Crazy Angrezy

It took me over twenty years and a journey 8,700 miles away from my hometown to realize that Indians have mangled with English far beyond recognition. Strange as it may seem, when it comes to doing things differently, we correctly do it wrongly. For instance, Indians like to use a word twice to put emphasis on it. Why because, morning morning when you’re full busy busy, who will think of nice nice grammar? You might even be tempted to ask us, “You guys are mad, or what?” But hey, Indian English is considered one of the official and recognized dialects of the English language. Above all, most terms that Indians do actually use, are finding their way into prominent dictionaries like Oxford.

It’s all a part of our growing up and we don’t regret it. Because only in India will you see nearly every sentence end in “only." This is something we say without realizing only! And only in India you will see that bathroom, yawn, sleep, laugh - all come to us upon being summoned! Mind you, if you don’t treat this seriously enough, you will get a ‘firing’ at work, forcing you to waste a lot of time in 'making out' what to do for an income. While we Indians use a 'rubber' to “undo” our mistakes, our friends from other countries use a rubber to umm, “do” stuff (shy is coming now). In India, it’s also perfectly harmless to step outside to a “booth” for an “STD.” But we never stick around for too long anyways, those STDs are expensive!

And have you ever wondered why Indian students score so well in their tests? It’s because they’re good students who are busy ‘mugging’ day and night! After all the eventful mugging, they give their tests (when they should actually be taking them) and successfully end up ‘passing out.’ Even if you are a bad student and haven’t mugged hard enough, you are still very likely to pass out after you’ve successfully learned the twenty two letters of the alphabet (A B C D E F G H I J K ELLOMENOPEE Q R S T U V W X Y Zed). Anyways, in the end, all that matters is that you have ‘freaked out’ enough by ‘blasting’ during all those fun times with your friends, cousin-brothers, cousin-sisters, co-brothers and co-sisters. Surely, a lot of fun would have come to you!

We will readily do friendship with you by asking you your ‘goodname’ and introduce ourselves by saying “Myself, goodname.” We will insist our guests to “come no, come” to our house and “have no, have” some tea and delicious snakes. Our vegetarianism isn’t just limited to ‘snakes’ or ‘Lady fingers’, but it extends to even our jokes and stories! You will pretend to be a ‘pure vegetarian’ in front little kids even with those nasty thoughts running in your mind. But on a more serious note, we Indians are so amicable that we will travel ‘out of station’, take ‘long cuts’, and even pack you a ‘dabba’ just so we invite you to our marriage. (Yes, an entire marriage. Not just a wedding). If we can’t wait to see you, we might even ‘prepone’ the marriage. Correct only no?

Above all, there is yet another unique characteristic to the Indian English – the use of the phrase “Do one thing.” This one thing can be many things, but it’s still one thing: it’s clarity. It’s a way to move forward. In a confused situation, when one utters these powerful words, mouths snap shut, eyes light up with hope, and every mind thinks: “Finally, someone has an answer!” A “Do one thing” solution is one that is presented for execution. So now, do one thing. Next time when you see a bunch of Indians working, observe how no one thinks that the task is possibly difficult. Because, to solve it, all you have to do is one thing.

Having said that, let me do one thing and give you one last interesting fact because 'time is getting over for me.' By 2015, India will have the largest number of English speakers (approx. 300 million). So whether the native English speakers like it or not, Indian English is here to stay and creep its way into everything else. And if you’re from Bangalore, then “don’t worry maadkobeda.” Because this is our English - we’ll also talk, they’ll also talk. Then everything will be 'same to same.'

Next time I will tell you more about what is happening ‘down my end.’

Hump Ahead

Keep Safe distance

Horn OK Please

Tata Bye Bye.

P.S : If you are reminded of more such characteristics of the Indian English, then i suggest you write it 'off" as a comment.

