Page 12 - NewsLetter Vol 2 Issue May 2020.cdr

In Jest… On Writing …

he year was 1982. Gen Y was not born, leave alone Gen Z. “MISA” was still a more feared coinage than VISA. ecently I read an article by Anne Janzer, where force meaning when there was none, when I was too
“Brain drain” was more in order than “brain gain”. Foreign-travel was a fantasy. As I got down to preparing for she wonderfully narrates how she could relate the close for meaning.
Tthe GRE to give the 'vilaayat dream' a shot, the difculty of learning words I had never spoken or heard of, hit me Rprocess of making bread with that of writing. Then
hard in the face. But the urge to barge into the United States of Northern America made me go through the (d)(g)rill, I came across a picture of a freshly baked bread posted For most people when we say writing, we mean only the
as one would appreciate (sympathize? empathize?? – we will keep that “apt word” discussion for another day). act of putting words on the page. How short-sighted!
by a friend (who is also a budding writer) on social media.
The loaves were golden and buoyant, in stark contrast to Imagine us, just few months ago and we were still
One had to learn words and meanings from “badinage” to “bassoon”. From “pterodactyl” to "tarantula" to hugging our friends, still swaying en masse from
“troglodyte”! It was then that poetry struck me as a possible mnemonic. This made me pen these phrases, calibrated the caption. The writer declared the bread - the physical subway poles, still stopping for golden-lit happy hours
to the contemporaneous context of 1982 so that I could at least recall what those tongue-twisters meant! While manifestation of procrastination from her book project. at outdoor cafes where we licked food from our ngers
dusting old stuff at home the other day, I found this 'priceless' piece!! The 'philanthropist' in me prompted me to share The bread was shame. The bread was self-agellation.
this "gnyaan" for the larger good of the humankind. The bread was the modern confessional, dank and and laughed and never disinfected our hands. On the
musty, though at rst glance it looked only delicious. I evening of a day such as this, I wrote an email to a friend.
No prizes for guessing whether I ultimately made it to where I dreamed to be (at least at that time!). If I were there, was, at the time, mired in my own writing-related shame I shared my life, inquired about hers. I asked about her
would I be here (elementary, my dear Watson!) And to my “consolation”, I gathered that the GRE's Verbal Ability only and the bread inspired deep feelings of inadequacy. I job, her health. We haven't corresponded in months and
got tougher over time, making the 'phoren' attempts of students even more gruelling! Serves the blokes right!! typed off a deant joke. as I wrote there was a sense of stiff muscles warming.
Only at the very end, when I felt sufciently tender, I said,
And the heartening thing is, times did change for the better for the Hindustan-non-Leavers. Ain't “yours faithfully” a BREAD IS WRITING!! I said. I would make variations of “I hope the writing is going well”. To an outsider, this
'jeeta-jaagta-misaal'? this joke over the next few days. Netix is writing! I said, statement might sound cold. When I say, I hope the
or cocktails are writing! Photos of my cat are writing! At writing is going well, I am saying, I hope you are able to
Here is an extract from my poetry (or at least what I thought it was!) of yore.
some point the exclamation marks, and the irony, peeled access the truest part of yourself; I am saying, I hope you
away. Flowers are writing. Baths are writing. Doing feel thrillingly alive to possibility; I am saying, I hope you
For those who continue to dread the dictionary or
No Longer. … nothing is writing. Two weeks ago, I intended to feel human.
loathe the lexicon, here is a quick leg-up: compose a meticulous newsletter on craft. I felt prepared
No longer is education Abject = Absolutely miserable for the task, given my recent experience with the We should wait for the time when we can turn back to
Apt = Suitable orchestrated process of publishing a book. I'd gone face the mountain, when we are far enough that we can

