boredom; or the absence of patience
exploring linguistic alternatives to being bored
this one's a long ramble sorry guys
how do you say "i'm bored" in hindi? i've never known. it's not a phrase i find myself saying often as an adult, but proclamations of boredom littered my vernacular as a child. boredom was not much of an issue when i was at home or school because there was always something available to distract myself with - toys, a book, a tv show, a cd in the car, girlsgogames open in a tab on the side. i think the only times in my life i've experienced true boredom have been the times i visited my maternal grandmother's house.
we call her dodda (literally meaning elder in tulu), and she lives in a village that's right by a smaller town in south india. to get there from the nearest city involves a short plane ride followed a one to two hour drive. the area is mostly just houses; to get to any stores or malls or restaurants you have to take a rikshaw or bus to the town. dodda has lived in her house for decades, but currently only occupies half of it; after the death of her husband she had a boarded partition installed that neatly separates the house into two so she could rent out one half of her house to support herself. right in front of her home is a buzzing, colorful garden full of native plants. she tended to them but never manicured or arranged them. the plants grow as they wish, and as a result, walking through the garden feels like taking a hike, despite the surface area being very small. to the side of the garden is a groundwater well, and across is the neighbour's house.
dodda doesn't have internet in her home, and cell signal is also weak. she has an old box tv that has a handful of channels, which are the local news, the national broadcast or the hindu prayer and spirituality channels. she has a nokia button phone that she has difficulty operating, and only uses for dialing calls. she has important phone numbers memorized and her calendar is a paper one on the wall; i have memories of napping in her bed being watched over by hanuman holding his mace with the days of the week below him.
As a child who spent their first ten years of life in an american suburb detached from nature, distanced from their native languages, and constantly surrounded my gadgets and distractions, visiting dodda's home was mind numbingly boring to me. every year, when we visited, i would prepare myself by packing an arsenal of distractions: books, toys, an ipad, and when i got older, my phone. and every year, despite my preparations, the day would come when i exhausted my arsenal and had nothing left to occupy myself with. i'd start to feel aimless, wandering between the garden, the well, going in and out of the rooms, reading the ingredient labels on dodda's soap and talcum, trying on her chappals and repeating all those activities again and again.
a big part of the reason i got so bored while at dodda's house in particular is because we didn't share a language in common. dodda speaks tulu, kannada, hindi & marathi. i spoke english. i used to be able to speak some tulu and konkani as a younger child, but when i started preschool in the u.s., my teachers encouraged my parents to speak to me in english at home as i was lagging behind the other children in my english proficiency. and so, as i gained fluency in english, i lost tulu and konkani, and to this day, i cannot recall any vocabulary i might have once known. as i got older, i never really made any attempt to relearn these languages, despite the fact that my immediate and extended family have all at some point expressed disappointment about my inability to speak any indian language, let alone the ones i was meant to inherit. living in the us during my early formative years had instilled in me a sense of english superiority, and it's embarrassing to admit, but as a child, i often wished dodda would learn english so that i wouldn't have to learn tulu in order to speak with her.
neither of those things happened however, and the two of us remained unable to communicate verbally without the assistance of non-verbal gestures or my mom as translator. despite not speaking or understanding english, there were an handful of english loanwords dodda used. when i think back on these, it's very fascinating which words in particular became a part of hindi vernacular and why. most hindi speakers in urban communities do not actually speak pure hindi; what's more common is 'hinglish', a mishmash of hindi grammar with heavy borrowing of english nouns. pure hindi is something that's spoken more commonly in rural areas, and in urban areas, pure hindi is seen as excessively formal, academic, and in some contexts pretentious.
a big reason for the prevalence of english loanwords is simply the lack of new hindi vocabulary, particularly for technological terms that were initially conceptualized in english. i've never heard a hindi word for radio or tv or phone. for some words like airplane, train, spaceship, there are words such as rail-gaadi रेलगाड़ी (lit. rail-car) or hawai jahaaz हवाई जहाज़ (ship of the wind) or antriksh-yaan अंतरिक्ष यान (space vehicle). but these words are clunky to say and are really only used in formal speech, less so in colloquial conversation. sometimes dodda would offer me a biscuit; even after having lived in india for eight years, i've not heard a different word for biscuit used colloquially. this is where i notice standardized hindi is much different from modern farsi for example, because farsi has developed its own vocabulary for many english words that hindi has simply adopted the english for. for example, the english word 'station', which is just station स्टेशन in hindi, in farsi is istgah ایستگاه.
