We do not like terms of endearment. Or, mostly we don’t like endearment at all. We prefer enmity, marking folks out and telling them you are not us. We are, have no doubt, the vasudhaiva kutumbakam people, but we have now amended the definition of vasudha and kutumb. We are dedicated to this project of change, we wish upon us a new vasudha and a new kutumb, and the beginning of such a quest must be to define who is not our kutumb and who is not part of this new vasudha.

We wish no endearment with those who aren’t part, we want to erect enmities so the defining lines are clear. We will twist their hearts and put them on skewers. Us and them. Our hearts (or our heartless hearts) and their hearts. Our words, their words. Our sentiments, their sentiments. Which are chalk and cheese, of course. It’s up to you to decide which is chalk and which cheese, both have their uses, but up to you. Up to you to decide your vasudha and your kutumb. We have shrunk them both, made them narrow, like drainpipes coughing refuse. You know what I mean, those things that are meant to pass through drainpipes, I am merely trying to use civilised words for them, although there should be no obligashun to do so because what these fellows do with the implikashuns of what they vomit through the other, you know what is deserving of very few considerashuns. Not even if we were to do it for a considerashun. They deserve none. If they cannot have jaan, they must have the opposite of it. You know what, of course you do.

Jaan. Life. But yet more than life. Life upon which life may be sacrificed. Case for inclusion in the OED, for you are the benevolent and expanding one, you add each year to your volumes more words of value and worth and each of those goes into the making of your worth and your value even more than they have been before. Such is this word: Jaan, four letters, probably two syllables, infinite possibilities: Jaan. Everything. To give for. To take away for.

Usage: Dadajaan. Dadijaan. Nanajaan. Nanijaan. Abbajaan. Ammijaan. Betijaan. Betajaan. Chachajaan. Chachijaan. Khalujaan. Khalajaan. Phuphajaan. Phuphijaan. Bhaijaan. Aapajaan. Jaan. Jaan. Jaan. Jaan. Jaan. Meri Jaan. Teri jaan… aisa apna pyaar… or so some song goes about dosti etcetera. But we don’t want dosti-shosti, no endearment. Full. Stop.

What I have to tell you dear

And do please lend me your ear

I shan’t bite, only so you can hear

That there’s nothing that works like fear.