A Rosie By Any Other Name

"Even on your death bed when mommy asks you, "what is the spelling of "athlete"", all you need to say is "Mommy, no "e"!". That's it! The rest is obvious. No one makes a mistake in "athlete" except for putting an extra "e"".
Mr. Rosario, High School Doyen of all things English, Don Bosco Park Circus 1986-87.

I will grant the skeptical reader that the probability of my mother, were she to be beside me on my death bed, asking me the spelling of "athlete", is low. That said, my ability to recite these words almost verbatim 23 years after they were uttered tells me just how much of an influence Mr. Rosario has been on my use and misuse of the Queen's language. Even without data from copious in-depth focus groups at hand, I can guarantee that a good percentage of the thousands of others he taught would tell you how they owe their language skills more to Mr. Rosario than to Msrs. Wren and Martin. Better still, since I have never mis-spelled "athlete" since school, his form of English instruction was clearly effective. In fact, more than just effective - measurable, trackable, and very targeted. Heck, he could have taught a marketing class.

Mr. Rosario taught us English Language and Literature for the last two years in school. He was an avuncular, Anglo-Indian gentleman who looked and talked a little bit like Anthony Hopkins. Generally cheerily disposed, and with an excellent grasp of the language to boot, he was a permanent fixture in school, having seen generations of young men like yours truly graduate. Like with all our teachers, we gave him a nickname. His - "Rosie" - was particularly pleasing for a whole set of sordid reasons. For one, we were in an all-boys school, and anything that allowed us to imagine we were associated with the opposite sex was particularly exciting. Even if it meant naming a 50ish gentleman Rosie. For another, actual engagement with that half of the species required walking down the road to my sister's college (Lady Brabourne) or to a high school a few blocks away (M. B. Girls) or others further away like Modern High. And most of the time encountering a real live female was not without risks - one might actually have to say something intelligent and couldn't get away with just throwing chalk at them as some of the crew were wont to do from classroom windows on high. Don't ask me how or why that particular ritual found its way into the Bosconian bag of tricks. Let's just say that like God, the onset of testosterone works in mysterious ways.

When the movie is made, I would like to see Rowan Atkinson play Rosie with express instructions to project himself as an average of Mr. Bean and Black Adder. For the more precise minded, Rosie = (Mr. Bean + Black Adder) / 2. Or maybe Hugh Laurie could play him - the Jeeves and Wooster version of the man that is, not the guy who shows up in House. I say this because I think those two could do better than even Anthony Hopkins in bringing to life what I affectionately refer to as "CRM" - the Classic Rosie Move.

Classic Rosie Move (to be henceforth referred to as CRM)*: When addressing high school boys and asking a question, do four things at once:

1. Open eyes wide and look deep into eyes of principal subject being addressed. Rosie seemed to believe this was part of GAPP (Generally Accepted Public-speaking Principles)
2. Lift one forefinger skyward to draw attention to fingertip. Eckhart Tolle type stuff, the power of now and such.
3. Open mouth and let hang open for a few seconds without saying anything. Let world hang in expectant, or as Rosie would put it, pregnant silence
4. Start sentence slow, but say last three words really quickly. Sting at the tail.

* When this definition becomes more generally available in places like Wikipedia and such, remember you read it here first. However, do not try CRM related manouvres at home without professionals present.

Rosie used this move several times a day, one supposed because he felt it worked for him. In fact a typical screenplay of aforementioned movie would include at least one scene that went like this:

Hushed silence in class. Rosie (played by Laurie or Atkinson) looks at yours truly (played of course by Elijah Wood). Insert first instance of CRM.

Rosie: "So....ooo Mister Agrawal...." the long, lingering look, mouth open and finger pointed skyward to accentuate the importance of the words about to be uttered. Religious riots could have been happening in UP, Bihar, and Orissa at that very moment but time stood still as the 17 year old me awaited the task about to be bestowed with the eagerness of a pending knighthood. "What is.......the..... figure of speech....... in "long, lingering look"? The last three words spoken at rapid-fire pace.

