There are the strangest things that bind us, almost defining us as a people, a nation. The list of the ones that make good sense is endless. We are a lot of survivors, an all-weather kind of a lot, who brave everything from searing humidity and perpetual inflation to serpentine traffic congestion and routine corruption. It is perhaps this practice of taking so much in our stride that gives us an odd resilience and our trademark ‘chalta hai’ attitude. And in all the apparent chaos and bewilderment, our excellence manages to find its oasis and shine right through. Our space missions leave one and all stunned; our music beats every possible barrier and our age-old wisdom continues to quietly thrive and remain relevant irrespective of artificial intelligence or natural stupidity!
Cover stories have been done by leading publications on our unique ability of improvisation fondly termed as ‘jugaad’ - the unique Indian or desi way of making do with whatever is available, as long as the results are duly (and often inexpensively) delivered. In the good old ‘Doordarshan’ days, coat hangers could be seen delicately balancing TV antennas; in COVID years, surgeries were performed by fashioning mosquito nets into surgical mesh and even today glass bottles can be seen standing as wickets all the time in gully cricket. Way back in 1965, in Ray’s ‘Mahapurush’, Prof. Noni, played by the iconic Santosh Dutta, is shown hydrolysing grass, synthetising protein and releasing carbohydrates in a bid to fix the world’s hunger woes. His ‘jugaad’ is an indigenous one - the bubbles formed in the gurgling cauldron are created via a tube that is linked to the pumping of a harmonium!
None of these improvisations are particularly perfect. Many of them are even unaesthetic though they never fail to be clever and obliquely funny, giving us our very own signature sensibility. But the ‘jugaad’ culture doesn’t care as much about either perfection or aesthetics as it does about getting the job done.
Perhaps that’d explain how you can travel the length and breadth of this country and unfailingly find shops selling stationery and allied goods, confidently displaying their shop name and banner as so and so as ‘stationary’! It is as confounding a mystery as it is a consistent misspelling that unifies us all. You could be in upscale or suburban Mumbai, in old Delhi, in the heart of Kolkata (College Street included!) or you could be in the rough and tumble of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. Why, I’ve even spotted shop after shop in Kerela, the state that boasts of the highest literacy rates, proudly wear their stationery as ‘stationary’. Some of these signs are even more hilarious because they not only display their wares as stationary but go on to declare their vintage as well. ‘Stationary merchants - Since 1975’. ‘Instagram’ accounts are rife with bloggers blissfully marketing ‘stationary’ shops and mooning over their merchandise.
Of course, any objection or even the slightest comment on such signs is generally seen as being over-fastidious or being labelled a grammar Nazi. How does it matter? Who amongst us is Tharoor? Then why fuss so much over an ‘a’ versus an ‘e’? In any case, both sound the same, don’t they? And as far as the shops have what you need and that too at a fair price, the rest is just detail, isn’t it? Is it possible that many of the owners are entirely unaware of the typographical error? It very well may be so and that is quite understandable. But what makes it more interesting is how many of them may have come to learn about the error, but continue to live with it quite blissfully anyway, as long as the misspelling is not affecting the jingle at the till adversely!
‘Stationary’, ‘stationery’ - sab chalta hai!
Supriya Newar is a writer and poet from Calcutta. Besides being a music aficionado, she is also an avid traveller, particularly drawn to places that have a je ne sais quoi about them. She may be reached at connect@supriyanewar.com