Saturday, May 5, 2012
Two 100 year athletes share their diets
http://paper.hindustantimes.com/epaper/iphone/homepage.aspx#_title87342012050600000000001001
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Coffee with Nihangs
http://epaper.hindustantimes.com/PUBLICATIONS/HT/HC/2011/09/11/ArticleHtmls/punjabi-by-nature-Coffee-with-Nihangs-11092011583002.shtml?Mode=1
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Nihanged Out
With Holla Mohalla approaching, Khushwant Singh takes some bolay lessons from the Nihangs and confuses people with his newly acquired lingo
“G ive me Nihal Kaur, I want to sleep,“ I ordered my wife. Shocked at my audacity to name another woman in the house, she asked who this “Nihal Kaur“ was. “You are such an illiterate. You don't even know what a blanket in the Nihang lingo is,“ I retorted, showing off my latest acquisition -the bolays, or the sayings of the Nihang Singhs.
As if the blunder of Nihal Kaur was not enough, I ordered my house help who hails from Jharkhand to chop two larrakis and rupa for salad.
“Larki, rupa,“ he asked, sounding even more shocked than my wife.
“Green chillies,“ I shouted. “And, rupa means onion,“ I said, trying to explain him my newly acquired Nihang nomenclature. And from tomorrow onwards, it is going to be only one cup of dhid phookni (tea) with one thokhay baj (spoon) of sugar, I told the bewildered Ram Mohan, who by now thought I'd gone loony.
Having laid my hand on a pamphlet, which carried the bolays, I was threatening to turn the house into a Nihang dera. So much so, that when I went to a butcher shop, I asked for 2 kilos of akaash pari (goat). “We don't keep birds with such names,“ the butcher had replied.
Nihangs, or the Sikh warrior class, like many nomadic communities through the centuries, developed a distinguishable dialect, which came to be known as gargaj bolay (the thundering language). According to a book by SJS Paul, the Nihang nomenclature is a mixture of Punjabi, Hindi, Farsi and other dialects used in various regions of India. Bolays or words, which form part of the Nihang dialect, usually served military or psychological purposes. For example, the “larraki“ that I ordered refers to someone with a fighting nature as a result of the sting it leaves on ones tongue.
“Wear the blue robe and go buy yourself a 300 metre long turban if you want to behave Nihang-like,“ said my wife.
“I just might,“ I replied, as Holla Mohalla is approaching. “Only if your akkar-bhan (fever) gets ok,“ she replied cheekily. My affair, which is a combination of awe, love and hatred with the Nihangs, dates back to childhood.
The famous Gurdwara Harian Belan near Hoshiarpur is close to my village and one of the founders of the gurdwara, Giani Partap Singh, apparently stayed at our farm while the structure was being constructed. According to the grapevine, he used to drink his sukha (cannabis) daily, and one day my grandfather asked him why he locked his brain with this crazy substance every day.
“If you can lock as cheap a thing as hay with a huge padlock, isn't it important to lock a precious thing like a brain,“ he is supposed to have replied. The association with the dera grew to an extent that till date, while on their nomadic sojourns, the Nihangs don't mind taking an overnight halt at our village, at least twice annually, even though their dera (place of residence) is just a few kilometres away.
Since childhood, I have seen them send a long list of groceries for themselves and their araakis (horses) during these halts. In earlier days, they also wouldn't mind leaving their horses loose in the fields for grazing, leading to tension. As I grew up, I took up equestrian as a sport and one day challenged them to a game of tent pegging. They would have done well, except that yours truly was in great form on that given day. “Nihang material,“ said one of the babas after the debacle. The bolays, according to website Nihangsingh.org, besides reflecting the struggles of the Khalsa, also ridicule those who have opposed the Sikhs at any stage in history. The term for a donkey is “thanedar“, meaning police officer, as Nihangs are renowned for their carefree disregard for worldly authorities, which the police represent. Muslim priests (Qazis) encouraged many atrocities on the Sikhs during the Mughal rule in India. In return, the Singhs use the term Qazi when referring to a cockerel.
