Readers' Forum
“Is Gujarati no longer…”
Berjis Desai’s column "Is Gujarati no longer our mother tongue?” (Parsiana, July 21, 2016) touched the chords of my memory. I was reminded of Parsis who have for generations lived outside Bombay and Gujarat. In Allahabad, where our family lived for four or five generations, almost all the Parsis, whether permanent residents or there for work, spoke fluent Gujarati. They often slipped into Hindi, sometimes even while talking among themselves as Hindi is the language of Uttar Pradesh and the Parsis spoke it as fluently as they did Gujarati.
Both my mother and masi (maternal aunt) attended English medium schools run on British lines, and later so did my sisters and I. English was by and large spoken very well but that did not come in the way of our being proficient in Gujarati.
Mamaiji and bapaiji (maternal and paternal grandmothers) were sisters and after the latter was widowed young she sent her elder son to Allahabad to mamaiji and mamavaji (maternal grandparents). Our father, J. M. Patell, was the well-known photo artist. My mother and masi spoke good English, while my father’s English had a slight Gujarati touch — and my sister and I picked up many humorous Gujarati sayings from him.
When we were nearing navjote age our mamaiji, a superwoman considering the range of her knowledge despite not having been to school, insisted that we learn to read and write Gujarati. My bapaiji sent us primers and text books from which we were taught. We had to sacrifice a chunk of our play time in order to learn the language. We wanted to know why we had to learn Gujarati when English and Hindi sufficed. Our wise mamaiji replied, "And what if your mother-in-law does not know either? How will you communicate?”
Thank God we learnt Gujarati and could read from the Zend Avesta and also write letters. In fact our vast family in Bombay and Allahabad communicated regularly via letters and when the elders in Bombay wrote to my grandmother praising my writing and style, I was on top of the world. I have been writing letters to people for over 50 years!
Our father had studied in the Fort High School in Bombay and he told us about a practice at that time. When people had prayers said regularly in the agiaries and in their homes, there would be so much chasni food and fruit in their homes and because of menstrual taboos there was no way all that religiously prayed-upon food could be consumed. So most Parsi families sent the chasni to Parsi boys’ schools to be distributed among the male students. Daddy recalled that when a boy answered a question correctly the master would pick up a fruit such as a banana and say, "Lè kéru, né ja uppar (take the banana and move to a higher seat).” This became a regular joke in our family.
Kaiser-e-Hind and Jam-e-Jamshed were received regularly and my mamaiji would read them from cover to cover. At night my sister and I would cuddle up with her to hear the stories which we loved. Thinking of one particular serial about a beautiful princess still makes me laugh as all the beauties had "violet eyes and sunnéri baal (golden hair).”
A dear friend, a professor of English at Allahabad University who was in touch with the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation), cracked many jokes in Gujarati. But whenever he wanted to dismiss something as being false he would say, "Légho! légho! (literally, pyjamas.) ” Both he and my dad had become bald early and often used the phrase "Taklu ghasai gayu (lost our hair)” to imply excessive expenditure. On one occasion when we were in Bombay for a few days staying with relatives I noticed a tap which someone had left open, and remarked, in my Allahabadi Gujarati, "Bumbo chaaléch. Bandh kari déyoo? (the ‘fire engine’ is running. Shall I close it?)” She broke into peals of laughter and said, "Arré, bumbo nai, nal chhè. Bumbo toh fire brigade né kéh (Oh dear, it is not a fire engine but a tap. The word you have used means fire brigade).”
My husband and I often wonder why we lost our native Persian after coming to India. We have picked up the languages of our adopted country. Gujarati too is a borrowed language but became our mother tongue. Some Iranis still speak Persian. When I was a teenager I recall that we had a radio and every day my grandmother would listen to a half-hour program in Persian and Pashtoo. She did not understand a word, but she listened religiously because she felt indebted to Iran. MEHER D. DHONDY
Gurgaon, Haryana
Both my mother and masi (maternal aunt) attended English medium schools run on British lines, and later so did my sisters and I. English was by and large spoken very well but that did not come in the way of our being proficient in Gujarati.
Mamaiji and bapaiji (maternal and paternal grandmothers) were sisters and after the latter was widowed young she sent her elder son to Allahabad to mamaiji and mamavaji (maternal grandparents). Our father, J. M. Patell, was the well-known photo artist. My mother and masi spoke good English, while my father’s English had a slight Gujarati touch — and my sister and I picked up many humorous Gujarati sayings from him.
When we were nearing navjote age our mamaiji, a superwoman considering the range of her knowledge despite not having been to school, insisted that we learn to read and write Gujarati. My bapaiji sent us primers and text books from which we were taught. We had to sacrifice a chunk of our play time in order to learn the language. We wanted to know why we had to learn Gujarati when English and Hindi sufficed. Our wise mamaiji replied, "And what if your mother-in-law does not know either? How will you communicate?”
Thank God we learnt Gujarati and could read from the Zend Avesta and also write letters. In fact our vast family in Bombay and Allahabad communicated regularly via letters and when the elders in Bombay wrote to my grandmother praising my writing and style, I was on top of the world. I have been writing letters to people for over 50 years!
Our father had studied in the Fort High School in Bombay and he told us about a practice at that time. When people had prayers said regularly in the agiaries and in their homes, there would be so much chasni food and fruit in their homes and because of menstrual taboos there was no way all that religiously prayed-upon food could be consumed. So most Parsi families sent the chasni to Parsi boys’ schools to be distributed among the male students. Daddy recalled that when a boy answered a question correctly the master would pick up a fruit such as a banana and say, "Lè kéru, né ja uppar (take the banana and move to a higher seat).” This became a regular joke in our family.
Kaiser-e-Hind and Jam-e-Jamshed were received regularly and my mamaiji would read them from cover to cover. At night my sister and I would cuddle up with her to hear the stories which we loved. Thinking of one particular serial about a beautiful princess still makes me laugh as all the beauties had "violet eyes and sunnéri baal (golden hair).”
A dear friend, a professor of English at Allahabad University who was in touch with the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation), cracked many jokes in Gujarati. But whenever he wanted to dismiss something as being false he would say, "Légho! légho! (literally, pyjamas.) ” Both he and my dad had become bald early and often used the phrase "Taklu ghasai gayu (lost our hair)” to imply excessive expenditure. On one occasion when we were in Bombay for a few days staying with relatives I noticed a tap which someone had left open, and remarked, in my Allahabadi Gujarati, "Bumbo chaaléch. Bandh kari déyoo? (the ‘fire engine’ is running. Shall I close it?)” She broke into peals of laughter and said, "Arré, bumbo nai, nal chhè. Bumbo toh fire brigade né kéh (Oh dear, it is not a fire engine but a tap. The word you have used means fire brigade).”
My husband and I often wonder why we lost our native Persian after coming to India. We have picked up the languages of our adopted country. Gujarati too is a borrowed language but became our mother tongue. Some Iranis still speak Persian. When I was a teenager I recall that we had a radio and every day my grandmother would listen to a half-hour program in Persian and Pashtoo. She did not understand a word, but she listened religiously because she felt indebted to Iran. MEHER D. DHONDY
Gurgaon, Haryana
◆ ◆ ◆
From the archive