In 1983, on New Year’s Day in Bombay (now Mumbai), I asked my senior in the National Cadet Corps (NCC) what his new year resolution was. Without batting an eyelid, he said: “From this year onwards I will learn as many Indian languages as possible…”
It was a strange resolution considering most others were cliched ones, quitting a particular habit or developing better ones. But learning as many Indian languages as possible…? Seemed interesting.
Just three years later, when the family moved to Bangalore (now Bengaluru), I personally had the experience of beginning to learn a new Indian language — Kannada. I was already fluent in Konkani, Marathi and Hindi, and could fairly understand Gujarati, Bengali and Punjabi, thanks to the cosmopolitan society in the colony where I lived in Bombay’s Prabhadevi. So I was eligible to be in that average category of Indians who speak or understand at least two-three Indian languages, apart from the mother-tongue.
Learning Kannada was a struggle, but inspired by my senior, I, as a non-Kannadiga then, decided to go to the hilt to learn the language. The struggle was mainly to do with tolerating people laughing at how words and terms came out of the mouth.
The ideal way to learn to speak a new language (in this case, Kannada) is to speak with the locals — shopkeepers, vendors, helpers and even strangers with whom you can strike up small conversations. Let them know you are learning Kannada, and making an effort at it. You will instantly get support. Friends and colleagues mostly return to speaking in the language they know you are fluent with. If you persist in talking in whatever little Kannada you know, they take the liberty of having a good laugh at your raw vocabulary. And that disheartens and discourages a learner from continuing on the path of learning to speak the new language.
The best is to never give up — to be at it day after day, mistakes or not, even if you are made a butt of the jokes. It all gets straightened up — at least enough for expressions to be correctly understood by the others, and for two-way communications to proceed in the newly-learned language without vocabulary-linked glitches. Thirty-eight years on, I continue to speak and learn more and better Kannada, in which I am now fairly fluent and continuing to improve day after day…and loving it!
I know I have reached that point. Last year, while visiting Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad, I suddenly heard Kannada being spoken. Instantly, the otherwise faraway Sabarmati Ashram felt like home, and complete strangers speaking it evoked an irresistible urge to go hug them for coming from “my state”, speaking “my language”. That thought however evaporated on realising that it was a group of young women. You can be sure how it may have ended had I fallen to that lure, the unity of language notwithstanding.
Chauvinism is never a tool to make people speak the language of the state. It is always better to learn the language even if you are new at it. Neither is it a case of “While in Rome, do as Romans do”, although it may seem so. But language is a strong medium to connect with the people and nurture a sense of belonging. So better to learn to speak it. By experience, learning Kannada from when I hardly knew a word of it — except “howdu”, “illaa” and “beda” — there is a realisation of being aware of various cultures in the state, developing better and greater understanding of and with the people and their customs, and developing that sense of belonging through linguistic unity.
It was not for nothing that Karnataka’s tourism motto has been “One State, Many Worlds”. Although that is a call for tourists, knowing Kannada as a non-Kannadiga settled in Karnataka will help unfold the entire beauty of the state and its people, their customs and cultures...until you no longer feel like a non-Kannadiga. Kannada maathadalu prayathna maadi, nimage khanditha barutthe!
Nirad Mudur
Deputy Resident Editor, Karnataka
niradgmudur@newindianexpress.com