Roundtable
Terms of Endearment
The Roundtable Open Forum XXIV: Apr 14-20
EDITOR
The Rules of the forum are posted here on the right, and need to be followed strictly by all participants.
The following is this week's (April 14 - 20) topic for discussion, which should focus on the questions posed therein:
TERMS OF ENDEARMENT
1 S. Sangat Singh's recent piece from Malaysia - ("Ulloo da Patthaa") in our HUMOUR section - has triggered wide-spread interest, and is the inspiration for this week's topic.
2 It is true: not only is Punjabi one of the oldest living languages in the world and boasts a rich literature and culture around it, but it also has one of the richest vocabularies anywhere in terms of colloquialisms. A Punjabi, for example, no matter how fluent he or she is in any other language, will swear by the fact that nothing can replace the sheer power, humour and explosive impact of a Punjabi expletive.
3 Our intention today is not to explore the endless catalogue of fighting words and phrases in Punjabi, but the wealth that lies in its wellspring of terms of endearment.
4 Invariably, there is considerable overlap between the two - many words and terms which normally constitute insults or admonishments, quickly turn into vehicles of extreme affection and intimacy when used in a certain tone by loved ones. ‘Ulloo‘ - an owl, an idiot; ‘khotaa' - a donkey; 'jhallaa' - crazy one; are but a few obvious examples.
5 Some variations actually boomerang on the speaker himself - which makes the expletive all the more benign. Thus, when a parent refers to a son as an "ulloo da pattha" - the progeny of an idiot! - the sting is lost along the way. Similarly, "khottey da puttar" - the son of a donkey!
6 Many of the most colourful ones, however, are getting lost in the diaspora, since they are tied to the wide variety of dialects back ‘home' - ranging from the sophisticated and courtly nuances of Lahore, the earthiness from the Potohar plateau, the sweetness of Saraiki ... to the rustic crudeness of the Malwa and Doaba regions, to name a few.
QUESTIONS TO PONDER
- What are the Punjabi terms of endearment you remember from your childhood?
- Which ones are your favourites? Why?
- Do you use, or have you used, any with your own children and other loved ones?
- Why do you think we use them with loved ones and in private moments, even though they do not belong to 'polite' society?
- Do you have any special memories associated with such words and phrases?
- Any instances when they bounce back, transformed or distorted - or have become totally lost in translation?
Conversation about this article
1: Barkat Kaur (Patiala, Punjab), April 14, 2010, 9:26 AM.
I lo-o-ve the topic! There are a series of phrases especially used for young girls, and particularly by older women: "Nee, khasmaa(n) noo(n) khaa!" - literally, 'Go, eat your husband, girl!' Or, "Teri jhaani bal jaa-ey, nee!" - literally, 'Let thy funeral pyre be lighted, girl!' Both sides laugh at these expressions as they are delivered, because they are always accompanied with affection. What's behind them?
2: T. Sher Singh (Guelph, Ontario, Canada), April 14, 2010, 9:40 AM.
There was a superstition in rural communities that bragging about your children attracted unwanted jealousy, leading to the 'evil eye' cast on them. [Hence, for example, the tradition of leaving a dark, uncomely smear on the forehead of a child every time a mother applied surma to a child's eyes.] The story goes that when young Guru Nanak first met his life-long friend, the latter was was named "Marjaana", which literally mean "You will die!" The family explained that all the children who had preceded him had died in childhood, and they merely wanted to protect him from the 'evil eye' by naming him thus. Guru Nanak, goes the legend, then and there changed the boy's name to "Mardana" - "You will never die!" [Indeed, the latter has been immortalized - the mention of Mardana almost always accompanies that of Nanak!] In answer to Barkat Kaur's query: I believe it is the same principle applied in rural Punjab today as parents and other adults refer to their loved ones thus. There must be many, many more of such expressions used for young boys and girls.
3: Col. Waryam Singh (Amritsar, Punjab), April 14, 2010, 10:02 AM.
