As I contemplated on the theme of “Mother Language” to write on the prompt of our Writers’ Support Group, the term itself fascinated me. Although a metaphor to define one’s native language or the language spoken at home; the fact that in literal sense the term explicitly recognises a mother’s role in one of the most important aspects of identity that a child inherits i.e. language– has cheered up the feminist in me! Consequently, this realisation led me to write about my mother’s mother’s mother- बाई आजी (bai aaji)!

[In Marathi, आजी (aaji) means grandmother and पणजी (panji) means great grandmother. However we called our great granny ‘bai aaji’, because she was called bai by all].

I was fond of बाई आजी because she was the oldest person in the family with whom we spent time. We used to touch her loose, wrinkled skin and often wonder why it was so different from our skin. We were not old enough to understand how ageing works! Her stories, songs and poems were beyond our comprehension then, but we used to listen to them and asked her crazy questions. It is now when आजी (my Nani) recalls her memories about बाई आजी, I discovered that those wrinkles which fascinated me were not only the chronicles of her life but also an anthology of her poetry.

In Marathi literature there is a form of poetry called ओवी (ovi) – couplets or quatrains. These were found in religious texts written by saints as well as composed and sung by folks especially women. Women used to sing the ओवी while doing household chores and during festivals or special occasions. They described their daily routine, about their villages, homes, families and expressed their emotions through these poems.

[The earliest mention of ओवी can be found in an early 12th century Sanskrit text composed by the Kalyani Chalukya king Someshwara III– मानसोल्लास: (Manasollasa) Abhilashitartha Chintamani. महाराष्ट्रेषु योविद्भिरोवी गेया तु कण्डने। It says that Maharashtrian women sing ovi while grinding and pounding grains].

बाई आजी was an excellent composer of these songs and poems. Without any kind of formal schooling, she was able to embellish her poetry with apt words and rhyme schemes. The way she used to deliver these impromptu verses, it seemed that the art was intrinsic to her.

I would like to mention some of her couplets here:

“गावाला गाव कास, हाय बुरुजाला पायरी 

देव माझा मारुती, राजा नांदतो गावा बाहेरी.”

(Here she describes the village temple of Lord Hanuman which is usually situated outside the village premises. “Steps lead to my fortified village and my Lord, my King Maruti resides outside the village”.)

“गावाला गाव कास, हाय बुरुजाला टेकन  

देव माझा मारुती, राजा नगरीला राखण.”

(“My Lord, my King Maruti is guarding us just like the pillars of our fortified village”)

“तिन्ही सांजा झाल्या, दिवा लावावा कमानीत 

जोडी खिलारी दावणीत.”

“तिन्ही सांजा झाल्या, दिवा लावावा राहीबाई 

गवळी बांधितो तान्ह्या गायी.”

(In the above couplets she describes the dusk time in the village. It is the time when the cattle [here- a pair of Khillar ox and cows and calves] is brought to the shed and it is time to light the lamps and diya as well.)

“लाडकी हाय लेक, तिला लाडाचं काम सांगा

देव पूजेला पाणी मागा.”

(This is addressed to my mother when she was young. “Give easy work to this adorable little girl, like getting water for pooja.”)

“लाडकी हाय लेक, चुलत्याला म्हणी तात्या 

पायी पैंजण, उभी जोत्या.”

(This adorable little girl calls her uncle ‘tatya’, look how she stands on the porch flaunting her payal.”)

“कुरळ्या केसाची वेणी येती गोपावाणी,

निशा माझ्या साळूच रूप मैनेचं बापावानी.”

(She sang this couplet for me! “Braided curly hair looks like a gop chain, my dear Nisha myna looks like her father.”)

There are hundreds of such couplets for every family member, every occasion, every domestic and farm work and to express various emotions. Thanks to the sharp memory of my Nani, who recalls these and sings them to us, that we got to know this literary treasure of Bai Aaji. 

George Eliot, an English novelist and poet, believed that, “art is the nearest thing to life; it is a mode of amplifying experience and extending our contact with our fellow-men beyond the bounds of our personal lot.” It seems that men and women who composed and sang these folk songs and poems in the past had grasped this essence of art very well. But now the definition of language itself has reduced to just a mode of communication, so literature and art have sadly been relegated to the backseat in our day to day lives. And unfortunately the same is being passed to our future generations.

How often do we see modern-day parents reciting songs and poems to their children in their mother language? Barring the English nursery rhymes and the few common kids’ songs, kids nowadays are hardly familiar to these old folk songs and poems. Neither the creators of these poems exist now in large numbers nor is this folk literature properly archived and communicated to the next generation. No wonder our conversations with fellow beings and our children seem to to be superficial and mechanised. The warmth, love, belongingness and simplicity that folk poetry and storytelling bear is becoming scarce in our modern language and expressions.  In this data and information-driven era, I genuinely feel the urge to revive, cherish and pass on this lost poetry in my mother language to moisten our parched communications. 

I would like to conclude with Sant Dnyaneshwar’s ovi in which he believes that Marathi (or Maharashtri Prakrit, the ancient form of Marathi) will enable him to propagate the Sanskrit jargons of yog, bhakti and jnana to common masses quite effectively; since the language is capable of winning the elusive Amrit in a bet!

माझा मर्‍हाटाची बोलु कवतिके। परि अमृतातेही पैजांसि जिंके। ऐसी अक्षरे रसिके मेळवीन।