by Jeevanjyoti Chakraborty
[box]The strength of a written piece comes from a writer’s structure, and his embellishments come later; Jeevanjyoti Chakraborty warns us against using ‘big words’ when we don’t need to.[/box]Wearing the autobiographical coat with a dash of the pedagogical cologne is the easiest way to aspire for a readership. Or, as one might say – dropping all euphemism – fake one’s way as a writer! Be that as it may, even with the guilt of such blatant pretensions, it might not be entirely out of place to succumb to these temptations when there is a sliver of a chance that a sentence here or a fragment there will trigger better ideas or set off somebody on nobler paths. Thus, with a generous dose of self-apology, I write…
People who are scandalously referred to when citing the oft-repeated phrase “brain drain from India” have to undertake two examinations. One of these has a reputation for being the acid-test in English vocabulary (at least from the perspective of a non-native speaker of the Queen’s language). The stories concerning the stratagem involved in conquering this last hurdle, I will leave to campus traditions of handing down gems of knowledge from senior to junior, or perhaps going by the trends of recent times, to strategic brochures of some business houses. My interest, here, is to look at the way these people (the people with the brains of the brain-drain I mean) tend to write in the aftermath of a successful test.
These people, more often than not, are the ones who probably know the language and grammar well but due to either a conscious attempt to shun all shine or a deadened ability to translate imagination into words end up writing without even a hint of a spark. That is, until they hear the bugle of “higher callings”. The mad scramble of word-lists ensues, followed by immediate gratification of an improved arsenal of synonyms. This new-found power, usually, has a heady feeling. That, along with the pressing needs to prepare oneself in matters of composition, and a forced attempt to dab a generous dose of quick-fix spark, results in something funny – undesirable nonetheless. And the funny thing is incongruity. Before explaining what I mean, let me use an analogy.
The act of fleshing out our ideas and imagination using words is a lot like women’s make-up, coiffure and wardrobe. There are those who are gifted with a beauty that hardly need any artificial assistance. Indeed, in most of these cases, undue attention in front of the dressing-mirror only proves to be a conspiracy against natural endowments. Then there are the not-so-naturally endowed ones. Artificial props mindlessly applied in these cases only end up blatantly betraying nature’s follies. A less flamboyant presentation might not, after all, be a total fizzle especially where pulchritude is at a disadvantage.
So it is, in large measure, even in writing. The primary strength of a piece comes from the writer’s ideas and the sophistication of his thinking structure. Just like a lady’s beauty. The secondary strength stems from the embellishments used by the writer. Just like her artificial enhancements of beauty. A skilled writer knows exactly when to use what. If one does not have a convincing idea whether to use a big word or not it is always safer to use the simpler word. Yes, even in that “acid-test”. Arbitrarily sprinkling big words just for the sake of replacing words with some synonyms one has picked from those word-lists presents the picture of a man who has suddenly risen to riches and has a compulsive need to flaunt his wealth. Or, to continue with the analogy – like a woman who is trying to hide nature’s follies under the sad pretences of fashion. The lesson is: The use of a big word should not feel like a forceful substitution. Those big words are there because they convey a particular meaning and they are mostly apt in very specific contexts. Using them with scant regard for the flow of meaning not only causes mental friction in the readers but also exposes the writer to derision. Most alarmingly, it smacks of intellectual immaturity.
What, if any, is the practical use of learning those big words, then? To a true lover of words that is a vulgar question. The philosophical answer would be George Mallory’s “Because it is there” on being asked why he wants to climb the Mount Everest. The straightforward answer, however, is to be able to use them. But in order to use them, refine your thoughts first. Enhance the maturity with which you present your thoughts. Develop a style – that you can call your own. Be honest to your thoughts, your natural style will follow. That is the beauty of your writing. Don’t conspire against it by using what you don’t need to. Maybe one day, you will suddenly find that a big word has surreptitiously sidled its way into your writing.
That will be the true embellishment of your natural beauty!
Pic : e walk : http://www.flickr.com/photos/walker_ep/
[facebook]share[/facebook] [retweet]tweet[/retweet]
