Dalwinder’s Well-Meaning Dilemma and the Impossibility of Language

Dalwinder’s Well-Meaning Dilemma and the Impossibility of Language Sep 6, 2025 —

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Narinder Jarial in Absurdism, Chronicles of Bopa Rai, Ethnography and Social Bopa Rai was sitting in the office. Brigadier Sudarshanan, the Commandant, called Bopa to settle a dispute between two families. He instructed Bopa to conduct a fair enquiry. He also told him, grinding his teeth, that he wants to set an example. A senior Lady officer very beautiful was sitting in the office when I asked the culprit to narrate the incident. So this guy Dalwinder presents himself and narrates the story. Handsome strong Sikh 40 year old, passionate even fiery and innocence personified well dressed and well mannered.

His only blemish was his involvement in a small mutiny at the Sikh training center in Ramgarh during his recruitment. He got carried away at that time. He was one of the disbanded recruits. Later, he was rehabilitated in DSC and thus used to do guard duty.

A Sikh officer in uniform stands facing two seated individuals, a male officer in uniform on the left and a woman in a blue saree on the right, in an office setting. The incident he told was – He was washing his hair in the bathroom on Sunday. His wife called, “Darji pani gadi wale ne band kar ditta.” That inflamed Dalwinder. He had long harbored suspicion of the water tanker. He believed the water tanker gave more water to the Oriya couple on the ground floor. They talked to the water tanker man and offered him a cup of tea and small eats. But general scarcity of water had vitiated the atmosphere. Dalwinder’s hair was wet and he was only in a towel. He rushed downstairs and said, “Kake tu pani kyun band kitta, tenu sarra pani enah ni hi dena hai, bahnchodiya.” Ae tenu ki dende hain, cha. Tu sade gahr aa hor cha pi par pani pura de. At this Oriya lady appeared and said, Aap ye kya ladai kar rahen hain, aur itni Gandi Galian. He looked at her and said Me behnchodi auratan nal baatt nahi karda, there were onlookers enjoying the show, tittering. Anyway, it came to the court of enquiry. The lady was very discreet and had a completely clean tongue. She narrated the incident in a stilted Oriya way. Dalwinder defended himself . Eda to sade punjab vich roj di Gal hai , jab maan rotiyaan bannadi Hai, to asi unnu bolde mai yovee rotuan phuli kyun nahi hain. At this, bopa doubled over with laughter. The lady officer tittered. COI closed with comment misunderstanding of cultural colourful colloquialism, not to be punished. Hoewever in in the Sainik sammelan Commandant did grind his teeth and warned against such action.

River of Addresses and Call Signs Nubra’s River of Address

An Essay in Voices and Slippages

And that, perhaps, is the heart of it: language carries weight. Not just in courts of enquiry or Sainik sammelans, but in every household, every lane, every adda. A Ji can soothe, a Behnchod can explode, and a simple Ba from a child can echo centuries of reverence.

I. Beginning with Ji “Call a man by his name,” you said, “but there are some who don’t. Seniors are called Ji.” Ji is more than a suffix. It is jiva itself — the spark of life. A gentle bow built into the tongue.

Haanji. Maanji. Pitaji. Not just respect, but recognition of breath, of living presence.

It is universal and most acceptable. In all its simplicity, Ji outlives feudal titles and bureaucratic ‘Sirs.’

II. The Head and the Crown Then came Shri. “That which is borne on the head,” you said. Shrimaan. Shrimati. The crown of dignity.

From Persian court culture followed Janaab and Huzoor. From colonial culture, Sir, Monsieur. From feudal hills, Kanwar, Raja. And at the bottom, the blunt caste-markers: Baman, Baniya.

Direct name is for equals or juniors — never for elders. A father is Pitaji, not Ramesh. A teacher is Masterji, not simply Sharma.

III. Compounding and Domesticating Compound honorifics bridge the gap: Sir-ji, Doctor-sahab, Masterji. Professional authority softened, domesticated, folded into the joint family of language.

Occupational epithets join them: Pahalwan, Munimji, Panditji, Ustad. Not just professions — identities, carried as proudly as turbans.

IV. The Nail Slipping from the Tongue But reverence and softness are not the whole story. When the call signs lapse into epithets, then comes the litany: Behnchod. Madarchod. Bappa-chodi.

Sometimes loving, sometimes vacuous — like a nail slipping from the tongue. Indian profanity is not always hatred. It can be banter, camaraderie, punctuation. The same Behnchod can be a curse in one alley, and a hug in another.

