I watched this youtube clip of Zinedine Zidane and I realised more than ever why football is called 'the beautiful game'. I also realised that rap/hiphop music in French sounds 'tres' cool. Zidane is such a treat to watch. His control over the ball is sheer poetry. Unfortunately most people who don't follow football probably remember him for his infamous headbutt - strange word that, which brings us to the bad pun of the day section: "Anyone who says that they can't make ends meet should be given a headbutt". Now that we have that done with, I was saying that most people who don't follow football probably remember him as the guy who headbutted the Italian player in the finals of the world cup 2006. Unfortunately France lost the match in the penalty shoot-out later on and almost every person who could voice an opinion and had the medium to do so, blamed Zidane for the loss. Not many bothered to find out why he had done it and what did Matterazzi say that provoked him so much. The details of the incident surfaced many weeks later. If what this news article says is true, it started with a shirt tug, which was met by sarcasm from
Zidane, which proceeded on to Materazzi mentioning his preference for Zidane's sister over his shirt in rather colourful terms and finally ended with the infamous headbutt. Anyway, the headbutt just shifted focus from what was an end to a glorious career which mesmerised audiences all over the world. Zizou was one of the greatest that the game ever had.
Watching sportsmen who are brilliant at what they do is like watching artistes practising their art. You wish you could do it, but lesser mortals know they can't and so you just appreciate the beauty of it all. I get the exact same feeling when I watch cricket and the batsmen are batting brilliantly or the bowlers are bowling beautifully. Watching batsmen like Sachin Tendulkar just blows you away. Just the thought of how, when a moving ball is being hurled at them at around the 85-100 mph mark, batsmen like him can decide in the split of a second whether to step forward and shift their weight to the front foot, or step back and shift their weight to the back foot, depending on where the ball pitches and then hit the ball taking into consideration the lateral movement of the ball is mind-boggling. Watching great bowlers bowl also gives me that same tingly feeling all over. There is nothing more spectacular than the ball crashing into the wickets of a batsman. Even better if the ball is a 'yorker' and the batsman is 'yorked and bowled'.
I have often wondered what it is about sport that makes people, especially men so passionate. What is it that it makes me want to wake up at 6 am on Sunday and play cricket. I am very sure there is nothing else I will wake up voluntarily for at that unearthly hour. What is it about sports that prompts us to do crazy things like running around in the streets and celebrating after a win or just sulking at home after a loss - maybe even shed a tear or two. I could never figure out how a grown man could cry on account of some game being telecast on the televsion until that crazy India-Australia match in 1992. India were in a hopeless situation and they rallied to almost win and lose and then win and finally lose the game in the last ball that was bowled. People who have seen that world cup match should know what I mean by win,lose,win and finally lose, all in the last ball. I jumped up for joy and celebrated twice in that one ball only to have my happiness cruelly crushed. I was in shock. It was just a game but I had that feeling which could probably be described as something you may feel when everything you have owned and wanted has been taken away in one instant by fate and there is no way you can get it back. I was almost in tears and slightly ashamed about it too and that's when I looked at my brother and my cousin brother. Both of them were sitting silently on the sofa, eyes moist. My brother was 20 at that time and my cousin was 27.
There are so many people who suffer heart attacks watching the games - especially during the cricket and soccer world-cups. I have a feeling that in a few decades, I may become one of them. Even now if the game is thrilling, I get that queasy hollow feeling in my stomach and I can't bear the tension. I have realised though that this only happens when I am watching the game and and not when I am playing it. Probably because I know that I am helpless in changing the course of the game if I am merely watching. On the other hand if I am playing, I know I have a chance. I think I may have control issues.
My wife tells me that she read an article sometime ago in some newspaper a while ago that the movies that men are most likely to cry during are sports movies or patriotic movies. Actually if you ask me, playing the best moments of a game in slow motion with good slow music also works very well.
So ladies, promise to look the other way when you see us men crying at games and we will promise not to look at you when someone close to you is getting married or when Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood are next to each other at the traffic lights in The Bridges of Madison County.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Wine-making chronicled
Some years back, my friends and I tried to make wine. Of course we did not use any recipe, since that went against our principles of being organised. We just went by our instincts and the results were surprisingly good. One of my friends had chronicled it on his web-page in pictures. I have just reproduced verbatim those same images and captions. Happy wine-making to anyone who wants to try it.
