Brinjal, and other ‘funny’ words.

English, sort of like a leech above a shoe, was hungry and searching for food. Slowly, it sucked life out of other world languages and fed itself. It grew bigger and bigger into a snake that coiled around the world, tightening its clasp, but bringing contents together.

And because it fed it self such a rich language diet, it became more intelligent. It learnt to wash itself with shampoo in subcontinents, to karaoke in islands, become quite the entrepreneur in high towers. It weaved its way, in and out of countries, and all the while it ate. It ate and ate and ate but forgot how to digest and degustate. Over time, the acid of its stomach began to erode the words. Words lost their original nature, but became part of English. These were special words.

Then one day, the English snake had a very big lamb.

But the snake had eaten so much, the walls could hold longer bear the stretch. The stomach of the ginormous snake burst and words rained on the rest of the earth. For the tribes in the jungles and the savannah, it rained the rain of special words, and this was manna from the skies. The tribes protected and multiplied the gift.

Years later, the tribes came to thank the snake with the broken stomach for bringing the world together in its hunger, with a return gift. However, the snake had learnt its wrongly and failed to appreciate the return gift. To the snake, the special English words were nothing but old vomit, that would tickle its belly.

This is the story of brinjal and other funny words.