How to explain Zen in Arabic
0 Comments Published by Tom Gara on Sunday, September 12 at Sunday, September 12, 2004.
So for the last couple of days I have been reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" - for some reason I seem to end up re-reading this book every six months or so, every time feeling like I've picked up a new book and a whole new vokume of knowledge and insights. Its a masterpiece, as those who have read it would know, and if you haven't read it, then I can't reccomend it highly enough.
Anyhow, riding home in the cab today, the driver saw that I was reading a book. Summoning nearly the full extent of his English, he asked "What is book?".
"Shit" I think. There is no way that I can even pretend to translate the sentence "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" into Arabic. I still struggle with buying the groceries. So instead of trying, I hold my hands out to grab an imaginary set of handlebars , pump the throttle with one hand, and make the "vroom vroom" noise (which is universal, by the way).
"Scooter?" asks the driver. Something like that, I think to myself.
"What it is about?" he asks. Christ. Now he is asking a bit much. How to explain an enquiry into values, a philosophical critique of 2000 years of western thinking, an examination of the challenges of our century, and a cross country motorcycle trip. Its just not going to happen.
Theres no moral to this story. Or even a humourous ending.....I umm'ed and ahhh'ed, flailed my hands around a bit, and luckily, the taxi got to my place before things got awkward. I paid the driver an extra pound for his interest in the book. But boy, if I knew Arabic like I wish I did, he would have got a schooling.
Anyhow, riding home in the cab today, the driver saw that I was reading a book. Summoning nearly the full extent of his English, he asked "What is book?".
"Shit" I think. There is no way that I can even pretend to translate the sentence "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" into Arabic. I still struggle with buying the groceries. So instead of trying, I hold my hands out to grab an imaginary set of handlebars , pump the throttle with one hand, and make the "vroom vroom" noise (which is universal, by the way).
"Scooter?" asks the driver. Something like that, I think to myself.
"What it is about?" he asks. Christ. Now he is asking a bit much. How to explain an enquiry into values, a philosophical critique of 2000 years of western thinking, an examination of the challenges of our century, and a cross country motorcycle trip. Its just not going to happen.
Theres no moral to this story. Or even a humourous ending.....I umm'ed and ahhh'ed, flailed my hands around a bit, and luckily, the taxi got to my place before things got awkward. I paid the driver an extra pound for his interest in the book. But boy, if I knew Arabic like I wish I did, he would have got a schooling.
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