If you are a non-Kannadiga and have shifted to Bengaluru, like I did a little under three decades ago, and – like me at that time – have a problem with speaking or understanding Kannada, it’s time to take up the challenge. I assure you it would be fun. Believe me when I say this: It is better to learn to speak Kannada, and even better if you can read the script too (I am still an ‘hebbettu’, or ‘illiterate’ in Kannada).
The local Bengalurean takes to a Kannada-speaking non-Kannadiga with heart and soul when he/she realises the pains you have taken to learn the language. You will be ‘Nammavaru’ (“one of ours”) for them.
I went through that phase. But the effort of learning to speak Kannada without knowing even a smattering of it until I was about 20 when I came to Namma Bengaluru, has won me a lot of Kannadiga hearts, merely on the basis of my mighty effort of adding one more Indian language to my linguistic list.
It wasn’t easy. There have been awkward situations when, on my insistence on speaking the language to gain working knowledge of it, my friends would ask me to say something in Kannada to strangers, which actually turned out to be colourful expletives, and land me in a tight spot.
Besides, on one occasion at a wedding during my early days in Bengaluru, as I waited alone for others to join me for lunch, an elderly man asked me “Oota aita?”
I hadn’t known this so-commonly-used term (which means “Have you had food?”) until then. I stood up bewildered because I thought he spoke my mother-tongue (Konkani), and it sounded like “Utaita?” which means “Will you stand up/wake up?”
It was the first time I had come across this term that has been thrown at me probably 20-30 times a day, till date – at whatever time of the day!
I joined active journalism here without knowing Kannada. Day one in journalism saw the Chief Reporter telling me, “You will cover crime!”
“Crime?!” I asked in disbelief. “But...I don’t know Kannada, Sir!”
“You will learn!” he told me gruffly. I was pushed into the deep end of the pool without knowing how to swim. And that was the way I learnt to speak the language.
Covering crime requires being in touch with the control room cops. In my first interaction with them over phone, I realised they would not speak any other language but Kannada. I was forced to speak the language, using the few Kannada words I knew to throw questions at them. I am sure it was entertaining for those cops (I could hear them laughing at the other end whenever I started to speak), because my questions made no sense to them– and then, receiving answers which went over my head.But my poor ‘entertaining’ Kannada made me popular among them. They would recognise me over the phone (no mobile phones those days) even before I could introduce myself. They respected my efforts though, and that respect won me some exclusives too – like chocolates given to a “good boy” in appreciation.
If you are in Bengaluru to stay, go ahead and win hearts...and use Kannada generously to do that! Don’t worry about grammatical errors. Your effort will be appreciated, and corrected. And it will be fun, too!
Nirad Mudur
Senior Assistant Editor
niradgmudur@newindianexpress.com