Is Sunday Really a Holiday?

 

Is Sunday Really a Holiday?

There is no Sunday for an anxious young girl preoccupied with possibilities and their possible results going on her first date; no Sunday for curious young man rife with speculations for an opportunity to encroach on the forbidden 'territory' of a young girlfriend

By Mukesh Sharma

 

To a common man, Sunday is the most awaited day after a week-long tussle of life, particularly, in the context of India; it is like an oasis in the endless desert of drudgery; it is rejoiced as an OFF DAY in the most parts of the world. With relentless rolling of the wheel of the TIME, Sunday falls after seven days on the human almanac. The working class, euphemistically, marks Sunday as the King of days. But a few pertinent questions do trickle the mind of this blogger. Is Sunday the same for all the people? Is it really a holiday?

Scratching scrutiny reveals that there is no Sunday for a wishful wife;  no Sunday for a harnessed husband; no Sunday for pitiable parents struggling to give their kids the best.

There is no Sunday for the minion milkman; no Sunday for the vegetable vendor; no Sunday for the nursing newspaper vendor; no Sunday for diligent daily wage earners.

There is no Sunday for the always functional farmers; no sunday for lower rung officials and constables in police scouting streets day and night with nobody to pat their back for good work; no Sunday for sentinel-soldiers guarding the border under extreme weather conditions on treacherous terrain and territory.

There is no Sunday for an anxious young girl preoccupied with possibilities and their possible results, going on her first date; no Sunday for curious young man rife with speculations for an opportunity to encroach on the forbidden 'territory' of a young girlfriend.

There is no Sunday for a streetwalker waiting for a right customer who would pay the full price of her modesty and dignity; no Sunday for rag pickers out with a sack on the shoulder to pick plastic stuff from the heap of garbage; no Sunday for the street beggars set on a begging spree at assigned red lights of the city.

There is no Sunday for the prying Pride, garrulous Greed, wretched Wrath, enticing Envy, lumpet Lust, gobbling Glutton, and slacking Sloth. Not to speak of Sunday, all work overtime for  their self preservation.

There is no Sunday of deathless Hope; no Sunday for devil desires. Even God is surprised at their modus operandi and modus Vivendi.

There is no Sunday for the beating heart; no Sunday for thinking Mind; no Sunday for puffing Breath; No Sunday for the libertine Liver; No Sunday for the kind kidneys; No Sunday for ever-flowing blood in artery and veins; no respite even for a split of a second.

There is no Sunday for respected Rahul Gandhi, perhaps, busy in working out 'positive' strategies for the propulsion of INS; it is not his fault that each time 'positivity' results in negativity; he believes in 'action' not in its fruit. If the people don't understand Rahul Gandhi, it is their fault, he can't help.

There is no Sunday for our venerable and Hon'ble Prime Minister Modi Ji. Like a supercomputer, the insiders reveal that Modi remains on all the time. Modi's opponents allege that he remains busy in collecting data and fudging it; he remains busy in juxtaposing facts with fiction and serve it to people with unparallel oratorical skill. No Sunday even for the ever-growing grey beard of Modi. Over the months, he has become more enigmatic than charismatic. The common people opine with a pinch of salt that they never expected that their charismatic leader will turn into a calm and quiet BABA — a unique effect of power on Modi — never seen in the annals of India.

There is no Sunday even for God. He is not happy with the man on earth who has betrayed his trust. God is worried about the existence of man on earth, for the man has sowed the seed of self-destruction. So God is busy planning a new life on some other planet far away in another galaxy. God has no hope for the man on the earth.

To conclude, there is no Sunday for all and sundry including God except for so-called government servants; it is blessed 'breed' among human beings. The commoners allege that govt. servants in India are simply a chair warmer and clock watcher, particularly, the black sheeps; they work for the public, allegedly, in return for 'money' only;  their monthly salary credited to their account from govt is a monetary honor for being in government service. To black sheeps in  government service,  it is not only Sunday but all days are Sunday — they are Sunday unto themselves.

With all due respect, this moron blogger would like to tell the government servants that if you are able to sit and sip tea in the comforts of your home with your family on Sunday, mind you, you owe this Sunday to millions of people who have no Sunday; you must thank them all; you must thank God also. you are blessed; you are lucky.

 Sunday is not  really a holiday for all!

My School days Girlfriend Grammar

My School Days Girl-friend Grammar

All of a sudden, Grammy threw her arms around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of her silent tears rolling down from her eyes

By Mukesh Sharma

A few days ago, I visited US library at K.G. Marg, New Delhi for the renewal of my membership. I was surprised to spot my school days girl-friend Grammar sitting quietly and calmly in the reading hall, engrossed in some book. When I was at school, she was a good friend of mine. She would never indulge in small-talks. She would always preach discipline. All classmates used to respect her a lot. Out of love and respect, I would also call her by a nick name ‘Grammy.’

My School days Girlfriend

The moment ‘Grammy’ caught my sight, she sprang to her feet; she walked up to me and gave me a hug. We sat down for an hour and had warm chit-chat in the light of sweet memories of the past. Here, this blogger shares the excerpts of that interesting talks with his valued readers:

Blogger:

What a great pleasure to see you here Grammy after such a long time! How do you do?

Grammy:

How do I look? You see! A woman is as old as she looks and a man is as old as he feels.

Blogger:

Great! You are an ageless beauty. Even mighty time respects your beauty. And ever yours, I am one of your votaries.

Grammy:

Okay. I am flattered! I am flattered! You writers know how to play with the words. Where and how to use Simile, Metaphor, Hyperbole, Euphemism, Antithesis, Oxymoron, Personification, Apostrophe, Epigram, Irony, Pun and Metonymy.

