Attracted to the world of words, like bees to honey

“I am besotted with words; it’s fair to say that I love them.” Doesn’t that confession sum up Shashi Tharoor? It certainly captures the image we have of him and it’s definitely how he presents himself in his latest book, A Wonderland of Words. But Shashi goes one step further. He admits words attract him like honey draws bees!
Of course, his book is limited to the English language but if it fascinates you, as it does me, then you’ll find it an engrossing, entertaining, enlivening, even, enrapturing read. But it’s not the book that I’m writing to sing praises of. It’s Shashi’s fascination with words that’s infectious. Wonderland says it all.
It began when he was a child and his father, Chandran, to whom the book is dedicated, would play word games with Shashi and his two sisters. In fact, during long car journeys Tharoor pere dreamt up a game very similar to Wordle. The son calls it “an early version”. The children would be asked to guess a five-letter word without knowing what it was. They would have 20 tries instead of the six Wordle offers. Not surprisingly, Shashi mastered the game. Thus was born his thrill of words. It’s an infatuation that’s lasted till he’s almost 70!
One of the most enjoyable chapters is called Indianisms. Shashi writes of words we take for granted but would befuddle the Brits — “airdash”, “non-veg” and “history-sheeter” and that delightful term, “real brother”. That, in turn, leads to phrases we’ve crafted that have little connection with modern-day British English — “kindly do the needful”, “mention not”, “put up” and “time pass”. However, he’s careful to distinguish between Indian English and simply bad English. “I’m staying Bandra side” is, for him, inexcusable. Signs that read “enter through back side only” are unforgivable, even though they don’t mean what they seem to suggest!
Shashi explains the difference between British and American English with two clever sentences. “In Britain, one concludes a restaurant meal by asking for a bill, and conceivably paying by cheque; in America, one asks for the cheque and pays with bills. What the Brits call chips are fries in America; what the Yanks call chips are crisps in Britain.” They’re clearly two people divided by a common language!
But it’s the chapters on figures of speech such as paraprosdokians, spoonerisms and malapropisms that I found most enjoyable of all. I don’t want to spoil your joy by giving too much away but let me offer an innocent hint.
Shashi defines paraprosdokians as a figure of speech in which “the latter part of a sentence or phrase … is surprising or unexpected, in a way that prompts the reader to rethink the first part or understand it differently”. Here’s one example: “Hospitality is the art of making guests feel at home when you actually wish they were.”
I’d say paraprosdokians are an ideal form of wit for politicians. They’re funny yet inoffensive. Stalwarts of the Congress Party could use this one to attack the BJP: “Going to a temple doesn’t make you a Hindu any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.”
A malapropism, derived from Sheridan’s play The Rivals, is when you use the wrong word and create a delightful blunder. Sheridan’s character Mrs Malaprop was notorious for this. Shashi offers a brilliant example: “Having one wife is called monotony.”
My favourite are spoonerisms. Attributed to the Reverend William Archibald Spooner, a 19th century Oxford don, a spoonerism is when you absentmindedly transpose the beginning of two words that are spoken in close proximity. An actual spoonerism delivered by the good Reverend is: “You have hissed all my mystery lectures. You have tasted a whole worm. Please leave Oxford by the town drain.” It won’t take you long to work out what he meant to say.
When I interviewed Shashi, I borrowed from the dear Reverend. I asked if I called him “a shining wit” would he feel complimented or offended? Mercifully, he laughed.
Karan Thapar is the author of Devil’s Advocate: The Untold Story.The views expressed are personal