Linguistic Comfort

 "What's your comfort food?" Somebody asked me the other day. Not quite satisfied with my answer or maybe enjoying my simpleton attitude, the intruder of my calm went ahead to probe on my comfort clothing, comfort reading and ectera cetera... That made me wonder whether we could have a comfort language as well? The language with which we can roam naked without inhibitions, without apprehension of being judged, without caring for grammar and without bothering over vocabulary. Is there a language that rolls over my tongue effortlessly like a Jack and Jill tumbling over the hill towards gravity? Is there a language that comes naturally to me in the deepest of my slumbers and surfaces in casual conversations? Is there a language that makes a stranger my friend and a friend my closest mate?

Yes, there is. Hindi. No. No. Not the upanayas Hindi. Not the Hindi of Kabir or Tulsidas. It's my Bambaiya Hindi. A dialect born on the streets, yet nutured like royalty. You need no training, coaching or for that matter any coding to interpret or learn this dialect. This is imbibed on your DNA, it is genetic. Whichever part of the country you are from, once you have strolled on the streets of Bombay or now Mumbai, you will ace this language. 

Tell me does 'Excuse Me' give you a thrill or 'Abey Oey'? 

Does 'Hello?' excite you or 'Oye Teri'? 

What gets more attention- 'You Moron' or 'A pani cum chai'? 

Who is more dear- 'Best friend' or 'Jigari Dost'?

 What is more appealing- 'You are my life' or 'Tu apun ki Laila'? 

What feels more relieving- 'Go to hell!' or 'Tera satyanash ho!'? 

Bambaiya Hindi is my illegitimate child, conceived in the first pangs of passion. I can't take it to elite parties and introduce it to aristocrats. But when alone or in a fit of rage use it as brickbats. It maybe not a bouquet of roses but definitely it saves me from thorns of refined living. It's rustic. It's malnourished. It's a weed in pastures of dandelions. Yet, it's music to my ears and rhythm to my motion. It comes to me like an urge of loose motion. Splattering my elite image but once out it spreads a sense of relief to my over-esteemed nerves.

To all the convent educated and literature biased, my Bambaiya Hindi may prick you like a sand grain. It does to me, too. Scalds my polished surfaces like acid on flesh. It pushes me to a strata that thrives on street. But aren't we all from the mud and going back to it? Weren't we all muddled up with learning our mother tongue at home and Britisher's tongue at school? Who came to our rescue then? Who helped us make a South Indian friend when we were a true North Indian? Indeed, this Bambaiya Hindi. The Hindi we learned from our drivers, our caretakers( ayahs), our baniyas and our pani-puriwala bhaiyyas. A dialect that connected the pavement to high-rises. It is a dialect that helped break barriers of communication. Your watchman too understands 'Aane de aane' and your boss too understands, 'Jane de Jane de'. Can this be more encompassing and accommodating?

The Bambaiya Hindi is an orphanage of all stray dialects. It has given shelter to many regional words and expressions. 

Like for a Bengali, 'Udi Baba, tum kya karti?' is comforting while addressing a Bambaiya male friend.

For a Gujarati, 'Bhai, magaj nahi kharab kar' is also a Do not Disturb language. 

For a Maharastrian, 'Bhaiya dudh mein khada(pebble) hai!' is a complaint over impurities than accusations over standing in milk.

For a South Indian, 'Aiyyo, barish abhi kyon girta?'  is annoyance over the monsoon than the dialect.

So, my Bambaiya Hindi is no reform centre. It accepts deformities and rejoices in crippled living. It has no intention of reforms in any near future. It is boisterous and boosts of its rudimentary existence. It finds pride in its adulterated form. It evolves, only to degrade itself with every new species of absurd words added to it.

 'Mama nahi baneka has transformed to Mamu nahi banana. 

'Bheje ka dahi nahi karneka' has transitioned to 'Tension nahi lene ka'. 

'Tu chez badi hai mast mast' has a new avatar of 'Kya item hai'.

There is slowly a seeping of English terminologies making Bambaiya Hindi a forren land. I appeal to you to save its rich heritage and culture. Let the British not take away again what is indigenous or Mumbai-genous. 

Bambai Bachao, Bambaiya Bhasha Bachao!

Too comfortable,  to say Phut idhar se over Goodbye. I hope you get the sentiments right.