Monarchies may be dead, but we still speak their languages.
That “the few rule no matter what” ism is in place is an accepted travesty.
Monarchies flourished on the concept that some were divinely destined to govern.
The heydays may be in the past but there lies something soft within the heart of hearts of sovereigns even today.
That echo with part of the United Kingdom’s national anthem “born to rule over us.”
The Queen actually doesn’t “rule” per se, but is widely loved and respected.
The dichotomy is true and apparent but not challenged, There are slippages though.
Voices of dissent are growing among Australians, New Zealanders, and West Indian countries to shake free of their monarchical ties.
Among the broad isms of democracy, communism, autocracy and the like, processes differ but all aim at whittling down consensus so as to leave decision-making in the hands of the few.
All of such, should it need reminding, is “for the greater good.”
Through reigns and civilizations, language has stood out as a stumbling block to the rule of the few.
Anything except South English is considered as the common man’s blarney, to be frowned at and looked down upon.
Those in the Indian sub-continent fortunate enough to lap up the Colonial English, however archaic it sounds now, were considered with condescension, though never as blue-blooded.
That language persists today, totally befuddling the heroic efforts of citizens to get local language in ascendancy.
Mirth over wrong usage and pronunciation of English continues to be mercilessly rubbed in by the fortunate few as if there is a kind of superiority involved.
That the shoe is on the other foot when a local language such as Bangla is tripped over by the fortunate few, doesn’t give rise to similar guffaws.
On the contrary, the stage is taken by the unfortunates that can’t help but combine Bangla and English into some gibberish called Banglish.
The blame for this is usually put on a combination of falling education standards and commonly practiced speech.
That isn’t helped by communication specialists insisting that if what’s meant is understood, other rules aren’t that important.
Change the narrative to any other language and the substance remains similar.
The speaker of the Indian Lok Sabha was trite in suggesting to Shashi Tharoor that he speak in Hindi as opposed to English.
Tharoor is more eloquent in English though he can more than hold his own in Hindi and was speaking in a language approved in the Lok Sabha.
He was arguing against a new move by the ruling BJP to begin reaching some form of consensus of Hindi as the state language to unite India.
That comes in spite of the fact that, while Hindi and English are official (not republic) languages, the first is in a position where.
In many parts of the country, it is not spoken or understood, such as in Chennai.
If you hear West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Bannerjee speaking in Hindi, she is, like many, from the state close to warbling incoherence.
The BJP move does contradict a motion of introducing the compulsory study of Marathi replacing state languages.
Mohammad Ali Jinnah caused a similar kerfuffle in 1948 when he announced that little-known Urdu would be the state language of Pakistan.
That the Pakistanis lived with this imposition is part of the narrative of their confused being.
Of importance is that the will of the few prevailed.