Dubious Moves

We are on holiday with the family, in one of the more hoity toity residential complexes in Bangalore. After I gently pointed out during a shopping trip that custom-made dresses from Abdul the tentmaker would suit certain girths more, I have been relegated to babysitting the kids : 6 girls and a boy ranging from 4-10. So this morning, after the Mall Marauders had left, we sat down to read a novel, but were continually interrupted by brawls in the brat pack. As usual, there were the “this a 3 person game but there are 5 to play” and the “I want to be first to do ****** what ever game” issues, with shifting loyalties and factions that would put Bhajan Lal to shame. Look here lads and ladies, says I. We are NOT getting into this, so kindly resolve or perish, since we shall lock away everything in nature of a toy or a game. (The BratPack treats me with digital logic : disdain generally and utter fear when we stop snarling and talk in honeyed tones).

Upon which we came upon a ritual that really, really grated. This consisted of the affected personnel standing around and reciting a word for each person something that went like this

“My Mommy asked me to choose the very best person here and you are not it.”

The “it” , of course , based on context, could be the winner (first to play with toy) or the loser (out of the game). We stuck through two rounds of this, and then proposed a desi substitute. This was welcomed with extreme enthusiasm : so much so that the selection process was voted more attractive than the toys and games.

The victorious army rang up to say that they were returning for lunch, so we took the brat pack to meet them below. As we were waiting for the lift, the familiar squabble over who would press the lift buttons began. Before I could slink away, the Brat pack began the desi selection process I had taught them , with the most phoren of accents.

(known translations appended : any Tams reading may want to contribute more insights).

Biscuit biscuit (start)

Enna biscuit ? (what biscuit ?)

Jaam biscuit (Jam biscuit.)

Enna Jaam ? (what jam ?)

Ko Jaam (No idea.)

Enna ko ? (what ko ?)

Tea ko (No idea.)

Enna tea ? (what tea)

Rotti (Rotti== Tam roti==bread. Pun)

(as opposed to borota==paratha)

Enna rotti (What rotti, what bread)

Bun rotti (Hot cross buns, anyone ?)

Enna bun ? (What bun ?)

Ribbon (Rib-bun pun, geddit ?)

Enna Ribbon ? (What ribbon)

Pachai ribbon (Green ribbon)

Enna pachai ? (Which green ?)

Ma pachchai (Ma green ?, but actually parrot green)

Enna ma ? (What ma ?)

Upma (Wokkay, not MY idea of a pun, but…)

Enna uppu ? (What salt ?)

Ration uppu (Salt was once sold in ration shops ? No idea)

Enna ration ? (what ration ?)

Pie ration (Pie : Cloth bag, gen with grocer’s names and pictures of deities on it. Bag ration :- sugar, rice etc as opposed to tin ration that was oil, kerosene etc)

Enna pie ? (what Pie ?)

THOPPAI! (Thoppai : rude term for tummy. Accompanied by a poke in the guts to chosen one).

Family cringed. Assorted passers by clung to each other for support on hearing such low-class language spoken in these hallowed portals. Lift attendant looked ready to press alarm buttons.

Guess what ? I no longer have to baby sit. Not the brat pack, at least. I only have to sit with the driver during the shopping now. Oh well, except for a tendency to play “Jhalak Dikhlaaja” ad nauseam, the reading environment is good.