Step 1: Get the resident flunkey to buy the stuff.
Step 2: Clean the bucket (remember to wear a hat).
Step 3: Get outside help to wash the grapes.
Step 4: Keep some grapes aside to feed the vintners.
Step 5: Appoint a manager to supervise the elephant.
Step 6: Ensure all grapes are crushed.
Step 7: Use force if required.
Step 8: Manager Vision Camera Angle.
Step 9: Always keep the crushers happy to ensure purity of contents.
Step 10: Add the secret ingredient.
Step 11: Colouring Agent
Step 12: Admire your hard work
Step 13: Stir. Do not spill.
Step 14: Seal the mixture and let it happen
Step 15: Its happening.
Step 1: Get the resident flunkey to buy the stuff.
Step 2: Clean the bucket (remember to wear a hat).
Step 3: Get outside help to wash the grapes.
Step 4: Keep some grapes aside to feed the vintners.
Step 5: Appoint a manager to supervise the elephant.
Step 6: Ensure all grapes are crushed.
Step 7: Use force if required.
Step 8: Manager Vision Camera Angle.
Step 9: Always keep the crushers happy to ensure purity of contents.
Step 10: Add the secret ingredient.
Step 11: Colouring Agent
Step 12: Admire your hard work 
Step 13: Stir. Do not spill.
Step 14: Seal the mixture and let it happen
Step 15: Its happening.
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Half-Growl
If you are persistent and patient, you can definitely teach a dog new tricks. Even an old one for that matter. But why go through all that effort when you can just reverse the process and learn from the dog instead?
Of the many important things that Cooper, our lazy dog, has taught me, one of the lessons that stands out is that you don't need to say a lot to express your displeasure at things. My dear friends, I present to you the half-growl. It sounds exactly like the description. Its not long enough to be full-blown growl; in fact its more like a short grunt in the tone of a growl. Cooper usually uses it if my wife and I are talking too loudly for him to be able to sleep. Don't take Cooper wrong - he is probably the friendliest dog during the day, it is just that he takes his sleep at night very seriously. Unfortunately for him, his little remonstrations are met by laughter from us, but out of respect, we try to laugh quietly.
Anyway, I realised that this was probably the most efficient way to express my displeasure to my wife, in case something bothered me. And being of a gender where expressing emotions through the right words is a perpetual challenge, this was a god-send.So these days when my wife asks me to do something I don't like doing like going grocery-shopping, getting my clean clothes out of the dryer and folding them, all I have to do is my half-growl. Since no words are used, there is no rational reply to it and the matter dies a quick, painless natural death. My wife is not a big fan of the half-growl and thinks that it is a lazy way of communicating. My response to that is another half-growl. Thank you Cooper!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Negative associations
When I was growing up, my mother would tell me that it is very easy to have people form a bad opinion about you but it is quite difficult to have them form a good one. I did not heed too much attention to this little nugget of wisdom back then, but now, when I think of it, it is so very true. I think , maybe in some twisted way, it makes people feel better about themselves to know something negative about someone else. Call it an inherent attraction towards morbidity, whatever the reasons, negative things are more likely to be remembered than positive things.
The reason I recollected this was that I recently started listening to this German metal band 'Rammstein'. I really like their sound. Its different from the standard metal ones. I even started picking up some German (they sing mostly in German) by looking up the lyrics and translation online. Which is when I found out that they have been linked to some undesirable groups of people like the Columbine high school shooters, the Chechen militants who took 1200 odd Russian school children hostage in 2004 and some Neo-Nazi groups. As soon as I read it I felt slightly ashamed of the fact that I liked Rammstein too. Irrational though it was, the negative image was quick to form in my brain.
Speaking of Rammstein and their German roots, another much-maligned symbol that comes to mind is the Swastika. Most people outside of probably India know the 5000 year old Swastika only as the 80 odd years old Nazi party symbol. For some reason, Hitler and his Aryan race theory cronies had to hijack something which was meant to be good (Swastika literally means well-being in Sanskrit), tilt it by 45 degrees and turn it into an international symbol of hate. I wish they would have atleast called it by some other name. The Swastika is ubiquitous in India, You will find the clockwise Swastika and and the anti-clockwise Swastika in use in a ton of places ranging from temples, entrances of houses, wedding cards etc.I have even met someone named Swastika on a bus journey in India. Smart-alec that I tried to be, I couldn't help suggesting to her that international travel may not be good for her well-being.
