A crash course in Funjabi
Aradhika Sharma
“Geez, auntie! How am I supposed to visit my relatives in Galib Kalan village when I’ve never even stepped out of America?” wailed Kaira, my friend’s 15-year-old daughter who had been sent for a solo visit to India by her parents with the embargo that she must spend time in her native village in Punjab.
“I don’t see the problem,” I responded. “Your relatives will be thrilled to welcome their Amreeka-returned pind di kudi. They’ll feed you to death too.”
“Ewww. Seriously, though how will I communicate with them? I don’t speak a word of Punjabi. Wish I’d listened to mom and attended classes at ‘Wah Punjabi’ Academy in Seattle. Could you give me a crash course please, auntie? Just to get by?”
“Hmmm… I guess I could teach you some key phrases that will see you through your visit.”
“Great! Let’s start right away!”Kaira clapped her hands with glee.
“Ik mint pleez!” I grinned. “That means that you should wait a moment. If you need to pause or think for a moment or even ask someone to allow you to pass through, all you have to say is…”
“…ik mint pleez,” Kaira grinned.
“Bingo! You’re a quick learner. Changa hai.”
“Changa?”
“Yes, the all-encompassing Punjabi word to use when you want to say that something is good. It also substitutes for an ‘OK’.
“For instance, if your grandmother says please sit down, you can respond with ‘changa’. Also, if you can use it to say goodbye. When you’re leaving, you can say “Changa pher”.
“What a changa word! Tell me some more, please.”
“Haanji! All good Punjabi girls say ‘haanji’ to their elders, no matter what they might demand of them. It’ll do you good to practice and use that phrase,” I laughed.
“In your dreams, dude! I’m not a haanji girl. Teach me some more key words please.”
“Cheti ki hai? Meaning what’s your hurry?” I asked.
“My cheti is that I’m going to the village tomorrow. Nice word, cheti.”
“Everyone is going to want to pao jhappi to you. Meaning they’re going to want to hug you. Punjabi moms and aunts tend to smother you in their jhappis, so watch out. And remember — no jhappis to men please; they get the wrong message. Don’t roll your eyes, Kiara dear.
“It’s a cultural thing that you’ll do well to respect.”
“Changa auntie. I won’t jhappi pao random guys,” she said placatingly. “Tell other words please.”
“You mean, hor dasso, don’t you?” I quipped.
Kiara stared at me sternly “Did you just say a bad word?”
“Gosh…no.” I laughed. This phrase is used when you can’t think of anything to say, simply lob a ‘hor dasso’ at the person you’re speaking with. They’ll have to come up with a conversation starter.”
“Like we use ‘what’s new’, right? That is so cool! Incidentally, auntie, you didn’t mention the commonest phrase I’ve heard guys here using while looking at me.”
“Which is?”
“Kithey chali ae morni banke?”
Your response to that, my dear, should be: “Chapair laavaan ke jutti?”