Self: "Er.. sir.. "Long Lingering Look" is an alliteration?"

Rosie looks pleased. Maybe other kids than just Saibal might consider a future in English. Not as good as Saibal's but then not bad for a transplant from Uttar Pradesh (a subject we shall explore in some depth in future chronicles.)

Rosie: "Yes sir it is. Yes sir..... "Long lingering look" is indeed an alliteration. Good Mr. Agrawal. Now...... (insert second CRM here)... what is an alliteration, Mr. Agrawal?"

Self: "Hmm.. er.. when the first sound is alliterated sir?"

A ghastly look while the blood flushes from Rosie's already pale face. The early promise shown by boy fast waning, I suppose you can take the boy out of UP but not UP out of the boy. Introduce touch of sarcasm when he speaks next.

Rosie: (insert CRM #3) "I see. I see, Mr. Agrawal. You say....an alliteration .... is when the first sound is alliterated? I see. I think we can do better than that Mr. Agrawal"

As we have established elsewhere, I am quite experienced with logical fallacies and once spelled out in legible handwriting, I usually am able to discern when I have made one. Realizing the obvious circular logic in this situation, the smart young scholar recovers.

Self: "Repeated sir, I mean an alliteration is when the first letter is repeated. Like "till tomorrow then".

Ok so in hindsight the second half of that statement wasn't necessary. But delivered as it was, that certainly came as the final crushing blow to Rosie's hopes of developing a future Tennyson. CRM # 4, 5, and 6 at once as he tries to pick words carefully. You could see him trying to fight off a mixture of anger, displeasure and pity.

Rosie: "No sir!.... No,.... no, no sir. "Till tomorrow "th"en is not an alliteration!"

Slow raise of finger, pointed skyward, mouth open for a few seconds. CRM #7.

Rosie: "Please repeat after me... Mr. Agrawal. Alliteration is when the first consonant sound, not the first letter in a phrase is repeated" So "Till Tomorrow Ten" would be an alliteration sir. "t" "t" "t". Do you understand?"

And that's how we learned the English language, CRM by CRM you might say. And not just the language, literature too - one could go on for hours about "The Lord of the Rings" and what Rosie thought of Piggy or the thespian rendition of Richard II. If you are keeping track, there were about 12 CRMs in going through Richard and John of Gaunt's chatty banter in the following passage:
Richard: "Lions make leopards tame".
J of G: "Yea, but not change his spots".

But there is this other unfailing memory about Rosie that needs to be chronicled. His role as self-appointed school proctor. His office used to be directly in the path of where hundreds of kids assembled every morning, and then proceeded in immaculate formation like the Blue Angels to their respective classrooms. As they passed by, Rosie would stand tall, looking for those out of uniform and pull them out of line. "No belt", "No PE shoes", "No blazer" whatever the fault of the poor unsuspecting little fellow, Rosie's unerring eye could spot a violation of the dress code from afar, revealing a unique skillset long before Olympic shooting glory bestowed on any Indian the formal title of "keenest eye". I was once sent home with an entry in that dreaded school diary that said "No pants", a comment that would require a signature from a parent. It took some convincing as I presented the diary to my mom, trying to explain that Mr. Rosario considered a black leather belt as a native part of the trouser, not unlike a navigation toolbar might be viewed for a browser. Absent said belt he felt completely justified in proclaiming that I had come to school without required leggings. To this day my fingers feel for metal buckle every morning no matter what I am wearing. The fingers sometimes stray to the neck checking for maroon tie and closed collar, although thankfully I can avoid that particular restraint in my current incarnation.

While I make light of Rosie and the idiosyncracies that accompanied English instruction, one thing's for sure: For good or for bad, for richer or for poorer, in bad writing and in good, a lot of what I am able to express today is Rosie's to blame and his to take credit. Not to mention the shorts I regularly wear to work in utter rebellious defiance of an era gone by when blazers, maroon ties, crisp ironed shirts, and gray flannels were part of the wonderful regimen called school.