Similar is the fate that the word Aryan has met. The whole concept of the super Aryan race too has made this word Arya/Aryan, meaning noble in Sanskrit and which probably has its roots in Iran, a not-so-politically correct word anymore. There is a Persian restaurant named Arya on Steven's Creek Blvd, in Cupertino, California. I think they were quite brave to have chosen that name in the US. They were either banking on their patrons being well-informed or the culinary skills of their cooks, but it does look like they are doing well.
Personally, I don't believe in religion and I don't really care much about it (that will require a separate post), but it is a shame that Al-Qaeeda and other similar outfits are doing the same thing to Islam what the Nazis did to the Swastika. Either these extreme militant outfits should stop or we, as a people, should try to accept the good instead of focussing on the bad. At this point in time, unfortunately, I don't see either of that happening very soon.
The reason I recollected this was that I recently started listening to this German metal band 'Rammstein'. I really like their sound. Its different from the standard metal ones. I even started picking up some German (they sing mostly in German) by looking up the lyrics and translation online. Which is when I found out that they have been linked to some undesirable groups of people like the Columbine high school shooters, the Chechen militants who took 1200 odd Russian school children hostage in 2004 and some Neo-Nazi groups. As soon as I read it I felt slightly ashamed of the fact that I liked Rammstein too. Irrational though it was, the negative image was quick to form in my brain.
Speaking of Rammstein and their German roots, another much-maligned symbol that comes to mind is the Swastika. Most people outside of probably India know the 5000 year old Swastika only as the 80 odd years old Nazi party symbol. For some reason, Hitler and his Aryan race theory cronies had to hijack something which was meant to be good (Swastika literally means well-being in Sanskrit), tilt it by 45 degrees and turn it into an international symbol of hate. I wish they would have atleast called it by some other name. The Swastika is ubiquitous in India, You will find the clockwise Swastika and and the anti-clockwise Swastika in use in a ton of places ranging from temples, entrances of houses, wedding cards etc.I have even met someone named Swastika on a bus journey in India. Smart-alec that I tried to be, I couldn't help suggesting to her that international travel may not be good for her well-being.
Similar is the fate that the word Aryan has met. The whole concept of the super Aryan race too has made this word Arya/Aryan, meaning noble in Sanskrit and which probably has its roots in Iran, a not-so-politically correct word anymore. There is a Persian restaurant named Arya on Steven's Creek Blvd, in Cupertino, California. I think they were quite brave to have chosen that name in the US. They were either banking on their patrons being well-informed or the culinary skills of their cooks, but it does look like they are doing well.
Personally, I don't believe in religion and I don't really care much about it (that will require a separate post), but it is a shame that Al-Qaeeda and other similar outfits are doing the same thing to Islam what the Nazis did to the Swastika. Either these extreme militant outfits should stop or we, as a people, should try to accept the good instead of focussing on the bad. At this point in time, unfortunately, I don't see either of that happening very soon.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Ghosts
A few days back, I somehow stumbled across a piece of useless trivia while surfing the web. In a survey conducted a few years back, they found that slightly less than 50% of the population in India believed in ghosts. I searched for the corresponding number in the US and I came across this cbs article from 2005, which states that almost the same percentage of people in the US believe in ghosts too. This similarity is indeed quite remarkable given the vast difference in culture between India and the US.
And so this survey set the rusted wheels inside my brain in motion and these creaky wheels groaned out a question to me in a rather surprisingly shrill tone - Do I believe in ghosts? I think the honest answer would be that I don't want to and nor do I think that ghosts exist, but that does not mean that I will be eager to spend a night in a dark graveyard. So I guess that makes me a part-time believer - a believer under special circumstances. Which means if my only job was to be a believer in ghosts and I got paid for the amount of time I believed in them, I would be well below the poverty line, but I still would earn something. I wonder what category the survey put people like me in. And I wonder what percentage of the population is like me ?
