Hello friends,
Is it not true that we Bengalis used to be always taken for granted when it came to our knowledge of Hindi?
Many of my Hindi speaking friends and colleagues amusingly tend to believe that the Bengali way of eating rasogolla (fluffy syllabub / posset-ball in sugar syrup) with rounded lips, comes in the way of speaking Hindi with the right accent. Well, not any more. The rapid indianisation of our tribe in the last two decades has definitely made us a vastly improved species. Our gyaan (knowledge) of our राष्ट्रभाषा has increased many folds. Nowadays, I do not much hear awkward Hindi from the literate Bengali, especially the younger lot, and the womenfolk thanks to ‘सास बहू' type TV serials. Gone are the days when we treated Hindi as more foreign than English, managing with 'हम खाता है', 'तुम जाता है' kind of Hindi. The way I see Bengali boys and girls today perform in Hindi in 'Sa re ga ma pa' type of reality shows on the TV, with profound ease and near perfect accent, I feel proud of them. Maybe it is because the present generation of Bengali children prefers to eat गुलाबजामुन, rather than rasogolla.
But, the days were different earlier. Thirty or forty years back, the joke doing the rounds about the Bengali brand of Hindi was that once a Bengali family in the Hindi heartland invited their पड़ोसी for a भोजन in the evening. When the पड़ोसी appeared in time, with great dismay they found that the invitation was actually for a religious भजन session not for भोजन really.
My own Hindi was pathetic, till I went to Patna in 1975 to serve at my new appointment. But a little bit of preamble first. During my school days in a mofassal town, our appellation for all Hindi speaking people, mostly Bihari labourers, was khotta (a Hindustani/up-country man). We did not regard them in high respect due to their poor life style. We tended to believe that all Hindi speaking people were the same. My perception changed, only when I started seeing Hindi films in which the heroes were much smarter than their Bengali counterparts. I remember our days in B.E. College, when we used to have those film shows organized by various departments, and during college reunions. I had come from a small mofassal town without much Hindi influence. Therefore, my Hindi was jokingly limited to फुटानी का डिब्बाt for 'vanity bag' and दे फटा फट ले फटा फट for 'table tennis', and the likes of ब़दतमीज़, लोफर, कमीना, लफंगा etc., borrowed from the titles of Hindi films. I remember, in the very first month of joining college, we were there at the institute hall to see the Dev Anand starrer 'Teen Devian'. I did not understand a bit of any dialogue. I wondered how my roommate Sugata (alas, he could not go beyond the first year) could enjoy the film in Hindi. Later, I came to know that he had spent better part of his childhood in Bihar. Poor Sugata... I troubled him every now and then in the cinema hall during a show, to explain the story to me.
Coming back to my experience in Patna – On the very first day of my arrival there, I wanted to buy some sarsher tel (mustard oil)... And, believe me, I failed miserably. In the market, I could not really explain to any shopkeeper what I wanted. After trying unsuccessfully at a couple of shops, when I saw a tin of गणेश sarsher tel in one, I felt like Columbus discovering America. Later I knew that sarsher tel was known as कड़ुआ तेल in Patna. I took a vow then to learn the language well. And I did, so much so that within two years I started contributing small poems in local Hindi little magazines. But that is besides the point.
In Patna, we had a Banerjee da who had come to Patna on transfer from Bardhaman, as the Canteen Manager of the Eastern Railway at Patna railway station. He, like many Bengalis in Bengal, believed that Hindi was just Bengali spoken with ti, ta added to the verve endings, and some common Hindi words like हम, तुम etc., pronounced forcefully. We, the young Bengali's of Patna, used to gather at Banerjee da's restaurant at Patna railway station every evening for jampesh adda (highly enjoyable friends’ assembly), with free tea from Banerjee da (read the railways). Frequently, he got into trouble with his customers due to his poor Hindi, which often tended to border on slang. Most of the time, people used to forgive him, realizing that he had a problem with his Hindi. But at least once, he had to really calm down an irate lady, conversing with whom he had completely mixed up the gender notations.
