अनिल एकलव्य ⇔ Anil Eklavya

April 4, 2010

Ptypho

I had then recently joined the center. As is quite fashionable (it wasn’t when I did my graduation at some other institution), the young members of the center decided to have T-shirts made with the center’s name. The student who took up the responsibility of preparing the design for the T-shirts was earlier associated with the center but had shifted to some other more respectable center.

The design was created, T-shirts were made and they were paid for and worn by almost all the members of the center. The text on them said ‘The Langauge Cookers’ or ‘The Lagnuage Cookers’ (more likely the latter), with the Language part in a very large size.

One day I was returning to the lab, along with a couple of other graduate students. An undergraduate student (most probably from a more respectable center) came from the opposite side and stopped. He stood in front of the one who was wearing that newly made T-shirt. He put his finger on the misspelled text on the T-shirt and said the following in a tone that is used to point out the incredible stupidity of someone:

– You know that this spelling is wrong?

He was from a center not dealing in mere language.

The T-shirt wearer couldn’t say anything because he hadn’t realized that there was a spelling error. I had noticed the error and had thought that the designer of the T-shirt had chosen a smart and humorous way to say something positive about the mission of the center and the discipline. I was too shocked to reply immediately, but I found the words in time:

– It’s deliberate.

Now it was his turn to be dumbstruck.

– It’s deliberate?

– Yeah, of course it’s deliberate.

I couldn’t resist being scornful. He was still dumbstruck.

– But why?

I didn’t have time to formulate a reply because he left soon after that.

I narrated the incident once or twice to others and they seemed to share my feelings.

Well, time passed (as they say), and I came to know that there were many others in the center who had not noticed the spelling error recreated in such a large size. Or they hadn’t thought about it.

Then I found out that the general consensus outside the center was that the designer of the T-shirt (along with others) had great fun at the expense of the whole center and that the typo was indeed deliberate (what else could it be?), but the designer had wanted to say something very different from what I had imagined.

He was a well liked member of the center and later moved to an Ivy League U.S. university. He remained a well liked (albeit former) member.

My head still hurts from thinking about it. But I can’t escape it because every day something reminds me of this, especially in academics.

Do I hear someone saying that there really are some typos in many posts on this blog?

February 6, 2009

(Lack of) Imagination for Insulting

As a result of having half a lifetime’s experience of being the target of insults from a very wide variety of people: of all ages, classes, castes, nationalities, sexes, religions, etc. (a large and very representative sample), the writer of this blog has made the discovery that the quality of insults hurled out by someone is a very good and very accurate indication of that person’s intelligence and imagination. This more general part of the discovery is less disturbing. It’s almost as satisfying as any scientific discovery.

The more specific part of the discovery, however, is very disturbing, even though it shouldn’t really be so very unexpected. This specific part is that the vast majority of the people hurling insults is completely lacking in imagination and seems to have very low intelligence as reflected in the quality of their insults. The writer can say without hesitation that at least 95% of the insulters will qualify as mentally challenged. Severely. And that’s a conservative estimate.

As any reader of this blog could have noticed, the writer of this blog is not a very modest person. And he claims to have extraordinary ability to come up with highly creative insults that can send even a person of strong temperament reeling with emotional pain. But, for some reason, he keeps this extraordinary power of his under very tight control, so much so that it is rarely exercised, at least against individuals.

But he is disheartened by the depressingly dismal quality of insults hurled out by others at him.

 

Show some imagination folks. Some intelligence. Don’t be (in your good language) so damned fucking stupid. So (in your average language) damned fucking re-tards. So (in your still more average language) damned fucking fagots.

He can give you a clue for coming up with good insults: Truth Helps.

 

 

And don’t tell me that this discovery is not really novel. I now suspect that of every discovery.

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