اکّا بکّا تین تڑکّہ
لوّہ لاٹھی چنّن کاٹھی
اوُلی دوُلی کاش کریلی
جاؤ بیٹا گنگا سے کسیرو لاؤ
پکا پکا ہم کھائیں
کچا کچا نیولا
نیولا گیا چوری
بسوا کٹوری
پان لے پھول لے
پُچَک جا!
Ukkaa bukkaa teen tarrakkaa
Lavvaa laathi, channan kaathi
Ooli dooli mash karailee
Jaao beta gangaa se kaseroo laao
Pakkaa pakkaa hum khaayein,
Kachcha kachcha Nyolaa
Nyolaa gayaa chori
Basvaa katori
Paan le
Phool le
Puchak jaa!
I vaguely understand perhaps half a sentence in all of this but I know it like the back of my hand. Only because my Nani used to sing it to me and play on our fingers like an eliminative game what it brings back are memories as vivid as ones of being forbidden to wear flowers but only allowed to stitch them into a bracelet or a necklace. Motia was an integral part of my childhood with my dress brimming with freshly bloomed little white gems.
Giggling our little hearts out, bringing them inside. Every single summers day.
To pick the best ones and with nimble fingers, sew them into a garland or a few. Or simply hand a few flowers to Ammi (my Nani) to place next to her Katora (silver bowl for drinking water) or put single blooms in her ears as earrings.
I want to grow a similar large bush of Motia in my house some day, or a lemon tree or even papaya or guava (both of which I hate so badly) just so I can hold Sassi’s tiny finger and skip with her through my magical childhood. Maybe just a little bit of that love will touch her and make her half as happy as I was growing up.
Or play
گگّو منّا گگّو جوُ
راول گئے بہریسوں
انت منت دو کوڑیاں پائیں
او کوڑیاں گھسیارے کو دیں
گھسیارا بیچارہ گھاس دِہِس
او گھاس ہم گائے کو دیں
گائے بیچاری دودھ دِہِس
دُدھوا کی ہم کھیر پکائیں
سب کو بانٹو چونٹیو
سسّی کا حصہ رکھ دئیں
بلَیّا آئی چاٹ گئی
بڑھیا مائی برتن باسن سمیٹ لیو
نئی بھیت اٹھتی ہے
پرانی بھیت گرتی ہے
اڑا ڑا ڑا ڑا
دھڑمّمّا!!
Guggu mannaa guggu joo
Raaval gaye behreisoon
Anat manat dou kaurriyaan paayein
Oo kaurriyaan ghasiyaaré ko diin
Ghasiyara bechaara ghaas dihiss
Ghaas hum gaaye ko diin
Gaaye bechaari doodh dihiss
Dudhvaa ki hum kheer pakaayon
Sab ko baanto chontiyon
Sassi ka hissaa rakh diyon
Bilayyaa aayi chaat gayi
Burrhiya maayi bartan baasan samait lo
Nayii bheet uthtee hai
Puraani bheet girtee hai
Arraarraarraarraa
Dharrammammaaa!
Yet another rhyme that makes little sense but definitely more than the first and was played with a proper killer legs workout which I only figured when I tried to do it with my toddler. No wonder Ammi had flat abs after having 6 kids (and a few miscarriages). The thing is near impossible and my child is a featherweight. Real workout.
I want to keep these tiny things alive. I feel we don’t hold on to the beauty of language and dialect of the yesteryears and soon we will lose it all in the flux of quick, easy and manageable colloquial. It just makes me sad. I don’t want these things to die. Maybe just hold on to these few?
Just for old times sake?
For I hear my own uncontrollable laughter in my toddler’s giggles and the joy it brings to her face reminds me of how the world was a beautiful place when we would laugh endlessly without reason while balancing the moat built by our dresses to (barely) contain the flowers we just picked.
It is the ability to love, live and laugh that I wish for my child and do it all with her as I show her how.
Thank you for being, Sassi.
In my quest to “parent” you, I’ve been walking down memory lane far too many a times looking for a cheat sheet and almost always surfacing with memories to hold on to and relive instead of a “formula”.
So come hold my finger and let’s skip brought time where you and I can mumble these while the world stares at us in confusion and all we have is unabated laughter and that twinkle in our eyes that we share.