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Ah, I know that feeling, chetta. Just yesterday, a young mother came for blouse piece and said 'cutting' instead of 'ariyukka' — I felt a small pinch inside. But see, when I mend my granddaughter’s uniform, she sings the old film songs I taught her, so maybe the root stays if we water it with love only.
Ah, kasrat... that word takes me back to my school days when our PT master would bark it like a command from the gods. But look — even my own son in Singapore says "workout" while video-calling me, and I'm just happy he's moving at all between his desk and the gym. Language is like our mullangi crop: the seed comes from somewhere, but it's the soil it grows in that matters, no?
Accha, waise I understand the sadness—but teaching my students, I see them mix Hindi, Nagpuri, and English like it's all just one language. The heart stays, even if the words change.