Your's sincerely,

Myself, Goodname.

parDESI

It’s a quiet, exceptionally boring summer afternoon here in Raleigh. And here I am sitting in my apartment tired from all studying (what I really mean is facebooking and chatting), cleaning (yeah, you did read correctly) and cooking (I really needed to kill time). Little did I know that this mundane life is what awaited me, when I left home two years ago. Whoa! It’s been T-W-O full years. And I’m half an engineer now! But then, I also happen to be rather influenced by a strange condition. Just like many of my fellow desi students.

This condition is characterized by craziness, boredom, anxiety, insomnia, desire, nostalgia and random outbursts of “kuch karte hain yaar, kahin chalte hain”. The cause: a deep inner need of getting a job, paying off loans, eventually getting back home while trying to ensure that in the end, we’ve had all the fun under the sun. There really isn’t an official name for this condition, although it is often misconstrued for homesickness. Meanwhile, families back home worry about the common American influences (more particularly, living-ins and dating).

The desi F-1s - Indian born, extremely confused desis - a subculture expected to become the next batch of immigrant engineers (and a few other professions here and there) for which hard working Indian parents laid foundation. They’re expected to be settled with an extremely well paying job, married to someone from their own caste, possibly own a two garage home…blah blah blah. This is not a story about the exceptions or the ones from conservative families. This is a story about my friends, their families, my family. This is story about the struggle of trying to feel at home, away from home; the struggle to straddle the two countries and still remain faithful to their true identity.

It all starts with the idea of conquering fresh worlds or it could be result of fulfilling your parents dream of seeing you fare well abroad (no, we didn’t come here because it’s “cool” to study in the USA). Like a swarm of bees, hundreds of dreamers crowd outside the U.S consulates in India every year to get that F-1 visa stamp on their passport. That done and goodbyes said, it’s Hello USA!

And here it is. USA – big houses, less people. Too much work, too little time. Some friendly faces, many crazy people. From grocery shopping to cooking to cleaning to driving to being driven nuts – you’re on your own. Soon you start to inform your folks about your milestones (at least that’s what they are to your family) – your on-campus job, your trip to the Niagara Falls, your first winter (yay, snow!), your first car (10 years old), and your first trip back home after having arrived in the US. Time flies by quickly, very quickly.

And we fail to realize how much we have changed. Changed from being used to the freedom, those night-outs, late night movies with friends, agonizing course load, and the bachelor life. Not surprisingly, we’re simultaneously battling the cultural difference crisis. Knowing that most of us will stay back in this country for more than just the duration of our course, we are obliged to live by the American standards and yet, our stove tops will be covered in aluminum foil, our houses will smell of masala, we will continue to hate the ABCDs, we will attend parties where there is free food, and we will most certainly buy a Toyota or a Honda because they have the best resale values.

Weird, don’t you think? Because we’re used to this lifestyle. Sure, we hate living this way and we complain about it at every chance we get, but we find it almost impossible to get back to the “life-before-USA” life. Think about it: we are unable to truly melt in the 'Great Melting Pot', because we are chained to our cultural restrains and also vexed by the idea of giving up an accustomed standard of living. We oscillate between two worlds, caught in an ugly mid position. Strangely, this appears to affect only the Indians – somehow, the rest of our immigrant friends seem more immune to it than we are.

Emotions.

Emotions.

They’re simple. very simple. They’re just plain old emotions. Yet, they're strange.

Happy. excited. sad. crazy. upset. scared. overwhelmed. bored. emotions from our everyday lives. emotions that we carry. emotions that we become.

In other words, we are our emotions (or so I believe). And yet we’re taught to believe in something completely different. Our emotions aren’t supposed to drive our thoughts, decisions. Stop being emotional. Stay calm. cool. composed.

But that certainly isn’t what we do. We react. worry. stress. Sometimes try and fix it. set rules. or seek help. But there are boundaries. obstacles.

We’re told to control our emotions. Be precise. relaxed. direct.

Ironic. A relaxed state of mind, is, after all an emotion.

Sigh! Emotions are still there. They never leave. They’re here to drive us nuts.

Perhaps the escape lies in fixing ourselves with a prayer. patience. faith. Sounds simple? Maybe so.