Nihang Singhs refer to their kachhere (briefs) as a chhauni, meaning encampment. The kachhera is notoriously large in size and from a far distance would appear to enemy scouts as tents of the Khalsa warrior; suggesting the Khalsa warriors numbered far greater than they did. Sava lakh, to be precise.
The cold refuses to go and Nihal Kaur is not keeping me warm enough. I am back to aflatoon (quilt) for the time being.
`Punjabi by nature' is a fortnightly column. The columnist is a Punjab-based author and journalist.
singhkhushwant@hotmail.com
“G ive me Nihal Kaur, I want to sleep,“ I ordered my wife. Shocked at my audacity to name another woman in the house, she asked who this “Nihal Kaur“ was. “You are such an illiterate. You don't even know what a blanket in the Nihang lingo is,“ I retorted, showing off my latest acquisition -the bolays, or the sayings of the Nihang Singhs.
As if the blunder of Nihal Kaur was not enough, I ordered my house help who hails from Jharkhand to chop two larrakis and rupa for salad.
“Larki, rupa,“ he asked, sounding even more shocked than my wife.
“Green chillies,“ I shouted. “And, rupa means onion,“ I said, trying to explain him my newly acquired Nihang nomenclature. And from tomorrow onwards, it is going to be only one cup of dhid phookni (tea) with one thokhay baj (spoon) of sugar, I told the bewildered Ram Mohan, who by now thought I'd gone loony.
Having laid my hand on a pamphlet, which carried the bolays, I was threatening to turn the house into a Nihang dera. So much so, that when I went to a butcher shop, I asked for 2 kilos of akaash pari (goat). “We don't keep birds with such names,“ the butcher had replied.
Nihangs, or the Sikh warrior class, like many nomadic communities through the centuries, developed a distinguishable dialect, which came to be known as gargaj bolay (the thundering language). According to a book by SJS Paul, the Nihang nomenclature is a mixture of Punjabi, Hindi, Farsi and other dialects used in various regions of India. Bolays or words, which form part of the Nihang dialect, usually served military or psychological purposes. For example, the “larraki“ that I ordered refers to someone with a fighting nature as a result of the sting it leaves on ones tongue.
“Wear the blue robe and go buy yourself a 300 metre long turban if you want to behave Nihang-like,“ said my wife.
“I just might,“ I replied, as Holla Mohalla is approaching. “Only if your akkar-bhan (fever) gets ok,“ she replied cheekily. My affair, which is a combination of awe, love and hatred with the Nihangs, dates back to childhood.
The famous Gurdwara Harian Belan near Hoshiarpur is close to my village and one of the founders of the gurdwara, Giani Partap Singh, apparently stayed at our farm while the structure was being constructed. According to the grapevine, he used to drink his sukha (cannabis) daily, and one day my grandfather asked him why he locked his brain with this crazy substance every day.
“If you can lock as cheap a thing as hay with a huge padlock, isn't it important to lock a precious thing like a brain,“ he is supposed to have replied. The association with the dera grew to an extent that till date, while on their nomadic sojourns, the Nihangs don't mind taking an overnight halt at our village, at least twice annually, even though their dera (place of residence) is just a few kilometres away.
Since childhood, I have seen them send a long list of groceries for themselves and their araakis (horses) during these halts. In earlier days, they also wouldn't mind leaving their horses loose in the fields for grazing, leading to tension. As I grew up, I took up equestrian as a sport and one day challenged them to a game of tent pegging. They would have done well, except that yours truly was in great form on that given day. “Nihang material,“ said one of the babas after the debacle. The bolays, according to website Nihangsingh.org, besides reflecting the struggles of the Khalsa, also ridicule those who have opposed the Sikhs at any stage in history. The term for a donkey is “thanedar“, meaning police officer, as Nihangs are renowned for their carefree disregard for worldly authorities, which the police represent. Muslim priests (Qazis) encouraged many atrocities on the Sikhs during the Mughal rule in India. In return, the Singhs use the term Qazi when referring to a cockerel.
Nihang Singhs refer to their kachhere (briefs) as a chhauni, meaning encampment. The kachhera is notoriously large in size and from a far distance would appear to enemy scouts as tents of the Khalsa warrior; suggesting the Khalsa warriors numbered far greater than they did. Sava lakh, to be precise.
