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Showing posts from February, 2010

When Grammar Met Clarity

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Writing has always fascinated me. It’s such an interesting aspect of communication; you can pretty much convey anything you want, in any way you want. Even a grammatically incorrect sentence can carry its full meaning. Yet, somewhere along the way, we began mistaking good communication for intelligence. “Oh, he writes and speaks so well.  He must be smart.” Good communication can create a false sense of technical pride. I grew up believing that grammatical precision was the measure of knowledge. But in hindsight, that wasn’t entirely me; it was my teachers. They were absolutely particular that every sentence not only conveyed meaning, but also respected the sanctity of grammar. A misplaced article or preposition could invite the harshest of corrections. Yesterday, my wife and I were talking about writing and as all conversations these days eventually do, it veered toward our kids’ writing. We were laughing over Sahana’s recent schoolwork: a delightful mix of humor, dialogue, and im...

The hurt walker

What a lucky guy? I thought to myself as I saw him walk past me.  An expression that would be reserved for a fellow guy not if he was an intellectual genius or Albert Einstein's alter ego, but if he was walking with an absolute beauty of a babe or obviously, if I had other intentions.  The most incredible aspect of the male pheromone is obviously the ability to influence every member of the same species with a common trait that virtually nullifies the uniqueness of the individual.  In short, perception of unique thought is nothing but absolutely universal.  Well, I digress, but that's what I was doing literally.  I was launching a scalene triangle to cover half a pace.  You can imagine the frontal movement of my legs.  It was as though I was transformed into a dog when I tried to move forward.  Herculean, monumental, outstanding and sensational were words reduced to grave insignificance compared to the amount of happiness I secured when I moved fo...

Just another day

Why don't you help me in the kitchen? I have so many things to do. I could just hear the usual faint cry from the kitchen.  After so many years of marriage, I was getting used to these little things. Father, why don't you budge from that freakin' newspaper? The second source of disturbance was from none other than my ever social Sahana .  She was busy too.  At least, it made me feel better that she was calling me as father, instead of various condensed versions of abominate equivalents.  They were fancy killers, really! I mean who would want to be called as papa or puppy (disgusting, who wants to be called like that!) or whatever .  By the way, getting back to the real reason of she being busy. Sahana , don't shout at me like that.  I have a hundred reasons to be unhappy with you.  What are you doing in front of the laptop? Is this the reason you asked me to get you a Mac? Why can't you just communicate with your friends over phone? Or still b...