My favourite expression is the one used by Sikh troops in the nineteenth century for the British invaders. Noticing the marked similarity between the two species, the Brits were popularly known as "monkey-bottoms" in the local lingo. However, I'll spare you the actual term used ... but I'm sure you can guess what it is!
4: Daljit Singh (Ireland), April 14, 2010, 10:23 AM.
I remember each time my mother did my hair ('gutt' and, later, 'joorrah'), she would exclaim: "Now, look at your 'booth'!" The Punjabi word 'booth' has a number of variations - 'bootha', 'boothar', 'boothi'. Each, literally, means the mouth or snout of an animal. Someone told me that an even older expression with the same connotation, now extinct, is 'bothra' - and a derivation of it, 'thobra'. All of them have loving associations in my mind because of my mother's usage in referring to my face, and I often find myself using them with my spouse and children - in good humour, of course.
5: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), April 14, 2010, 10:37 AM.
Since I seem to have instigated this interesting topic, I thought I would take some time off and just sit and watch the fun. But, looking at the response until now, I couldn't help jumping into the fray and share this hilarous incident. There was this laughing Buddha-like Bhai Mehtab Singh, the carpenter, who lived a few doors away. He had a wicked sense of humour. His specialty was making 'charkhas' (spinning wheels) and during the wedding season it was a common practice, especially in the village, to give a charkha in the dowry. As usual, there was haggling when told the price of the charka would be Rs.17/ - the customer argued that for that price he could buy a 'chota' (bull). Without blinking, Mehtab Singh retorted: "Then go and buy your daughter a chota!"
6: T. Sher Singh (Guelph, Ontario, Canada), April 14, 2010, 11:00 AM.
My paternal grandmother was a stern looking Sardarni - with a heart of gold, a gleam in the eye and a kirpan by her side - all of which she took advantage of with a heavy dose of humour. Her 'takkia kalaam' - favourite expression - was as follows: "Do this now, nahi taa(n) ... mat-tey ...!" The last word would be accentuated in a lower, gruffer voice, and elongated for maximum effect. Or, "Don't you dare fail to do this, mat-tey ...!" "Mat-tey" - what did it mean? Simple - all it meant was "Or else!" But it achieved its full desired effect every time, trust me ... because we had no idea what would or could happen, and had no inclination to find out.
7: Kashmira Singh (Bangalore, India), April 14, 2010, 11:18 AM.
A common expression used from time immemorial is "bhootni da" - "the progeny of a witch!" I'm told it has found considerable traction in Punjab in recent years, where both Rajiv and Sanjay Gandhi are now widely referred to as "bhootni dey ...!" - and rightly so. It's amazing how the common people - like babes - quickly get to the crux of a matter.
8: Karamjeet Kaur (Perth, Australia), April 14, 2010, 2:55 PM.
Animals feature a lot in these Punjabi terms of endearment, I'm not sure why. Ulloo and Khota have already been mentioned. Other terms commonly employed are: 'khachhar(a)' - mule; 'dungher' - cattle.
9: Rajesh Chopra (Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada), April 14, 2010, 3:01 PM.
Nobody has mentioned all the nice ones - maybe because they are obvious: rani (queen), raja (king), beta (son, used lovingly for daughters), sohni (beautiful), sohna (handsome), Mitthaa (sweet) ...
10: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), April 14, 2010, 8:11 PM.
Punjabi remains the richest language in the world. As a living, vibrant language, it had no qualms to imbibe the influence of other languages to enrich itself. Guru Granth Sahib itself is an encyclopedia of languages. The next logical step for sikhchic.com might be to ensure that we are at least aware of our priceless heritage. Punjabi University has probably documented in detail this delightful variety of our language. As an example: A child is: sut, put, beta, barak, baal, chu-hur, jaatak, to name a few. The following example can't be faithfully translated in any other language: "Nee bhen, aj tera surjan puttar navaa chan char ka aiya eeh!" and goes on to detail his infractions. The usual reply of the doting mother was: "Bhen mein kee karaan, main aap hee iss to(n) bohat tang haa(n)!" - 'I am myself tired with his daily antics.' For topic under discussion, a boor might be colourfully described as: mushtanda, burcha, laat sahb, chaudhry, goonda, badmaash, haraami, lafangaa and with many other colourful names to fit in with any given situation. Let's secure our heritage not necessarily in the department of expletives. Ah yes! I did forget about my favourite 'bhootni da puttar' that could be employed in every known situation, or as an all-purpose blanket pronouncement: "Eh saaray bhootni dey puttar hun."
