The Bard and I

I can state with great nationalistic jingoism (or jingoistic nationalism) that I have read more Kalidasa than Shakespeare. But that isn't a great achievement - in fact it is a matter of great literary shame (or shameful literacy) - for, in twenty-six years, I have read only two verses of Shakespeare. Both the verses were found in my fourth standard English textbook, and come from this poem called Under the Greenwood Tree. And even in that fourth standard textbook, there were poems I liked more than this one - like Silver by Walter De La Mare.

(Just revisited Silver. These two lines are so beautiful:

From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep


Silver-feathered sleep... Sigh.)

Under the Greenwood Tree is a curious poem - I still don't understand it fully. I think I must blame my Shakespeare illiteracy on B. Madambudithaya, the man who compiled the Karnataka State syllabus textbooks for picking a poem that leaves me baffled all the time, even eighteen years after my first encounter with it:

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Right. Wonderful. Who is "who"? And who turn "his" merry note? When someone lies with me, do they lie and in speak the untruth? Why can't the Bard make himself clear?

And then he says,

Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Thankfully, my English teacher told me what 'hither' means, and saved me some agony. On an aside, has Shakespeare forgotten about wild animals in the forest? Or did the English forests have no such creatures? Only winter and rough weather? Really? That's easy. "He" will bring a couple of sweaters along.

Shakespeare then kills me with the next line,

Who doth ambition shun,

Argh. What a line. Drafted in the same convoluted vein as an income-tax legislation. Firstly, it takes my mind a couple of seconds to wrap itself around the meaning of "doth". Not to mention the thou, thee, hath. And then, I have to get down to figuring, "Who shuns ambition".

All this is too much for a fourth standard kid, especially one who can't see unapparent meaning.
***

My mother, who has a literary bent of mind, then made me mug some portion of Shakespeare's legendary All the world's a stage for some speech competition - you know, one of those competitions where various kids' parents write speeches for them, bully their kids into mugging them up and delivering them with a fake accent and irritating intonation, and the teachers judge which kid's parents write the best speeches? Yeah. So, my mother with a literary bent of mind wrote a few lines from that poem for that competition.

The poem gave me sleepless nights. If all the world's a stage, everyone's acting in the drama (which would mean that everyone's backstage waiting to make their entries and exits), who's watching? I began, for days, thinking of life as this flop play being performed to empty audiences. I began seeing dead people stare at me from backstage, envious of my continuing role. It scared me at every level - was I going to be a bit part that no one ever remembers? Or the fellow they point at, snigger and say, "Oh God, this guy's such a ham!" Many nights, I woke up, thinking, "Please, please. Can we do that scene again? I didn't get the chance to rehearse properly.

But then, again, there's no one watching, right?
***

At some point, I watched Shakespeare in Love, without understanding much. I pretended to understand, though, just like I pretend to understand national politics, because in my line of work, pretense and posturing is as crucial as actual knowledge. Around this time, I discovered some weird Shakespeare graphic novels in my school library, and they interested me greatly.

(Ok, fine, I'll admit it. They were Shakespeare stories in comic book form.)

They provided me with many afternoons of entertainment, and gave me enough background to remain relevant in conversations about Shakespeare. I watched Maqbool and Omkara with only these comics as my placeholders. (And oh, Langda Tyagi and Kesu Firangi did look like Iago and Cassius in the graphic novel!) Which is why I was able to say smart things like, "Oh, in Maqbool, the three witches are replaced by Om Puri and Naseeruddin Shah as soothsaying policemen..."
***

My grandfather quotes Shakespeare often. Something about mercy, justice, rain and twice-blesseth. I don't think he remembers any other quote, but he makes it a point to point it out that he has read real literature while I haven't. I tell him that I tried, many times, and I tell him that I never understood. He tut-tuts and remarks that education standards in the country are falling.
***

This morning, as I turned my merry Kalyani throat to the sweet mixie's note, I realised why I was never able to comprehend Shakespeare. My inability arises from a mistake and an arrogance. The mistake is my presumption that Shakespeare wrote in English. And the arrogance is that I don't need any annotation to understand English. The reason I read Kalidasa with annotation is because I know that my Sanskrit isn't good enough to read simply from the original.

Once I accept that Shakespeare didn't write in English, I can easily convince myself that I should get an annotated version, with the meaning of the verse in plain English. Armed with this, I shall revisit the Bard with a vengeance. And who knows, soon I might be able to quote that verse about mercy, justice, twice-blesseth and rain.