One of my favourite ghost stories (from real life and not from a movie or book) is the one I heard when I was about 9 years old or so. I heard it from friends a few years older than me. A building was being constructed near our apartment and rumour had it that a construction worker slipped from the scaffolding, fell 4 storeys and died instantaneously. Apparently his wife was also working in the same building and she continued working there after his death. The story goes that every night, in the pre-dawn hours, the guy or his spirit would come on a bicycle to the building, ring the bell on his bicycle a couple of times and then call out his wife's name (his wife's name was Kunti) in a kind of long drawn out way - almost like an eerie, forlorn moan. This would be followed by all the stray dogs barking their disapproval at the current situation. This is how the whole cycle of sounds went - "Trriinng, Trriinng, Trriinng, Trriinng. Kuuuuntiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii". This was a cue for the dogs to go 'bhow bhow bhow bhow bhow'. (Note that these being Indian dogs, barked in the local dialect and did not go 'wuff wuff' or 'ruff ruff' like their Western counterparts.) This whole cycle would repeat over and over again for a few minutes and then it would stop automatically. I am a very heavy sleeper and I never heard it except once. I had woken up in the middle of the night for some reason and was not able to go back to sleep rightaway. And then, I heard this exact cycle of sounds and I lay there wondering if I should look out of the window. I did not end up looking out because I was scared - scared that the ghost may divert his attention from his unresponsive wife towards me - scared that the ghost may be really hideous and I would not be able to get that picture out of my mind forever - scared for many reasons unknown to me. Anyway, I tried to make myself feel better about it by telling myself that it was probably a drunk man returning home late and I would feel foolish if I made all the effort of getting out of bed, going to the window and looking out. I think I made a wise decision.
Another story (funny now) which I half-believed in was told to me when I was about 8 years old. One evening, my elder brother told me that he read an article in the newspaper that Count Dracula was visiting Bombay and he was specifically drinking the blood of children born after 1975. I think he may have been reading the story of Dracula then, but in those days, I used to believe anything my brother said and since he said that he read it in the newspaper, it sounded even more authentic. My brother having been born in 1972 was safe from the Count but I, being born in 1976 was very much fair game. I spent the next few nights wishing that the Count would do his rounds in downtown Bombay first and then, when his supply was exhausted, turn his attention to the suburbs. Most probably, I figured that he would even be done with his visit to Bombay before he came to the suburbs. I think my calculations were right because as far as I know, he never came to the suburbs.
A decade or so later, a story which even had the tabloids by its holds was of a ghost-woman with 2 heads, who would walk into buildings and knock on the apartment doors. When you opened it, she would attack you. So the general advice was not to open your door at night. Especially not when it was a dual-headed ghost at the door waiting to rip you apart. Many people followed the advice, much to the chagrin of family members returning from night-shifts, travellers coming into the city late at night, patrons of discotheques, pub-hoppers and other nocturnal members of the society. Anyway, some people laughed at the story, some enjoyed the story and some people actually believed it. But it was definitely the topic of conversation for a couple of weeks in our part of the city.
Most of the ghost-stories obviously stem from our own imagination. The ghosts invariably take the form of whatever what you want to see. Otherwise there is absolutely no reason for ghosts in India to be wearing white most of the time, whereas there does not seem to be any such restriction for ghosts in Western countries. If its an Indian woman-ghost we are talking about, she will most definitely have long black hair and be in white clothes - white clothes because white is a colour of mourning among Hindus. But long black hair? Maybe an explanation for the dearth of older silver-haired Indian woman-ghosts is that they lack the glamour quotient that comes with younger black haired ones.
Coming back to the survey, I think surveys like these should also include another question. Along with 'Do you believe in ghosts?', they should also include 'Do you get scared by your own imagination?'. I am very sure the percentage of people answering 'yes' to the second question is going to be very high compared to the first one and it does not matter what part of the world you live in. So my friends, do me a favour and ask yourself the second question and if you answer 'no', maybe I will send a construction worker, a bicycle and a few Indian stray dogs near your bedroom window tonight.
