Verses for pre primary children in Indlish

Foreword. As a child, I learnt ‘Rain, rain, go away, come again another day, little Johnny wants to play.’ We in India welcomed the rain, we celebrated its arrival, we longed to go out and dance in it. I also read about houses with bathtubs, foods that included scones and crumpets and games like lacrosse. All unfamiliar in my Indian neighbourhood. Things have changed since then and children now have access to books that deal with their culture, their country, language, food and times. However, I found a need for those attending the little budget school (in Porvorim, Goa, where I work) to have some fun verses that related to their daily lives, which they could learn easily. Many of the students are first generation literate and their parents feel proud when they recite these and, more importantly, understand the words and sentences. This small compilation of some poems is an offering to the future citizens of India, may their lives be healthy and happy. 1. Today, Tomorrow, Yesterday. I washed my face today. I washed it yesterday. Wash today, washed yesterday Tomorrow is still far away. When tomorrow becomes today And today becomes yesterday, Where will today go? That’s what I want to know. *** 2. Counting from One to Ten. One, two, three, Are these rotis for me? Four,five, six, Rice and dal I mix. Seven, eight, nine. These fruits are mine. And T-E-N Is how I spell ten. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 t-e-n *** 3. Parts of my Body. Two eyes, two ears, a mouth and a nose. Two thumbs, two hands ten fingers and ten toes. When I want to clap-clap-clap. Or my arms to flap-flap-flap, I put my hands together, like this. Or raise my arms up, like this. Two legs, two feet, a head and a chin. Two lips, some teeth, one smile and I win. *** 4 About Birds and Animals. Cows are brown and crows are black. Cats say miaow and ducks say quack. Horses are big and mice are small. Dogs are short and giraffes are tall. *** 5 My House. In my house there is a bed. It is not yellow it is not red. In my house there is a door, A fan, a chair, a table and a floor. In my house, there are some windows Air comes in through them and out of them it goes. In my house there are tables and chairs, Tiles in the bathroom are shaped like squares. In my house there is a kitchen where we cook. And a shelf where I keep my favourite book. *** 6.Letters of the English Alphabet. A for Aiee, B for Baba, C for Chacha, D for Dada, E for egg, F for flower, G for girl, H for hour, I for India, J for joker, K for kilo, L for letter. M for me, N for neighbour O for orange, P for paper, Q for queue, R for rubber, S for school, T for teacher. U for us, Vfor view, X for x-ray and Y for you, Z is last, Z is for zip. a-b-c-d-e-f and g, h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p q-r-s-t -u and v, x and y and zed-ed-zee. *** 7.Inside my Home. I look outside my window, and open wide a door. I close a latch, a curtain draw and walk upon the floor. I sit at a table, and close to it I pull a chair. I drink from a glass, and eat my food until my plate is bare. *** 8.Going to School. Ricksha-Dada, Auto-Dada, take me to school. I must reach on time, daily, that is the rule. Tempo-Appa, Bus-Bhaiyastop when the signal’s red. In my tiffin I carry, sometimes upma, sometimes bread. Driver-Uncle, Driver-Kaka, my shoes are clean, see here. I will take my bag from you, when you stop, when school comes near. *** 9. What I Carry to School. Rubber, ruler, pencil, check. Hanky, tiffin, bottle check. Book to read and book to write, With my friends I must not fight. *** 10. Mobile Phones’ Ringtones. My Baba has a mobile phone A cat’s miaow is its ring-tone. My Aiee has a mobile phone. A car’s horn is its ring-tone. My Ajo has a mobile phone, A baby’s laugh is its ring-tone. My Aji has a mobile phone, A pip-pip-pip sound is its ring-tone. Tai and I don’t have a phone. We have to grow up to get one of our own. *** 11.The Toilet--1. The toilet is also called a bathroom. Or loo, gents’,ladies’ or restroom. When your job inside is done, Wash your hands, don’t hurry and run, Pour water down the drain. Keep the toilet clean, come sun or rain. *** 12. The Toilet- 2 To the toilet we go, To the toilet we go. Walking, walking. Not too fast, not too slow. Some water we pour. Half mug and some more. Keep it clean, always clean,And keep dry the floor. Remember, remember, never forget, To wash your fingers andyour palms. Scrub and rub with soap Yes, your fingers and your palms. After that, wipe and dry,With a hanky wipe and dry. Why do we do this? Why? Why? To stay healthy, that is why. *** 13. Our Food: Bread, pao, poi, roti, puri, Chapatti, phulka, bhakri. Kurmura, chawal, bhaat, poha, Sabudana, shevya, sooji, rawa. Bhaaji, shaak, daal, kadhi, Koshimbeer, usal, aamti. Eggs, meat, chicken, fish, We eat well, whatever the dish. Mirsang, hing, jeera, dhania, salt, hallad, we add for spice. A little oil, toop or ghee, makes food taste very, very nice. For sweet we use gur or sugar, sometimes honey, too. Chaat or bhel, fruit or juice, what’s