Episode 14:​ Decoding the Tharoorgeoisie.

Click for the Episode 13

Dear Ms Fussy Zaroor,

Thank you for demystifying the exquisite complexities of the Tharoorgeoisie. I believe I have finally succeeded in reverse-engineering this magnificent vernacular.

It is quite safe to assume that the members of this exalted fraternity greet the dawn by exchanging equally magnificent and gloriously protracted pleasantries such as:

May your diurnal peregrinations be serenaded by felicitous serendipities and syntactical splendour.

Or perhaps, in a somewhat more histrionic vein:

May the resplendent luminary of this newly inaugurated diurnal enterprise illuminate your path with an abundance of serendipitous felicities, impeccably punctuated conversations, and a vocabulary so magnificent that even dictionaries momentarily develop an inferiority complex.

After nearly two decades as a mathematics teacher, I have finally, under your tutelage, derived a remarkably lucid formula: promotion within this exalted fraternity is governed by an arcane algorithm. It rigorously evaluates the average syllabic density per sentence, the frequency of Latin-derived locutions, the elegance of subordinate clauses, and the statistical probability that a reader will surreptitiously consult a dictionary before daring to proceed.

A seminal paper elucidating this formula and more is about to be submitted, whereupon the global academic community will be afforded a fair opportunity to remain unconvinced.

The philosophy of the group is beautifully simple:

Why employ one syllable when seven shall suffice?

The unofficial motto of the Tharoorgeoisie is Verba Vincunt Vulgaritatem meaning Words Triumph Over Ordinariness.

I suspect that the day Tharoorgeoisie (a magnificent neologism entirely of your own making) finally graces the dictionary, lexicographers will be compelled to define it somewhat along these lines:

Tharoorgeoisie (noun) /θəˌruːəˈʒwɑːziː/

1. A self-appointed aristocracy of eloquence whose members believe that no sentence is complete until it contains at least one word capable of terrifying both the reader and the spell-checker.

2. A socio-linguistic elite distinguished not by inherited privilege, but by an aristocratic-sounding lexicon and an unwavering conviction that brevity is a regrettable design flaw in language.

3. Those rare individuals capable of transforming the phrase "I agree" into a three-paragraph dissertation, complete with historical references, classical allusions, and impeccable punctuation.

Fussy, do feel free to conjure up a few definitions vastly superior to mine, if only to remind me that, in the august republic of the Tharoorgeoisie, I remain but a humble linguistic probationer while you preside as one of its undisputed high priestesses.

As a final entreaty, I implore you to exercise your formidable erudition in codifying ten foundational edicts, the Decalogue, for the distinguished disciples of the Tharoorgeoisie.

Pankaj Khanna

Urban gardener, rustic cook. Music enthusiast. Curious blogger since 2009. Cyclist for over five decades. Word lover: Epeolater. Anagram addict. Punster with pen in hand, pun in mind, and a pan in the heart/hearth. Steam-engine devotee: a ferroequinophile. Avid avian watcher. Magic-square aficionado. Retired mathematics teacher and an apprentice Lexicomedian.

Also proud Probationer, The Tharoorgeoisie.

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Legsy Notes 

Again, not a single difficult word in Pankaj’s letter. I’m beginning to suspect he has put his vocabulary on a strict diet—no big words, no fancy phrases, nothing remotely adventurous. 😄

He seems to have exhausted his entire word-bank, emptied the vocabulary cupboard, and perhaps even misplaced the key to the thesaurus. I always knew he was the weakest link in the Ministry, but who knew his lexicon would be the first casualty?

At this rate, his next letter will need neither editing nor a dictionary—just a very short sentence and plenty of punctuation.

Anyway, before I run out of words making fun of the man who has run out of them, let me now concentrate on writing to Pak Jan.

Pak Jan,

You were seriously abusive towards Sir Abhijit Dipke  in your last Foot Notes. This is nothing short of blasphemy, extreme profanity, and a full-scale lexical atrocity.

And these atrocities by uncles and aunts from the Senior Generations must stop immediately. 

Enough of this Uncle-archy and Aunt-ocracy. Gen Z demands justice, dignity, and, above all, the constitutional right to be offended exclusively by their own generation!

Pak Jan Aunt, please remember the golden rule of Profanity Jurisprudence:

Profanity is not a crime when committed by Gen-Z scholars on their home turf—Jantar Mantar— A site exclusively owned by us led by 'Badass Rahu'. 

The latest judgment of the  Court of Lexicomedicine has confirmed this, under Article 420½ of the Constitution, with Section WTF duly noted.

So please exercise some lexical restraint. Fussy Zaroor should apologise to Gen Z immediately. 

Fussy, we also demand Pak Jan's resignation immediately. 

Otherwise, the Cockroach Janta Party may be forced to intervene. And you know the condequences...

Judgment delivered.     Profanity protected.          Jantar Mantar saved.       Senior generations excoriated. Pankaj's weakness exposed. Pak Jan 'Ajib Hit Piked'. ठोक दिया, कर दी उसकी तेरहवीं। लड्डू बंटवा दिए।

Fussy has been warned.

Legsy Suroor

Foot Note Officer- Ministry of Grandiloquance.

Obviously Real Gen Z represntative: On TV, Jantar Mantar and Social Media.

Forthcoming Secretary- Ministry of Cockroaches, whenever formed.

Leader of Cache Crooks, the Cockroaches.

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Foot Notes and Foot Prints of Pak Jan

I had rather high hopes from Generation Z when they launched their Cockroach Janta Party in a satirical style. I imagined that this would be a revolutionary movement in the noble cause of comedy: young minds writing razor-sharp satires, drawing irreverent cartoons, inventing impossible political metaphors and, above all, giving the cockroach its long-overdue place in the comedy ecosystem.

Alas, I had completely misunderstood the manifesto.

Instead of protesting with cartoons, they preferred protesting with profanity. Instead of satire, there was sloganeering; instead of caricatures, political aspirations began emerging from behind the respectable curtain of student problems. The Cockroach Janta Party, it appeared, had discovered that a student protest can sometimes be an excellent incubator for political ambitions.

My generation had naively expected Gen Z to say, “Let us make fun of the system.”

They seemed to be saying, “Why merely make fun of the system when we can someday run the system?”

That, perhaps, was the real Lexicomedy twist: the Cockroach Janta Party began as a comedy idea but developed the seriousness of a political career.

And I, the old-fashioned fool, was still waiting for the cartoons.

Now, unfortunately—or perhaps hilariously—the responsibility of carrying the Lexicomedy flag has fallen upon two oldies and one young one : Pankaj, Pak Jan and the fussy Fussy.

We shall try to bridge the generation gap; armed with vocabulary, sarcasm, lexitoons and absolutely no shortage of cheek:)

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Fussy Art Gallery

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Click here for the next Episode 15.

Click here for The Lexicomedy Line-Up: (The list of all Episodes published till date for your binge reading.)

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