11: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia ), April 15, 2010, 2:31 AM.
For a Bania (a hindu trader), the arrival of the first customer is an auspicious moment. It is the 'bohni' (the first transaction of the day) that would promise a good day at the shop. But occasionally this is blighted by the donation-collecting squads on the prowl. Two of them duly armed with a receipt book showed up when the Bania had just unlocked the shop one morning. "Ram Ram, Lalaji, we have come for some donation for the newly opened orphanage." "Okay, take my two sons." If said in Punjabi: "Ah-ho, do munday meray lai ja-o!"
12: Amarjitpal Singh (Mohali, Punjab), April 15, 2010, 4:31 PM.
Food provides a lot of loving terms in Punjabi, especially sweets: Rasgulla, Gulaab-Jaamun, Perrah, Jalebi, and ah yes, Laddu! You have to be careful, though. Most of these are round ... you can use them for kids with chubby cheeks, but with your spouse? Only at your extreme peril!
13: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), April 15, 2010, 4:48 PM.
Amarjitpal ji, indeed we call our kids 'Makhan dey Perro' or 'Jalebi wang siddha' or a 'motiaan wali sarkar'. I thought we had run out of steam but looks like we have now opened another interesting front. I am not so sure if all these terms of sweet nothings would go well with the spouse, except perhaps in the first six months of marriage when sweet 'bootha' takes over. Happy hunting.
14: Jasbir Kaur (New Jersey, U.S.A.), April 15, 2010, 4:56 PM.
Run out of steam? I thought we'd just got started! More animals - billa (tom-cat), baander (monkey), kutta (dog), pilla (pup).
15: Param (Toronto, Ontario, Canada), April 15, 2010, 5:07 PM.
You've got us digging into the deep recesses of our memory. I remember a number of variations on bhootni (I like that term applied to Indira Gandhi - how appropriate! No affection or endearment there, though, I assure you). Here are some - bhoot, bhootna ... daa-in. And chuddeyl! All refer to witches or ghosts.
16: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), April 15, 2010, 5:52 PM.
The Guru Granth Sahib, at 556.8, adds most graphically: "In this Dark Age of Kalyug, O Nanak, the demons have taken birth/ The son is a demon, the daughter is a demon; the spouse is the chief of the demons. ||1||" - jinn, jinoora, jinooree ... Guru Granth Sahib is indeed an encyclopedia of languages.
17: Jagir Singh (France), April 15, 2010, 5:54 PM.
There's a whole range of polite (some even courtly) terms used to refer to children: sahibzaadey (princes, the term now immortalized by identification with Guru Gobind Singh's four sons), bhujangi (borrowed from the Nihangs) and chhotey sahib (a remnant of the Raj days). Rani-beti for girls, though, is universal.
18: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), April 15, 2010, 6:55 PM.
Maybe Google has plagiarized our 'gugloo', the smiling rotund baby ... also variously addressed as 'baglu', 'bagla' or 'baghli' and much sweetly as 'saaddah gharray jidaa moti' - 'Our pot-sized pearl!' More to come, don't close yet ...
19: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), April 17, 2010, 4:11 PM.
