Treasure forgotten

(photo from wikipedia)

Quiz: Where in Calcutta can you find a private zoo, 25-foot tall Belgian glass mirrors, chandeliers weighing many tons, original paintings by the likes of Rubens and Reynolds, priceless porcelain vases from China's Ming dynasty, giant stuffed heads of moose, and breathtakingly beautiful statues of Greek gods rubbing shoulders with those of eastern deities ... all presided over by a giant statue of young Queen Victoria carved out of a single block of wood? 

Answer: the Marble Palace, built by the fabulously wealthy (and cultured, unlike his early 21st century counterparts!) 19th century Bengali tycoon 'Rajah' Rajendra Mullick. It's just off Chittaranjan Avenue, a few steps after you have passed the Jorasanko Thakurbaari. It's so obscure that even a local rickshawpuller hadn't heard the name (nor had several elderly and young members of the smart set whom I asked at the city's biggest shopping mall, South City. I visited both places the same day in a bid to show my daughter what the city is like today...) Doesn't even the fact that the collection at the palace would be worth several hundred million dollars stir the interest of the most well-heeled of Calcuttans? How much farther will this social dumbing-down go?

Oh Calcutta!

Hard to love people like this

... and the picture itself should tell you why I can't sympathize with their plight!

It makes me sad that one of the most in-your-face signs that this country is 'developing' is that it is rapidly filling up with folks like this. Makes a nice juxtaposition with millions of emaciated and permanently hungry people, it does.

(nobody I know: just got the photo off the net while researching obesity on google images)

Making people read

Someone who is a bibliophile herself recently asked with a note of despair in her voice how she could persuade people to try out some books. I had hardly any advice for her, except to recall something I had read in Reader's Digest long ago:

A librarian who had the same problem (subscribers only went for the latest pulp fiction and refused to look at classics of literature or serious non-fiction) hit upon the idea of labelling one particular shelf 'For high-IQ readers only', and putting all her favourite titles on it. Books started flying off that shelf. 

Now whether the borrowers actually read the books they took home is, of course, another matter altogether!

Ten thousand visits!

Even as I write, the visits-counter has turned over, and I have crossed the 10,000 visits milestone. It has taken me 15 months: much faster than it happened with the other blog. Gives me a good feeling, knowing how hard it is to keep at this sort of thing for weeks and months on end in the midst of a busy (and not too funny) work schedule, with very little help – as I observed in an earlier post. Add to that frequent niggling irritations, like anonymous mugs and complete strangers chipping in just to say they don’t like the contents of this blog (and without making the slightest effort to show me how to do better – as by writing and maintaining a blog of their own)!

Indians are not known for their humour. I keep telling my girls and boys that they exhaust all their sense of fun by giggling so much over inanities and trifles all through teenage that by the time they are adults, they are surly grumblers all, or else they laugh only over obscenities, or over others’ misfortunes. Sit in on any office conversation or party gossip or roadside adda of college dropouts. I may not have a very exalted sense of humour, but I pride myself that I have never needed to stoop to such baseness.

One thing that a lot of people don’t know is that appreciating humour requires a) high IQ, b) wide GK, and c) often also a much better grasp of language than most people can boast of. There’s nothing more painful than watching a joke fall flat simply because the audience has no clue as to what you are talking about. Reminds me of the Bengali adage that a fool always laughs three times over a joke: the first time because he sees others laughing, the second time because the humour strikes him at last, and the third time realizing that he had laughed the first time without understanding…

It is not easy to be whimsical, especially in troubled times. I have met very few people in flesh and blood who can do that. So I am compelled to fall back on quoting the wise-saws of the great and the good, such as when Sir Winston Churchill scathingly put down his garrulous opponent in Parliament by saying ‘The honourable member is modest, and he has much to be modest about’, and when President Lincoln, on hearing about the drinking problem of his brilliant general Ulysses Grant, said ‘Find out what he drinks, and I am going to send a barrel to each of my other generals’, and the incident in the comic book Asterix the Legionary, where the eponymous hero tells friend Obelix to swallow the disgusting-looking mash they serve in the army, saying ‘The worse the food, the stronger the army’, then spitting out a mouthful himself, and commenting with a grimace ‘I didn’t know the Roman army was that strong!’

A good wish to all my followers. Do send in a few words of encouragement now and then…

Criticism

To say something good about others needs character; any uncouth fool can call you names.

While I welcome comments on this blog, they should come from people who have something worthwhile to say, something good to share, some little nugget of wit or wisdom that I and all other readers could profit by; and, if nothing else, to say thanks. And so, before typing in a few lines, the comment-writer should pause to reflect whether s/he has anything at all worthwhile to say, or whether s/he is one more of the literally uncountable pathetic folks who are dying for a moment's attention. There are people who strip in public, and abuse, and walk drunkenly - even without being paid - only to draw others' eyes to themselves, even if it's only looks of contempt and disgust that come their way.

I am reminded of the joke: 'Sir', said the man to the Universe, 'I exist!' 'The fact', came the reply, 'has not given me much concern'... and the fact that the young man who shot US President Ronald Reagan later confessed he had done it merely to get on the front page of all the world's newspapers and thus impress his girlfriend. Most human beings only appear sane!

One of the abiding motifs of the recollections of old boys and girls is about how much they laughed in my class. So, after 29 years, I don't really need certificates. I write here only for the entertainment and edification of those who like what I say. Everybody else is welcome to stay away.

So please don't bother to waste your time just to tell me 'I don't think much of the contents', without even offering a reasoned explanation, and suggestions for better things. If it is entirely a matter of your subjective, and probably untutored judgment, keep it to yourself; I am not interested in how many complete strangers don't like me, especially when I can see how enormously tastes vary: the same joke that someone enjoys hugely falls flat on someone else (who knows but simply because it flew over the latter's head?)

And I was just reminded that some people have to be hit with a hammer on the head before they can recognize a joke.

A wonderful howler

I was thumbing through some old issues of the once famous Punch magazine when I came across this absolutely priceless late-Victorian cartoon: the young man is reclining against the trunk of a shady tree beside his lady love, and by way of making conversation he asks her 'Do you like Kipling?' to which she tartly replies 'I don't know, you naughty boy, I've never kippled'!