My grandfather served in WWII, in the Air Force. He was stationed for a while in India. He came back with a few scandalous stories involving cows and some broken Hindi. Nobody spoke real Hindi near us in Buffalo, so these phrases were really allowed to marinate independently in the sauce of his memory for many years before they were passed down to me and allowed to marinate in the sauce of mine. When I went to India myself, a few years ago, I heard nothing approaching them.
One of them goes something like, “eedy al jaldy say jaldy waldy.” It means, roughly, “that thing, it is the way that it is going to be, and so, it’s pretty okay.” This is a maxim of great comfort and spiritual acceptance, I gathered.
I believe someone in India may have once thought a thought related to this, but that’s as far as I’d put it.
The things that make us who we are probably aren’t particularly objective out there in the world. They’re awfully bound up in the work of remembering them – in what we, individually or collectively, choose to preserve, corrupt, glorify or suppress.