All erstwhile school-going kids would wistfully remember the nearly two or three universal passions then: 1) Carrying an autograph book and getting all and sundry to write something in it. I nostalgically remember when someone got me to make an entry on the last page: 'By hook or crook, I am last in your book.' I thought it was cute without any thought of its import. Perhaps I should do so at the end of this week's forum. 2) The other almost universal passion used to be to collect stamps. 3) Then, of course, it was the matter of serious study of subjects like 'Gulli Danda', hockey or cricket with makeshift wickets, using shoes if nothing else was handy. It never interfered with our pleasure. Not having been a kid lately, I am not sure what is the current fashion these days. I know they have their play-stations and nearly all brats have their laptops. In our days, apart from an affordable gulli-danda or an old hockey stick, more importantly, there used to be an aged balding tennis ball that had seen good days and a handy 'thakti' - a wooden tablet - for a tennis racket, that served in good stead, to knock anything that came in its way. There was no danger of damage to any expensive China that we didn't have anyway. The only durable, if noisy, ones were the 'pital dey glass', thalis or kaulis, etc. that produced a kind of orchestral cacophony that our parents indulgently endured with occasional harmless expletives which have already been explored in this forum. We were born free to roam so long as we arrived home by the evening fall. We were then examined for any bleeding toes or any other damage to the anatomy. This was duly repaired with 'haldi' and 'kwar gandal' (aloe vera) and the wounds were clean as a whistle by the morning, ready for another combat. May I suggest another lease for this forum and re-pack now with the rich Punjabi 'akhans'. We are lucky we have Guru Granth Sahib that has a profound fund of 'akhans' that are already part of our vibrant language. Although uniquely unqualified, I would be happy to thrown in the spanner.
20: Sanmeet Kaur (Brampton, Ontario, Canada), April 20, 2010, 11:09 PM.
This morning when my three-year old, Jeeya, fished out her grandmother's nailcutter and hair pin and gave it to her, my mother remarked, "Tu phir mera tiya-tamba chuk ke ley aayee hai - You've brought me my odds and ends again!" "What is tiya-tamba, Nani?" asked Jeeya. Mom pointed to the nailcutter, "This is tiya and the hair pin is tamba," she replied. I'm pretty sure that our peals of laughter gave Mom away and that Jeeya didn't buy her Nani's explanation. My mother owns a vibrant vocabulary. It goes hand-in-hand with her straight-forward personality and her rustic sense of humour. Unlike the English language, where humour is usually used to soften the blow, her Punjabisms (and I suspect this is true of all Punjabisms) add to and accentuate her observations. We grew up with many but my perosnal favourite is: "Bevkoofaa(n) dey sir singhh nahin hondey - the foolish don't have horns." That is - 'One must figure the fools out and protect oneself from their foolishness!" Of course Jeeya is her 'gugaloo' and she is Jeeya's 'gugalee Nani'. When I was younger I would scold Mom sometimes, ask her to tone down her language or at least her tone. But the joke is now on me. My purported sophistication thrown out of the window, I talk to Jeeya just like my mom talks to me. There are many times when my family dissolves into laughter after I have said something they never thought they would hear from my mouth. I may have no idea when and how I use much of Mom's Punjabisms but I am guilty of one conscious effort. After I finish combing Jeeya's hair, I will say, "Show mummy your boothi now," and Jeeya turns around, faces me and so sweetly asks, "Hun meri boothi nice hai?"
21: I.J Singh (New York, U.S.A.), April 21, 2010, 7:55 AM.
Hugely entertaining and also instructive. On a somewhat serious note, perhaps even a sour note as some might say, it seems to me that most of us Punjabi Sikhs in the diaspora take pleasure in our command of two languages - Punjabi and English. It seems to me from much of the conversation here and elsewhere that our command of Punjabi is superficially conversational and adequate for a limited social/ familial intercourse. We hardly ever pick up a book on poetry or philosophy in Punjabi and literary Punjabi does not form our dialogue all that much. In the English language, our command is limited to our excellent ability to handle the demands of our jobs with limited facility in social interaction. (I would label it technical education or training.) Again, we seldom pick up a book in poetry or philosophy in English. My feeling is that our command of both Punjabi and English appears more transactional than anything else.