The cold refuses to go and Nihal Kaur is not keeping me warm enough. I am back to aflatoon (quilt) for the time being.
`Punjabi by nature' is a fortnightly column. The columnist is a Punjab-based author and journalist.
singhkhushwant@hotmail.com
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
punjabi by nature - Fantasy Girl Jugni G
punjabi by nature - Fantasy Girl Jugni G
TODAY, JUGNI is still as popular in Punjab as ever -- she comes up in modern renditions of folk songs and in pop music. She has been a part of Punjabi folklore right since the very beginning. But who is Jugni? Khushwant Singh searches for this mystery woman
“S omewhere in the heartland of Punjab resides a pretty woman whose eternal name is Jugni.“ This was the first line of a book that I had started writing a few years ago.
I don't know why I wrote this line since I did not even have the faintest idea what Jugni essentially stood for.
But having said this, there is no denying the fact there was this mystery surrounding this name ever since my childhood. Perhaps it was folk singer Hazara Singh Ramta who was responsible for creating this image. His Jugni, “Fashion di matwali“, whereby he takes Jugni to Karnal where she is seen driving a Fiat car and playing tennis with two plaits perhaps sowed the first seeds of this fantasy about Jugni being a girl. Late Alam Lohar, who is attributed with popularising Jugni, gave it the charisma.
The damn quest to find more about this mystery woman and move forward with my half completed manuscript was re-ignited last fortnight when I heard Alam Lohar's son Arif Lohar sing live. He was performing in Chandigarh at former bureaucrat Gurnihal Singh Pirzada's daughter's wedding sangeet.
A great performer, Arif who has gained new confidence after the success of musical programme Coke Studio, left the audience mesmerised with his modern hip-hop Jugni, singing it at least six times.
Unable to resist my quest to know more about Jugni, I marched up to him to ask the origin of Jugni. “Eh spiritual eh,“ he replied in chaste Lahori Punjabi. “My father used to say it is neither male nor female. It belongs to Allah Tallah which is aptly reflected in the lyrics of the song,“ he said.
Ae way Allah waliyan di Jugni ji (The spirit of all the messengers who brought His message to this earth)
Ae way nabbi pak di Jugni ji (The spirit of Holy Prophet)
Ae way Maula Ali wali Jugni ji (The spirit of Ali and his followers)
Ae way meray pir di Jugni ji (The spirit of my saint) Ae way saaray sabaz di Jugni ji (The spirit of all his words)
But where was the woman? Jugni for me had always remained a prototype of a Punjabi girl trying to break free.
Suggesting it as spirit came across merely as an eye wash for a woman of substance who was trying to find her way through the maze of male dominance.
Singer, Rabbi Shergill who has given revolutionary symbolism to his version of the Jugni during an interaction once mentioned that Jugni meant an ornament. According to him, it was a piece of jewel worn around the neck by women in rural Punjab.
However, the real meaning perhaps lies in the following description, glimpses of which can be heard in all the Jugnis being composed -be it Lohar's, Ramta's, Shergill's or Jazzy B's.
Jugni music, they say, took birth in 1907. It was in all probability created accidentally by two folk singers Bishna (Sikh) and Manda (Muslim). Both of them hailed from Majha and sang Mirza and tappe, dhadi style. In 1907, the British, to commemorate 50 years or the Jubilee year of complete rule over India (post 1857 mutiny), took a “Jubilee torch“ to every Indian city. The torch which was placed in torch which was placed in a gold utensil was taken through every district headquarter.
Bishan and Manda who were of a revolutionary mindset sang against British oppression when the Jubilee torch passed through various Majha towns. They reportedly put their stages close by from where the Jubilee torch passed and sang their own version about the Jubilee. However, what they did was, they kept mispronouncing the word Jubilee as Jugni.
Jugni jaa varhi Majithe, Koi rann na chakki peethe, Putt gabhru mulak vich mare, Rovan akhiyan par bulh si seete, Pir mereya oye Jugni ayi aa, Ehnan kehrhi jot jagaee aa.
It is because of Bishan and Manda that whenever we hear a Jugni verse it is always linked with some city or village. My Jugni is however still elusive and my manuscript, incomplete.