good for me is good for you. *** 14.The YEAR. January, the year begins, it is quite cold, the weather. February, North Indians wear woollen caps and knitted sweater. March, the trees get green with leaves, ‘paalvifutli’, we say. April, examinations over, gets hotter by the day. May, schools are closed, masti time, mango season. June, we buy umbrellas, light downpours are the reason. July, the month of storms, floods and damage everywhere. August, rains still heavy, with strong cyclonic winds here and there. September is kinder, drizzles come and drizzles go. October life is dry again, winter winds are yet to blow. November sees a temperature dip, a nip in the air outside. December, end of year, We plan for the future, So in time to come, we can look back with pride. *** 15. Where Stands My School in Goa. From the Vidhan Sabha to Saligaon, The National Highway goes. It leads from Panji to Mapuca, That everybody knows. Three bridges cross the Mandovi, Atal Setu stands on high. The High Court stands on one side, The jetty low does lie. From Succour to Brittona, Torda to Pittona, Penha de Franca to Betim, Including Salvadore da Mund, ....... ...Is all a part of Porvorim. My school stands on a Service Road,Gauri Petrol Pump is very close. There are restaurants along one side.And a big shop called Delfino’s. When we cross that road, so busy and wide, We look first this side, then that and again this side. Then we cross, Carefully cross. *** Author’s name: Sheela Jaywant. Address: 96/6, Mae de Deus, Sangolda, Goa 403511. Phone number: 9766413016. Email: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in

RESOLUTIONS 2024.

Time to list out resolutions, I mumbled to myself as I sat before my keyboard-monitor. Sri Husband overheard that—he has sharp ears only for things he shouldn’t be hearing, selectively. Otherwise, he ignores or pretends to be deaf to my voice. He promptly snorted: ‘I hear that every yearend and have not seen you once keeping a single resolution.’ That is not true, he is talking rubbish, as he commonly does, in a dominating, bullying tone, which forces me to fall silent. Hidden in Bhagwat Gita’s chapters is a small verse that implies timidity is a sin. Some other religious text says meekness and giving in is a virtue. Religion confuses me. Whatever, I am what I am and I will make resolutions for the NY, whether or not I keep them. I don’t see why a husband (of forty-five years, poor me) should even be keeping track of what his wife does. Bai Goanna would take my side on this, methinks, if she were around. Where was I? The resolutions: First, I will not cross Chogm Road because I want to die naturally. I don’t want to be hit or run over by a vehicle nor nudged to fall steeply on the leeward side of the slope. Of course, not dying might be a fate worse than death. Lying (pun unintended) with a broken spine, skull, scapula or femur is a horrible alternative. Worst of all, I am certain the driver will get away with a bad dream, not even a penalty. A colleague on a two-wheeler was rammed into by a big, fancy, expensive car. He was accused of getting unconscious instead of inconsiderately making people phone for an ambulance whilst he lay there allowing his head to swell and ear to bleed. That was in Dona Paula, and Chogm Road is getting to be like that locality. ‘No,’ said Bai Goanna making an appearance: ‘Dona Paula has big buildings and is densely populated. Porvorim-Saligao is still not so bad.’ The word ‘still’ implying that we’re getting there; already, Hindi is the local language here and have colonies that resemble a nascent Dubai. Coming back to my resolution of not crossing Chogm road. In the case of an accident, one has to be taken, by kind roadside labourers or the cops, rarely by any gaadiwala, to Mapuca or Bambolim, because even though we now have the Assembly and the Court here, we still don’t have a big government hospital. Gossips say there was one to be built near the Police Station and Sanjay School, but (Sri Husband insists), let gossips gossip, one must not believe them even if their chinwagging is true. For those who don’t know, Chogm stands for CHoG-M Commonwealth Heads of Government Meet, held in 1983. The road existed as a mere path until then. Most part of the official conference was held in Delhi. However, a Retreat for all the attending world leaders was scheduled in Goa, which back then was a destination on the hippie trail and not a full-fledged tourist destination that it is today. Benefits of the event set the ball rolling for the tourism boom in Goa. Thirty-nine world leaders from across the globe attended it. The road, which has grown, been dug, resurfaced, dug again, then hot-tarred, is named after that event. Presently, it is once more in digging phase, to match with Porvorim’s smart sister-city, Panaji. Like happens now, at that time also, Goans had reacted. The Sangharsh Natya Manch (SNM), consisting of student activists from various colleges in Goa staged around 75 performances in towns, villages, market squares and street corners, as part of the campaign against the CHOG-M Retreat, depicting the expenses of some Rs.430 million which they thought was an unjustified, ill affordable luxury for the country and the state. A decked-up, cheerful Goa still follows that routine: crib, complain, comply. Bai Goanna said, ‘Write about the accidents and traffic jams, no.’ To which Sri Husband responded, ‘When there’s no speed and vehicles are crawling, there are fewer accidents. I hate to admit it, but Sri Husband is often correct. The fancy-shancy school on this road, has made deep, cruel cuts in the hillside for its expansion, and cut off the giant tropical trees that stood sentinel in our village. Outside its gate, big cars create traffic snarls at least twice a day. Even if parking space is provided within its compound, each car that enters and exits will take twenty seconds or so to turn and that is enough to make the rest of us crawl. Bai Goanna said: ‘We need a bridge or flyover here.’ Sri Husband and I chorused: ‘Shut up, no more construction.’ We both agreed on something; rare moment. Another reason besides the digging and the school for our traffic to slow down are the eateries. Chogm Road, some say it is now the pride of North Goa, is a glorified khao-gully, (an off-shoot of the NH, considered the khao-main-road). There are small street-food stalls and fancy restaurants selling Goan food, nouveau-Goan food like paneer sorpotel, cuisines from Arabia and Japan, Indianized American pizzas, Rajasthani thalis and more. Interestingly, it has also become an upmarket fashion street. Sri Husband: ‘There’s no place for public buses, autorickshaws or taxis to ply.’ As if, I wondered, they do on other roads in Goa. I mean, who wants public transport? Only losers like him and Bai Goanna. Like the majority, I’m happy with the taxi-mafia and the exorbitant fares, keeps us safely indoors. Of course, that’s because I don’t go out much, and expect that anyone unhappy with the situation must do the same. (Now even walking outside is restricted, refer to resolution at the beginning of this piece, para-3 line-1&2). My neighbours have built rooms (without permission from Panchayat or TCP, naturally/obviously) and let them out to home-deliverers. Two-wheelers with insulated boxes fixed at the back, driven by young men (women’s libbers have entered the military, conquered the medical world, ruled countries, broken sports records, but not yet the world of the online-ordering operational teams) zip across our curvy village lanes at all times of day and night, carrying parcels of groceries and ready to eat goodies. No silencers on their engines, but, mercifully, they don’t use the horns either. Better still, people around me are ordering mattresses, tailors’ chalk packets, underwear, shoes, fans, toys, medicines, fresh meat and whatnot from their homes, to be delivered to their homes. No need to go out and add to the traffic. How to have personal contact, asks Bai Goanna. Pat comes Sri Husband’s logic: ‘No more misunderstandings, no more personal fights. No one meets, no one is unhappy.’ As you have seen, dear Reader, my NY resolution has not gone beyond road-crossing. Wishing you, your families, friends, colleagues, everyone around you and Happy 2024. *** ***

Ponnje.

Ponnje’s sinking streets have stopped making news. There are pictures on Facebook and Instgram showing people rowing through the flooded lanes, possibly in clean, though muddy, rainwater, and not backflow of sewage. Sinking roads and drum-sized holes are so common, it’s no longer surprising. The more optimistic, positive thinking, politically correct lot say that’s a small price to pay for becoming smart. (As I was typing this, the ever-interfering Sri Husband reminded me that the opposite of smart is idiot; he asked whether I have heard of an idiotic city. Ignore him, Bai Goanna advised.) Ponnje, smart or otherwise, might be considered a town or an overgrown village. People think Goa is a city. I’ve heard an airline pilot announce that we were flying over and landing in Goa ‘city’. He either didn’t know or believe that Goa was a state. Most tourists and the powers that be in Delhi-Gurgaon-Elsewhere who want to buy property here think Goa comprises a kilometre wide space parallel to the Arabian Sea where everyone wears long underwear or micro-mini-skirts made of floral cotton and hats to match, drinks beer, parks where s/he feels like and enjoys a frequent traffic violation. If Goa is a city-state, a rural urbania, if you like, is Ponnje a suburb or what? Meanwhile, what does one call the large complexes comprising hundreds of ‘flats’ or ‘apartments’ and ‘villas’ in Dona Paula and Old Goa, Vasco, Assagaon and Porvorim? Are they towns within towns? Each ‘gated community’, as such complexes are called, has its own sub-culture, different from the language, food, music and social habits of the native minority of Ponnje/Vasco/Assagaon/Porvorim. That sub-culture I call corporatese. Management vocabulary, financial inputs, easy expenditure, Reiki, pranic-healing, expensive clothes, domestic-staff problems are parts of the evolution. The addresses