I Swear I Saw a Swearing Bird

I Love Swear Words and I Cannot Lie

Backstory of my journey into expletive freedom. And there’s no f*cking way I’m giving it up

I didn’t learn to swear from my parents. I wasn’t explicitly taught “good” and “bad” word distinctions either.

My father was prone to the occasional “bastard” while under the influence of road rage, especially when someone slowed down his 120 kmph ride on the freeways of Bahrain. Or it was mostly the not-so-flattering words he used to reference certain relatives, in his mother tongue Malayalam.

My sister and I didn’t understand what it meant, but we knew it was an expression of dislike. We picked up on the sentiment rather than the words themselves.

On the other hand, my mother didn’t swear at all — she chose the holier approach, and invoked different Gods (we’re Hindu) for different applications, all in her mother tongue Tamil. Like when she bumped her knee, she’d say “Oh Lord Rama!” like he would instantly arrive to soothe her pain. Or she used animal words — you know, pig, buffalo — the bigger and dirtier the animal, the worse the meaning.

We learned the English translations of these animals, and tucked them away into the recesses of our expanding memory, to be used when necessary. Petty sibling rivalry is a great stage for testing these out when you want to really hurt each other.

If you’ve been called a pig before, I feel your pain.

Word + Intent = Meaning

The first time I heard the word fuck at school, I asked my older and wiser sister what it meant. I doubt she knew herself, but she told me it meant “Dad eats Mom.”

Ok, weird, but not so bad. And I used it in the car once on a family outing.

My Mom, who speaks decent English but with a limited vocabulary, had learned from our teacher-neighbor that the word would come up, so she said “Preeti! Don’t use such dirty words!” To which I replied “Why? It just means Dad eats Mom.” To which she said “Oh. Then ok.”

Dad was partially indifferent, but as the Leader of the House, aka official rule maker, he asked us to drop it. Now.

We did. For a while. But as with all things adolescent and rebellious, the hiatus didn’t last long. Instead it was reserved for non-parental audiences. There was a power to it — Ouch could never come close to fuck when you bump your knee, and there’s no way in ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶ heaven God could help.

As I grew older, more words joined the party. Mofo, a$$hole, sh*t (it was a staple), bloody, damn etc etc; never anything extreme or ugly, it’s what I’d like to call basic profanity. Once I moved to India, our repertoire expanded to include multiple regional languages including Malayalam, Tamil and Hindi. You couldn’t fit in with your local classmates if you didn’t speak their lingo, their slang.

I still swore — and swear — mostly in English though, since it’s my first language. I was learning that to truly express myself, I needed to include these in my conversations. I couldn’t say I’m happy without a “Fuck yeah!” No one would understand how upset I am without a “I can’t believe that fucking shit happened!” And when I’m angry, let’s just say if I was a radio show host, it would sound like a pretty bleepy musical.

I want to clarify, for no particular reason, that majority of the time I swear in general — at the world, for example. Or to convey pain. Or when I’m referring to an obnoxious or truly horrible individual. In fights with specific people, a “fuck you” or “you fucker” has definitely crept in but rarely do I mean it with malice. Also, to be fair, when you’re fighting with someone, innocent words can become insults.

Try calling someone a cucumber with disgust next time and see what happens.

Wherever I go, my swears go with me

After a while it came naturally to me. It didn’t feel odd anymore, it simply rolled off the tongue, slipping in between adjectives, nouns and pronouns. My friends didn’t use profanities as much as I did, but they got used to it. It even became my “thing”, prompting one friend to count the number of fucks I said one evening (he stopped after 40.)

I got good at partitioning my usage — limiting the quantity and quality with much older and much younger people, including my parents, and bringing it on when I’m with anyone else.

Moving to the U.S was great because here, people swear at work! It really felt like I could bring my true self out. And I have thrived since.

My partner, though, doesn’t necessarily condone this. By this I mean the frequency, not the habit. He’s a selective swearer — reserving to it for only the most dire of circumstances — and has requested I “tone it down, woman.”

So I have very grudgingly agreed. It’s not going away, absolutely not, just a little lesser if you will.

Interestingly, I don’t use a lot of profanity while writing. Maybe because I’m more of a traditionalist in that regard. I do include a few here and there, nothing too crassy, and only if it helps with adding emphasis, never as an empty word.

I intend to keep it that way.

Other stuff I’ve written that have a few fucks thrown in:

To read more of my articles, consider subscribing to be an insider. And if you want more than more, join Medium using my referral link! Or you can buy me a coffee! (last option, I promise.)

Thank you, thank you!