V. Looking Westward How is it in the West — is it so colourful?

The West has fuck, bastard, bitch, motherfucker, asshole, cunt. Sharp, heavy, blunt.

They do not have the elasticity of behnchod, which can be both insult and endearment. They do not have the playful hybrids like Sir-ji or Doctor-saab. Their titles are rigid: Mr., Mrs., Sir, Dr., Rev. Their profanity is nuclear: cunt in London is still far more offensive than madarchod on a Delhi street corner.

VI. Enter Nubra Consider my daughter Nubra, named after the river. When little, we would ask her: Nubra tera naam kya hai? And she would reply, quick as a spark: Ba.

That innocent syllable placed her in the lineage of Ba — grandmother, elder, Kasturba Gandhi.

Ba, Babe, Baby, Baba, BayBay — the same root, stretching across languages and generations. Darji: quartermaster, tailor, the functional name turned honorific. Uncle: floating, ambiguous, both affectionate and mocking — uncle is to Delhi what behnchod is to the adda: a filler, an elastic label.

VII. Epithets: The Spikes and Burrs of Speech When the respectful Ji and the affectionate beta are not enough, language reaches for epithets: quick, sharp, sometimes wounding, sometimes endearing.

Animal epithets: kuttey, gadhe, bandar, ullu. Body-based epithets: lulli, gaandu, motey, patlu, chashmish. Sexual/kinship epithets: behnchod, madarchod, bappa-chodi. Professional epithets: darji, munim, pandit, chowkidar. Hybrid English epithets: uncle, aunty, boss, item.

Like a nail slipping from the tongue — involuntary, impulsive. An epithet can diminish, elevate, or simply fill silence.

VIII. The River Itself A colorful infographic showing the flow of different forms of address in Indian culture, including categories like Sacred, Affectionate, Functional, Neutral, and Profane. The design features a flowing river with labeled sections emphasizing the nuances of language and address. IX. The Lesson of the Flow At the top: reverence, sacred and parental. In the middle: affection, everyday intimacy, professions. On the sides: epithets — animal, body, sexual, occupational — thorns and burrs that cling. At the bottom: banter and profanity, elastic and explosive.

The West may have its “fuck” and “bitch.” But India has a whole river: from Ji to Sir-ji, from Pitaji to Uncle, from Ba to Behnchod.

X. The Floodplains Yet rivers do not end at the delta. They spread. They flood. They leave behind silt, weeds, fish-pools, and the fine grain on which new words grow.

This is where language is most alive: not in the channel but in its overflow.

Gender: Women’s address often gets enclosed in diminutives — didi, behna, beti, rani. Men are more often saab, malik, ustad. Yet irony flips them: rani-saab, panditji. Women become “aunty” quicker than men become “uncle,” a subtle asymmetry of aging.

Digital Language: On WhatsApp, 🙏 is the new Ji, fire 🔥 is applause, goat 🐐 is “Greatest of All Time.” Teenagers call each other “Sir” in jest, stripping away colonial weight. English and vernacular collide: bro, dude, yaar, behen, queen, fam.

Regional Variations: In Punjab, veerji and bhenji are spines of warmth. In Tamil, Anna and Akka stitch community. In Gujarati, ben and bhai mix solidarity with subtle caste codes. In Bengali adda, da and di collapse distance: dada, didi, kinship beyond blood.

Irony and Play: The weakest boy is called Pahalwan, the stingiest Sethji. “Namaste, Sir-ji” can sting more than behnchod. Reverence and parody walk together.

Sacred Layer: Maharaj, Babaji, Swamiji. A godman on TV is Babaji, but so is the tailor down the street. The sacred and the mundane use the same address.

Generational Flow: Children collapse ritual into affection: Nanu, Dadu, Ba. The neighborhood joker becomes Chachu. A pebble-word like “Ba” carries whole histories.

Even profanity splinters and rejoins: in a hostel corridor, behnchod is greeting; in a courtroom, contempt.

XI. The Lesson of the Flood A wavy blue line representing Nubra’s River, accompanied by the title ‘Nubra’s River and Floodplains of Address’ in bold. That is a fascinating and wonderfully detailed observation of the intricate system of address and communication in parts of India. You’ve captured the nuances that reflect social hierarchy, relationships, respect, and even casual affection or insult, all through the choice of a single word or suffix.

