Art and Science of Communication

  My mother once told me how excited my father was to celebrate my first birthday. He had plans — proper plans. He even named my grandmother’s rooster “6th November,” my birthday. That poor fellow had only one destiny. He was born for a purpose. And that purpose was… curry. That was the level of excitement in the house. The same excitement followed when I was admitted to an English medium school. Like every ambitious Maharashtrian parent of that time, the belief was simple: “English medium madhe gela ki mulga set.” The expectation was clear — my child will read English, write English, and speak English. Reading and writing? Done. Speaking? Ah. That’s where the rooster survived. If I enter any classroom and ask, “How many alphabets are there in English?” the answer comes like a slogan: “TWENTY-SIX!” Full confidence. Full volume. But when I ask, “How many sounds are there in English?” there is silence. Some look at the ceiling. Some look at the bench. Some look at me. And that’s wher...