Bhaiya can be translated from Hindi to English to mean “big brother”. It is used in colloquial Hindi to address older male relatives, male servants/maids, or shopkeepers. It is not used when speaking to men in respected positions above the age of 30. Who to call Bhaiya and who not to call Bhaiya depends on who you are and who you are talking to, but once you’re in daily life addressing males older than you it works itself out in a way that is confusing to explain.
My bus driver, whose name is unbenonzd to me, is the first Bhaiya who showed me how wonderful the Bhaiyas are. He speaks zero English except on days that he informs me I will be taking “bus number nie”. He means bus number nine, but hey I get it. I probably sound the same to him in Hindi. The bus schedule at Daly College is a mysterious thing who's secrets have never been revealed to the exchange students, therefore my Americans and I are always left in a constant state of anxiety when we’re given any reason to think the busses could be leaving earlier than their normal 4:40 PM time. It has happened more than once that I have missed my bus ride home. Then I’ve had to shamefully call my host family to sheepishly inform them I missed the bus, and would be needing them to come rescue me from the confines of DC. After a month in Indore I understood the same Bhaiya drove my short bus to my compound 5 minutes away from Daly College every day. From that moment on I have always sought out my Bhaiya for any information regarding bus times, because literally no one else on DC campus knows what is going on (he also is very dedicated to his job and will take me home in a campus car if it was Daly College’s/faculty member’s fault I missed the bus). When the group of congregating Bhaiyas in the temple grass see me approaching they give not so subtle nudges to my Bhaiya so that I may ask, “Bhaiya, kyaa samay buses jaaenge?” More recently he has been giving me the liberty, now that he trusts my Hindi speaking ability more, to ride a bus with a bus driver who is uncertain about where exactly I live because I am able to give understandable directions home.
Gulab Ji is the Bhaiya in the library at Daly College, aka where I spend 5 hours every day. He cleans the whole building, tells us when it’s chai ka samay (chai time), and occasionally locks us inside during lunch when he forgets we are inside . The library is his domain, he does a great job of keeping it spick and span, as all Bhaiyas do with their areas. I always make sure to greet him with a “Namoshar Bhaiya, suprabhaat!” (Hello Bhaiya, good morning!) because he makes sure the only quiet place on campus remains so.
The one school outing my Americans and I were taken on we were chaperoned by Bottum Bhaiya. Bottum Bhaiya is a man who runs errands for Mam Badhwar, the administrator in charge of exchanges. Instead of Mam taking us on an outing herself she assigned Bottum Ji to take us, which is better anyways. He has an infinitely happier demeanor than Mam. Bottum Bhaiya took us to a local temple for Ganesh in a weird taxi van. He started out writing our names on his hand in pen and coming to retrieve us for Mam by slowly and unsurely reading our American names off of his palm, but after our visit to the temple he pronounces our names correctly and can even tell us apart! He is one of the sweetest men I have ever met and always waves at us followed by a very respectful and formal, “Namoshaar” no matter how far away we are from each other.
This week has been tough for me not because I missed Thanksgiving or that Christmas is rapidly approaching, but because my exchange is not what I had hoped. I have been looking for relief in several spaces but this week I was pleasantly surprised when I found solace with a group of Bhaiyas that work as laborers in Daly College. I always take a shortcut from the library through the Bhaiya hangout ground to the resource center for the recent Round Square (basically Model United Nations but not as cool) meetings. Thursday when I was passing through on my usual shortcut route my eyes are immediately drawn to the phosphorescent orange and yellow that scattered the floor. The Bhaiyas were making malas or flower garlands for an event that evening. I continued on my mission to the resource center for a meeting that didn’t start for another hour then backpedalled to the mounds of flowers. My “kya mei aapki madad kaar sakti hoon?” was met with an “haan ji beta”. Great! I asked if I could help him and he actually said yes! I watched him thread a needle and begin to thread flower by flower onto the 10 inch needle then pushing them down the thread to make room for more. Once I was equipped with my own needle and thread I sat on the floor, the happiest I have been in a while, was joined by 10 other Bhaiyas, and joyfully answered questions in my limited Hindi vocabulary and comprehension. I only spent an hour making malas with my new Bhaiya friends but they made me promise to return the next day at the same time and take pictures of them. They were all amused with seeing the pictures especially when I forcefully told them to “HASO” (smile!).
Also it does get cold in India! Well not cold, but not hot either and when that happens you need to keep everyone warm including putting cut knitted scarves on Lord Krishna and The Goddess (in the temple at the entrance of out apartment building)!