Any lover of the English language must be permitted his pet hate. I have several. But number one is the now epidemic use of may have and (separately) of might, in place of might have and may.

I know this is a lost cause. In Britain, that’s common enough: we combine paternity of a sublime language with sublime indifference to our own butchery of it. But this misuse is worldwide. Yet I shall stick to my guns. And the argument that a language is merely what its users choose to make of it, so why bother, won’t wash here: as abused, may have and might are not just gross errors of grammar but often ambiguous too.

Consider this sentence: But for Gandhi, India may have become independent in 1942. The merits or demerits of satyagraha apart, this is absurd. May have implies that something is still possible, at least as far as we know. But, whether or not armed resistance might have achieved it sooner, the fact is —and we all know it — that Indian independence came only in 1947.

Still at least it’s clear there what the speaker was trying to say. In contrast, consider this: Driving a fast car, the bank robbers may have got away. Does this mean (as it should) that they were in such a car, and — though no one is sure yet — may indeed have escaped? Or (as the reporter probably intended) that they might have escaped, but in fact didn’t, because the getaway car was a 1987 Ambassador?

Giving it a spin

The rule is simple and, to grammarians, cast-iron: may have if, on given conditions, a past event perhaps happened, perhaps didn’t, we aren’t sure; might have if it could have happened, but in fact (we know) it didn’t. A simple rule — but widely broken.

The use of might for may in phrases like Tendulkar might be a superb batsman, but...is quite distinct but just as wrong. It is almost standard in British sports journalism, but no longer there alone; you’ll find it in the leader columns of the London Times. And, alas, worldwide. For might, read may.

Even when correct, with may, this usage is still curious. In most uses, may and might imply uncertainty — and often both can be used: If we’re lucky, the train may arrive on time or might arrive on time, the might showing that the speaker thinks it pretty unlikely. But here there is no uncertainty: Tendulkar is a superb batsman, period. To say He may be, but...is just an idiomatic way of saying Although he certainly is...

That, however, is where ambiguity can begin. Suppose the fact isn’t clear-cut. Andrew Strauss might be a great batsman, but he can’t play spin. Do you mean that although he is one, he can’t play spin: or that he might be one if only he could play spin? Or go into the past: Sourav Ganguly might have become India’s finest-ever captain, but some selectors didn’t fancy him. Do you mean that’s what he did indeed become, but even so those selectors didn’t like him? Or that he would have so become if only those selectors had given him the chance?

I hasten to say that I won’t stick an opinionated finger into that particular hornets’ nest. But for my instinct of self-preservation, I may have done so. However, I might be interested in cricket, but I’m not suicidal.