Of funk-sticks, rastiadu cases and body parts

The dictionary of Sri Lankan English is proving to be an entertaining read so far. Since my move to Delhi, I’ve noticed that there are certain words in my vocabulary which puzzle my friends. I once sent a text to The Dancer and she called me in a few minutes, slightly perplexed – “Err. I got your message but I have no idea what you just said”. I went through the message and realized that the inclusion of ‘men’ tagged at the end of my text had left her confused. Tagging ‘men’ at the end of sentences (in retrospect it’s a very ‘aunty’ thing to do – how are you, men? Yeah, men etc) was something that I’d grown up hearing and had imbibed into my vocabulary without a second thought. I’ve had to take two steps back and analyse elements of my vocabulary and certain figures of speech, ever since I moved here.

While reading, I recognized phrases that I hear from friends, family, old colleagues and which I sometimes use (damn sin, hi-bye friend) and it was interesting to note certain colloquial terms which I’d actually taken for granted as a part of British English. Our Sri Lankan English is this wonderful pickle of Burgher, Tamil, Sinhalese and Muslim sub-varieties, interspersed with a handful of Indian words, spectacular disregard for tenses and a cheerful appropriation of British English. The recent surge in Sri Lankan youtube videos like this take advantage of these idiosyncrasies and are usually exaggerated versions of SLE.

Here are a few which I’d marked while browsing the dictionary.

Aeli maeli;  Ambarenafy; Am I right?; And all; And go; Back side; Bada pissa; Bakala; Still batting; bayagulla; Big big; Bioscope; Body parts; Boru shok; Bugger (coll), chandiya, Come or go, Chicago; cool spot; cracked; cussed (apparently less common in British English);

Damn shame; damn sin; damn wild; damn cheek; not a dog; dot-dot; expensive (aloof, standoffish); fine (maara); gal (stern, hostile); geetic (flashy, tastless); giddify; glass maker’s daughter (someone who stands in front of you and blocks your view); gobbaya; gonbaas; good name; hi-bye friend; how if..; kichbichify; komala; kunju; kusukusufy;

Land side; last minute case; latapata; machang; maini; maru; Who and who; what and what; in vain; too much; small small; a rastiadu case, patta, patas!,

Admittedly, I groan every time I hear someone say something like “Oh, it’s in the backside” but I’ve always found the doubling of words (small small, dot dot, big big) and signboards advertising ‘body parts’ amusing.  I also noticed certain words which have been dropped along the way but which you’re likely to hear the older generation use. My grandmother, for instance, refers to stoles as ‘mufflers’ and watches as ‘wristlets’ – something you’re not likely to hear too often these days. I suddenly started reminiscing about the school-slang that we picked up during our early teens. No one spoke Sinhala in my household and I went through a phase where I would use words like ‘kindy’ (you can’t see me, but I’m cringing as I type this. I haven’t heard anyone use this word in years), ‘ela’ and ‘goday’ (another cringe) to the amusement of my parents.

I now know the difference between ‘machchan’ and ‘machang’ and was delighted that ‘love cake’ had earned itself an entry in the dictionary. On a completely unrelated note, I think love cake is one of Sri Lanka’s best kept secrets. None of my Indian friends had heard of it before and are now staunch fans. I’m currently on a one woman mission to force feed love cake to everyone who hasn’t had it. Please join me in this worthy cause. The world needs more love cake.

There were also words I hadn’t come across before. Never knew that ‘the Boys’ referred to members of the LTTE or that the ragging ritual I’d heard my mum talk of was called ‘bucketing’. Also, ‘box along’  (carry on),  ‘cockered’ (drunk); ‘cowcatcher’, ‘double orphan’, ‘forward Peter’ (a cheeky person), ‘hot drinks’ (alcoholic), kadavule, kuppi class and funk stick (such a fantastic word. Must use it more often) among others.

Indian English is replete with its own variations. I’ve heard ‘healthy’ being used as a (rather politically correct but deceiving) synonym for ‘fat’ – Ex: My brother is a very healthy person. A ‘bath’ refers to what we Sri Lankans would call a ‘bodywash’ and ‘trishaw’ is ‘auto rickshaw’. Sentences are sometimes prefixed with a ‘Tell me one thing’ or ‘Do one thing’ and the phrases ‘what all’ and ‘who all’ are the Indian answers to the Sri Lankan ‘what and what’ and ‘who and who’. There’s an overuse of words like ‘actually’, ‘only’, ‘also’ and ‘obviously’ and I first heard words such as ‘prepone’ and timepass only after I moved here. It doesn’t fall into the label of Indian English but I do love the Indian ‘Uff’ – it stops short at being a swear word and it’s nicer than the ‘Arey yaaar’. I also heard someone being described as a ‘cutlet’ and have been dying to call someone that now.

I liked that there was effort made to explain the deviations from British English and the inclusion of illustrations here and there in the dictionary. The boundaries between Sri Lankan English and Sinhala and Tamil words are a bit blurred (a point which Meyler has addressed in the introduction) and the examples from Sri Lankan books could have been reduced a little, but that’s just me nit-picking.  The dictionary itself is considerably comprehensive – props to Michael Meyler and the editors. It’s been around for a while and I’m picking it up 5 years too late but do put a look (do you see what I did there?) if you’re interested in this sort of thing. Here are some links as well, because I’m generous like that.