And so this survey set the rusted wheels inside my brain in motion and these creaky wheels groaned out a question to me in a rather surprisingly shrill tone - Do I believe in ghosts? I think the honest answer would be that I don't want to and nor do I think that ghosts exist, but that does not mean that I will be eager to spend a night in a dark graveyard. So I guess that makes me a part-time believer - a believer under special circumstances. Which means if my only job was to be a believer in ghosts and I got paid for the amount of time I believed in them, I would be well below the poverty line, but I still would earn something. I wonder what category the survey put people like me in. And I wonder what percentage of the population is like me ?
One of my favourite ghost stories (from real life and not from a movie or book) is the one I heard when I was about 9 years old or so. I heard it from friends a few years older than me. A building was being constructed near our apartment and rumour had it that a construction worker slipped from the scaffolding, fell 4 storeys and died instantaneously. Apparently his wife was also working in the same building and she continued working there after his death. The story goes that every night, in the pre-dawn hours, the guy or his spirit would come on a bicycle to the building, ring the bell on his bicycle a couple of times and then call out his wife's name (his wife's name was Kunti) in a kind of long drawn out way - almost like an eerie, forlorn moan. This would be followed by all the stray dogs barking their disapproval at the current situation. This is how the whole cycle of sounds went - "Trriinng, Trriinng, Trriinng, Trriinng. Kuuuuntiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii". This was a cue for the dogs to go 'bhow bhow bhow bhow bhow'. (Note that these being Indian dogs, barked in the local dialect and did not go 'wuff wuff' or 'ruff ruff' like their Western counterparts.) This whole cycle would repeat over and over again for a few minutes and then it would stop automatically. I am a very heavy sleeper and I never heard it except once. I had woken up in the middle of the night for some reason and was not able to go back to sleep rightaway. And then, I heard this exact cycle of sounds and I lay there wondering if I should look out of the window. I did not end up looking out because I was scared - scared that the ghost may divert his attention from his unresponsive wife towards me - scared that the ghost may be really hideous and I would not be able to get that picture out of my mind forever - scared for many reasons unknown to me. Anyway, I tried to make myself feel better about it by telling myself that it was probably a drunk man returning home late and I would feel foolish if I made all the effort of getting out of bed, going to the window and looking out. I think I made a wise decision.
Another story (funny now) which I half-believed in was told to me when I was about 8 years old. One evening, my elder brother told me that he read an article in the newspaper that Count Dracula was visiting Bombay and he was specifically drinking the blood of children born after 1975. I think he may have been reading the story of Dracula then, but in those days, I used to believe anything my brother said and since he said that he read it in the newspaper, it sounded even more authentic. My brother having been born in 1972 was safe from the Count but I, being born in 1976 was very much fair game. I spent the next few nights wishing that the Count would do his rounds in downtown Bombay first and then, when his supply was exhausted, turn his attention to the suburbs. Most probably, I figured that he would even be done with his visit to Bombay before he came to the suburbs. I think my calculations were right because as far as I know, he never came to the suburbs.
A decade or so later, a story which even had the tabloids by its holds was of a ghost-woman with 2 heads, who would walk into buildings and knock on the apartment doors. When you opened it, she would attack you. So the general advice was not to open your door at night. Especially not when it was a dual-headed ghost at the door waiting to rip you apart. Many people followed the advice, much to the chagrin of family members returning from night-shifts, travellers coming into the city late at night, patrons of discotheques, pub-hoppers and other nocturnal members of the society. Anyway, some people laughed at the story, some enjoyed the story and some people actually believed it. But it was definitely the topic of conversation for a couple of weeks in our part of the city.
Most of the ghost-stories obviously stem from our own imagination. The ghosts invariably take the form of whatever what you want to see. Otherwise there is absolutely no reason for ghosts in India to be wearing white most of the time, whereas there does not seem to be any such restriction for ghosts in Western countries. If its an Indian woman-ghost we are talking about, she will most definitely have long black hair and be in white clothes - white clothes because white is a colour of mourning among Hindus. But long black hair? Maybe an explanation for the dearth of older silver-haired Indian woman-ghosts is that they lack the glamour quotient that comes with younger black haired ones.
