Farouk Gulsara's Blog - Posts Tagged "colonial-masters"
Oh deary, silly me!
Like the Sword of Damocles, it hung over his head. There was a constant nagging heaviness over his temples. He knew it was bad, really bad. He had certain arbitrary lines but this one had crossed it all, imaginary or otherwise. But still, life had to go on. And the show too.
He knew it was a bad idea. With all these problems plaguing him, he thought it was inappropriate for him to partake in this event. But then, it was also a lifetime achievement. A success hailed upon by his kinsmen as the epitome of his checkered life. Akin to a water lily, growing wild amongst the filth of marsh, stench and reptiles honoured to glorify the lotus feet of Buddha, an achievement enviable to some but yearned by all, privileged to a few!
Anyway, the problem is not an overnight one. Like a crystal, the lattice had developed over the years slowly but surely to its full wrathful glory. How could he have been so dumb? Or was it beyond his control and was decided by the constellations and the genetic predisposition?
In other people's faces, he saw joy and happiness. Photograph flashes kept blinding periodically, a reminder for achievers to immortalise and digitise the moment. Unfortunately, for Gus, it was only melancholia. With philosophical rationalisation, he decides to forgo everything.
"Professional studio photography, sir?" somebody suggested, pointing enticingly at the display of families of graduates flashing their enamel possessions as if they were advertising for a tooth care product.
"No, thanks," said Gus as he hurried through the main hall. "What is the meaning of all these?" he thought to himself, "is there is no peace of mind?" His mind wandered through his childhood. He recalled all those seemingly hopeless times when sad songs were the flavour of the day. Happiness was an then unattainable feat. It still is. "Oh, how I had longed for this day!" Gus lamented.
Just as his mind was deeply engrossed in the nostalgia of yesteryears, his daydream was interrupted.
"Do you have any food preferences, sir?" the lady at the reception voiced out, appearing slightly irritated, probably as Gus' appearance did not exude cordiality.
"Pardon ma'm?" Gus replied.
"Do you have any preferences for your dinner, vegetarian or vegan?" the receptionist read out mechanically.
"We are okay," Gus replied in unison, with his wife nodding in agreement.
"As long as there is no beef."
"So, can we serve you vegetarian? Since we are serving deer meat tonight," she replied.
"Dear meat?”
"Yes, deer meat!"
Then it hit Gus and his Mrs. "You mean you are serving venison!"
Gus, chuckling inside, just wanted to see the change in the receptionist's face.
She must be some kind of actress or perhaps a good hand at poker as she never flinched a muscle giving away the clue that she might be embarrassed.
Gus had two minds to start his sermon on how words like mutton, venison, beef etcetera came to the English language to give the feel of bourgeois as these words were French in origin, but against his better judgement, he decided to keep it for another occasion another day.
After all, Gus was a feted guests and guests ought to behave at the highest decorum so as to honour his host. Maybe sweet revenge may come another day….
***
I swear I had seen that surname somewhere. But the name Indie? Surely it must be a shortened version of the name Indiana. Indiana for a British? Strange. Anyway, I never understood why someone who name a child after a state. Saying that, Malaysia was the most popular newborn girl’s name in the USA last year among the black community. The only association between England and Indiana that I remember was the riddle when I heard as a young adult about where Prince Charles spent his honeymoon! Go figure.
In the modern age, when in doubt, what does a sane person usually do? Google of course. Within a fraction of a second upon typing the surname, the whole anthroponymy of the said name appeared in full glory. Now, it made sense. I could not have guessed.
When she offered vegetarian food for the dinner as she thought we did not consume beef as she thought venison and beef were from same cattle of fish (pardon the pun), I was wondering why she said ‘deer meat’? My usually dull grey cells went into hyperdrive. I thought that perhaps she was one of those true blue Anglophile, who was trying to restore old glory in the English language. She was attempting to restore the language to its glory days before it was corrupted by foreign words from the self-appointed bourgeois societies like the French or the contaminations of the returning members of the British Raj office who boast of the world knowledge through logorrhoea and perceived gibberish.
“Jungle, bungalow, khaki, juggernaut, loot, shampoo. We have our own words,” they said just like any hardliner would say. “And we need no ham, mutton and no venison.” We need to keep our language clean just like our bloodlines!
Well, well, well, I did not know. My little research revealed that the ‘deer meat’ lady is indeed a descendant of whom the British Raj tried to abandon in 1947. Her surname was a dead give away, originating from the cattle rearers clan of the Punjab Valley. Her pale complexion and her pseudo-accent fooled me. For all you know ‘Indie’ could have been an abbreviation if ‘Indira’. Gone were the head bobbing and the singsong intonation of speech. “My, my, Oh righty!” she said in a typically British manner.
The same way Farrokh Bulsara became Freddy Mercury to be blended well into the society to become a British icon.
