Hinglish’s polkadodge with English

Have problems with English? Never fear, the new Oxford Dictionary of English (ODE) is here. Out this week, with more than 2,000 new words and phrases, it includes riveting English like “rasta roko”. Your troubles are over, dude-bhai. Now even the Queen of England would need a dictionary to understand proper English.

Chillax! I mean calm down (that’s the new combo word: chill + relax). Or take a chill pill (yes, this ODE is exasperatingly kid-friendly). Soon you will automagically (automatic + magically) be speaking this wonderful language, even if you don’t quite understand it. It will help with your soft skills (that enable you to interact effectively with other people), and keep hikikomori (the abnormal avoidance of social contact, typically by adolescent males in Japan) at bay.
See how quickly I have got into the new vocabulary? In case I come across as a cheeseball (one lacking taste, style or originality), especially at tweetups (meetings set up on Twitter) I have, cunningly, an exit strategy (as defined by the dictionary) ready. In short, don’t overthink. You may be catastrophising. Which could lead to you being defriended (or unfriended if in the US). It could even end your best bromance (brother + romance, ie non-sexual closeness between two males). Don’t worry, grrrls (aggressive, independent, young women legitimised by ODE last year) you can always slip into your LBD (the “little black dress” that is supposed to be essential for every woman) and go hang out with a frenemy (friend + enemy). If worried about a wardrobe malfunction, jeggings (between jeans and leggings) may be safer. Ready? So go blow your own vuvuzela.
It’s always fascinating to see how a language grows. And the ODE, the self-appointed doorkeeper of English, helps streamline the wild undergrowth that is quickly embracing this language. It studies buzzwords and new words and phrases for some years before accepting them into the fold. But I have never been able to figure out what exactly clinches that hallowed entry.
Take “blamestorming” — a smart little recent buzzword that was included in the ODE last year. We have been doing it forever — sitting around discussing who is to be blamed for a mess. And now we have a legit word for it. Like we are empowered with “gaydar” now, that has for ages enabled gays to recognise others with similar interests. There is also “sexting” (texting sexual messages) and the “vook” (digital book with some video) which may or may not be accepted as words yet.
But since the idea of a word is to make communication easier, and since the ODE is being rather generous with its acceptance of such coinages, there are quite a few that perhaps merit space in the dictionary. Like “aporkalypse” — a buzzword since last year, that refers to an overreaction to the swine flu scare. Or “mouse potato”, the net generation’s couch potato. Or “assmosis”, the all too familiar process by which some people seem to absorb career advancement by kissing up to the boss. And of course the very familiar “seagull manager” — the manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps on everything and leaves.
Among the wannabe words that the ODE has rejected, I have a few favourites. If you like “lexpionage” (the sleuthing of words) you would root for the “fumb” (foot thumb or big toe) or the “polkadodge” (the inadvertent dance of two people trying to pass each other but moving in the same direction). But if you are “asphinxiated” (sick to death of unanswerable puzzles) by all this, you may also be a secret “vidiot” (let’s just say inept with video recording tools) and lapse into “whinese” (the language usually spoken by kids on lengthy trips). Or you may simply keep your “xenolexica” (a grave confusion when faced with unusual words) to yourself. Anyway, all this may just be “nonversation” since the great dictionary has refused to accept these as English words.
But maybe we, one of the principal torchbearers of colonial English, could take them in. After all, it is pretty much accepted now that there are many “englishes” around the world as opposed to the pristine “English” that is primarily limited to England. Why can’t we have our own dictionary of Indian English, where we would happily include all our lovely usages and coinages? We need something more than the Hobson Jobson, we need our own lexicon of one of our own languages, the other tongue that has now become one of our many mothertongues. Trust me, what we speak is not exactly the Queen’s English.
So as the Oxford Dictionary of English nurtures its mother language, let’s get our own English streamlined. After all, trends we start are often picked up by the ODE. When we started to “pre-pone” things, they cocked an eyebrow. Now the ODE even has “prebuttal” — an anticipatory rebuttal. How quarrelsome is that!
No, we certainly need to set the limits of our own language. There is correct Indian English and incorrect Indian English. Like it is fine to have a nose screw. Sure, it’s a free country. Yes, you could call it a nose-stud as well, but usually they are screws. Or to airdash — particularly to an accident site if you are an Indian politician. You could certainly be a beautiful homely woman, especially for the matrimonial pages. There is no contradiction. You could do almost anything as time-pass. And you are most welcome to come in through the backside — or stuff whatever you do not need now in the backside. The frontside is for show, no?
But there are things you cannot do. You cannot idly revolve in corridors. Or open the windows to let the climate in. You may not study your son and marry your daughter. We need to protect our language. Let’s get our own Dictionary of Indian English. No, you must not rotate your head and say no.

Antara Dev Sen is editor of The Little Magazine. She can be contacted at: sen@littlemag.com [2]