Paan

The times were very fish-y. There had been fish for dinner last night. Now, there was fish for lunch today. After several miserable minutes, during which the food on my plate didn't seem to have diminished noticeably at all, I decided divine intervention was called for.

"Ma", I squeaked. "Does Ram eat fish?"

I was convinced he did not. I was convinced he hunted deer down and barbecued them. I was eight and a half years old.

"Of course he does", said Ma. Mealtimes, she was Arjun personified, her entire concentration focussed on the contents of my plate. "Of course he does. He eats everything that's put on his plate. And everything that isn't."

"No, Ma, that's Krishna", I squeaked.

Youngest uncle snickered.

"Every. single. thing", Ma repeated with a glare. A pause. Father poured himself some water. "And", continued Ma, "if you don't finish everything in the next 10 minutes..."

In the ominous silence, the cries of a vendor hawking his wares in the gully outside floated in: Dahi leo, le lo daheeeeee.

I tried my best to finish everything on my plate within 10 minutes. It took me a well over an entire hour. Everyone had left the table by then and gone off to their siestas.

Grandma was sleeping too, which was unfortunate. It was clear I'd need to help myself. I slowly opened her dressing table cupboard. It held that most magical of all things: her paan box, with its paraphernalia of tidbits.

And, like everyone knows, that yucky fishy smell will never leave you till you help yourself to a little paan. But, Grandma was sleeping.

I looked around. Her gods were an arm-length away, regarding me benignly. Ram positively glowed in the late afternoon sun, his crown glittering, his bow twinkling, his smile indulgent.  I carefully placed three slices of paper-thin supari in front of him and each of the gods. I carefully shook a drop of kattha on the suparis. I generously sprinkled jarda on each pile. Its fragrance was heady. I dropped some into my mouth, turned  to keep the stuff back....and immediately fell down. At the clatter, Grandma opened her eyes and said, "What?"
...
My respect for Ram grew a thousandfold. He could digest ALL that jarda and still not feel wobbly in the head?

Had Ma been there, she'd have said it's because he eats every single thing that's put on his plate.

gay paradigm

No one knows the meaning of paradigm, I was told recently, which is when I realised I don't either. I mean, I think I know what paradigm means but am not sure. So, I reached out for my dictionary (Oxford, of course).



Yes, that's somewhat close to what I thought the meaning was - a paradigm is a framework or an example of something.

It also occurs to me that for the word to make some sense, it should not occur alone but be always teamed with another noun, like this: society's paradigm, Darwinian paradigm, gay paradigm.

Which brings us to gay.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Nodding their heads in sprightly dance;
The waves beside them danced, but they...outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay in such a jocund company.

What a gay, happy scene. Sprightly, dancing, nodding, jocund scene. Guaranteed to warm the cockles of a poet's heart. Turn it gay.

And then, there was a paradigm shift in what gaity stood for. Gay no longer means gay. Thanks to a paradigm shift, now gay means gay.