A workout with words

Unable to fathom the meaning of that newspaper article even after a careful reading, I read it again. Only to find that it left me even mo...

Unable to fathom the meaning of that newspaper article even after a careful reading, I read it again. Only to find that it left me even more confused. It was a matter of hardly 50 lines but I had to refer to the dictionary as many times. No, it was not a write-up on a particular subject which only those who have done some groundwork on it are expected to read. A personal essay, it was obviously meant to be read by the average reader like me. The thought that I was found wanting, made me restless.

I talked about the article with a couple of friends who subscribe to the same paper. “I don’t exactly know whether I understood it or not,” one of them said, “but I put it to a good use. I read it just before going to bed and it worked. I slept soundly!” The other friend threw up his hands, declaring in a lighter vein that he had not written it and was therefore not supposed to read it because “such articles were read only by those who write them”. I didn’t discuss the matter with anyone else thereafter.

But the write-up took me back to my college days. I remember how, as a student of English literature, I often found Indian writers and poets — in contrast to European and American ones — more difficult to grasp. And I was not the only one to whom they appeared alien. When it came to studying poetry — which requires both head and heart — we preferred Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley and even Browning — who is often accused of being obscure — to their Indian counterparts.

Perhaps, I would think then, Indian litterateurs could not express themselves effectively because English was not their mother-tongue. In other words, their language of speaking and language of writing were different, as it were, and they entered a totally different frame of mind when they wrote.At times, they consumed almost a paragraph to describe a shabby restaurant, something an O. Henry would achieve with great economy of words: “It catered to large appetites and modest purses”.

I couldn’t help thinking that many of them often made an easy theme complex. Effective and meaningful, yet simple, poetic constructions such as “Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought” or “They also serve who stand and wait” seldom occur in their writings. Probably, this is because they got their education in English in a copybook manner. Or may be they were too good for students like me.

In my mind, to use a cricket analogy these litterateurs were like the Boycotts and the Gavaskars, technically perfect but not daring and entertaining like the Tendulkars and Laras.

Fortunately, the gap between Euro-American and Indian litterateurs started narrowing more rapidly in the second half of the 20th century. Today, many of our writers and poets express themselves as effectively as any other in the world.

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But still there are writers of the species discussed earlier who have that 19th century feel about them. If such writers, particularly those writing for newspapers, come out of their shells and interact more with readers, they might realise that they will have to change their style to suit the “one-day format” of literature innovative and attractive if they want to be read in print in the age of dotcoms. Gone are the days when sentences like “She planted her material self on my reposing spirit” were applauded. “She rested her head on my chest” will do now.

But there is one thing good about, if I may call them, cryptic writers. They can provide you with an alternative to the workout at the gym. For biceps and forearms, at least. After all, lifting the Random House Dictionary is no joke!