less commonly, english loanwords will be abstract nouns, feelings, or concepts that either don't have a direct equivalent or are simply more wordy to express in hindi. one of these is boredom. i don't think i've ever heard a direct hindi translation of the word. in urdu boredom is boriyat بوریت with the arabic origin -at suffix mod. in hindi, boredom is just boredom (बोरडम). i can think of ways to express the feeling in more roundabout ways - such as 'mere pas kuchh karne ke liye nahin hain' मेरे पास कुछ करने के लिए नहीं है (i don't have anything to do). but not having anything to do is not quite the same as being bored; i've experienced plenty of moments where i have nothing to do and yet am not bored. at dodda's house, when i inevitably became restless and antsy after a few days, she would turn to my mom and ask "bore ho gaya?" (gotten bored?). she said this to me and about me quite frequently. 'bore' and 'bored' were among some of the few mutually intelligible words between the two of us (some others included phone, biscuit, ನೀರ).
a few days ago, i received an email from a weekly newsletter of a persian language teacher explaining how the concept of boredom is expressed in farsi, which offered me a hint of insight into why there might not be a word for boredom in hindi. to quote the text:
The phrase is hoselam sar rafté — حوصلهام سر رفته. The root is hoselé, which means patience, but also your energy, your will to do things. You can be bā hoselé — patient, easygoing. Or bee hoselé — irritable, short-fused, out of patience. Now, back to hoselam sar rafté. Sar raftan means to overflow and spill out. So hoselam sar rafté means your hoselé overflowed and left. It's gone. Boredom in Persian isn't "nothing to do" — it's that your patience quietly spilled over and walked out the door.
i got excited reading for a couple of reasons. on the linguistics side of things, something felt familiar about this phrase even though i've never heard it before. hindi has a lot of persian loanwords, and hosele, sar, and rafte, all exist in hindi as well, just conjugated differently to fit hindi grammar. in hindi, हौसला (pronounced a little flatter, than in farsi, closer to hausla) means patience as well. सर (sar) means head or mind, and रफ़्ता (rafta) means gone or departed. so the hindi literal interpretation of this persian phrase would be "patience has left the head", which is not very far removed from the original meaning at all. if i were to phrase this in a way that fits hindi grammar, i would say something like हौसला सर से रफ़्ता हुआ (hausla sar se rafta hua). something more colloquial and shorter would be मेरा सब्र ख़त्म हुआ (mera sabr khatam hua - to use the arabic origin word for patience that is slightly more common in hindi usage) or मेरा हौसला चली गई (mera hausla chali gayi). none of these really retains the short sweet crunchiness of the agglutinative grammar structure that persian uses, though they retain the meaning.
this is the second reason i got excited about hoselam sar rafte though; the meaning. i've always viewed boredom as a a thing that happens to me, like an illness or a state of weather; not something that i have control over or something that i play a role in, just a state of being that could wash over me at any time of it's own volition. even as i've more recently been trying to retrain myself to sit through boredom rather than avoiding it, i've been passively waiting for boredom to engulf me. i've never considered that there are things i could do on my own to become bored. patience, on the other hand, feels more involved. it's far more common cross-culturally, for patience to be viewed as a virtue or as a capability that one can become better at; it's difficult for me to conceptualize practicing or getting good at being bored. as a child, the phrase 'bore ho gaya' always made me feel helpless -as if boredom was inevitable- and ungrateful -as if i wasn't capable of being entertained or present in dodda's home. boredom was like an affliction i couldn't shake, and i think that's why it felt so acute those times. but patience is something actionable. considering how focused on meditation and yoga - activities that build patience - ancient indian culture was, maybe the failure of indic languages in developing a word for boredom is a reflection of this: a refusal to view the circumstance of boredom as a passive state of being, but as something you might not have to experience if you train your patience well enough.
i think instead of 'bore ho gaya?', had the question been more like हौसला है? حوصلہ ہے؟ 'hausla hai?' (do you have patience?); 'do you have the patience to reread the book you just finished?', 'do you have the patience to sit and watch me go about my daily tasks?', 'do you have the patience to look out the window in silence?', 'do you have the patience to do nothing?' - i would have hesitated to give in so easily. having patience is a challenge i want to partake in and excel at, not a feeling that randomly occurs to me, and hearing the concept of boredom expressed in terms of patience makes me wonder if the reason i don't feel bored nowadays isn't simply due to having too much to occupy myself with or having become immune to the feeling of boredom, but that i've actually developed the patience to get through boring situations. maybe the next time i do feel bored, instead of asking myself bore ho gaya, and resigning myself to the feeling, i'll ask hausla hai?
an example of the usage of the urdu word 'boriyat', from "the death of sheherzad" by intizar husain, translated by rakshanda jalil. the translator footnote explains boriyat better than i can.