Coming back to the survey, I think surveys like these should also include another question. Along with 'Do you believe in ghosts?', they should also include 'Do you get scared by your own imagination?'. I am very sure the percentage of people answering 'yes' to the second question is going to be very high compared to the first one and it does not matter what part of the world you live in. So my friends, do me a favour and ask yourself the second question and if you answer 'no', maybe I will send a construction worker, a bicycle and a few Indian stray dogs near your bedroom window tonight.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
When in doubt, fall
I recently discovered that not only can I ski on my feet, I can also do it off my feet. I must confess though that skiing off your feet (a) does not look pretty (b) hurts a little (c) should not be called skiing since the skis are not exactly being used.
I am just going to jot down some notes about skiing here for my benefit as well as the benefit of anyone who has not skiied before. Next time I go skiing, I will use this to refresh my memory and make the experience less painful.
1. Skiing is a 1000 times easier than ice-skating. You see, I had a traumatic ice-skating adventure in a rink a few years ago. Basically, I just clung onto the support-rail for dear life (mine and all the 2 year olds who were zipping by in my falling-zone) and took an eternity to go from the entry to the exit. I fell so many times that when I stepped out of the rink, some parents watching from outside the rink started clapping for me. Sarcastically or not, I don't know but at that point, I was beyond caring about anything except getting the offending skating shoes off my feet.
2. To control your speed, dig the inner side of your skiis into the snow and point your toes (and so your skiis) towards each other. If your friend (and skiing-teacher), SB, tries to describe this as making a 'V', please ask him why he can't be more articulate.
3. To control your direction, use exactly the same technique in point 2 except that you don't point your toes towards each other. If you want to turn left, dig in your right leg and point it inwards and vice-versa for a right turn.
4. Remember that skiing is much easier than ice-skating since you don't have a problem of maintaining your balance when you are travelling in a straight line unlike ice-skating. The only problems you will face are controlling your speed and taking a turn. If you are going to crash into trees, fall down deliberately. This is the highly sensitive art of skiing off your feet.
5. Try not to hit people who help you up onto your feet, with your ski-poles. Especially when they are the ones who are teaching you. ZD, I swear I did not do it purposely.
6. Don't give up. Thank you SB and ZD for not giving up on me.
7. When you get home, drink "Ouzo" on the rocks or neat. Thank you ZD for that too.
I am just going to jot down some notes about skiing here for my benefit as well as the benefit of anyone who has not skiied before. Next time I go skiing, I will use this to refresh my memory and make the experience less painful.
1. Skiing is a 1000 times easier than ice-skating. You see, I had a traumatic ice-skating adventure in a rink a few years ago. Basically, I just clung onto the support-rail for dear life (mine and all the 2 year olds who were zipping by in my falling-zone) and took an eternity to go from the entry to the exit. I fell so many times that when I stepped out of the rink, some parents watching from outside the rink started clapping for me. Sarcastically or not, I don't know but at that point, I was beyond caring about anything except getting the offending skating shoes off my feet.
2. To control your speed, dig the inner side of your skiis into the snow and point your toes (and so your skiis) towards each other. If your friend (and skiing-teacher), SB, tries to describe this as making a 'V', please ask him why he can't be more articulate.
3. To control your direction, use exactly the same technique in point 2 except that you don't point your toes towards each other. If you want to turn left, dig in your right leg and point it inwards and vice-versa for a right turn.
4. Remember that skiing is much easier than ice-skating since you don't have a problem of maintaining your balance when you are travelling in a straight line unlike ice-skating. The only problems you will face are controlling your speed and taking a turn. If you are going to crash into trees, fall down deliberately. This is the highly sensitive art of skiing off your feet.
5. Try not to hit people who help you up onto your feet, with your ski-poles. Especially when they are the ones who are teaching you. ZD, I swear I did not do it purposely.
6. Don't give up. Thank you SB and ZD for not giving up on me.
7. When you get home, drink "Ouzo" on the rocks or neat. Thank you ZD for that too.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Ich bin gut
A direct translation of the words of a sentence from your first language to another language you are not fluent at, may not necessarily convey the same meaning all the time. In fact the results can be disastrous. Even the same words of a language can mean completely different things in different countries. You have to love these little idiosyncrasies of languages - how else can you inadvertently create a funny situation. Wit or humour is after all, mostly a play of words. Cruel, though it may sound, it is even more humourous if it is unintentional.
