English, you snob!

The BBC is currently broadcasting a fascinating TV programme entitled ‘Worlds of English’. It deals with English as it is used in different parts of the world and, since there is considerable dialogue with local inhabitants, we are treated to unique insights concerning the evolution and use of hybrid English – Hinglish, Chinglish, Singlish, and so on. (Yes, I’ve watched just three episodes, so far!)

English was carried to the colonies and taught to the ‘natives’ who promptly adapted it to their own requirements. If they could understand each other, where lay the problem? English language teachers were horrified and sought to instill the use of propah English by drilling hapless students in grammar and vocabulary. The knowledge and ability to use correct English was the standard by which one’s erudition was judged! No more. As one savvy Singaporean put it, ‘We use Singlish to communicate with our friends and within our peer group. It’s a fun language – unstructured and accommodating. And we know when and how to use Standard English as well.’ He was affronted that Singlish was treated as pidgin. Singlish is used to communicate, therefore it is a language. How right?!

This brings me to the reason for my topic today:

I belong to a generation that was rigorously schooled in the King’s (Queen’s?) English. As part of this education, it was considered de rigueur for us to flavour our writing with the bon mot, phrases and expressions culled from Latin, French, and German. Such usage was indicative of a higher standard of language, such as exhibited by the best British Universities! So we mugged up the words and phrases: carpe diem, Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, bête noire, la dolce vita, savoir faire, doppelganger (go figure!) and made sure that we used them within the texts we produced. We wanted to appear au fait with the language, and how! (And what is wrong with saying ‘conversant’ anyway? The Lord knows that the English language has enough synonyms to fit any bill).

My current reading brought this home. A series of essays on the work of other authors, the text is peppered with mutatis mutandis, contemptus mundi, propria persona, Zeitgeist – you get the drift. What makes it deliciously ironical is that these phrases are culled from the ‘classic’ languages, the languages of nations that were inimical to the British – at one time or the other in history, Britain was at war with France, Germany and Rome.

Yet, when it comes to the language of the colonies, the injection of local words and phrases is considered a corruption.

Why does it cause so much jhanjat (such a furore) if we choose to ghoosao (try and infiltrate) a few choice phrases of our own? Particularly those phrases which, thanks to juicy idiom, defy translation?!

And, to use such an idiom, even though out of context, why must the English be kebab me haddi? (‘play spoilsports’ would be an accurate translation, but it conveys none of the spicy flavour!)

PS: A note of caution. In the words of my favourite grammarian, David Crystal, one must first know the rules in order to know how to bend them. A strong grounding in Standard English is required for representation at the global level. One cannot carry over Hinglish and expect to be appreciated!

Tying up the tongue!

In the time before Sunmica, Formica, melamine and modern laminates furniture was polished and the finish maintained with loving elbow grease, guaranteeing a patina that time could not dim. Further protection was offered by double tablecloths, trivets and of course, the ubiquitous coaster which ensured that the tell-tale circle of a wet glass did not mar(k) that which was lovingly maintained.

Beer companies (whose product was responsible to a large extent for those wet glasses) pushed their products just that little bit further by offering ‘branded’ coasters which soon turned into collectibles. Some relics survive to this day. One such coaster coached the user in the art of saying ‘Cheers’ in a variety of languages and my father was tickled pink when he found his little daughter twisting her tongue to impress the guests. The ‘trick’ soon graduated to saying ‘Good Morning’, ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in as many languages as possible.

Knowing so little is a dangerous thing as I was to discover in later years.

My office colleagues decided to teach me Marathi through conversation. The first phrase was, ‘Mala mythinay’ (spelt phonetically) or ‘I don’t know’. After a little practice to get the pronunciation and intonation just right, I was advised to use my knowledge whenever applicable, in order to fix the words in my mind. On my route homeward, that day, I was accosted by a family who enquired, in Marathi, where they could find Majestic Cinema. I happily responded, ‘Mala mythinay!”. When they asked the next passer-by he indicated with his thumb that we were standing right in front of their desired destination! Did I feel like a moron?!!

But I didn’t learn my lesson.

Some years later I visited Rome and soon found out that telephone calls were answered with, ‘Pronto!’ Following that oft reiterated advice - ‘when in Rome…’ - I cheerily answered the call to my hostel room with a hearty ‘Pronto’ only to be presented with a flood of fast and furious Italian. Admitting defeat, I explained that I had not understood ending with, ‘English, please.’ Dead silence. It turned out that the receptionist knew only Italian while I understood only English. Luckily for me she had called because I had a visitor who was able to sort out the problem since she was articulate in both languages. After that experience, I employed mime and gesture with much better success. The Italians are very fluent with their hands too!

Now, I stick to the language I know best and keep ‘where is the loo?’ (in the appropriate local lingo) up my sleeve for emergencies. Tying up the tongue does not make for comfortable memories.