And despite such a simple solution, the simple problem still remains.

Emotions.

Premier Amour :-)

Ever been through old photographs from school and realized there are those few memories from all those years ago, which never fade? Those people, whose names you can never forget? No, I don’t just mean your best friends or your favorite teacher. I mean that quirky kid you didn’t want to talk to, that teacher who scared the daylights out of you, that extremely nice corn seller outside school, or…your first crush? Ever sat there, recollecting all those times you encountered with him/her in school or the neighborhood, and just smiled about how silly you used to be?

And that was precisely what she was doing – looking at an old, faded class photo and smiling. She could barely recognize the faces, but there she was - sitting in the front row, timid and bashful while he was at the back, standing tall and handsome. Exactly how she remembers him.

Hers was a typical school-crush tale. He was popular, played sport for the school; nearly every girl longed to talk to him. And she was just another teen, well in danger of being classified as a nerd. Why would he ever want to come up to talk to her? But he did talk to her – once. And she could never forget that day, when he first came up and spoke to her. “You think you can help me with this problem?” he asked.

She looked up, rather startled, trying not to blush. She forced herself to look into the depths of his warm eyes. His acute charm dazed her, caught her off guard. “Here,” He continued as he squeezed himself into the tiny space between her desk and the one next to it. He slid his notebook on the table. “It doesn’t make sense at all. How are we supposed to arrive at this conclusion?” He moved behind her, his lean shadow folding over her skin and onto the book.

“Let me see…” She studied her notebook and his, absurdly conscious of the inches between them. She could barely breathe from the sheer pulchritude of it all. “Well, you have the formula copied wrong here. That’s the only mistake I can see.” She tried not to smile, or blush. Her heart, so susceptible those days, threatened to explode. The intoxicating nearness of him sped up her pulse, bowled her over. The space between them was uncomfortably close, yet pleasantly welcoming.

“Oh yeahhh! You’re right. Ha-ha, stupid me!” He said as he laughed softly, unaware of the chaos that small sound had unleashed inside her chest. A few endless seconds slipped past. Her blood surged in her ears. She wondered if he knew what was happening, had any idea what his presence inflicted upon her. She held her breath. Closed her eyes. Briefly. For that period, at least, the moment was suspended - it’s shivering exquisiteness, for that moment, laid there untouched.

And then, a sign. The bell rang, and class was over. When she looked up, the boy was gone. She was back in her attic, her old photo album still intact on her lap. She shook her head, laughed it off and continued with her chores. She probably wasn’t going to remember him again until she pulls up that old photograph another time. The exercise was over.

Maa

It’s that day – the day when you recall that beautiful woman who is loving, optimistic, supportive, fun and complicated all at the same time. Yeah, that’s right – it’s mother’s day. As the day rolls in sync with the waning of the April rains and an outburst of colorful blooms, it seems right that Mother's Day should be consonant with the fullness of spring. There is hardly a more vital time of year, a time of greater exuberance. And everyone knows that. Mothers are beautiful and comforting. Young or old, they always bring joy, warmth and sunshine into your life.

Next to romance, I think the subject of motherhood stirs up more emotion than any other in existence. Statesmen give their mothers credit for the fine people they have become, especially during political campaigns and sailors tattoo the word on their biceps. Not surprising at all, since mothers are freaking amazing. Civilization would have died out rather too quickly without them. Adam certainly couldn’t have done it alone, even though he was quick to blame the woman.

Mothers – god’s best creation yet.

My Mother. Gosh, I can write several books about her. Although she appears to be a typical housewife of her generation, I know she is anything but typical. For having turned a mom at a rather young age, it’s incredible how she dealt with motherhood and responsibilities with such maturity. It makes me think back in amazement at what my mom might have done had she had the time to pursue her dreams — the way she encourages me to pursue mine, even when they meant I’d be very far away in a crazy place and our only communications would be through phones. It’s so easy to overlook — your mom had dreams too you know.