In one of my earlier writings, I probably did mention two humorous incidents of poor usage of Hindi by Bengalis. The first one had a Bengali tourist who was charmed seeing a boltaar chaak (wasps’ nest) in the forests of Hazaribag, and said to his Hindi speaking guide “हम लोग बांग्ला मे 'बोलता' को 'बोलता' बोलता है | आप लोग हिन्दी मे 'बोलता' को क्या बोलता है?” The guide almost fainted. The second one was from my late father who, while convalescing from some ailment in a nursing home in Mumbai, one fine morning, upon an inquiry from a doctor whether he had any problem, nonchalantly answered “और सब ठीक है, खाली घूम नहीं पाता है”. He was actually complaining of his lack of ghum (sleep). The doctor, probably thinking that my father was complaining of being bed-ridden for long, advised him not to move about till he became fit.
My own experience... We had then just shifted to Moga in Punjab. My wife was as bad as any other resident Bengali, when it came to speaking in Hindi. For setting up the household, she required a ladder. We were residing inside the factory colony. After sending our newly appointed servant to the colony estate office for a ladder, she telephoned them saying “हम हमारे आदमी को भेजा, पौड़ी [सीढ़ी] दे दीजिये”. She was actually trying to translate into Hindi the way we would say in Bengali, “aamar lokke pathiyechhi” (I have sent my man). The estate office, however, expected me to appear as 'हमारा आदमी', and when they saw an unknown man come to ask for the ladder, they duly telephoned me to inquire when I would come. That became a matter of joke among others.
My late mother had her own contribution. She was visiting us at Moga. One evening, she was to visit our neighbors’ place for some celebration. She was tutoring our daughter in her studies, when the neighboring lady telephoned her to remind about the visit. My mother apologized for the delay, and said “अभी मेरी पोती पढ़ रही है और कबसे बोल रही है पकड़ो पकड़ो | तुरंत पक़ड़ कर आती हूँ”. She had wanted to say, in the way in Bengali we say, “naatni takhan theke para dhoro dharo karchhe. para dhore aaschhi” (the grand daughter is asking me since long to check her lessons. I will check and then come over). Our neighbor lady was first confused why my daughter wanted to be chased (पकड़ो पकड़ो), but later she burst into laughter when she understood what mother had wanted to say.
My Kaaku (uncle), in Utpal Dutt style, preferred to use heavy and shuddh (pure) Sanskrit words, when speaking in Hindi. This often resulted in dramatic anticlimax. Once, when one of his Hindi speaking friends, arriving during lunchtime, declined uncle’s invitation to have food with him, he told in dramatic style “हम आपको अभुक्त छोड़ के अतिथि असत्कार के महापाप का भाग नहीं ले सकते है | अतः, पर्याप्त भोजन पश्चात ही प्रस्थान करें |”. The friend relented, most probably because of uncle’s gunshot Hindi, rather than hunger or anything else.
One of my cousin sisters went to such extent in displaying her Hindi knowledge that when somebody inquired with her whether her husband was home, she nonchalantly said, “वोह तो ऑफीस में चल बसे”, trying to say that her husband has left for the office. The man at the other end of the phone got a jolt. By the way, I got a jolt from her the other day, when she told me that she had seen the wonderful Amir Khan film titled 'Tare Jamin Par'. Only thing, she could not understand why the film was named ' तेरे जमीन पर'' whose जमीन was that any way?' she asked me innocently.
I myself used to struggle with Hindi (and loaned Urdu, Farsi) words like खुदगर्ज़, घमंडी, बेशक़, अंधाधुंध, हिचकिचाहट, बेफिक्र, etc., in the beginning. But later, I fell in love with this language, once I started reading Hindi literature. While in Patna during the mid-seventies, I used to come home religiously once a month. My usual practice used to be to buy a Hindi paperback at Patna railway station, and finish reading it during my up and down train journeys. That helped me a lot to brush up my Hindi.
Anecdotes like these are endless. To end, here is one from my school days. We had this naughty classmate at school. When our teacher for Hindi, (which we studied optionally for a year in class seven) ridiculed him for his poor Hindi, and wanted to teach him the nuance of Hindi grammar, he in turn asked the teacher to help him in translating the following Bengali song in Hindi
'Saadher laau banailo more bairaagi...'
(My fond bottle-gourd has turned me into a dispassionate ascetic)
The shocked Hindi teacher did not dare to take पंगा with him any more in future!
© Sudip Roy - Member WaaS
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