WHAT YOU ARE SAYING?

Non-Indians might think that all Indians suffer from multiple personality disorder. That all of us are not just Jekyll-and-Hyde, but Jekyll-and-Hyde-and-his-cujjinbrother as well. The reason: Unlike monolingual people, most Indians speak two or more languages. We not only speak them, we do them. Language has been called the garb of thought. In our case it could be called the uniform of action. For as we speak, so do we do.

Take Bengalis. as an Hon Bong(honorary Bengali) I know that all Bengali bhadralok are equally at ease in English and Bengali. as nirad Chaudhuri said, the last Englishman alive will almost certainly be a Bengali. Bengalis claim that on a planet awash with american English and other such travesties, it is they who are the only custodians of the language, as it is only they who know that the correct pronunciation of biscuit is not bis-kit, as the world thinks, but ‘biskoot. so boo to oxbridge and the BBC. now, when speaking English—over a cup of tea and a biskoot—the Bengali is a very upbeat, can-do individual, full of optimism and get-up-and-go. Like Pranabda, who as FM keeps predicting that the economy will grow at 8 per cent this fisc.

However, the moment the Bengali switches to Bengali, a metamorphosis takes place. Maybe its got something to do with the soft Bengali vowel sounds, which make everything you say sound like Rabindrasangeet, but that same gung-ho guy, the moment he switches to Bong begins to ooze melancholy like a baigoon bhaja oozes mustard oil. He says he is not feeling well, his bowel movements have become progressively erratic. Aee jibon ki koshto, ki koshto. This life so phool of oes, so phool of oes.(Where oes is woes.)

Punjabi, on the other hand, is for party-sharty time. You dont have to know a lot of Punjabi to get into the party spirit. Just say ‘balle, balle with your index fingers stuck up in the air, and youre ready to swing. What gives the Punjabi his renowned vim and vigour in his frequent use of rhymewords when speaking. For instance, a party is never just a party but—as earlier noted—is always a partysharty, at which a lot of beer-sheer, not to mention, chicken-whicken will be ingested. This verbal double dollop of, what might be called the lingual equivalent of a Patiala peg, is what gives the Punjabi ethos its hearty, back-slapping robustness.

Punjabi is also the language for cussing in. and you dont even have to resort to all that unnecessary BC/ MC stuff. a simple ‘Oy, teriiii! will do the trick. as in: see, see how that two-wheeler cut across me? oy, teriiii!

Gujarati, like Marwari which it somewhat resembles, is for doing dhanda in. Its business talk. Hear a Gujarati say ‘su?—or a Marwari say‘toh?—and you know that that single word packs a wealth of meaning, literally. It means, ‘Whats the deal?It means ‘show me the money. The English equivalent of ‘su? or ‘toh? is the insipid ‘so?. as in ‘so what?. so what, indeed. ‘so? has none of the resonance of ‘su or ‘toh. How do you think the ambanis became the ambanis? Su? The Birlas? Toh?

Kutchi—which is the dialect which I used to speak and now, sadly, have little occasion to speak it anymore—is often mistaken for Gujarati for the simple fact that Kutch happens to be in the state of Gujarat. However, spoken Kutchi is not at all like Gujarati but is akin to sindhi. Like sindhis, Kutchis are good at clinching bargains, and arguments, by simply saying: ‘Kuro? Samaj avi? (What? Have you understood?)

south Indian languages—all south Indian languages—are to do mathematics in. This is because an order placed in an Udipi restaurant—ravaidlidosavadauttapambonda—sounds like logarithm tables being recited at double speed. Constant practice ensures that Udipi orders, in time, become logarithm tables. Infosys? silicon Valley? IT? Why do you think its all in the south?

Hindi—shudh Hindi, born-again sanskritised Hindi, and not the rattaphatta streetside, chalta hai Hindi most of us speak—is the language of pomp and circumstance, of ceremony and ritual. It is the language of ghee poured into havans, the language of weddings, and funerals, and Doordarshans commentary on the Republic day parade. It is a solemn and studious language, with a caste mark on its forehead, and it makes almost anything you say—like ‘Pass the aloo-mattar, or ‘Wassup, yaar—sound like amitabh Bachchan reciting the Gayatri Mantra. or maybe Madhushala.

India is a lucky dip of languages. Take your pick. Just remember that when people ask you ‘Arre, but what you are saying?, what they really mean is ‘What you are doing?. What we speak is what we are. so whatll it be today? Biskoot, or erratic bowels?

Party-sharty with beer-sheer? or is it time to get down to business, do some dhandha? Su? Toh? Kuro? Samaj avi?