From Ghalib to Trump: The rise and rise of ‘Chutiya’

Raju Korti
There was a time when this word was spoken in hushed tones. It was a private indulgence of men, tucked away from polite company. Its sting was sharp but private. Mothers would pretend not to hear it. Fathers would cough loudly if it escaped their sons’ lips. And yet, like all forbidden fruit, it thrived. Now, thanks to Christine Fair, it has become an international export. 

Fair, a professor at Georgetown University, yesterday stirred controversy by referring to US President Donald Trump as "Chutiya", a Hindi profanity, during a live interview with Pakistani origin analyst Moeed Pirzada. She used the word not once but a couple of times, while discussing the US foreign policy. From the galli to Georgetown University. From paan shops to prime-time interviews. Quite the global leap. It is perhaps the only Indian export that needed no trade treaty, no WTO clearance, and no marketing campaign.

C. Christine Fair (filegrab)

It takes nerve to call the President of the United States a “chutiya”. Even if that President happens to be Donald Trump. Fair must be applauded for her audacity. Trump deserves credit too. Few men rise to such heights of absurdity that they inspire this particular honour in public. In a way, both are pioneers.

In India, the word has had a longer apprenticeship. It was practically newsroom currency. In our newsrooms, it was practically a second byline. I particularly remember in the mid-eighties, the (late) Mohammad Saghir, (Peace be upon him!) a sub editor with a wicked tongue. With unmatched wit, he made it an anthem. Our General Manager, who had zero idea of news, display and design grids, made it a point to carry a book “World’s 50 Best Newspapers”. He would walk into the newsroom every evening and ask the night sub in-charge to replicate the complicated layout of one of the newspapers in it. One such evening he demanded a layout copied from the Spanish newspaper El Pais. Saghir hardly waited for his back to turn around, chuckled like a hyena, and declared, “Duniya mein chutiyon ki kami nahi hai Ghalib…..”, leaving us to complete the original but profound quote. We nearly fell off our chairs. It was irreverence, scholarship, and satire rolled into one. And it stuck.

The word’s democratic (and universal!) spirit spared no one. Chief Ministers, cabinet ministers, editors, bureaucrats, peons -- all were within its range. History, of course, has its favourite jokes. As Editor of the Free Press Journal in 2004, I once cut out the very opening line from a story filed for its sister Marathi publication Nav Shakti. Vilasrao Deshmukh, then Chief Minister, had retorted to a petitioning leader with “Aamhala kaay chutiya samajta ka?” It was accurate reporting, but not quite printworthy. It was a rib-tickling copy with all frills of an exciting political theatre but I snipped the line from the copy, only to spark a debate that lasted days. Should facts be printed as spoken? Or does editorial judgement play censor? In that one word lay the whole dilemma of journalism. Fidelity versus discretion. Was discretion wise or did it betray the spirit of truth? In hindsight, it was both.

But the word refused to stay caged. It slipped out of newsrooms and political corridors, and settled comfortably into middle-class drawing rooms. I realised it had gone mainstream the day a polite neighbourhood aunty, all of fifty plus, reprimanded a carpenter with, “Humko kya chutiya samjha hai?” There it was, spoken with the confidence of someone asking for another round of chai. The word had crossed the final frontier. I realised its time had truly come. Now with Christine Fair, it has marched into the halls of global diplomacy.

My US-based journalist friend Mayank Chhaya reminds that even its intonation is an art form. He says the insult has multiple shades depending on tone. A clipped “chutiya” might mean harmless stupidity. A stretched “chuuutiiiyaa” suggests dangerous incompetence. A muttered version, accompanied by a sigh, conveys resignation at the state of the world. We once joked that someone should write a grammar of the word, complete with tenses and degrees of comparison. Chutiya, more chutiya, most chutiya. Now Christine Fair has catapulted it to international stardom. Trump, unwittingly, has given it the White House seal. One cannot deny the irony. America, after all, prides itself on soft power. Hollywood, hamburgers, hip-hop. India has responded with one four-syllable export. Compact. Potent. Unmistakable.

The only risk is that overuse may blunt its sting. What was once a loaded insult may end up as casual banter. Imagine Oxford and Cambridge dictionaries placing it neatly between “chutney” and “churn.” Will the word lose its power when dressed in academic robes? Will it still retain its bite? Or will it become a tired cliché, like “awesome” or “literally”? Perhaps the day is not far when world leaders will shrug it off like a badge of honour. Until then, we can sit back, sip our cutting chai, and marvel at how one earthy Indian word has managed what no diplomat ever could. It has united the world in knowing exactly what it means. Perhaps. But until then, we can sit back and watch as it continues its unstoppable march from mohalla to Manhattan.