are similar, following a pattern, somewhat like government quarters: house and floor and building number with name of group of buildings, usually with the builder’s label, following by nearest landmark, rarely road. House number 302, 6th floor =6/302 or simply 6302. Buildings have alphabets, so C-6302 guides you to the correct unit once inside the big, watchman-guarded gate. (About ‘security guard’ migrants I will write another column).Housing colonies have names like Rio de Marina (to sound exotic) or Gardenia de Velha or Villas Paradiso or simply Jhavier Plaza, Sea Park or the down-to-earth Coconut Orchard. One large and beautiful ‘Casa Familia’, which brought to mind a picture of many siblings, their children and grandchildren enjoying meals together and bickering, too, was inhabited by a single human being and her caretakers. Landmarks are no longer giant jackfruit trees, banyans or peepals. Not even Sai Krupa Bar or Desai Wines and Cashews. Now they are car showrooms, mobile-shops, shoe boutiques (!), pastry stores with fancy names, or restaurants. Sri Husband’s second interruption: ‘Who needs landmarks? We have the GPS and the cell-phone, don’t we?’ Who asked you, I wanted to say. Kept silent. Silence broken: ‘How do you spell the Capital of Goa?’ He peered over my shoulder, making sure I don’t ignore him. Ponnje, which a couple of months ago still had traces of prettiness, is also spelt as Panaji, Panjim, Pannji. Goan pronunciations depend on which language is being spoken. Mapuca, Mapusa, Mhapsa, Mhapshe. Canacona, Kaannkonn. Calangutay, Kal-angoot. And the toppers: Chorao is also Chodne and Thivim is Thiyeim. Then, there’s Parvari and Porvorim. I kind of like different pronunciations and the way we adopt words from other languages. (Aside: an Irish-Chinese boy, US citizen, married a friend’s daughter, Indian, and they’ve settled in the UK. Once, trying to explain something to me, he said, ‘matlab’… ah, I thought, we’ve exported a word that we’d probably imported from the Middle-East centuries ago.) Talking of the new Goanese (see, another new word to replace ‘Goan’) who have followed their hearts and the fashionable trend of spending lots of money to buy homes (called villas and apartments) and very big cars, who live in ‘lifted’, ‘stilted’ buildings with manicured spaces for children to play and seniors to walk in, have brought in many new words to enrich Konkani. I don’t know how much of Konkani they use. The upper-class ones mix with their kinds. Their children play not hututu (kabaddi, in case you didn’t understand), not kho-kho, not coconut-breaking, banana-tree cutting or slow-cycling races. It’s tennis, golf (we will get a golf club with wide, water-guzzling greens sooner rather than later, sure we will. Not just one, maybe fifteen) and skating for them. Migrants who do physical work at a certain rate per day know better Konkani than I do and will enrich it over time adopting words from Bihar, Nepal. On a Ponnje hoarding, I read an advertisement for horse-riding. I believed horses belonged to crisper climes like Rajasthan, the hilly areas of Tamil Nadu and (presently violence ridden) parts of some northeastern states of India or places that had maharajas. “Your beliefs mean nothing”, Sri Husband said. I have seen advertisements for ‘swimming-lessons’, I typed. ‘Swimming pools in many hotels and colonies,’ said Bai Goanna, ‘are filled with water from Sangolda wells.’ She’s jealous of those who have made a lot of money by selling well-water. They own tankers on which is written: ‘Water is free. We charge for the transport only.’ Funny, no? There are those who do scuba-diving, pub-hopping, looking for a fun life in Goa. They are monied migrants, not out to eke out a living. Then there are the still-saving, working-hard types who want to be near Nature, but with good connectivity, home-delivered meals and evening entertainment that is different from classical music soirees; some slog, I have seen, at running good eateries and selling handmade items at pop-up stalls. Goans with Goan DNA, the affording ones, are, to the surprise of the neo-Goans, focussed on academics, careers, even unconventional ones. On 30 June, Friday, at the crematorium in Ponnje, whilst bidding goodbye to one of Goa’s illustrious sons, Adv. Manohar S. Usgaocar, there was a crowd of niz Goemkars. The traffic could have been chaotic because the gods were weeping and the road very rough with all the re-digging, collapsing and bad filling-up. But it was smooth and horn-free. Industrialists and tailors, doctors and drivers, people in big cars and on foot had come to pay their respects to a learned man, courteous and ethical to a fault. They were there to respect a truly learned professional, a ‘good’ man. The gentle behaviour, the voices soft and low, the easy camaraderie that cut across income barriers, that’s what the real Ponnje, the real Goa, is about. Was. Nothing to do with casinos. “Or,” Sri Husband had to have the last word, “Statues.” Grudgingly, I admitted, he spoke the truth. And these events don’t make it to Facebook/Instagram.