`Punjabi by nature' is a fortnightly column. The columnist is a Punjab-based author and journalist.
singhkhushwant@hotmail.com
TODAY, JUGNI is still as popular in Punjab as ever -- she comes up in modern renditions of folk songs and in pop music. She has been a part of Punjabi folklore right since the very beginning. But who is Jugni? Khushwant Singh searches for this mystery woman
“S omewhere in the heartland of Punjab resides a pretty woman whose eternal name is Jugni.“ This was the first line of a book that I had started writing a few years ago.
I don't know why I wrote this line since I did not even have the faintest idea what Jugni essentially stood for.
But having said this, there is no denying the fact there was this mystery surrounding this name ever since my childhood. Perhaps it was folk singer Hazara Singh Ramta who was responsible for creating this image. His Jugni, “Fashion di matwali“, whereby he takes Jugni to Karnal where she is seen driving a Fiat car and playing tennis with two plaits perhaps sowed the first seeds of this fantasy about Jugni being a girl. Late Alam Lohar, who is attributed with popularising Jugni, gave it the charisma.
The damn quest to find more about this mystery woman and move forward with my half completed manuscript was re-ignited last fortnight when I heard Alam Lohar's son Arif Lohar sing live. He was performing in Chandigarh at former bureaucrat Gurnihal Singh Pirzada's daughter's wedding sangeet.
A great performer, Arif who has gained new confidence after the success of musical programme Coke Studio, left the audience mesmerised with his modern hip-hop Jugni, singing it at least six times.
Unable to resist my quest to know more about Jugni, I marched up to him to ask the origin of Jugni. “Eh spiritual eh,“ he replied in chaste Lahori Punjabi. “My father used to say it is neither male nor female. It belongs to Allah Tallah which is aptly reflected in the lyrics of the song,“ he said.
Ae way Allah waliyan di Jugni ji (The spirit of all the messengers who brought His message to this earth)
Ae way nabbi pak di Jugni ji (The spirit of Holy Prophet)
Ae way Maula Ali wali Jugni ji (The spirit of Ali and his followers)
Ae way meray pir di Jugni ji (The spirit of my saint) Ae way saaray sabaz di Jugni ji (The spirit of all his words)
But where was the woman? Jugni for me had always remained a prototype of a Punjabi girl trying to break free.
Suggesting it as spirit came across merely as an eye wash for a woman of substance who was trying to find her way through the maze of male dominance.
Singer, Rabbi Shergill who has given revolutionary symbolism to his version of the Jugni during an interaction once mentioned that Jugni meant an ornament. According to him, it was a piece of jewel worn around the neck by women in rural Punjab.
However, the real meaning perhaps lies in the following description, glimpses of which can be heard in all the Jugnis being composed -be it Lohar's, Ramta's, Shergill's or Jazzy B's.
Jugni music, they say, took birth in 1907. It was in all probability created accidentally by two folk singers Bishna (Sikh) and Manda (Muslim). Both of them hailed from Majha and sang Mirza and tappe, dhadi style. In 1907, the British, to commemorate 50 years or the Jubilee year of complete rule over India (post 1857 mutiny), took a “Jubilee torch“ to every Indian city. The torch which was placed in torch which was placed in a gold utensil was taken through every district headquarter.
Bishan and Manda who were of a revolutionary mindset sang against British oppression when the Jubilee torch passed through various Majha towns. They reportedly put their stages close by from where the Jubilee torch passed and sang their own version about the Jubilee. However, what they did was, they kept mispronouncing the word Jubilee as Jugni.
Jugni jaa varhi Majithe, Koi rann na chakki peethe, Putt gabhru mulak vich mare, Rovan akhiyan par bulh si seete, Pir mereya oye Jugni ayi aa, Ehnan kehrhi jot jagaee aa.
It is because of Bishan and Manda that whenever we hear a Jugni verse it is always linked with some city or village. My Jugni is however still elusive and my manuscript, incomplete.
`Punjabi by nature' is a fortnightly column. The columnist is a Punjab-based author and journalist.
singhkhushwant@hotmail.com
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