A friend from Germany, CL, who I met last weekend at Vermont narrated an interesting story. She and a few of her non-German friends had gone to a restaurant in Germany. The waitress came by to do the usual checking on them mid-way during the meal and asked them if they needed anything. In an attempt to say 'I am good', one of CL's friends translated it literally into German and said 'Ich bin gut'. Which in itself is an innocuous looking statement to the non-German speaking layman . But, CL tells us that although literally it does mean 'I am good', the underlying meaning is 'I am good at sex'. Now, that is not necessarily a bad thing, but it depends a lot on the context and who you are saying it to and also their reaction to your claim. In the rare possibility that I end up in a German prison, I know what 3 words I am never going to say. Also, on a side-note, I must say that I don't vouch for the authenticity of this information because CL seemed slightly inebriated when she narrated this anecdote.
Another interesting word that comes to mind is 'fag'. Although it is a derogatory word for a gay person in the US, the word, in India,UK and some other countries is also (and mostly) used to describe a cigarette. "Where is Mike?", you may ask and you may get a reply, "He is in the balcony having a fag". You probably would not be blamed if you started to wonder about the homosexual, exhibitionist antics of poor Mike, who you thought was straight and prudish.
I don't know if this is true but I have heard this story of a guy from a company I used to work for in India, who came to the US on a business visa for 3 months. On his first or second day, he visited a McDonald's and ordered some kind of a meal. On being asked 'For here or to go', he had absolutely no idea what it meant. And of course, the question was repeated again. So he just replied that he was just here for 3 months and he would go back home to India after that. Unfortunately, the story ends there without us knowing whether he was able to get his meal or not. Niether do we know what the reaction of the employee behind the counter was. The words 'for here or to go' although it may sound quite intuitive to the average person in the US, but believe me, the meaning does not come across that clearly to someone not famililar with that phrase. And no, I was not 'the' person in that story.
And so, ladies and gents, when you are in a foreign country, think twice before you do a direct translation of a sentence or you may end up in situations you don't want to be in. And please give your friends the benefit of doubt, when you hear something outlandish about them.
A friend from Germany, CL, who I met last weekend at Vermont narrated an interesting story. She and a few of her non-German friends had gone to a restaurant in Germany. The waitress came by to do the usual checking on them mid-way during the meal and asked them if they needed anything. In an attempt to say 'I am good', one of CL's friends translated it literally into German and said 'Ich bin gut'. Which in itself is an innocuous looking statement to the non-German speaking layman . But, CL tells us that although literally it does mean 'I am good', the underlying meaning is 'I am good at sex'. Now, that is not necessarily a bad thing, but it depends a lot on the context and who you are saying it to and also their reaction to your claim. In the rare possibility that I end up in a German prison, I know what 3 words I am never going to say. Also, on a side-note, I must say that I don't vouch for the authenticity of this information because CL seemed slightly inebriated when she narrated this anecdote.
Another interesting word that comes to mind is 'fag'. Although it is a derogatory word for a gay person in the US, the word, in India,UK and some other countries is also (and mostly) used to describe a cigarette. "Where is Mike?", you may ask and you may get a reply, "He is in the balcony having a fag". You probably would not be blamed if you started to wonder about the homosexual, exhibitionist antics of poor Mike, who you thought was straight and prudish.
I don't know if this is true but I have heard this story of a guy from a company I used to work for in India, who came to the US on a business visa for 3 months. On his first or second day, he visited a McDonald's and ordered some kind of a meal. On being asked 'For here or to go', he had absolutely no idea what it meant. And of course, the question was repeated again. So he just replied that he was just here for 3 months and he would go back home to India after that. Unfortunately, the story ends there without us knowing whether he was able to get his meal or not. Niether do we know what the reaction of the employee behind the counter was. The words 'for here or to go' although it may sound quite intuitive to the average person in the US, but believe me, the meaning does not come across that clearly to someone not famililar with that phrase. And no, I was not 'the' person in that story.
And so, ladies and gents, when you are in a foreign country, think twice before you do a direct translation of a sentence or you may end up in situations you don't want to be in. And please give your friends the benefit of doubt, when you hear something outlandish about them.
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