The "Wassup" Generation

Recently, I had just started chatting online with a friend when she wrote 'brb' and disappeared. Now, what on earth was brb? I tried adding vowels to make it blurb,burb but nothing made sense. My daughter was mortified when I told her later. "How could you be so dumb? Brb means 'be right back' ". Oh...

Welcome to the "Wassup" generation, a bunch of highly inventive and original spellers! Their conversations generally start with "Hey, wassup" or "Yo, sup?". Sounds Greek and Latin to me! Actually, they are in such a tearing hurry to communicate, that they don't want to waste time spelling out words!

At one point, the "wassup" syndrome was so bad that my daughter was writing 'abt' for 'about' and 'u' for 'you' in her school essays until the English teacher put her foot down! Another problem is that there is no standard abbreviation or short form to use. Each person comes up with a different way of spelling that it is a wonder the internet has not become a Tower of Babel!

The problem is compounded because my daughter uses my mobile phone sometimes, and the messages she receives are hilarious (at least to me)! Actually, I should thank them for helping me keep Alzheimer's at bay, for I am really using my brain cells to decipher what my messages mean!

This phenomenon is not confined to the young. I have a friend, a Professor of English in a suburban college, who happily forgets all the rules of grammar that she painstakingly teaches her students, when she sends messages. I must confess I find them the most difficult to read.

So, here I am, a dinosaur among the mobile-literate! I am not able to find the connection between 'wz' and 'with' or 'crpn' with 'carpenter', but never mind. It is never too late to learn. I still have to type out my messages in full, with proper punctuation, but I am learning, I am learning.....
So, bi, c u l8r!

Metamorphosis

I am always fascinated by the growth of cities.
What starts of as a group of dwellings, probably near a water-body like a lake or a river, grows into this monstrously large city with suburbs like tentacles that are mini-cities by themselves. It is amazing. I don't know much about the history of Besant Nagar but when I had visited it in the early 1980's, there was not much activity except for the Velankanni church and the beach.The beach itself was a quiet place, nothing like what it seems now. Besant Nagar has morphed from the sleepy retirement haven into a 'happening' place. I guess people moved here for peace and quiet, away from the bustling city. Not much peace and quiet now, except in pockets.

Thiruvanmiyur, where I live, has a history that pre-dates Chennai. This village, along with Mylapore and Tiruvottiyur, are ancient.The Marundeeswarar temple,once the focal point of the village, has lost much to development. The East Coast Road cuts through its property, leaving a rather lonely Valmiki shrine in the middle of the busy highway. The city has grown around, and eaten into, the village and the temple.

But once in a way, we are forced to step back. This Sivaratri (Mar.6) was one such day. Suddenly, barricades sprung up around the temple, and traffic was re-routed to allow devotees free access to the temple. We had to drive round and round in order to reach home from Besant Nagar,a journey that took me 40 minutes for a distance normally covered in 10 minutes!

Stuck in a traffic jam and unable to move, we were naturally angry and upset.But in a moment of clarity,I thought it was only right that at least once in a way, we stop to understand and appreciate the culture and heritage of our neighbourhood.In our mad rush towards "development",let us not forget the past.

A Quiet Lane

Today I took a walk down a quiet, shady lane, and went back in time.

I had not taken my car today, and after class at Besant Nagar, thought I would walk up to the nearest ATM. I walked down a lane that I must have zipped through numerous times, and only today I really saw it. Intent on driving safely, I had not noticed the old genteel houses, or the apartments built to blend into the greenery. Lovely old trees spread their branches across the road, diffusing the sunlight. It reminded me of the lovely lanes of my childhood in Madurai and Coimbatore, when life was still simple, and it was safe to play on the streets.

The silence was soothing, broken only gently by the conversation of the ironing man on the roadside with the maid who had just come to dump the garbage. I walked down, enjoying the sights and sounds (or lack of them).

Further down the street, I was surprised to see an old house had been pulled down. I had not come here for a month, and in that time, the house had been reduced to dust, the aluminium sheets had been put up around the plot, and a sign board announced the launching of a new housing project.

Each house that is pulled down takes with it memories of a different era, when we had the time and inclination to build houses not just to live in, but to bequeath to our children. They were big, not to impress the neighbours (well,maybe!), but also to house our large extended families. Soon, a large apartment complex will come up, and new cars will zip up and down this quiet lane. And it will not be quiet anymore.

Ah, such is life!