My mom has left countless indelible marks on me. She has inspired me to be everything I am today. One of her marks was independence. She encouraged me to be on my own, do my own stuff. She taught me to look up to people for inspiration, but to never reply on them. She raised me to be self reliant and she had just one thing to say: “there might be a day when you have to take the road less travelled. And it wouldn’t matter if you’re independent, because you wouldn’t ever have to feel helpless.”

Another one of my mom’s big influence on me is optimism. I don’t recall her being cynical ever. Every time life knocked her down, she got up, laughed it off and kept on marching forward. A quality I love in her, but one that I’m yet to inherit completely. I’ve learned to laugh it off, but I’m yet to march forward. She is the only person to tell me it’s great to be short. Because when you’re short, you can only see the part of the glass that’s half full. That made me smile. A lot. My mom always has ways to make me smile, feel great, look forward to good times.

I’ve always associated my mom with happiness and pleasure. Talking to her seems to get me relaxed. Sometimes, I say, Mother and daughter? Nah, we’re more like best friends. Perhaps it’s because she’s pretty young for a mom. Or perhaps it’s just because she’s so super cool. Or maybe it’s both. And more than anything, she is the one person in the whole, wide world I can always come back to. No matter what I’ve done. I love you Maa. Thanks for everything you’ve ever given me. Thanks, for just being there.

Today isn’t just another day where the greeting card industry goes into overdrive or the florists get extremely busy. It isn’t the annual grumbling about another holiday with gift sales. It’s a true sentiment. You have to wonder what the women who gave birth to us make of us all; so worldly, so responsible, so far down the road from the children we once were. So if you’ve taken time to read this post today, do take the time to get those phone lines and wireless connections jammed with filial good wishes, calls placed for the sole purpose of hearing the most familiar voice in the world on the other end of the line. Or if you're at home with her, give her a tight hug and let her know how special she is.

After all, home is where mom is. Happy Mother’s day Maa.

Ominous Shadows

"Turn your face to the sun, and the shadows will fall behind you." ~ Maori Proverb

She was young when she heard that proverb for the first time. How young, she was unsure of; But young enough that it was hard to recollect anything else from that time. All she could remember were those three times she had heard it. She had stopped keeping track of years a long time ago. After all, time is only an illusion.

Instead she chose to record her life in experiences; events that had impacted her life in ways she can never forget. For her, time ceased to have much meaning. She had no commitments to meet, nobody to spend time with, nothing rushing her. She was alive, but deprived of a life. She would smile, but not with her heart. She would sleep, but never dream. She chose to live in a bubble. Every outsider was from another planet, and news from such a planet was irrelevant.

When she first heard the saying, it was from her mother. She walked up to her and said, “Smile, even if you feel like crying. If you keep looking at sun, you’ll never see a shadow. They’ll never be able to touch you.”

And soon, her mother left her. She left her on a cold dreary morning. The ground was scattered with dirty puddles, while the sky with dark, mean clouds. There was very little trace of sunshine but the brightness had momentarily disappeared. While raindrops splattered on the ground outside, teardrops stained her pillowcase inside. And yet, she didn't give up looking at the sun.

Time hadn't progressed very much before she heard it again, this time from her friend. He laughed and said it was something he learned at church. He brought back the sun into her life. And he was the artist that painted sunshine when the sun failed. He kept telling her to smile and look at the sun.

And she only wished he’d stay by her, painting. But he too was gone. Gone without a note, or word. She could never find him, nobody could in fact. That was a problem. And yet, she held on. She continued to look at the sun, whether it shone bright or not.

Time passed. The third and the last time she heard the saying was from the one she loved. But when it came from his lips, it was quite strange and twisted. “Don’t smile,” he told her. “Don’t smile, unless you mean it. Cry if you have to. But never look away from the sun. Even if it blinds you.” And deep down, she believed she wouldn't have to face a blinding sun alone. She knew she’d have him by her always.

And is she to blame to have trusted him? Because he too, left. And as he left, the last of the sunbeams reached the earth. She hoped they would cling on, stay there forever more. Soon, the earth and sky met in a streak of blood red, as if like a stained blunt knife’s edge.