I was telling myself, “Here are we, two descendants of the Indian subcontinent, one displaced away to another colony and another deciding to snuggle up to the masters trying to outdo each other thinking that is more British and know more English than the other!” Interesting coolie mentality.
He knew it was a bad idea. With all these problems plaguing him, he thought it was inappropriate for him to partake in this event. But then, it was also a lifetime achievement. A success hailed upon by his kinsmen as the epitome of his checkered life. Akin to a water lily, growing wild amongst the filth of marsh, stench and reptiles honoured to glorify the lotus feet of Buddha, an achievement enviable to some but yearned by all, privileged to a few!
Anyway, the problem is not an overnight one. Like a crystal, the lattice had developed over the years slowly but surely to its full wrathful glory. How could he have been so dumb? Or was it beyond his control and was decided by the constellations and the genetic predisposition?
In other people's faces, he saw joy and happiness. Photograph flashes kept blinding periodically, a reminder for achievers to immortalise and digitise the moment. Unfortunately, for Gus, it was only melancholia. With philosophical rationalisation, he decides to forgo everything.
"Professional studio photography, sir?" somebody suggested, pointing enticingly at the display of families of graduates flashing their enamel possessions as if they were advertising for a tooth care product.
"No, thanks," said Gus as he hurried through the main hall. "What is the meaning of all these?" he thought to himself, "is there is no peace of mind?" His mind wandered through his childhood. He recalled all those seemingly hopeless times when sad songs were the flavour of the day. Happiness was an then unattainable feat. It still is. "Oh, how I had longed for this day!" Gus lamented.
Just as his mind was deeply engrossed in the nostalgia of yesteryears, his daydream was interrupted.
"Do you have any food preferences, sir?" the lady at the reception voiced out, appearing slightly irritated, probably as Gus' appearance did not exude cordiality.
"Pardon ma'm?" Gus replied.
"Do you have any preferences for your dinner, vegetarian or vegan?" the receptionist read out mechanically.
"We are okay," Gus replied in unison, with his wife nodding in agreement.
"As long as there is no beef."
"So, can we serve you vegetarian? Since we are serving deer meat tonight," she replied.
"Dear meat?”
"Yes, deer meat!"
Then it hit Gus and his Mrs. "You mean you are serving venison!"
Gus, chuckling inside, just wanted to see the change in the receptionist's face.
She must be some kind of actress or perhaps a good hand at poker as she never flinched a muscle giving away the clue that she might be embarrassed.
Gus had two minds to start his sermon on how words like mutton, venison, beef etcetera came to the English language to give the feel of bourgeois as these words were French in origin, but against his better judgement, he decided to keep it for another occasion another day.
After all, Gus was a feted guests and guests ought to behave at the highest decorum so as to honour his host. Maybe sweet revenge may come another day….
***
I swear I had seen that surname somewhere. But the name Indie? Surely it must be a shortened version of the name Indiana. Indiana for a British? Strange. Anyway, I never understood why someone who name a child after a state. Saying that, Malaysia was the most popular newborn girl’s name in the USA last year among the black community. The only association between England and Indiana that I remember was the riddle when I heard as a young adult about where Prince Charles spent his honeymoon! Go figure.
In the modern age, when in doubt, what does a sane person usually do? Google of course. Within a fraction of a second upon typing the surname, the whole anthroponymy of the said name appeared in full glory. Now, it made sense. I could not have guessed.
When she offered vegetarian food for the dinner as she thought we did not consume beef as she thought venison and beef were from same cattle of fish (pardon the pun), I was wondering why she said ‘deer meat’? My usually dull grey cells went into hyperdrive. I thought that perhaps she was one of those true blue Anglophile, who was trying to restore old glory in the English language. She was attempting to restore the language to its glory days before it was corrupted by foreign words from the self-appointed bourgeois societies like the French or the contaminations of the returning members of the British Raj office who boast of the world knowledge through logorrhoea and perceived gibberish.
“Jungle, bungalow, khaki, juggernaut, loot, shampoo. We have our own words,” they said just like any hardliner would say. “And we need no ham, mutton and no venison.” We need to keep our language clean just like our bloodlines!
Well, well, well, I did not know. My little research revealed that the ‘deer meat’ lady is indeed a descendant of whom the British Raj tried to abandon in 1947. Her surname was a dead give away, originating from the cattle rearers clan of the Punjab Valley. Her pale complexion and her pseudo-accent fooled me. For all you know ‘Indie’ could have been an abbreviation if ‘Indira’. Gone were the head bobbing and the singsong intonation of speech. “My, my, Oh righty!” she said in a typically British manner.
The same way Farrokh Bulsara became Freddy Mercury to be blended well into the society to become a British icon.
I was telling myself, “Here are we, two descendants of the Indian subcontinent, one displaced away to another colony and another deciding to snuggle up to the masters trying to outdo each other thinking that is more British and know more English than the other!” Interesting coolie mentality.
