The etymology of maa-behan ki gaali

"Bain-chod, tand bahut jyaada hai," exclaimed a pan-chewing haryanvi jat standing next to me at an STD booth in M-block market. Before, I could react, the STD booth walla wearing a silly pink monkey cap replied, " Main thon,bainchod, kulfi ho gaya". With the belief that Indian society had not yet become so liberal, I deduced that these two armchair meterologists were not the incestous type. But "bainchod" is swear word. Now, why were they swearing at each other over the weather? I thought.Later I realised that the term 'bainchod' was a sweet Delhi way of starting a conversation with strangers. In the next fortnight, I realised alluding to fornication with your mother (or your sister, if you like) in hindi was next best thing to a cigarette. It was tool to enter a conversation with a complete stranger and within minutes you could be on 'bainchod' back-slapping terms with him. It is in the process of understanding the etymology of the b-word, did Delhi teach me a thing or two about life. It was a long, cold January that I set foot in Delhi. My parrys-corner sweater refused to protect me from the cold blast that welcomed me to the nation's capital. "Super sweater saar," I remember the oily malayalee salesman saying to me at Junus Sait, Chennai's one-stop woolen retailer. It turned out that the sweater for which I had paid a fortune was no better than a tantex banian for Delhi's winter. So I decided to seek professional help from my Kashmiri room mate who took pity on me and introduced me to the world of woolen inner-wear (not underwear). "You better wear this or you'd be dead, by the end of the week," he explained bluntly.Until then, winter was just a concept to me. In my good old Madras, there were (and still are) only three seasons - hot, hotter and hottest. Well, I had read about snow and winter in fairytales and books. Cold, in the context of weather was.. Ooty or Kodi where I went almost every other summer. "So, I can manage it," I thought. I was never so horribly wrong ever in my life. So there I was - a sun-bathed-by-birth-tam-brahm - forced to wear a woolen inner wear, three sweaters, a grey monkey cap and drinking a cup of Chai! Mind you, this wasn't even the Nair version. I was in Delhi to attend a training programme. I had, by a sudden turn of events, found a job as a hindi reporter for a mainstream hindi news channel - reporting in the rashtra bhasha. My overnight professional transformation was followed by a linguistic rebirth. "Well your hindi is fine...you just need to start thinking in Hindi now," began my trainer. What happened thereafter will be saved for another blog sometime.How I fell in love with Delhi and its abuses is the subject at hand. So here I was in Delhi attending a training session along with 30 seasoned reporters from all over the country. Every morning, a Toyota Qualis collected 10 of us from Rockland Inn in CR Park where we stayed (Delhi is full of these shady 'inns') and dropped us at The Park where we had to undergo these torturous 9-hour long training sessions. Since, there were thirty of us, the Qualis had to make three-trips. It was in all fairness, first-come-first-to-get-a-seat arrangement. The same routine was followed in the evening as well. On the ride back, we all jointly indulged in 'reflecting our views' on the day-long training session. In short, these were delicious bitching sessions. Some cirbbed about how bad the lunch was, some complained about how terrible the training was and how awful the trainers were and so on. And in each one of these complaints, I was privy to some exquisite hindi punctuated by some top-class maa-behan ki gaali. Now, I had less than a month to prove to my employers that I could not just communicate in Hindi, but I was darn comfortable at it as well. I must admit that consistent exposure to gaali-vocabulary did wonders to my confidence.Jayantda, a senior reporter, often mixed his Queen's English with chaste hindi with sprinkled with a strong Bengali twang. Now our man had learnt his first lessons in reporting in Delhi and it was quite evident with the way he swore. His enunciation was perfect. Sample this, "These trainers worth a tuppence, have the gall to tell me that I think like some bainchod some cub reporter." Note the typical victorian english and the right delhite placement of the b-word.Jha, a Bihari who married a rich zamindar's daughter in Orissa, had a typical Bihari isshttyle of speech. His bainchod were more guttoral. He would also stress more on the "bain" than the "chod". I am no expert in linguistics. My knowledge of the subject is limited to just one year of studying it in college.But, frankly, I strongly believe that it is possible to place a man - his social standing, his origin by the way he swears. Swearing is not a mere expression of frustration or anger. The choice of abuse reveals a lot about one's personality. For instance, when we use the four-letter word, many avoid using maternal associations. The thought seems rather ungentlemanly even when you are swearing at someone. I know of a friend, who would even when provoked to the hilt, would not say more than a "damn" or "darn" or "oh bother". Thus, revealing a very refined upbringing where swearing was strictly forbidden by powers that be - family, teachers or mentors. ((more to come))