Words!

As someone who has been an avid bibliophile since as far as I can remember, I have read many books in both my mother tongue Assamese as well in the language I did my schooling, that is English. I have realized that every language has an incredibly complex nature, and word-for-word translation often becomes difficult. While translator galore have done incredible jobs of translating an array of Assamese literary works into English, I have come across innumerable Assamese words which is yet to get its apt English counterpart…

Long before ‘babes, ‘bae’, ‘honey’, ‘darlo’,  etc. came into vogue, husbands and wives addressed each other as heri(হেৰি)  and hera (হেৰা) ; no English word can match the ‘feel’ of hera/heri. This was way before the husband was addressed by the wife with the former’s first name; anyone who did so was considered as too ‘modern’ for those times. Heri and hera are almost lost entities now, with some distant great aunt ringing dwindling memories of those forgotten childhood days by addressing her husband as ‘heri’.

Another word which I first encountered during high school days is mokkel (মক্কেল). The word supposedly means ‘client’ in English (please correct me if I am wrong). But in our daily life, ‘mokkel’ refers to someone disgusting and unlikeable. Also, the lingo of most Assamese people (both young and old) is almost incomplete with the endearing ‘bey’ (বে) which has no appropriate English counterpart. Likewise, it will be gross injustice if we even attempt to translate ‘kamur’ (কামুৰ/কামোৰ) to English – though the word implies ‘bite’ in the colonial language, it cannot match the feeling with which we address a person as ‘kamur’ in Assamese, which is used to refer to someone who is immensely, totally and unbelievably boring in nature…

We have also embraced some words from other languages and have groomed them with our vernacular zeal. Take the word ‘level’ (লেভেল) for instance. ‘Level’, for an average Assamese, is not a position on a scale or a horizontal plane; it implies impudence and false pride or narcissism. And ‘kosom’ (কচম্) for us is much more than the patriotic tirade of Sunny Deol in Gaddar-Ek Prem Katha. It is the emotional meltdown of many a drunken dreams. Allow me to venture into this some more and dig up the word ‘seni’ (চেনি). While for a toddler who has just started to vocalize ‘seni’ will mean ‘sugar’ in English, for the hormonally charged teenagers or the luscious dames, ‘seni’ will simply imply an overtly flirty and cheesy male.

Be it immense wealth or ethanol of any kind (local/branded) or an utterly glamorous and attractive woman, genuine appreciation will be meted out only by addressing the same as ‘maal’ (মাল). While the word was considered insulting and casual in the days of yore, ‘maal’ has become an integral part of conversations these days. On the same vein, when we say ‘baah khale’ (বাঁহ খালে), we do not mean that the person we have addressed has stared chewing on bamboo shafts! (‘Baah’ is the Assamese word for bamboo). We use this phrase to refer to a loser, or someone who has been cheated or taken for a ride. And while ‘tenga’ means ‘sour taste’ in Assamese, it is popularly used to refer to an undesirable and unsatisfactory situation or person.

Imagine a situation where you bump into an old friend and he/she gives you the grand ignorance. How will you narrate the situation to your peers later? You will of course say that you ‘ghenta’ care for people like those. I was unable to find an appropriate English word for ‘ghenta’, but it means something akin to insouciance. Now take the word ‘lilimai’ (লিলিমাই) – it is neither the name of some exotic orchid nor does it refer to any known entity. As far as my understanding about the word goes, ‘lilimai’ means doing something aimlessly, or without any meaning or purpose.

Then there are a few words whose literal translation from Assamese to English will be hilarious, if not abominable. For instance, there is an insect which we commonly call gubarua (গুবৰুৱা); if we go by the literal meaning of this, it will translate to ‘stool-Barua’ in English, with ‘Barua’ being a common surname in Assam (and in some parts of West Bengal too).

“The limits of my language means the limits of my world.”,
remarked  the great philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. I guess life would not have been so vibrant and diverse without these words. Rather than losing the actual meaning of some words in translation, we need to embrace them whole heartedly in their vernacular form. And now, let me cap my pen before you label me a ‘kamur’!