It takes more than merely a measly measure of certitude to lend your name to an opus that can literally be a bauble of locution and sermon. Not however if your nomenclature encompasses an identity as gargantuan as the one the very prophesiser of verbosity in the Indian context happens to dwell in perhaps sybaritic pleasure. Pardon us already, for in embarking on the holy grail of fantasies of quixotic dimension we already are succumbing to the badgering of demands in emerging as magniloquently refined a figure of speech as possible. But persist we must, and in such prolixious expedient that is already effeteing all exuberance out of our impassioned extant. Indeterminately therefore, our redolence of a pursuit as fruitfully fustian as can be marshals us on a course that we can’t help but acquiesce as importunate.
Source: TIMES NIE
Why this basqueous congeniality with the lingua is something that stems advertendly from the sublime beauty quiding through the art of the rhetoric. For what else is literature if not conspicuously flamboyant? As a divertissement that happens also to be the metier chanced upon, this capering with the grandiose idiosyncrasy of all things verbose isn’t always a consistent attempt at solidarity with sonderity. Sporadically and even spontaneously, this can as well betide a conscientious slant towards orgulous bravura. Needless to sonorify therefore, these are but dilettantes (like our person) who absorb themselves in such boondoggle in the showy cadence of what they maudlingly perceive as sempiternal glib.
It indeed can be enervating to encounter such nescient minds who glean fathomless pleasure in their impertinence as ignoramus souls. Every inkling of coruscating glory equates for them a coup, resounding in the blithe of what is anyway only a pyrrhic victory. In their series of non sequitur, perfunctory scribblings that refuse to yield in to the spartan clamour of what emboldenly comprehensive compositions seat resplendent in, they do cleave to their own bearings of pleasure through their ostentatious bashings. But rarely do they escalate beyond the litany garrulousness of pretentious squanderings, dwelling rather in the trenchancy of an equivocation not even intended. In their cloying wordy charisma, they end up harbouring instead an ennui to the arts themselves! The premises of such baroque tidings ultimately translate to arrantly atrabilious dolours in self appraisals quite swiftly. Which only seeks to drive their evanescent ‘reputation’ to something impuissantly fatuous. In catharsising their zenosynic realisations, they fall prey yet again to another gossamer, this time to one of Eeyore likings. In offsetting their overt sanguinity with some despondency derived from the nadir of crestfallen undoings, their self perceived sparkly wit plummets to evanescence even as the characteristic ebullience abjures these now pitiful wordsmiths as profoundly as if it were some anathema to have befallen them.
And yet in exploring the dichotomies of what renders the literary aspect of the linguistic so much cogent, we still are harking in the exaggerated work of the syllabary to eloquent what has been the putative issue of addressal at hand. Even when the evinces might be perjurious, having dwelled in such contradictions that only outdo each other. The florid drawing of the reference here is therefore not by any means to downplay the overbearing power of the bombastics. It however only intends to be a more clarified view into the hackneyed paradigm of what can tend to translate as harangue with the undue proliferation of impassive beings of pretentious grandeur. Of course, a bona fide style of the ornate can excel even in deliverance if only however the yielding power over the pen holds inexorable conviction. In the legerdemain of profusions though, the poesy should find a way of blending into the narrative with no obfuscations at play. The ample abjectness of deliberately pompous pronunciations and jittery jargon should not restrict the flow of the chronicle neither should it serve to impress only with its cornucopia of arrangements without delivering the pulchritude of the poesy as intended.
But again, not all workings with exotic words and perfervid medley of utterances conjure up a farrago of distortions. The key here is perhaps to deliver in a fluid flow the crescent musings that leaves the patrons flabbergasted at such a galvanizing outpouring of unfeigned admissions. In even our impetuous passion with such words today that defy the singular faculties of a mere mortal, we ourselves are driven to frenzy. From shuffling between the sheets of the lexicon to traversing between a gazillion tabs each of which is a periphrasitic compilation of the letters of the English alphabet derived perhaps through innumerable takes on permutation and combination, it’s wild how we are still retaining some semblance of sanity to bring this sapping sephora of not at all serendipitous but sequined scribblings to its stopping. For the ones like us who continuously need to parade through the cloisters of a facade of inexhaustive blathering, literature perhaps can be exhausting but never for once will it cease to be anything but riveting. In penning this piece rosy in imperfections that is but an attempt at a placebo effect within the purview of the literary arts, we aspire to eulogise the mavericks of the literary- either it be the vast encompassment of this world of spells and charms or the many a doyens who have come to decorate its refulgent realms. In our own orotund mannerisms for a day, here’s wishing a lifetime of fulfilling fulsome writings for ourselves. May our high sounding gibberish gloat on to even further garrulous heights in jubilant kitsch. Now that we have managed an abecedarius finally, we can now resign our hogwashery to hibernation. Bracing ourselves up for hell!
