BY RUCHIRA GHOSH

As She is ‘Spoke’ on  the Subcontinent

The British Colonials departed the Subcontinent several decades ago. The cultural legacy they left behind includes, most importantly—yes, you’ve guessed it right—the English language! In spite of being jostled around by Hindi, the lingua franca of millions of desi patriotic citizens, English still remains the official (and business) language of the country for all practical purposes, though in certain spheres ‘bilingual’ is in vogue.

Nevertheless, all true-blue native speakers of the language, including poets, authors, and playwrights, would turn in their graves were they to discover the transmogrification their beloved language has undergone.

Let me give you a few examples: You consult the physician for treatment of “join dice” (jaundice), “ass thama” (asthma), and “die centry” (dysentery). When you converse with your neighbor, he appears “vag oo” (vague). Then there was a good deal of “voylens” during the “royts.” Not difficult to guess the original words.

Wait, there is more. While dining in a restaurant, you ask for the “meenu” (commonplace girl’s nickname in India) to order dishes of your choice. For your kids’ birthdays, you buy them “twaiyez.” What’s that? Duh? Keep guessing.

Now peek into your kitchen. Do you need to buy “ooonians” and “coo coo mbers” for tossing up a “slaaadh”? If planning to bake a cake, you place the cake mix in a “baaool” and put it in the “obhen.” Switch it on…tarry a while and voila! Your cake is ready! I nearly jump out of my skin upon hearing words like “kawzzn,” “Kawllr,” and “bawss” (cousin, colour, and bus, in that order).

Such glaring examples of mispronunciation are heart-wrenching, more so if you happen to be someone who loves the language passionately.

Fortunately, I belong to the coterie of Bharatvasis who enjoyed the privilege of using (read learning) English as their first language. They brand us as snobs/pseudo British!! (Chuckle) The desis will tell you: English is a “phoren” language, so the less we converse in it, the better.

Granted, but my contention is: Why twist, turn, modify, and manipulate a language per your whims and fancies? Each language (be it English, Hindi, Tamil, Bangla, and more…) has certain nuances and basic purity that is sine qua non for its survival, development, and propagation. These elements, my dear friends, must be maintained at all costs.

Occasionally, one can overlook flawed pronunciation. But distorting grammar and the “sense” of a sentence is abominable. For instance, we often stumble across obituaries of people X, Y, or Z informing folks about the “sad demise” of the deceased souls. Now, when were deaths happy? In earlier decades? I have no clue. Another phenomenon that I find irksome is multiple usages of adjectives. As repetition of adjectives is permissible in Indian vernaculars, people incorporate this into English as well. So they go: “many, many” congratulations, “new, new” clothes, “hot, hot” coffee, and such like.

Forget the rural folks still wallowing in ignorance and illiteracy or so-called educated men on the city streets; it is excruciatingly painful to witness how a sizeable chunk of the “learned, erudite, intellectuals,” i.e., school teachers, college professors, bureaucrats, scientists, and educationists, nonchalantly continue with their follies. In case you venture to point out the errors, they will fix you with a cold, dirty stare and retort, “It’s okay, yaar (colloquial term), this is Indian English. Nobody cares for proper British English…blah blah.”

On a personal note, I have had the opportunity to travel in a few erstwhile British enclaves, e.g., Hong Kong, Sri Lanka, and Oman. Nowhere have I come across such wanton, nay brutal distortion of such a majestic language. My grateful thanks to their populations.

A major problem with Indians is that they love bungling the nitty-gritty of each specific language. They go higgledy-piggledy with words tumbling over each other, caring two hoots about pronunciation, emphasis, accent, et al. Unable to differentiate between “J” and “G” (in English), they are comfortable with Persian/Arabic “Z.” It’s not surprising if you hear “marrize” (marriage), “aze” (age), “rezian” (region).

Look at a few more glaring instances of hideous pronunciation: “lainth” (length), “strainth” (strength), “angez” (engage), “askada” (asked), and “fixed” (fixed).

To some extent, you may blame it on the mother tongues. In some regional languages, “s” is spoken as “is.” The result: “iskool,” “iscooter,” “istation,” and so forth. In Punjabi, “Pr” is uttered as “par.” Therefore, you have “parmote,” “permiun,” “pervious,” etc.

We, the 1960s kids, were brought up on a diet of solid grammar. Wren & Martin was the Bible for us. Sadly, much water has flowed through the Ganges since then. A few years ago, I was shocked to hear from a veteran “English” ma’am that grammar was no longer a part of the school curriculum.

How do you teach prepositions, numbers, and, most importantly, conjugation? I asked. “Oh,” she shot back, “we follow the hit-and-trial method. We impart a broad outline… they take it up from there.”

You could have knocked me down with a feather! Quite naturally, “soxes,” “lifes,” “knifes,” “winters,” “summers,” “hairs,” “faughted,” “sended,” “do-oed,” “didn’t went,” are a familiar sight in school notebooks, official and business correspondence, and everyday conversation.

The underlying idea of this write-up is not to malign or humiliate anyone by focusing on their mental capabilities, language skills, or quest for seamless knowledge and information.

I merely appeal to their logic and sense of judgment. It is time to shed hatred, malice, and contempt for English. The dark, sordid chapter of Colonial history was traumatic, sans doute. But let’s face it, their language has done no harm. Its quirks and angularities notwithstanding, English is a glorious, resplendent language.

In order to gain a foothold and ultimate mastery over it, you need a change of heart, an unbiased mind, and a broadened vision.

Having freed itself from imperial shackles, English has emerged as a global language. Approximately 1.35 billion people, i.e., 17% of the global population, know and speak English.

At this juncture, I renew my appeal: Study the language with love. Infuse a bit of interest coupled with curiosity. Shun comparison with other languages you might know.

Kindly bear in mind, each language evolves independently in a specific social milieu. Hence, to draw comparisons of their vocabulary and grammar would be a mindless effort.

Another piece of advice: avoid molding words to pronounce with a provincial or regional touch. That’s an absolute no-no. It completely kills the spirit of the alien language.

Last but not least—this is a fervent appeal—do not, I repeat, do not blindly turn your vernacular lexicon into English. Eminent languages have always advocated this.

Like I said earlier, products of divergent socio-cultural systems must not be forcibly amalgamated.

But yes, translations from different languages are a different ball game altogether. Those scholars or learned individuals who undertake such mammoth tasks are well-versed in both. Moreover, they exercise abundant caution and work painstakingly to eliminate the tiniest of errors.

And yet, we must not overlook the silver lining in the dark clouds. I was startled to discover that India still figures among the top ten Anglophone countries of the world. It must also be noted that innumerable Indian authors have created marvelous prose, poetry, and fiction, won prestigious awards, and eventually carved niches for themselves on the global forum.