Hindi & Urdu Leaping Ahead Now

One of the chaps at Reaz who shaves every 4 - 5 days and never removes his small B&W beanie began recently with greetings and now confidently approaches, lays a light hand on the shoulder and offers, — Hello sir.

            A shock after such a number of visits across the five years.

            —   Hello to you too sir. Apar khabar?     

            Throwing his head back the fellow chokes off the baik and remembers his Alhamdulillah, Thanks to Allah.

The smile of exultation that accompanied the follow-up showed the rows of teeth top and bottom.

 — Lep’chi! Much relish in soaring well-being was the best guess for this unknown.

Lep’chi had been given once or twice in days past. (Never previously anything like the brotherly slap on the shoulder.)  This night’s offering however was delivered as if by a handsome stallion neighing upon a high mountain ridge.

LEP’CHI. Tossing his head back not wildly exactly, not whinnying, though a gambol for certain.

Short, impish chap who had stood off admiring the exchange confirmed it was Hindi. Further too: Urdu. Either; or. Both the same.

And the T doubly confirmed; not P. Let’chi.

It was in the vein of baik, good?

An unconvincing assent before the little fellow was called off to another table.

The lines of relation were confused at Reaz. Big fella dad and two grade smaller mum was clear; three steepling sons were likewise clear, all with good English. The lads on the floor were somehow different to the other wage earners in the kitchen. Mostly countrymen the latter and a good level of respect reigning; but the chaps out front were closer, inner circle. Cousins, brothers-in-law possibly; clansmen at the very least—they seemed a rank above trusted long-term servants. The in-law possibility seemed more remote as these chaps out front did appear almost to a man irredeemable bachelors. The Beanie if ever a wife was procured for him, the sour porky night-shift prematurely aged, the squeaky Imp in his own way, all of them would dearly treasure a wife and need her tightly wrapped and bound for protection from any possible thievery. If as it seemed they were out on two or three year visas they would need to wait on the return home to marry: the girls of the diaspora were highly unlikely to accept such suitors. Even handsome young lads like the Bollywood boy with the red/brown highlights in his hair for Deepavali would struggle in that regard. (The other morning he told of being pursued by an older local, destined to be declined by the proud young blade.)

Better ease and confidence with the lads at Reaz had taken some short while. With a white there was always Islam factoring (Masjid India was sited directed adjacent on that rise); then North Indian minority status in the composition here additionally.