Sunday 8 April 2012

What Was That Word, Again?


 "It's always a bit of a struggle to get the words right, whether we're a Hemingway or a few fathoms below his level."
~  
Rene J. Cappon


One drawback of thinking too much is that you must supply your mind with an unending stream of words, all the time. Many a time, it so happens that you know exactly what you are thinking, but you cannot recall the word or term that describes your thought. For instance, this morning I couldn't recall a certain word. I don't know why I thought of it in the first place; but I did anyway. I was in the process of preparing a glass of chocolate milkshake for my breakfast when suddenly obscure thoughts start racing my mind, and they halt on the thing you use to pluck the strings of the guitar. I know the word. I will recognise it if I just hear it once. It is almost at the tip of my tongue. But I cannot recall it!

This is one situation I dread and hate; and one that I am confronted with very often. My mind is not at peace until I remember the word that I have forgotten. It becomes impossible for me to do anything unless 'the word' is discovered. Today, I panicked and pestersed my parents to tell me the word I had forgotten. They racked their memory, Google was consulted but the word was not uncovered. This had to end. I thought where I had come across that word for the first time. It was an arts & craft book which has been in the family for nearly 40 years now. I ran to my book shelf, and almost instinctively my hand went to the shelf where the book was. I was lucky that the book was still where I had kept it almost an year ago. I flipped through the pages and saw it - plectrum. It was the joy of heaven!

On other ocassions, too, I have inflicted torture on mankind when my memory tricks me. But most of the times I have come to my own rescue. Words may slip out of my mind, but strangely I always remember where I came across them. I once scoured through a particular dictionary because I remembered the location of the word on one of the right hand side pages, and also what it meant, though I had forgotten the letter with which the word began. I was successful in the end; but I did this atleast 5 times. This word was bezel. Another time, I sent out panic stricken text messgaes to my parents in the middle of a lecture pleading them to tell me what was Pranoy Roy's expertise. Thankfully, they obliged. The word here was psephology. The other day, while I was strolling through a mall, and I noticed that the counter of a particular brand was missing. I kept straining my head but couldn't get the name of that brand at all. Not even a hint. How, then, was I supposed to ask the salesman about it? After I got home, and the first thing I did was to dive into my wardrobe to hunt for my floral dress and check its label. I had forgotten Remanika. These are just a few of occurences out of so many.

I have spent innumerable afternoons scanning through magazines, newspapers, thesauri and even novels trying to search for words that escape recall. I have a little notepad where I note down the words that I usually forget - yes, there are some words that I regularly forget. I cannot locate that notepad now by the way, and okapi is the only word I remember writing in it. Then there are those words which I am not able to recall for a very long time - despite all my efforts -and consequently I forget that I have forgotten them and eventually when such a word does come back to me I don't know that it was the same elusive one that had agonised me sometime back!
~ 

Shopping Diaries : My Foot!


"Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?"
~  
Frida Kahlo 


After almost every instance that I have gone out shopping, I've returned with a resolution in my mind - never to shop for footwear again! However, the next time I do spot a shoe store, my curiosity and optimism get the better of me, and before I can stop myself I am already browsing the shelves. Here's why we came around to the resolution in the first place.

In a store that has say around 500 pairs of footwear on display, I might like a couple - courtesy :  the choosy me. The size on display is never the one that will fit me. So I ask the storekeeper to get me my size of the same shoe. He looks at the shoe on display and tries to take sneak peek at my feet. I ask him bluntly, "What is the bigget size you have?" He doesn't want to lose a prospective customer easily, and in his attempt to buy time, tells me, "We may have your size. I'll just have a look in our godown. Why don't you see something else in the meantime?" I bid my time and look around. Sometimes I find something interesting, most of the times I don't. The keeper returns empty handed, and feigns regret at not having found my size in that particular design. Tell you what, I am not surprised. Its not the first time this happened. I am kind of used to it. Ever since my feet grew to their full size - I was 15 then - I have visited a number of shoe shops only to return disappointed!

It is not that I was always used to this. The first few times this happened, I was rather embarrassed  Some shopkeepers tried to console me by saying that they had run out of stock whereas the other insensitive ones told me that shoemakers did not make shoes of my size! This would usually be followed by me losing my temper and storming out of the shop swearing under my breath, determined never to glance at that shop again. With the passage of time, however, I have come to terms with the fact that its not easy to find good shoes that fit my feet; but it is not impossible. There have been occasions when I have had to have my footwear flown in from the middle east and Bulgaria. In addition to the lovely shoes, I was also reassured that atleast in some part of this world, there are women who have feet like mine. So yes, shoemakers do make shoes that fit me. If they didn't, I'd have gone the M F Hussain way a long time back.

These days I can, more often than not, predict the response of the shopkeeper. I have mastered the art of reading expressions which conceal the process of choosing the right words to tell me that I have large feet and the shop cannot cater to my pedial needs. Nowadays, I get into shoe shops more for the kick of it than to actually buy them. Before the shopkeeper can frame his sentence I ask, "You don't have it, right?"; and all he can do is nod sheepishly. Guess that makes it easier for him as well as for me. For him because he is spared the effort. For me because I can easily move out of the shop after having embarrassed him for a change.
~