One Rupee A Sentence

I spent a few months in Kerala recently. Most of the kids I talked to claimed their favorite subject was Malayalam, which is also their native language. It made me reminisce - how shameful it was to like Hindi - my native language, when I was growing up.

I was enrolled early on in an English medium school - which is based on forcing teachers and students to speak their thoughts in broken English when they could do so perfectly well in their native tongue. Even making it punishable by incurring 1 Rs. fine every time they don't. A reasonable price, the school seemed to think, for a sin that size. This is when the seed of "English is superior" was sown.

The rule magically disappeared with a poof outside the walls of the school, or even inside when no one was watching. Hindi stayed as the language of life - while playing cricket and having dinner. Through homework and exams, English took over as the language of thought. Became the default for education and work.

In 2022, I started doing improv, which is when I discovered that my sense of humor doesn't carry over to English. I went in the scene as an angry waiter, with a plethora of images in my head, but froze. Nothing came out in English. That taught me that language changes who you are. I've been told that I am serious and thoughtful in English, but in Hindi, I am carefree and funny.

The language that my only surviving grandparent speaks - Hadoti - is named after our region in Rajasthan. I don't speak that language well enough to form coherent sentences. Never have. Neither does anybody in my generation. Soon it will disappear, along with the story of Lakku Baandri my grandmother recited for us. On one hand, I feel guilt for not doing anything, on the other hand, I wonder if forcing it to survive when nobody speaks it would do any good.

I recently visited a bookstore in my city, hoping to find a Hindi novel. Instead, I found its shelves lined up with Ikigais, Atomic habits and Rich dad poor dads. The Hindi section, apparently, was buried below the ground.

It's not all bad. English has allowed me to cross borders, make friends and date people who don't speak my language. To be exposed to the translations of Russian writers and German philosophers. Even Buddhism, with its roots in my country's backyards, had to travel around the world and come to me in English before I read a word of it. Default language of the internet too is English, which helps me reach a wider audience.

Yet, a part of me yearns to connect with the Hindi-speaking child inside, who was pushed aside. Over the past few years, I've tried reaching him by writing in Hindi but failed.

Although using English feels like killing a part of my personality, it has successfully colonised my brain.