Your question—is it as “colourful” in the West?—is an excellent one. The answer is yes, but in a very different way. The system is built on different social principles.

The Western System of Address (Primarily in English-Speaking Cultures) The Western system, especially in North America and the UK, has trended heavily towards informality and egalitarianism, at least on the surface.

1. Formal Honorifics These exist but are used in much narrower contexts.

Standard Titles: Mr., Mrs., Miss, and the now-common Ms. (used for women regardless of marital status) are the basics. They are almost always paired with a last name (e.g., “Mr. Smith”). Using them with a first name (“Mr. John”) is uncommon and can sound like a schoolteacher addressing a child. Professional Titles: Dr. (for medical doctors and PhDs), Professor, Judge, Officer. These are used in professional settings and command a high degree of respect. “Sir” and “Ma’am”: This is the closest equivalent to a universal respectful term, but it’s not at all like Ji. It is used alone, without a name. It’s primarily used when you don’t know the person’s name (e.g., addressing a customer, a police officer). It implies a degree of social distance or a formal power dynamic (e.g., student to teacher, employee to a very senior executive). You would almost never call a friend or family member “Sir.” 2. The Dominance of the First Name This is the biggest difference. In the vast majority of social and even professional situations, people move to a first-name basis almost immediately. It is common for a 25-year-old employee to call their 60-year-old CEO by their first name. This is intended to foster a sense of equality and collaboration. Calling a colleague “Mr. Smith” when everyone else calls him “John” would be seen as strange and overly formal.

3. The Lack of a “Ji” Equivalent There is no suffix in English that functions like Ji (जी). You cannot add a universal term of respect to a name or a word like “yes.” The concept of showing respect is handled by tone of voice, politeness (please, thank you), and using the appropriate title (Mr., Dr., etc.) when required. The beautiful compound honorific Sir Ji simply has no direct equivalent.

4. Terms of Endearment and Familial Terms Your observation about your daughter Nubra’s name evolving to Ba is wonderful and very Indian. Western familial terms are much more standardized.

Family: Uncle, Aunt, Grandma, Grandpa. Unlike Hindi, which has specific words for maternal and paternal relations (Chacha/Mama, Tau/Phupha), English uses a single generic term. Affectionate Terms: These are very common but used for close relationships. Words like honey, darling, sweetheart, love, and babe are reserved for romantic partners, children, or very close friends. Informal Address (Friends): Mate (very common in the UK and Australia), buddy, pal, dude (common in the US). These are the fabric of informal male bonding. The “Colour” of Western Expletives Here, the West is just as, if not more, “colourful” than the examples you provided. English slang and profanity are incredibly versatile and context-dependent.

Your point about a swear word slipping out “like a nail from your mouth” is perfectly understood in English. The word “fuck” is perhaps the most versatile word in the language.

As an Insult: “Fuck you.” As Frustration: “Oh, fuck!” As an Adjective for Emphasis (Positive): “That was fucking brilliant!” As an Adjective for Emphasis (Negative): “What a fucking idiot.” As a Vacuous Filler: “So I was walking down the… fucking… street.” Similarly, words like cunt, bastard, asshole, or bitch can be intensely offensive or, between very close friends, a term of rough affection (“You magnificent bastard!”).

The use of “Uncle” as a generic term for an older man, as you noted, is uniquely South Asian. In the West, “Uncle” is strictly for the brother of one’s parent or a very close family friend who has been designated that title. Your comparison of its ubiquitous, non-literal use to Behenchod is a very sharp cultural insight, though the connotations are, of course, worlds apart.

Conclusion A pie chart titled ‘Absurd’s River: Categories of Indian Address’ illustrating different address categories in vibrant colors, including sacred, affectionate, functional, neutral, and profane segments. To summarize the comparison:

Feature Indian System (as you described) Western (English-Speaking) System Core Principle Hierarchical, relational, and context-based respect. Increasingly informal and egalitarian (on the surface). Universal Honorific Ji (जी) – Extremely versatile and widely used. None. “Sir/Ma’am” is the closest but is far more formal and limited. Use of Names First names reserved for equals, juniors, or intimates. First names are the default in most situations. Familial Terms Highly specific (e.g., Chacha, Tau) and can become generic nicknames (Ba, Baba). Generic (e.g., Uncle, Aunt) and more standardized. Expletives Rich, contextual, and can be used vacuously or even affectionately. Very rich, highly contextual, and extremely versatile (e.g., the word ‘fuck’).