Shashi Tharoor: Word Class

SHASHI THAROOR STRADDLES different worlds, from national politics to the international civil service. He might be the current third-term Lok Sabha MP from Thiruvananthapuram, he might have worked for the United Nations for three decades, but in his eyes, these are only titles and accomplishments, and not one’s essence. His one identity that trumps all others is that of an author. He has written 25 books, many of them bestsellers. Both his fiction and nonfiction work bear a Tharooresque stamp, they are as rich in erudition as they are vast in vocabulary. His range stretches from the satirical retelling of the Mahabharata as The Great Indian Novel (1989) to a biography Ambedkar: A Life (2022). Every week, he shares his thoughts on contemporary issues, in leading publications. His recent columns have stretched from the G-20 and China to the India-Bharat controversy, to the charms of cricket, to a roster of lesser-known words. When it comes to put­ting thoughts on the page, clearly, no subject is beyond his ken.

Given all his opining and speechifying Tharoor—along with co-author Joseph Zacharias—has just brought out The Less you Preach the More you Know: Aphorisms for Our Age (Illustra­tions by Priya Kuriyan; Aleph; 182 pages; ₹499). The compact book is a befitting addition to his oeuvre and further establishes his enduring love for words and language. Divided into 18 chapters the book is a 30-minute read that will linger with readers for longer. The chapter titles reveal their con­tent, as they deal with ‘The Work­ing Life’, ‘Friends and Foes’, ‘Of God and the Devil’, ‘The Rulers and the Ruled’ etc. Cambridge Dictionary defines an aphorism as “a short clever saying that is intended to express a general truth,” and to this Tharoor adds that it needs to have a vein of wit, and a kernel of humour to hold its own.

The Less you Preach the More you Know has a serendipitous origin story. David Davidar, the publisher of Aleph, had reached out to Tharoor many years ago for a book of aphorisms, since they were so prevalent in his writing. Given the paucity of time, the project never took off. Tharoor recounts, “Then out of the blue, this somewhat eccentric friend of mine [Joseph Zacharias] who had worked for me once and was in touch distantly from the wilds of Kerala, suddenly came up saying, ‘I’ve been working on this book of aphorisms, and I would like your blessings and support to get it published.’” Tharoor sent it off to Davidar, only to be told that while some of Zacharias’ aphorisms worked, some did not. To have a book at hand, and with Zacharias’ permission, it was decided that Tharoor would include his own aphorisms to the collection, while keeping some of Zacharias’ creations and polishing the rest. At the end of the book, the “parentage” of each aphorism is duly acknowledged, allowing the reader to know the byline of each. Speaking from his Delhi office, even though he is bedevilled by a hacking cough, Tharoor adds, “Some of the things that I’ve written, even I’m a little impressed with myself. Like the very second one in the book; ‘The easiest thing in life is letting go. It is also the hardest thing.’ I have experienced this in my life, and it struck me that it’s a very simple way of saying something that people might think about at greater length.”

While Tharoor and Zacharias are the lead authors, there is a third contributor as well. And that is Kofi Annan. Tharoor has included four aphorisms, which he personally heard from the former secretary-general of the United Nations (1997-2006). He recounts, “I’ve often spoken of Kofi as kind of a yogi, somebody who really had a lot of fun, and was very anchored in himself.” In conversations, Annan would often quote his father and occasionally a teacher from his public school in Ghana. An Annan aphorism that impressed Tharoor is; “Never hit a man on the head if you have your fingers between his teeth.” Annan used it when they were having a conversation about a situation where a permanent member of the Security Council had been behaving in a difficult manner. The question arose, why hadn’t Annan stood up to them? Tharoor says, “And then Kofi came up with this great line. And I thought that was absolutely fabulous because if you need somebody for far more things and you’re vulnerable to him, don’t attack him because your vulnerability is greater than the effect you can have by attacking him. It is a very, very profound insight and Kofi attributed it to his late father. So, it’s at least one hundred years old now.” In his book Tharoorosau­rus (2020), which profiles 53 unusual words, Tharoor, in fact, uses Annan’s example to explain the word ‘Yogi’ (someone who has attained a higher level of consciousness).

The Tharoorosaurus was a tongue-in-cheek response to the many gibes about Tharoor’s esoteric vocabulary. However, while many might use unusual words to flaunt, Tharoor uses them both for combat and comedy. In Tharoorosaurus he loses no opportunity to wield his complex vocabulary against the ruling dispensation. To explain the meaning of ‘cromulent’ (appearing legitimate but actually being spurious), he writes, “Cromulent is an apposite term for much of the Modi govern­ment’s claims.” Continuing with his merriment, to explain ‘cwtch’ (a hug, but much more intimate than a hug), he writes, “Friends tell me you give a cwtch only to someone you have some close claim on; it is a sincere act, not a routine ritual like the PM’s hugs of startled world leaders.” Many might consider Tharoor’s argot as elitist and haughty, catering only to Oxbridge snobs or the Khan Market gang. But given his lifelong dedica­tion to language, it is more about precision and accuracy. For him, “words shape ideas and reflect thought” and the more words you know, the more effectively you can express your ideas, and (hopefully) create change.