She watched the sun go down for one last time and has been lost in the darkness of the ominous shadows ever since.

The Hidden Language of the Soul.

Backstage, the girls were preparing for their grand finale. The air was tense. Excitement was at its peak. So was frustration -missing pieces of jewelry, costumes and make-up. And sure enough, there were a whole lot of curses too. Amidst all this, you could still find a couple of anxious ones going about their last minute rehearsals. Ten minutes more of this, and the choreographer would have fainted. It was nothing less than chaos backstage.

Finally, to everyone’s relief, it was time. The girls straightened out their costumes and went away to dance. It was their first dance performance together as a group. As they entered the stage, they couldn’t help but smile. Whether it was from excitement, nervousness, relief or pride – no one really knew. They were just smiling pleasantly as they took their positions.

The stage was full of a dark light. The curtains were still down and the girls wondered if they would be able to spot their families and friends in the audience. They squinted as lights squeaked. The technician cursed under his breath because the lights wouldn’t work. Everything soon fell silent in anticipation, perhaps too still. The rustling of papers could be heard and soon the curtain rose. Suddenly, a moon descended on the girls, upon their pretty dresses, and it shifted with them. The technician sighed in relief as he stubbed out his cigarette.

Soon, the soothing music began playing. It was a ballad about eternal love. And then, descending from above, the star ballerina appeared on stage. She was more beautiful than beautiful could get and the audience clapped vigorously for her. The other girls cascaded around her as she assumed a swan shape. The floor was cold; her feet were almost naked in just those stockings. But she still remained a swan as the others danced. The stage floor creaked in their feet’s heavy trots. The air soon got too heavy for breathing and people took to whispering, agonizing with the stale air and just the sound of moving feet. Nobody left – they only stayed in an uneasy wait.

Then it happened; the swan had begun moving. Applause sounded. Soon, she was the only one on stage and she had conquered it as all the other girls filed away into darkness. Alone, she appeared even more beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful. Her face and hair shone bright in the spotlight. Every little girl wanted to be like her, every woman wished she had been like her, while every man just lay transfixed-this was beauty they couldn’t just take in plainly. It seemed as if in the auditorium that night, dance wasn’t just a form; it was a way of life.

Alone, the dancer flowered again. Stretching out her entire body into another splendid motion, she began where the other girls had ended it. Why, her feet would not even touch the ground! She appeared to be flying, flying high like she was powerful and fearless – an athlete of god perhaps? It was evident she wasn’t made of technique but of passion. The audience wasn’t going to forget her tomorrow, next week, next year or the years to come. Such was the spell she had cast on them. Dancing with your feet is one thing, but dancing with your heart is a wonder. And as this beautiful dancer moved from one graceful posture to yet another, she cast more spells on the audience. The technician fell from his station, the organizers stopped discussing business deals, everyone began switching off their cell phones and they simply lay motionless. Motionless, just to watch this wonder of a girl and her magnificence.

She winded like a soft wind brushing over grass, as she moved elegantly towards the finale. Everyone was now violently in love. Violently in love with that young lady and her dance. The audience loved being in love and did not wish for the music to stop, ever. They watched her make enchanting moves after moves and it was almost orgasmic. They had no tomorrow to think of, nothing to bother them: all they wanted was to watch her dance. And as she continued writing poetry with her feet, she revealed more mysteries that the music concealed. THE DANCER HAD BECOME THE DANCE.

boys :)

confession # 2 : I have the best guy-bestfriends ever.

I grew up with guys. I have no siblings and a lot of the neighborhood kids were boys or at least they were the least girly of girls. And I spent all my time with them (surprise, surprise!). So naturally, I was closest friends with precisely these guys. For reasons I’m yet to discover, I cannot tolerate being friends with girly girls. I know I act like one for most part, but I can’t tolerate their company. So I chose to hang out with guys, because honestly speaking, they’re a lot less to deal with than the everyday tantrums and emotional trauma that typical girls come up with.

So, I’m not sure when this wonderful thought dawned on me, but I have some of the best guy friends on the face of the earth. And I’ve always have interesting relationships with them. We NEVER dated – though there were awkward times when I’ve discussed a prospective relationship with a couple of them. Talk about being awkward! But, more often we’d just sit around discussing the most random subjects one could think of. These guys are there to sit back and watch a game of cricket or football, have a couple of drinks, laugh over stupid things and talk about things that my girly friends would find so frikking odd! They’re the ones who’ll give me a completely honest opinion, about everything, even if it’s something I don’t wanna hear. They’re the ones who talk to my face, not behind my back. They’ll laugh, but they’re totally ok if I wear funny colored pants that look hilarious under a flowery t-shirt. With them, I have had my most memorable thoughts, my most beautiful smiles, my most painful tears, my most irritating tantrums and definitely my most cherished times. And more than anything, they make me smile, laugh my heart out and make my days worth it. Which, btw is the best feeling ever!

I can’t tell how many times I’ve been asked by other people if I’m dating any of them. People even thought I was dating multiple guys at once! I’ve been frustrated so many times at trying to explain to people that I’m just friends with these guys. They eventually shut up, but I never could get around convincing them. And frankly, I don’t give a damn either. I’d rather take this than sit around all day with other typical girls bitching about whose dress sense is pathetic, which color to paint my nails or how huge I’ve grown from eating just one sugar-donut.

And I love how it’s never awkward, not even when topics get a little, for lack of a better term, raunchy. And sometimes they’re so comfortable around me, it’s like they’ve ignored the fact that I’m actually a girl. They always have made me laugh more than a whole lot of other people I’ve met. Anyway, I can’t imagine – and frankly don’t want to even contemplate - life without those guy-girl, non-dating experiences – life without guy friends like mine.

And it’s so annoying, especially when you’re approached by your desi relatives, to be enquired about such relationships. They pretend like they understand, but all they end up doing is to segregate you and lessen your interaction with the opposite sex. It’s upsetting how natural male-female relationships can be perverted through gender segregation. Talk about being conservative! Such restriction, I feel, only increases your desperation to get into a romantic relationship, even if that’s not exactly what you want. Then, the unique brand of joy, of personal growth and of plain old fun that is only available in opposite sex friendships is squeezed out.

But I’ll say this: I have never dreamed of dating any of my guy friends, but I can’t imagine being happy in a future relationship without having experienced life with them or understanding what guys truly are from a friends point of view. My friends have kept me insanely-sane in our very own fun way and I’m glad about our friendship, and our life spent together having all the fun under the sun. :)

I'm A Stalker.

So here is my confession #1:

I wish there was a cooler way to put this, but, I’m a stalker – a facebook stalker. I spend about 1/3rd of my week on facebook and I pretty much ditch a lot of other productive activities for facebooking. Not that I intend to, but it just happens. Why? Because it’s easy and convenient. Facebook is like the common man’s blog – you can post pictures, share videos, comment, stay in touch with friends or have fun “poking” people like I always do. Through facebook, I know what my friends are doing. I even know what my friends’ friends are doing! So, with people updating their status with their life’s happenings every second, you pretty much just get around to staring at people’s profiles all day or trying to figure out what a particular someone is doing. And sometimes, you’d think it’s better than a blog because you have greater publicity and a larger audience – thanks to those facebook updates.

And it doesn’t end there. If I meet someone for the first time today, they’re on my facebook tomorrow. My “friends” (includes pretty much everyone I meet in life) circle keeps increasing. And the next thing I know, I’m stalking them – seeing what they’re up to. Furthermore, by accepting your friend request, these guys pretty much extend to you the same invitation: “come play tag with me”. One advantage (or is that a disadvantage?) to being at home for me is that I’m always about 10 feet within the reach of my laptop. And facebook very kindly (sometimes annoyingly) notifies me every minute of everything my friends do. I can’t help getting excited every time I see a notification. Hey, I’m curious to see what was said in my honor.

It’s one thing to read someone’s blog, appreciate it and leave a comment. But it’s another to stay logged in all day and browse through friends’ profiles, look at their pictures, post on their walls or simply read whatever seems interesting in wall-to-walls. The best part about all this – nobody knows I’m stalking. Or scrolling back in time to see their previous activities. Or looking at friends’ friends profiles through “tagged” pictures. Freaky, how I poke into other people’s business. Does that make me a stalker? I Guess. And it doesn’t look like it’s going to change anytime soon because I haven’t figured out anything better to do.

Does this behavior seem odd to a lot of people? Or is everyone pretty much doing what I am? Are we just flattered by attention (oh yeah, I mean egoistic), assuming everyone is the same as well? And does it really matter? YES. Facebook can be both fascinating and annoying. But either way, it is very addictive. And do we sense a great loss of interpersonal communication here? Because, all people end up doing is talk through facebook, even if they stay 2 blocks away. People (includes me) post personal information, share intimate stuff and wait, idled, for responses from pretty much everyone. Your stalkers know what you're up to, your future employees might gather stuff from your activities, or worse, your desi relatives might figure out stuff happening in your life! This, unfortunately, is the way lives have become since facebook became a part of them. All this said, I’m definitely getting back to facebook right after this. And I’m sure you will too. Nothing has changed, has it? And I bet nothing will.

Ok, but I do have a life! I’m not completely engrossed in everyone else’s life – I’m just enthusiastic about staying in touch and figuring out what most my friends are really up to since I’m so far away from them and it’s hard to get around to all the information! I'm really glad those facebook stalker applications never got around to working! Besides, it also allows for some lazy moments after a tiring day, or so I’d like to think. I’m also beginning to wonder if there is a line that separates social networking and addiction. Because if there is, I’m pretty sure it’s a really thin line.

And yeah! Not to forget - Happy social networking, you guys!

What's in a name?

So! It’s New Year after all! Happy 2010 guys!!! The time when we look back, relive good memories, learn from the bad ones and move on to shinier, happier days! But I do have this curious thought in my head: it is a problem with ordinal numbers, a shortcoming of language that challenges us all. Just what exactly do we call this decade? It was so much simpler back in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s. The decade spanning 2000-2009 came up, people suggested stuff like “the oh’s”, “the naughties” (my personal favorite!), and “the ought’s” (this one was the more accepted idea). But no one really stuck to one term. So, exactly what do we call this decade? Here are some ideas:

THE TENS: when we say 10’s…to a lot people it means the decade of the 1910’s. we could still stick to it, but then a lot of significant stuff happened in the 1910’s (the only thing I remember about that decade is the titanic sinking!) and people don’t wanna confuse the two.

THE TEENS: I wouldn’t say it’s a bad name. But imagine what we’d call the stars or movies (or something along that line) of this decade then? “Movies from the teens”? The term just seems awkward to me.

THE TWENTY TENS: I really like this idea and then someone asked me if that meant that we currently live in the year twenty-o-ten. That just confused me and I’m back on square one. But I still really like the idea.

THE TWEENS: hahaha…sounds really cute to me though.

THE 2nd MILLENNIUM TEENS: I think it's really long for a name and I’m sure people will eventually shorten it to teens again.

THE TWENTEENS: not bad again, but if we were to follow the same trend…what we would call the next decade? The twent-twenties? NoT!

So with all these ideas, I like the twenty tens the best. I'm sure people will come up with a lot more creative ones if they're really asked to think. The previous decade pretty much stayed a nameless one even with some nice ideas. You may ask, ‘so, what’s in a name?’ But given all that has emerged in the past decade, the failure to invent a satisfactory name seems to be a reflection of our sense that the so-called “oughts” were not all that they ought to have been or perhaps much less than they had promised to be. With so much that happened in the past decade, and most of it unforgettable, it just seems to have gone by unnamed, like no one wants to own it. So is this decade set to face the same fate of being an orphaned era? Or will it be named something cool, a name worthy of all that it’s set to bring? Now that, only time will tell.