Blogger:

I have learnt this all from you only. You are my teacher. You are my best friend. I am a writer because of you. To be honest, you are my first love; you are my love-lady.

Grammy:

Frankly speaking, I don’t have very high opinion of men. I have bitter experience with the men. Naked truth is a man loves a woman for sex,  and a woman gives sex for the love of man.  Men are attracted towards women for sheer sexual urge. In the beginning, they make great show of love and affection. They would love to hang out with their girls. After winning her confidence, they use her, they misuse her, they abuse her and at last they disuse her for another body (woman). So is the situation with me (Grammar) also. Once one has good command of the language, Grammar is given good-bye. In US, over 45 per cent women above the age of 50 end up as single. It's a male chauvinist society. I don’t trust man. I enjoy celibacy.

Blogger:

Don’t generalize it. You can’t draw a conclusion on the basis of the behavior of some selfish men. You know, those who understand you, love and respect you the most.

Grammy:

Don’t placate me with your words.

Blogger:

It is not an exaggeration Grammy! It’s truth. You are the epitome of discipline. You teach discipline. You are like nature that teaches nothing but discipline. The sun rises in east; it sets in west. The earth and all the planets revolve around the sun in a synchronized orbit – it is a perfect example of discipline.

You see, Grammar is a crux of life. God has succeeded in creating all planets and stars because He knows the Grammar of universe.

It is the Grammar of the body that brings man and woman close to each other.

Truth is stranger than fiction. Handful of wily netas who are public servants rule over the masters (the public), for, they know the Grammar of Democracy. On the contrary, the public can simply maunder and mumble but can’t do anything, for, it doesn’t understand the Grammar of Politics.

Grammy:

Hold you horses, I am impressed! I am impressed! But, you know, many scholars contend that Grammar is more confusing than comprehensive, and cite reasons:

-          If one studies the grammar from very first chapter to the last, rules are progressively discarded one after the other. There are no hard and fast rules in conventional grammar. It is full of exceptions. So a student remains confused even after studying the whole grammar.

-           It is also silent on the rules of preposition. Why the meaning of a word changes with different preposition e.g. call on, call for, call upon etc.

-          It is also maintained that conventional grammar doesn’t teach sentence making. It teaches one how to correct a sentence, not how to make sentences . . .

Blogger:

These morons know only conventional grammar taught at school level in conformity to colonial education system which is based on rote-learning and it is a corrective grammar only; it teaches to correct the sentence. These so-called scholars have no knowledge of your other parts – Syntactical Grammar that teaches the sentence making and Generative Grammar that teaches to generate the sentences. Those who are acquainted with all the parts, know that Grammar is comprehensive, not confusing.

Further, as far as rule of preposition is concerned, standardized collocations are the answer. English is a language of phrases. Root words/key words pair with other words and produce standardizes collocations and convey different senses. So, no need to go into the rule of preposition.

Grammy:

Well, some find fault even in my eugenics. Scholars cast aspersions and take jibe at me saying English has no grammar of its own. An American Lindley Murray who was  a Latin Scholar and he was of the view that Latin was the most scientific language in the world and it's  grammar could  justify any language. So he just converted the Latin Grammar into English Grammar in 1795. And his book set the precedent for succeeding books on English Grammar.

Blogger:

So what, you know Latin is the direct descendant of Sanskrit. All the European languages are genetically related to Sanskrit only which is looked upon as parent language for all the European languages. So you should take pride in the fact that you are the pampered daughter of Latin, and a great,  great . . . . grand daughter of Sanskrit – a divine language which was fully developed and advanced even 5000 years ago at a time when the world was a savage and even most of the modern languages were non-existent.

Grammy:

Oh my goodness, you know a lot about me. You think a lot about me? Now I can understand your sneaking love for me, right!

Blogger:

I understand only one fact. If you love your children, you must respect their mother. I love English language. So I respect the mother of English language i.e. you Grammy.

Grammy:

So, you have great respect for women!

Blogger:

Of course, like mother-nature, only a woman has power of procreation. Man is a child of woman. His life revolves around woman only. Without woman, this little world of man will cease to exist.

Grammy:

O man, you are a true man. I never knew that you had such warm feelings for me.

Blogger:

That’s not all. I would like to unfold my heart today. You see, I wanted to marry you, but I couldn’t summon the courage to pop the question. I contented myself with the thought: those who can’t be held in arms, can be had in heart. Even today, you live in my heart. You are the queen of my heart.

All of a sudden, Grammy threw her arms around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of her silent tears rolling down from her eyes. Tears welled in my eyes too. Consoling and comforting her,  I whispered in her ear:

“Worry not honey, the next birth would witness the grand and gala union  of the body and soul. ‘Amen, Amen, Amen’ she blurted out in deep voice echoing from the heart. And with a good-bye kiss, we parted to meet again in the next birth . . .

MY LOW MAINTENANCE GIRLFRIEND

MY LOW MAINTENANCE GIRLFRIEND

She is my soul. She is my body. She is my mind. She is my escort. She has taught me to live. She has taught me to write.

By Mukesh Sharma

So calm, cool and quiet she is,

Like space where the peace lives.

Bright like moon, fair like snow,

She escorts me wherever I go.

With swan-like love, we fly free,

Her warmth hugs vanishes all worries.

Ask not me more about her please,

Body I am, breath she is.

Me just a mind, she is a heart,

Death only can do us part.

Beyond woos and wants, she is just mine,

'Diary' her name, She is so divine.