Dude! Where’s my horse?!
I’ve been grappling with the usage of certain words, ever since I moved to NOIDA. For example, pancher, in NOIDA, is intended to convey puncture. I’ve heard several variants and pincher and paincher tend to stick the most. That’s the most context I can set in the littlest time.
Now, something very peculiar happened last evening. I was doing the dishes when someone started pounding away at my door. I opened the door, to find a harried-looking man, quite upset about something for sure.
Man: O, bhai! Mera ghoda kahaan gaya?!
Dude! Where’s my horse?!
Now, in all the 31 years of notoriety, I’d never been successfully accused of a ghoda (horse) go missing. So, with an amused, and most pacifying don’t-you-worry-your-horse-will-come-back tone, I responded…
David: Aapke ghode ko maine nahin dekha hai. Aapne kahaan baandh rakha tha?
I haven’t seen your horse. Where did you tie it up?
Man: Nahin dekha? Nahin dekha! Dus din se yahin par to tha!
Haven’t seen my horse? Really?!?! It’s been sitting right there for the last 10 days.
He pointed to a location in my verandah. He seemed to be getting very worried. This had to be something serious. Either he was lying about horse in my verandah. Or I had turned horse-blind and couldn’t see something as large as a horse parked in my verandah since the last ten days.
David(testing him): Maine to nahin dekha. Kaunse rang ka tha?
I haven’t seen it. What color was it?
Man: Kaise ajeeb sawaal poochthe hain aap, ji! Ghoda jis rang ka hota hai – wahi rang ka to hoga! Aapke ghar ke andar to nahin hai?
What’s with these weird questions, sir! The horse was a color a horse is meant to be! Could it be inside your apartment?
I was getting a little worried. A don’t-you-worry-your-horse-will-come-back approach was not going to help in this situation. This man was convinced that his horse had gone missing from my verandah. Now, there are two huge marriage halls near my house. They make extensive use of horses for each wedding. Usually, one to prance about to terrible music, and one to pull the embarrassed-looking groom’s chariot.
David (ventures gingerly): Baaju waale shaadi ke mandap mein check kiya? Kal yahin se baraat nikli thi. Aapka ghoda wahaan gaya hoga.
Ummm… so there are these wedding/party venues next door – did you check there? Last night there was a wedding procession that went this way – perhaps your horse was used there?
Man (now sad): Aapko samajh mein nahi aa rahi hai meri baat. Mera ghoda shaadi ke mandap mein kyon jaayega? Ab main kaam kaise karoonga!? Aapne ghar ke andar to nahin rakha hai? Makaan maalik ko bahut gussa ayega.
You don’t understand. Why would my horse go to a wedding venue? How will I work now? Are you sure my horse isn’t inside your apartment? Your landlord will be pretty upset if it is in there.
David: Mere ghar main to ghoda nahin hai. Aap check kar sakte hain. Hota to main aapko de deta.
There’s no horse in my apartment. You’re free to check if you’d like to. If there was a horse in there, I’d return it to you.
Now, I felt sorry for this guy. No, really. I have no clue about where his horse was, but he had gone from an aggravated to grief-stricken visage in under two minutes.
This gentleman was so convinced that I had something to do with the disappearance of his horse that I began to suspect myself, too. Nevertheless, I ventured….
David: Ab aap kya karoge? Ghoda to shaayad bhaag gaya. Aapko ghode to verandah main nahin chodna chahiye tha. Gate yahaan ki khuli rahti hai. Aapke ghode ko kisi ne chura liya hoga.
What are you going to do now? It looks like your horse has run away. You really shouldn’t have left your horse just sit there in the verandah. The gate here doesn’t latch well. I’m guessing someone could’ve even stolen your horse.
Man (distraught, now): Ghoda bhaag gaya? Chalo, chodo. Naya khareed lenge. Bhaade par milti hai, par main to naya loonga. Chaar sau rupiye ka kharcha!
My horse run away? You know what? Forget about it. I’ll buy a new one. One can rent a horse, but I’m just going to buy a new one. That’s an expense of Rs. 400!
I almost cheered. I was genuinely happy for him – he’d gotten over his old horse that quickly. And that I could go back to my dishes really soon. Now, that is when I checked myself. What?! Four hundred bucks for a horse? That’s cheap! Must be one weakling of a horse. I began to caution him…
David: Aap aise ghode ke saath kya karoge? Char sau waali se to behtar hai thodi si mahangi waali le lo. Acchi dikhne waali, tandurust, aur kaam ke layak.
What can you accomplish with such a horse? I’d recommend a more expensive one. A solid horse, healthy, and ready to be put to work.
Man (bewildered): Painting karte wakhth, mujhe ghode ke tandurust honay se kya lena dena?
Eh? What does it matter that the horse is healthy when I’m painting?
David (twice as bewildered): Painting?
Man : Haan! Painting ke liye to hum isthamaal karte hain. Aapke ghar ke deewar ko bhi ghodi par chadh kar paint kiya tha!
Of course! I use my horse to paint. I painted the walls of your apartment riding horseback.
This was getting murky! I felt a shiver go down my spine. And then, up. I could no longer deal with this man’s lost horse – he believed that he painted my house – while riding this horse. I was mildly frightened at this point and, yet, curious…
David: Aapki ghodi kitni badi thi?
How tall was your horse?
Man: Dus feet.
Ten feet tall.
David: Kya?! Dus feet ka ghoda? Andar kaise le gaye?
Whaaaa..?! A ten-foot tall horse? How did you get it inside my apartment?
Man (giving me a you’re-a-moron-look): Darwaaze se!
Through the door!
David (shocked): Kaise le gaye?
How?!?!
Main (losing patience): Utha ke le gaye andar!
We just picked the horse up and took it in through the door!
Now this had to be a good-tempered, accommodating horse that allowed these folks to pick it up and use it to paint – horse back.
What? No! Wait! This wasn’t a real horse they were referring to. This was a ladder. A good ol’ faithful bamboo ladder.
You see, in NOIDA, a ladder is a ghoda. And in English, a ghoda is a horse. How was I to know?!
