The Agony of Autocorrect

It has been raining erratically since the last five days. Last night’s rain has turned the road in front of our house into a huge puddle, making it difficult for me to venture out.

But I can see the scene from the wrought-iron mesh of my window. A sparrow is playing in rainwater collected in the water dish outside on the ledge, enjoying a shower and splattering droplets all around.

“Chirp chirp,” it says. Two hyenas join it there.

Eeps! Myenas, not hyenas. Darned autocorrect!

I even see the myenas looking at me squint-eyed, blaming me for falling victim to autocorrect early morning!

But what can one do about the smugness of autocorrect? It can be pretty scandalous at times, with a wicked sense of humour. Who is interested in wickedness early morning? Not me.

I pick up my cup of tea and go back to watching the umbrellas walk by. I mean, from my perch, I can only see the umbrellas, not what is beneath them.

The phone beeps. It is a doctor friend, based in Delhi.

“Coming to Jaipur on a sudden visit. Will test you when I arrive.”

I nearly drop my cup! What on earth is wrong with me? Why do I need tests by a doctor? How did he know something is not right with me? Did I feel giddy in the morning? No? Then, did my tummy rumble? No?

With a deluge of questions tumbling through my mind, I text him back somehow with trembling fingers.

“Test me? Why?”

My tea tastes flat. I keep staring at the phone, waiting for the two ticks to turn blue, my heart in my hand. Naah, cup.

The phone lights up and shakes a little with the vibration of the message.

“Uffff, this damned autocorrect. Will text you. Not test you.”

Well, it is my turn to shake like the phone – but with joy and relief! Phew! Sheriden’s Mrs Malaprop has taken on a new avatar – Autocorrect.

The nerve-wracking autocorrect

(For the uninitiated, Mrs. Malaprop is a comedic character created by Richard Brinsley Sheridan in his 1775 play The Rivals. She is known for humorously misusing words in place of similar-sounding ones, often with absurd and unintended results, creating “malapropisms” that twist the English language.)

A flock of six pigeons is merrily sailing in a puddle without making the slightest noise. No wickedness there. The poor sparrow has no raincoat, but the folks on the road are in colourful raincoats — except for a few labourers who are covered in tarpaulin, but they are not complaining.

Swings have come up in the vicinity, but from my peripheral vision, I can see just one swing hanging from a dangerously skeletal tree. Maybe because its precarious condition is so obvious, no one dares to sit on it.

Three small girls from the construction site are holding hands and going round and round, singing songs whose words I cannot make out. Their voices quaver and crack, and some amused people stop in their tracks, smiling indulgently at the sweet, little concert. Simple people, small joys!

Even the slothful resident dog, opens an eye, gets up, looks at the dancing trio, and soon falls victim to the temptation of trying one or two self-conscious dance steps. But blissfully ignorant of the slippery, squelchy ground, before he could know what hit him, his snout was having an intimate chat with the ground! Ah, the shenanigans of conceited canines! Had Vincent Van Gogh been present at the scene, he would surely have painted another masterpiece – Dancing Trio and the Dog. 

A few birds also hop around them, tweeting their joy, but soon flit away, impressing me with their vocal dexterity.

Morning Meanderings Season 4 – the weekly column by Santosh Bakaya

But I  see another scene, which does not impress me a bit. Kanchan is running towards our house, her face covered with the pallu of her saree, to save herself from the rain.

“Are you crazy, Kanchan? Where is your umbrella?” I shout from the window.

“I forgot,” she says, through a rain-wet mouth.

“Why didn’t you get your raincoat? You have a brand new one if I am not wrong.” I insist.

“Oh Madam, bada “embracing” lagta hai!”  She rejoins with a sheepish look and hops into the house.

Honestly, embracing is not an example of autocorrect. She does have the rare quality of embracing everyone and embarrassing me at times with her funny ways. Needless to say, she has a unique knack for picking up English words – using them, misappropriating them, malappropriating them, and batting not an eyelid.

Well, she beats the smug auto-correct at its game – good and proper!
And am I proud of my very own Mrs Malaprop!

Click to Read all Seasons of Morning Meanderings

Season 4 | Season 3 | Season 2 |   Season 1

About the Author

Santosh Bakaya ( 169 Posts)

Dr Santosh Bakaya is the author of three mystery novels for young adults, and a book of essays titled Flights From My Terrace, which was recently published as an e-book on Smashwords. Her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, Ballad Of Bapu has been published by Vitasta Publishers, Delhi, India in May 2015 and has been receiving rave reviews from everywhere. Although a Political theorist, with a doctorate in political theory, it is literature which has been her first love. She was awarded the Reuel international award for language and literature 2014 for her long poem Oh Hark!, which forms part of the Significant Anthology. Many of her poems have figured in the highly commended category in Destiny Poets, a UK based website and many are part of international anthologies. Right now, she is giving the final touches to her satirical novel, tentatively titled Sanakpur Shenanigans.
All Posts of Santosh Bakaya