to get her. Even after six years, I still get thrown by the odd word: had an interviewer on the phone today (I work for a social research firm) asking me for what sounded like ‘used diaries’ and I was perplexed at the request. Used diaries? Whatever for, went I, till the bulb went on in my brain a good few minutes later, when I realised he was asking me for some ‘youth diaries’!

That is when I came to realise what a minefield the varied British accent is. Most Eastenders seemed to have lost or misplaced the hard ‘t’ that is found in almost every word. If it comes at the end of the word, well that’s easy enough to understand but when faced with a request to get someone some ‘wa-er’, what can one do but blink? Most people in Essex also seem to forget to pronounce ‘th’ as it must, choosing instead to go with the wildly popular ‘f’. Thereby, one sees blokes answering to Arfur or wish someone a ‘happy birfday’. P almost killed us the time he sang about the three Kings and assorted junta who went to Beflehem to see the baby Jesus. We also get a ‘fank you’ for a good deed, even when it is ’nuffink’.

The English, much like the Australians, have this habit of shortening things into something that bears no resemblance to the original word. Thus, sandwiches become sarnies, potato patties become tatties, pinafore is a pinny, the list is positively endless. This is before we even venture into the murky waters of Cockney rhyming slang. ‘Don’t you tell porkies’, admonishes a character in EastEnders. It was a while before I twigged (porky pie ~ lie; hence porkies = lies) - phew! Thus, I have found that I was taking the Michael, Bob was my uncle and on one memorable occasion, urged to ask for the William (the bill!). Who says the Brits have no sense of humour?

All in all, I have often felt the language I was taught all my life in India bears not much resemblance to the one I have been learning the past six years. The advantage is, I can truly say I learn new things every day!

Was anyone shocked with the outcome of last night’s episode of The Apprentice? I was! I thought it would be an all-girl final like last year, between Kristina and Katie. Whilst I was hoping that Tre might get a look in, I never thought Scatterbrain Simon would make it. I most certainly did not even dream that Katie would get chosen for the final but would step down. With such a flimsy excuse too.

I mean, to say she cannot make the decision to move her family from Exeter to London without consulting her parents, who help look after her children smacks of something unprintable. Which parent takes up or goes for a job without thinking about things like childcare, schools etc? Conversely, which parent expects their child, shortlisted for the final, to check with them first before signing her life away? Give me a break!

Even before I went for my job interview (which, ironically, took place at Amstrad House - where the winning Apprentice would work!) I checked out the local daycare facilities for P and he had started the nursery three weeks before I joined my company, to give us both decent lead time to get used to the new state of things. And this ‘man-eater’, this ‘go getter’ who is in it to win it wants us all to believe that she cannot offer that sort of commitment? Who is she trying to kid?

The whole show smacked of something straight out of a cartoon. The interviews were all horribly edited. Poor Tre kept trying to assert the credibility of his organisation but the Western mind could not comprehend the meaning of a ‘family business’ in an Asian setting and the interviewer kept mocking him. When he gave his report to Sir Alan, claiming Tre was ‘running an international conglomerate from his bedroom’, I thought it was a cheap shot.

Likewise, the whole charade of Sir Alan giving Katie the benefit of the doubt and allowing her to go through, even though all of his advisers said there was something about her they don’t trust, only to come back to her and dig the reason why she wasn’t whooping with joy… the scenario just didn’t cut the mustard, unfortunately. I think some serious editing has happened for it to come across the way it did.

Whatever it was, the Apprentice is becoming more and more a reality game show, more along the lines of Big Brother, rather than a credible, grey cells worthy programme. Sound bytes are given prominence, in place of truth and I, for one, am fast losing interest. What’s more, I would not be the least bit surprised if Katie wound up in next year’s Celebrity Big Brother or I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! lineup.

No, I am not doing a Daniel Pewter here. It is just a summation of the stinker of the day I had. It got off to a bad start when I decided to dust the cobwebs off my tummy trimmer thingummyjig and actually use it. Bad idea! It was propped up tight against the exercise bike (which I use to dry clothes mainly) and when I tugged it hard, it shot out and hit me on my soft head hard enough that I saw stars. I tell ya - exercising is bad for health!

I pootled off to work with the sore head and this screechy woman rings me barely five minutes after I’ve sat down. I wanted to wring her neck! Now I really was feeling what they meant when they said ‘hammer & tongs’ - I was all set to lie down and weep by lunch time. That was when I decided to get a drink and wouldn’t you know it, barely has the first drop gone down my throat when I choke on it and go into paroxysms of cough. Jeez!

Just when I was wondering if my day could be any worse, like Ross, I learnt that some eager beaver at work has taken my name off the company rolls, a full month before I am scheduled to leave. *sigh*

Come on, Daniel, sing with me - you’ve had a bad day…

For someone so young, P can spin stories like a pro. We learned fairly early on to never trust every thing he said, especially when he’s spouting stuff with a wicked glint in his eyes. Friends have found this out for themselves at great peril. To see him denying things, with an angelic look on his face is a sight, indeed!
Recently we were visiting friends and as it was a hot day, we sat at this nice pub by a canal and were quenching our collective thirst when a narrowboat came along. A man jumped out, went to the bridge across the canal, and opened the lock. The bridge swung out near where we were sitting and a few older boys jumped on it. P wasn’t going to be left behind, oh no! He stood on the edge, much like a ship’s captain and observed the proceedings. The minute the bridge became one, he lit out and made a mad dash towards us. He came to me, huffing and puffing and went ‘did you see what I did, mummy?’
And I replied ‘oh yes, baby, did you enjoy it?’
To which he went ‘Oh no! It wasn’t me that wanted to do it. Uncle did - he made me go up there. I was almost hit by the car!’
Needless to say, it was a good while before the couple could close their mouths.

He also has a ready-made reply for most situations.

‘P, shall we go and pick up daddy from whereever?’
‘Nah’
‘Why not?’
‘No need, mummy. Daddy is a big boy, he can find his way back by himself’.

Then there was the time he found a spider in the tub. I had noticed it a few minutes back and had left it there to see what his reactions would be. As he walked in to brush his teeth, he noticed the bug and let out a shout. Then there was silence.
I was puzzled. Not for long, though. He came out couple of minutes later with the explanation.
p: ‘There was a spider in the tub, mummy’
Me: Really? What is it doing now?
P: Oh, it got died.
Me: How come?
P: The water came and splashed it and it got died.
Me: How did the water come and land on it?
P: Oh I turned the taps on.
Me: So you killed it then?
P: Oh no, it wasn’t me! I just turned the taps on. It was the water that killed the spider.

As if one needs more proof of his way with words, here’s an excerpt from our conversation as we walked back home from school today.

Me: So, baby, did you have a good time at school?
P: Yep.
Me: What’s that star on your t-shirt for?
P: Oh that is for when I did some counting and didn’t use my fingers. I had to add 10 and 6 but I did not use my fingers. I just used my brain. I used the fingers in my brain!

The things you learn during your daily web trawl! I was just going through my daily fix of blogs when I came to know of this arresting fact: Miss USA took a toss down slippery catwalk as she sashayed down it, during the Miss Universe pageant. After the first couple of sniggers, watching the clip on YouTube, I decided to go a step further and see if I can come up with a few more.

I needn’t have worried my pretty head about it - the following came in the mix automatically!

First, catch the Little Miss Humpty Dumpty in action:

At least she recovered well!

Next bit of ha ha comes when a Miss Universe contestant’s outfit comes apart:

As if to prove that this isn’t a one-off and strictly pageants only, here’s what happens when a model wears columns of material held together by string, instead of clothes: