A little self indulgence, maybe?

The Etymologicon: 

A Circular Stroll through the Hidden Connections of the English Language
Author: Mark Forsyth (2011)


This book will excite you if you were one of those, me included, who gets excited knowing things that add minimal value to your mundane day-to-day life. It gives you a false satiety that you are a bigger being for realising some worthless fact. In no imaginable way is it going to improve your life. Perhaps, a transient warm fuzzy feeling when you sigh and say, "Ha. I see, that's what!"

Well, reading is not about passing examinations. Sometimes, it helps you pass that awkward moment in a boring or break the ice with a total stranger when mysteriously transplanted in the company of a haughty visitor that your wife conveniently pushed to you to entertain. These are moments when you find worthless information, a boon that could morph that awkward silence into lighter moments. The danger in this strategy is that your wife's unsavoury friends could change camp to be yours!

You need to know that Hawaii was almost called Sandwich Island. Its natives called it such long before Captain Cook 'discovered' it and showcased it to the rest of the world. Cook wanted to name Hawaii Sandwich Island to honour the Earl of Sandwich. Luckily, Cook died before it could be official. He was killed by the natives. Well, that is what you get when the Native's kindness is reciprocated with diseases and the instigation of fights.

Now, why is Sandwich named Sandwich? Well, this Earl of Sandwich was once a compulsive gambler. In one instance, we went on a gambling spree for two days. The concerned servants packed his meat, vegetables, and such between two pieces of bread and served them to him to cut unnecessary time for dining and serving. For the record, sliced bread did not come till 1928. People found the idea refreshing, and thus came about 'the sandwich'.

This information may be helpful when you start a conversation at a party where you do not like the attendees and want to make them feel stupid. It may also be a valuable tool to extricate yourself from their friends list.

If you are stuck with a young person, someone young at heart or is into anime, cosplay, manga or even Godzilla Minus One, you could start talking to them about the genesis of Godzilla's name. Godzilla was actually born Gojira in the Japanese imagination in 1954, after being pounded with tonnes of American nukes during WW2. When Gojira grew big and went places, especially to Hollywood, he was christened 'Godzilla' to roll smoothly on an Anglophile's tongue. Pretty soon, Godzilla filled the masses' psyche to mean something gargantuan. Godzilla burger was not made from a mutated Japanese life form but denoted a massive burger. Mozilla Firefox intended to be the most prominent web browser after Netscape at its inception.

This book could be a go-to while waiting for an appointment or boarding a flight rather than just watching each other in the lobby. You may risk being taken for a stalker and told, "I don't feel comfortable you looking at me!" You question the commonly held notion that God is perfect in all His creations. You were wondering what He was thinking when He made her. What was He smoking?

P.S. Thanks, Cousin Joe, for this book. Never a dull moment!

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Now you know!

Heard that the word 'hunky' does not only refer to a buff guy with muscles. It could be a derogatory word for a white guy, specifically one from the East European block. 

At the turn of the 19th century US, many Slavic and Hungarian economic and religious refugees from the ailing Austro-Hungarian Empire turned up at Pennsylvania and West Virginia coal mines. As per the norm, many immigrants were hardworking people who were there to earn and go back and lead a better life. A group of young blokes expressed their newly found freedom in the saloons and sin dens. Over time, their alcohol-filled emotions would spiral into street fights and general public nuisance. Many were Hungarians and Pollacks (Polish), collectively called Hunyaks or Honyaks. 

Maybe because these manual labourers were defined with well-endowed physiques and using slur terms against any group became politically incorrect, the word hunky is now exclusively for a buffed person. 

Curiously, the words' hongkies' and 'honkytonk' are not precisely accepted kindly. People originating from Hong Kong rather be referred to as Hongkongers. 'Hongkie' is officially a slur word. Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones penned 'Honkytonk Women' after his trip to Portugal. He watched some cowboys at work and imagined probably sexual escapades in hongky-tonk bars. Incidentally, the music played in honky-tonk bars is called hillbilly music, referring to the loud music and bawdy comedy that accompanies it. It is a low-brow establishment with drunken patrons having a jolly good time. Jagger's lyrics do not precisely elevate its status. The music is catchy, nevertheless. 

Incidentally, in urban lingo, hongky-tonk refers to the gluteal region of a female, particularly a cute one. Now you know.

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A many-splendoured thing?

Love and Loss

Author: Malachi Edwin Vethamani

Maybe life has an innate plan to trap individuals. In the spring of youth, when hormones are raging high, we make hormonal-linked decisions that decide our futures. Somehow, hormones control rational thinking. The prefrontal cortex that controls analytical thinking is hijacked by impulses. We take the plunge dazed like a drunk monkey, like a prancing horse with blinkers, head on like sacrificial lambs, only to realise that we are in trouble deep when the dirt (or blood) hits the ceiling.

The path into this journey called love stirs all the primal suppressed emotions. It lights up so many intoxicating feel-good emotions within us that we never knew existed. We are swept off our feet, the world is a utopia, and we only see goodness in everything.

Maybe nature wants us to sow our seeds far and wide; perhaps it is just its way to improve the selection of traits. We lose interest. We get bored with the same routine and want freedom. We yearn to break taboos. We itch to push the boundaries of what is allowed than what is not.

What is this thing called love? Is it the constant high one gets at the sight of loved ones? Is it a societal duty that one performs to complete one's existence? This fulfilment of obligation is gifted with particular added delights, which are the carrot-dangling enticements to lure mankind.

Is it trapping to entice providers for generation next? A contractual obligation in return for an experience of a lifetime? Is successful love one which stands the test of time even though the committed players cannot stand the sight of each other after long but stay for the sake of wanting to uphold the holy institution of matrimony?

Sometimes the nectar of love turns sour. Or perhaps, it meets an unplanned end. The spiralling falling out of love or losing love can be as devastating as the act of falling in. If a loss is already filled with avalanches of emotions, it must be made more difficult with the complexities of 21st-century love.

Prof Malachi Edwin Vethamani's latest collection of poems describes these emotions in simple yet meaningful words that leave a zing that lasts. Many of us will relate to some of the joy, frustrations, cynicism, the wisdoms of hindsight that all the experiences bring us. With the expert craft of a wordsmith, with economical use of vocabulary, he opens the door to a world of literary bliss. A good read.

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Blinded!

A Billion Colour Story (2016)

History tells us that India used to be a welcoming land to any weary sojourner. It is proud of being the only country in the world where its people did not persecute anyone based on physical appearances or personal convictions. It stands proud of not harassing Jews. It ushered in visitors with such warmth, sharing their knowledge in the hope of finding meanings of life, so much so that they decided to overstay their welcome and so much as a rule over the roost.

Did the last of the visitors leave such a scar of conquest that can never heal? To ease their administration, the British, initially a band of looters in the form of East India Company and then later for the Crown, divided and subdivided their subjects by breed, colour, occupation, religion, etc., drilled in the idea that they were different. They mastered the craft of 'divide and rule' to its finest.

The divide became so pronounced that it carved out the limbs out of the tripartite sub-continent. The conquerors were happy to leave with such an arrangement that became cumbersome. It fitted very well with their intentions to destabilise the region by instigating brotherly skirmishes. As the Cold War was developing, political influence over the area was maintained. Destabilisation ensured the petroleum supply was kept in check with British aspirations.

The world was achanging. Ideas were spreading like wildfire. People became loyal not to the flag but to a belief of an invisible pink unicorn that was an oxymoron, but who dare ask. The representation transcended all rational thought and called for blood. A once peaceful existence has turned hostile. How do you expect the hosts to take things lying down? An eye for an eye, and I will instead be blind than do the blasphemous something, says one party. A tit for tat says the other in reply. The combatants are mired so deep in muck that they had forgotten who drew first blood and for what they are fighting for.

We encounter this award-winning film with this background that showcases an eternally optimistic trained in Australia movie-making couple who believes that the old India is very much alive. Despite the adverse publicity churned daily on the media, they believe that a billion colours that beautify India are there for taking. Reality sinks when they discover that their mixed marriage (Hindu and Muslim) is a big issue in modern India. They find dead end at every turn as they struggle to complete their movie. In the midst of all this is their son, Hari Aziz, trying to find his place in society.

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Engage, disengage or disappear!

Omphaloskepsis!
(Omphalo = umbilicus,
skepsis = act of looking)

Just how often have we seen people who appear almost in a stuporous state, unarousable by external stimuli? Viewed from this side of the table, it may look like he is self-absorbed or awestruck at the sight of his own genitalia. A clinician may diagnose him to have narcolepsy. In Western Africa, the doctor may give him the spot diagnosis of Trypanosomiasis @ Sleeping Sickness.

A man of the clergy would assume that he is engaged in sincere prayers, engaging with a plea with his Maker bargaining so that everything will be alright. Of course, the correct explanation is none of the above. He is merely immersed in his own digital devices. Being in an almost trance-like state, he insists that very much in touch with the present and that his generation excels in multitasking, something alien to my kind, he asserts.

Navel-gazing?
© Amethyst Aziezéé

A few years ago, a series of pictures used to appear on people's social media pages showing off their pictures of their perfect life as they lie whaling on the beach or sunbathing by the pool. The view is as if they are lying down gazing at navel level. These self-absorbed acts, called navel-gazing, are mere pursuits to ruin the media consumer's day.

Actually, the original word 'navel-gazing' has its origin way back during the time of the Eastern Orthodox Church. The monks in a Greek monastery were described in an 1830 publication jocularly as "...pretended or fancied that they experienced celestial joys when gazing on their umbilical region, in converse with the Deity". Many traditional practices like yoga and qigong use the umbilicus as an energy point to rejuvenate the hidden powers of the body.

The men of God thought that our God-given senses were the ones that get us into trouble most of the time. Our eyes give us evil thoughts; so do our auditory, smell, touch and taste. Hence, they thought that by looking away from stimuli, 'the windows to the soul' can be protected. 

Modern men use it as an excuse not to interact with strangers. Those with an inferiority complex, sociophobia or extreme introvert use navel-gazing (read digital device fixation) as an outlet to keep aloof from the surroundings. He can opt to engage, disengage or disappear with their digital friends. Interacting with a person in the flesh is more cumbersome; the cursory greetings, the niceties, the eye contact, the physical contact and the small talk - too time-consuming!

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It is about self respect!

English Vinglish (2012)


The story reminds me of one of Gandhi's prophetic words. Be the change you want the world to be. Rather than demanding for the respect that you think you deserve and being all uptight about it, it makes more sense to earn it the hard but formidable old-fashioned way - you develop it and let the world decide whether you deserve that admiration.

Gone are the days when, by virtue of birth and social standing, one can garner unquestioned loyalty and esteem. In real life, the weaker ones in society are just trampled upon and ridiculed to falsely give the aggressors their own self-worth.

I think this quintessentially Indian message is subtly inserted into the story of a timid Bombay housewife who gets the opportunity to visit the Big Apple for her niece's wedding.

Doing all the chores that are expected of her as a mother, wife and a doting daughter-in-law, she ignores the abuses and ridicules hurled at her, in her face and behind her back, for her lack in proficiency in the English Language.

As fate has it, she lands in New York alone. An ugly incident at a café makes her secretly enrol in an English class. The rest of the film is her adventure with her classmates in a somewhat knock-off classroom of 'Mind Your Language' with a dedicated teacher in the vein of Mr Brown. Predictably, in the end, in the typical fashion of Bollywood, amidst the trials and tribulations with an Indian wedding in the backdrop, she impresses her family with self-confidence and an impromptu speech in English.

Sridevi, who is dubbed as the Indian Meryl Streep and the female Rajnikanth in Japan, makes a comeback to the silver screen after a 15-year hiatus in this morale-boosting flick. The rush to learn English, especially amongst girls, apparently skyrocketed after this film. This film was nominated for the Academy Award under the Best Foreign Language Film category.

In a scene in which the protagonist is hackled for her heavily accented pronunciation of the word 'jazz' which sounded like 'jhaaz', I was reminded of a moment with my daughter. Always a stickler for the idea that a foreign word should be pronounced like the native speakers do, she goes to great lengths to correct her family members' intonation. [Parmesson ~ paːmɪˈzan; Crème brûlée ~krɛM bruːˈleɪ]. In her mind, having more than one way to pronounce a word is a mortal sin.

The message in this offering can be a wake-up call to a certain population in this country who constantly wash dirty linen in public and blame all their social woes to their political leaders' action and inactions. We make the man we want to be. It may be easy for abled bodies like us to preach, but then, nothing in this world is nearly as impossible. People have climbed Everest with artificial limbs! Need I say more?

Memorable quote:

“When a man cooks, it’s an art. When a woman cooks, it’s just her duty.”

https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson 

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What is Love?

Echoes of Silence (1994)
Author: Chuah Guat Eng

It is long overdue, but it is never late than never. For many years, Malaysians have been writing novels in the English Language. Sadly, their following is few and far between. Through my association with a group of up and coming writers and with the power of social media, it has come to light on the treasure troves of writings of Malaysian writers in the lingua franca left by our colonial masters. I am not just referring to authors to the likes of Tan Twan Eng, Rani Manicka and K.S. Maniam. Do you know that periodically Malaysians do hit the headlines for the right reasons, literary awards being one?

Guat Eng is hailed in the local literary circle as a 'Godmother' of sorts. She has been an active participant in the writing scene and was in the advertising field. In this story, which is set around the early years of Malaya, though the World War Two, we are ushered into a fictional world of how Malaya used to be and a peculiar case of intergenerational murders!

The author talks about many things in this book; politics, race, nation building, interracial tensions, commercialisation and so forth. What interests me, however, is the part where she asks 'what is love'? Does it have to be expressed by physical contact and overt demonstration of passion? Is public display of affection a mere construct of the modern era or a Western influence? Many choose to show love not through words but by their actions. One can say so much by saying nothing at all whilst others best stay mum as they do more damage when they open their mouths!

http://www.viweb.mysite.com/vilit_guat-eng.htm

https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson

Every living day is a learning experience

So you go around with a chip on your shoulder, with the nose so high up in the air as if you walk inhaling imported air. You straddle around like you are on Yudhistira's chariot, always two feet above the ground, quite full of air. You speak with such confidence convinced that your listeners are impressed with your command of the language.

You think you produced a masterpiece that everybody would sing only praises of it. That is until you send it for proofreading.

That is when your bubble bursts, your ego gets deflated, and you get down from your mighty horse and is brought down to the ground. You soon realise that the things which you had taken for granted mean more than what meets the eyes.

You get an extra 'e' when you are a lady engaged to a man. A fiancée is to a female just what a fiancé is to a man.

Everything seems watertight as if you have a foolproof system but your friends tell you that he has full proof that 'fullproof' is not even a word! I guess you are the fool now.

You thought you had thrashed out all your work of trash, forgetting an 'h' thrashes your good to the trash bin. It just 'hanged' your credibility, not to have it hung in the hall of fame. Even your offspring cannot help as no matter how many of them you have, you will never know. The plural of offspring is offspring. You, even in the sleekest way, is not slick enough to notice that. I guess you should not have been too emphatic on your convictions but rather be empathetic to others' views as well. Anyway, I am contented that you have decided to put your ego aside and contend with all the line of corrections. But, I do wonder sometimes if it is all a facade, and you may wander into other fields to avenge after your recent ego-bruising experiences.

But we move on...

The reluctant Man of God?

Grantchester (TV series, Season 1, 2; 2014)


An interesting depiction of a Man of God who seems more like a sceptic. He realises that every action that one does has two ways of looking at it. There are no clear-cut answers to all the queries of life. He sometimes even wonders  whether he could just give a straight answer to anything. At times, his belief is also shaken.

Reverend Sidney Chalmers is a vicar of a small church in a town adjacent to Cambridge. The young clergyman teams up with a policeman in this town to solve many of the murders that seem to be popping up very so often.

Between solving crimes and handling the church matters, Rev Chalmers has to deal with many of his inner demons. There is an unending saga of unrequited love between him and an old flame who is soon to be and later marries off to a man of her family’s choice.

The widow of the murdered that he solves in the first episode is romantically linked to the hero. Even this does not work out after he confesses to the lady of a weak moment when he succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh when he was drunk. Yes, our holy man drinks like a fish! He finds too many common grounds with whisky drinking buddy and comrade in solving crimes, the local police detective, Geordie.

The cast is made colourful with the inclusion of an assistant gay priest and a caretaker who speaks of her mind. The series is set in the early 1950s with a backdrop of jazz music and the slow-paced English countryside.

A recurring theme that emerges in the story is that of his past vocation, as a British officer in World War 2 and the brutal killings and injuries of his subordinates.

Most of the episodes end with excerpts of his weekly sermon at the pulpit. Like the reading of a tarot reader or a newspaper horoscope columnist, his speech seems to make a lot of sense to all the characters in their own way.

Oh deary, silly me!

(...Cont. from Oh deer, my dear!)


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.

Oh deer, my dear!

........as I was passing...

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?"

Oh dear, it's venison!

"Yes, deer meet!"

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....

To be continued....

The lovable granny

Ms. Marple: Murder at the Gallop (1963)

They say murder is no laughing matter, but this Agatha Christie based movie makers decided to give a light-hearted comedic feel to this one. Even the original title from the story is based on is quite sombre, 'After the Funeral'.

Ms Marple, Agatha Christie's loveable freelance detective, is acted by Margaret Rutherford who looks like someone's eavesdropping granny rather than a window climbing, torch-light armed crime buster. She, however, does a marvellous job in this murder mystery based in a stable in the English countryside.

As Ms Marple goes around asking for donations, she and her side-kick bumps into a dying rich man in his usual secluded mansion. Even though the police suspect it to be a death caused by natural causes, a heart attack, Ms Marple is adamant that it is anything but a natural death. She is further convinced when she sneaks in to overhear the reading of the old man's will.

With the backdrop of a horse-riding retreat, feuding relatives, dance and a priceless painter, Ms Marple impresses us with her charm, wit, energy and tireless hunt for clues. A good movie with charming typical English tongue-in-cheek dialogue.

Murder, funny matter?

Murder She Said (1961)

Come to think of it, she is a bit like some of the slightly older people in our lives that we know. (Hush, hush). All inquisitive and nosy at times. Poking their heads into unnecessary businesses and insisting what they saw was right and usually is. It sometimes can be annoying to the affected parties and invades into their something quite private called privacy. To the nosy-pokers, the older generations usually, this concept may be something quite alien! However, there are some who, under the cloak of privacy, do secretive transactions and pass it off as national security and insist that it cannot be questioned. That is another topic for another day!

Margaret Rutherford

Across the Atlantic, in a year's time, Ursula Andres would emerge from the waves draped in what was hardly accepted as garment appropriate for general consumption. Their British cousins were quite contended with casting a 70-year-old Margaret Rutherford, hardly a sex symbol, in a murder mystery penned by Britain's favourite author, Agatha Christie.

Here, in a typical mystery murder fashion, Ms. Marple is the only witness to a murder that had taken place aboard a moving train. Ms. Marple had the pleasure of being able to be the only person able to give details of the mishap as two trains crossed path at a crossing. Expectedly, nobody could verify the death. Neither body nor evidence was found, making our elderly freelance crime buster a pain in the neck.

Unable to take no for an answer, Ms. Marple took police work into her hands. She goes undercover as a maid (an old maid? a wee bit oversized and over-aged to assume the role of agile worker, you may ask) when she deduced, after doing her investigation. She gains employment in an estate and solves the mystery amidst interesting multi-layered characters who are occupants of the estate, and all have a dark secret behind them.

Based on the book '4.50 from Paddington', the movie managed to turn the somber mood of the book to a lighthearted one. Thanks to Margaret Rutherford and the witty screenplay. A sheer joy to watch movies of yesteryears. Unlike the present trend of glamorising exposure of flesh and the use megalomaniac special effect techniques, here the emphasis is on its characterisation and story.

English aristocracy and religion..

Brideshead Revisited (1981)
Miniseries


In spite of my attempts to refrain from nosediving into the lure of being sucked into another miniseries, I cracked upon pressure. The joy of enjoying beautifully crafted dialogue spoken to the tune of upper crust society of the 1920s British society proved too alluring.

It starts with a disillusioned officer in the World War 2 British Army (Capt Charles Ryder acted by Jeremy Irons) who stumbles upon a certain estate in his tour of duty that opens the floodgate of memories and essentially recollects his whole life story. Over the next 11 episodes he reminisce his relationship with the heir of the estate, Sebastian Flyte and subsequently with his whole Marchmain clan. Along the way, Ryder discovers the meaning of life, God and the purpose of belief with the Divine being.

His liaison with the Flytes starts during his carefree days in Cambridge. He develops a liking to Sebastian Flyte, a spoilt rich man's kid who spends most times drinking and cutting classes.

Gradually, Charles gets drawn into the family which is controlled a matriarchal figure in the form of his mother and his mysterious sisters. The family portrays a very staunchly Catholic outlook in their day to day affairs. Charles, who is quite comfortable keeping God away from his daily living finds it awkward.

Over the days, we see Sebastian degenerate into an alcoholic and goes astray.
The plot thickens toward the end of the series when a married Charles starts an affair with Sebastian's sister Julia. The mother dies and the estranged father returns to the home to die.
Religion and difference in perception of God breaks Charles and Julia's union.
At the end, as Charles realises that he is becoming old, lonely and without a family. He finds solace in the chapel of Brideshead where he had, many years previously, try to argue that religion is a farce.

Paraprosdokian

A paraprosdokian /pærəprɒsˈdoʊkiən/ is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence, phrase, or larger discourse is surprising or unexpected in a way that causes the reader or listener to re-frame or reinterpret the first part. It is frequently used for humorous or dramatic effect, sometimes producing an anticlimax. For this reason, it is extremely popular among comedians and satirists. Some paraprosdokians not only change the meaning of an early phrase, but they also play on the double meaning of a particular word, creating a form of syllepsis

Thanks CG.  

An English gem

Rumpole of the Bailey (1978-1992)
I do not remember this show to be shown over the Malaysian airwaves when I was young. Perhaps, it was too cerebral to my liking then. With all the witty tongue in the cheek cynic speak and verbosity, I do not think any normal youngster from the Malaysian schooling system eating rice and sambar from the culturally challenged neighbourhood of Rifle Range Flats would appreciate this kind of English court drama.
After reading John Mortimer's biography, I decided to give his creation a try.
'Rumpole of The Bailey' kind of of British presentation is the reason why the British TV shows used to be something of a hit amongst the literate circles of the yesteryear.
Now, with age and the intelligence to appreciate the finer nuances of the language, I find this offering totally absorbing. It tells the courtroom escapades of an eccentric aged barrister, Horace Rumple who works in courts, The Bailey as it is referred to (after the street it is located).
Not only is he set in his ways, he is also a kind of self centred chauvinist who stands dearly to what he believes in and would not budge despite the trouble he may get into.
Despite his experience and age, he is contented with his position as a barrister. Calling  a spade a spade and kowtowing to the people of authority, his place at the judge's bench remains elusive! He is the butt of joke for many of his more junior lawyers who take a swipe at his dressing and accessories.
He may not be the poster boy for healthy living. He smokes cheap cigar most of the time even in his office. He overindulges in cheap wines and drools for rich unhealthy food which may not be the best for his already wide waist line!
His wife is a pity case. She stays all alone keeping the home spick and span putting up with all of Rumpole's antics silently. Rumpole affectionately refers to her as 'one who must be obeyed' in his soliloquy even though she is a meek old lady minding her own business and keeping mum to all to all her husband's idiosyncrasies. That is the other thing. His mumblings under his breath of how he feels about his daily happenings in life and court proceedings would put its viewers into stitches. The frequent ranting of poetry of English poets by Rumpole never sound better.
The cases usually end in not a straight forward manner. Sometimes he wins and he loses but without leaving his mark at the Old Bailey!

Winter is coming

Game of Thrones (Seasons 1-4, 2011-2014)

Even though I kept telling myself not to plunge into another miniseries, the power of persuasion seem too overpowering. Or perhaps I was just too weak! The bombardment from the media, social media and friends seem overwhelming. They make it sound like it is the best thing that happened to mankind since sliced bread.
They even made a game which suggested the most likely 'Games of Thrones' characters you are paired to based on a series of simple questions. (I got Tyrion Lannister, an achondroplastic dwarf who compensates his lack of stature with witty wise cracks, sarcasm and shrewdness, I wonder why.)
You see one, you had seen them all, the miniseries and soap operas. They all capture the minds of its viewers by rekindling the primal desires of man. Almost every one of them glorify, if not make it no big deal, to engage in unsanctioned union of the sexes, clandestine, extra-, pre-, or anything but marital.
Everybody's action is laced with malice. Nobody does anything with the pureness of the heart. The words that culminates from the lips do not come from the heart. Uttered vocals are pure ornaments to lubricate the conversation, not reflections of the heart and the mind.

The recurring theme in every soap, immaterial whether it is in English, Spanish, Tamil, Hindi or Portuguese, is the unabashed zest to seize power at  all cost and to mastermind the downfall of their enemies. Many episode-hours are spent in to planning and executing their fall from grace. The journey towards this end is embroidered with pleasing displays of the beauty of the human flesh, obnoxious wealth with overindulgence in decadent life styles. A mountain is created from a mole hill when non issue become a life and death situation.
The dialogue in 'Game of Thrones' is quite intriguing, poetic and deep, sometimes. Despite, the criticism over its overt unnecessary display of smut, it hails in the script department though. The lines are so philosophical, sarcastic, witty and profound, all in one.
My verdict: Stay away from miniseries.

Between a rock and a hard place!

The Householder (English, Made in India; 1963)

Ivory-Merchant Collaboration

This must be the greatest nightmare that many a goody two shoe Indian new husband must feel early in their matrimonial life. Two women demanding more attention than the other from the husband who is trying his best to be in everybody's good books.

Prem Sagar is a lowly paid lecturer in a private college. He is newly married to a girl whom he cannot stand. He is unhappy with his students whom he cannot control and his principal who refuses to give him a raise, or rather he cannot raise the courage to ask for one! He has a landlord who is not too busy or drunk to listen to his pleas to reduce the rent. And he does not like his new wife's cooking. In midst of all these uncertainties, his wife, Indu becomes pregnant.

A desperate Prem thought getting his mother to stay with him would reduce his burden. On the contrary, his mother becomes a domineering attention seeking female who likes to run down the inefficiencies of Indu and glorifies her role as a mother, wife and daughter in law in her younger days. Indu, after some time, packs her stuff and leaves for her parent's home.

A distraught Prem tries to understand the aim of life by discussing his plight with his colleague, his childhood friend and a new American friend. This American friend left his home in USA, and together with his other friends are mesmerised with India and what it has to offer. They are into yoga and to immerse themselves in Indian culture.

Prem find them not giving him the answer he is seeking for. 

By then, another friend introduces him to a swami (holy man) who knocked some sense into him when Prem wanted to renounce everything and go into religion full time. He was told that he had certain duties as a husband and a father before head on into religion.

By then, Indu had returned. Prem arranged with his sister to take his mother away in the pretext of using the mother's services for some ceremony. Prem's mother goes off happily thinking that she is so indispensable. 

Sanity prevails. Prem and Indu are happy together.

Through this movie, I came to know of an actress, Leela Naidu, who was Miss India in 1954 and was voted as the 10 most beautiful women for that year. She is of Indo-Franco-Swiss parentage and is the daughter of an Indian nuclear physicist who worked with Marie Curie. She is her mother's only surviving child of her mother's 7 pregnancies.