I ask him about an aphorism in his book, “The only art that matters is art that elicits a response—that provokes emotion….” He is quick to reply, “That’s something that I’m very much stuck to. If I write something, I want it to provoke. It doesn’t have to provoke agreement, but it must provoke thought, and it must provoke a reaction. There is a famous line by [the author] Elie Wiesel which I’ve heard him say, ‘The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.’ And I think the same way. If you write something and people have no reaction to it, then your writing it was wasted. You need to provoke a reaction in order to get a response. And for me that applies not only to my own writing. When I look at a piece of art on a wall, if it leaves me indifferent, I believe it has failed as far as I’m concerned.”

“Some of the things that I’ve written, even I’m a little impressed with myself. Like the very second one in the book; ‘The easiest thing in life is letting go. It is also the hardest thing.’ I have experienced this in my life,” says Shashi Tharoor, author

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In Bookless in Baghdad: And Other Writings About Reading (2005), Tharoor recounts the many ways reading and writing have moulded him. He imbibed his love (nay, obsession) for words from his father with whom he played word games. His mother launched him on his reading journey, starting with Enid Blyton and Noddy. As a child with chronic asthma, and often confined to the bed, books became both his anchor and friend, and he’d read nearly a book a day. His first story was pub­lished five years before he entered St Stephen’s College, Delhi.

He also takes an unapologetic stance for writing in English, even if it is only a small minority that speaks the language in India. He asserts that the “rural peasant”, “the small-town school­teacher with his sandalwood-smeared forehead,” “the punning collegian” and the “Bombay socialite” are all equally part of India’s reality, as they all belong to India’s multitudes. And English as a language succeeds in expressing this diversity as it has no regional roots. With great zeal he states, “I write, as George Bernard Shaw said, for the same reason a cow gives milk: it’s inside me, it’s got to come out and in a real sense I would die if I couldn’t. It’s the way I express my reaction to the world I live in. Sometimes the words come more easily than at other times, but writing is my lifeblood.”

The Less you Preach the More you Learn feels like the molecular gastronomy version of Tharoor’s written work. It is like spaghetti made of vegetables, and not wheat and water. It is not quite the original spaghetti, but you get the noodle-like appearance and your dose of nutrients. It is beautiful to behold on the plate. But you will be disappointed by the portion size, you might even crave a carbonara by the end, even though you knew all along what you were signing up for. Similarly, this book is a neat little package, where the text is elevated by Kuriyan’s charismatic sketches. It is visually pleasing. You do not get the prose, expanse or heft of a Tharoor book, but you do get a forkful of pleasure and shavings of wisdom. Many of his aphorisms in the chapters, ‘Glimpses of History’ and ‘Facets of India’ have appeared in his previous books going back to his first novel, The Great Indian Novel. Such as, “The British are the only people in history crass enough to have made revolutionaries out of Americans.”

In all his writing and speeches, Tharoor has always empha­sised the vast and complex nature of India, it is a country of “mul­tiple truths and multiple realities”, an “India that is greater than the sum of its parts”. The aphorism that captures this diversity is, “India is a thali, a collection of sumptuous dishes on a common platter. Each dish is in a separate bowl and does not necessarily mix with the next, but they belong together and combine on your palate to give you a satisfying repast.”

Tharoor’s aphorisms reveal his identity and ideology. Another aphorism from The Great Indian Novel is “Every Indian must forever carry with him, in his head and heart, his own history of India”. He explains, “Look at even today’s politics, where you have got the BJP having a different view of the same history on which I have a different view, or a third Indian could have a third view.”

“There is a famous line by Elie Wiesel, ‘The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.’ And I think the same way. If you write something and people have no reaction to it, then your writing it was wasted. You need to provoke a reaction in order to get a response,” says Shashi Tharoor

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Moving away from the political, I ask him about the beguiling aphorism, “Highly successful marriages require low expectations from at least one of the spouses.” Without hesitation he claims ownership of it, adding, “That is me, because I’ve had highly unsuccessful marriages. And it may well be excessively high expectations on one side or the other.” Which are the successful marriages he’s seen? He says that the arranged ones have a better chance of success as the women invariably have “zero expectations”, and with a “very low bar success is great”!

It is noteworthy that Tharoor’s descriptor on his website is; “author, politician, and former international civil servant” (in that order). An aphorism that captures the ephemeral nature of professional pursuits reads, “The man who allows his job to define him loses himself when the job ends.” Tharoor believes that he has never been defined by his job. And that he has always stayed as an individual. He says, “I’ve said this before, I’m already a former minister. I know one day I’ll be a former MP. But I hope never to be a former writer.” This stance is borne from watch­ing former bigwigs stalking office corridors in search of their next gig, soon as they hit retirement age, and from observing politicians who are desperate to stay relevant well past their expiry date. He adds, “The day I leave politics, I’ll be very happy to retain personal friendships, and friends want to drop by, that’s great. But I’m not going to go around trying to cadge honours or positions from politicians because a) that’s not me. And b) in my honest estimation, not really necessary for a human being who has a sense of what he himself is all about.” Tharoor knows well that he is a writer above all else.

About The Author

Nandini Nair

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