Our students' main vocation; Badinage = Witty conversation through countless drafts, juggled schedules and steps nally discern the shape of it that was ungraspable from
the peak. Then we can breathe and rest; then we can
No hesitation, no cogitation, Bassoon = Woodwind instrument and spreadsheets. I emerged with a toolbox I was rather appreciate the loveliness of the moon, the syllable. We
When it comes to agitation! Cogitation = Thought proud of. This is the hammer I take to revision. This is the can take out our chisel and hammer, which were never
Contemporaneous = Occurring at the same time chisel with which I carve scenes. This is the sound- lost; we have all the time in the world to make, in
No longer are our teachers Depravity = (Moral) corruption editing software with which I play sentences back to miniature, a piece of art that captures the wilds of our
myself to interrogate their sonic qualities.
More than mere preachers; Dread = Fear grief. Until then, we are allowed to be tired, we are
So abject is their subject, Loathe = Abhor = Abominate = Despise = Detest = That was two weeks ago. Now my tools look like a child's allowed to be footsore and heartsick, we are allowed to
You cannot but reject! Dislike (whoo!) toys, absurdly unsuited to the scale of the moment. An lay down our pen and focus on survival. When I again
Kleptocracy = Government where ofcials are earthquake has rumbled through me with every fresh say to you, “I hope the writing is going well” I mean:
No longer has our polity politically/nancially corrupt wave of news, and I can't possibly confront the rubble
A modicum of probity; MISA = Maintenance of Internal Security Act [during with a chisel or audacity. Craft is inadequate. I am-as Walking is writing. Crying is writing. Talking to a parent
whose health we fear for is writing. Cooking is writing.
When it comes to depravity the State of Emergency: 25/6/1975-21/3/1977] many of us are-facing the mountain that is anguish. Lying prostrate on the rug and watching sun stripe the
You cannot guess the gravity Mnemonic = Memory aid Folks! I would just say that the mountain is not wall is writing. I have had years in which I could not see
Modicum = Small quantity insurmountable. I've crossed it before. I was twenty-two the shape of my life or string together a good sentence;
No longer is our bureaucracy Philanthropist = A generous benefactor... err.. donor when a grandparent who was closest to my heart died. and I have had a summer in which, three years late, the
Anything better than kleptocracy; Probity = Uprightness (I know, daggers will be out if I After that I wasted hours reading bad articles about the fog lifted in a different climate and suddenly I could write
When their behaviour is venal, write “Rectitude”!!) stages of sorrow. I wasted even more hours trying to about the person I lost. So, don't force the words. They
How can their attitude be venial? write about the person I lost. Both obsessions slunk from will come, like old friends. You do not have to walk on
Pterodactyl = Flying reptile
Sans = Without the same lizard part of my brain that tried to shelter under your knees / for a hundred miles. If you are suffering
No longer does this nation Tarantula = Venomous spider the illusion of structure, that scuttled after anything with from anguish, then I give you permission to write it in the
Appear an inhabitable creation; Troglodyte = Cave dweller momentum. Stages, paragraphs, outlines—I wanted the best way you can—which is to say, to live. Till then lets
With millions sans viand Venal = Corrupt reassurance that feeling tormented had a roadmap I 'Live' to live.
Worth calling this abode a land? could follow. I am sorry to say that you cannot write
Venial = Pardonable yourself through grief. Wish that we could. Wish that we
Viand = Food could design our sentences and syllables, our powerful
Yore = Former times metaphors and efcient engines of plot, into machines, by
armoured tanks that carry us through the wilds of grief Dr. Chandreie Mukherjee
Assistant Professor
by and deliver us unscathed to the other side. Twice in my (Management Communications)
Prof. M Chandrasekhar life I've tried to armour myself in writing, because writing IIM Visakhapatnam
Director, was how I could make some sense of the world. Twice
IIM Visakhapatnam have I gritted my teeth through the death of a loved one
and churned out bad pages in response. I was trying to

12 IIM Visakhapatnam IIM(V)IBES - A quarterly newsletter 13