Way, way, back when I was a kid, I thought it was exciting to hear all about how Hindi was being imposed on Dravidians and the Tamil Nadu politicians all worked up against it. The natural inclination to join the fight against anything imposed started, as far as I can recall, from this absurd promotion of Hindi as the national language.
As a teenager, when I was associated with a political movement about which I am not at all proud of--perhaps the worst sin I have ever committed--I asked the leader why he was often talking to us in Hindi. He replied that English is an European language, which did not belong to this land. I told him that Hindi did not belong in Tamil Nadu. He did not like it. In any case, soon I was off that political movement as well.
A lot has changed over the decades. But, after all the travels within this country, it does seem like there is very little Hindi usage in Tamil Nadu even now. It is not that there is a whole lot of love and affection for the Tamil language; after all, as my experiences with the Mozhi t-shirt showed, while there is a great deal of rhetoric about love for Tamizh, in reality, however, kids and teenagers in Chennai seem to converse more often in English than Tamizh, while adults don't seem to worry about the language all that much.
Walking around in the busy shopping streets of T-Nagar, very, very rarely do I hear any Hindi. A lot of English and Tamizh, and a good smattering of Telugu, Kannada, and Malayalam--all South Indian languages.
Hindi being rare a sound is such a contrast to my experiences in the places I traveled. Even in the busy Connaught Place in New Delhi, even youngsters were mostly talking in Hindi--though they often did say "hi" to each other. It was quite common an experience for me when I attempted to chat with auto and taxi drivers to find out that they knew even less English compared to taxi drivers in Ecuador!
At the IIT campus in Delhi, when I asked the taxi driver to stop at a roundabout so that I could ask a gentleman who was formally attired about the directions to my friend's office, I was quite shocked that he first replied in Hindi. When I asked him again, he decided to address the taxi driver instead--in Hindi. Yep, that was the case even at a campus of a leading university. Now, of course, one swallow doesn't make a summer. But, hey, I can't discount this experience either.
In train compartments and at airports, when in Tamil Nadu, children seem to be excited to talk to their parents in English. But, in the other places north of the state, kids and parents conversed mostly either in the local language or in Hindi.
I do not assume that there is a conscious effort to keep Hindi away from Tamil Nadu. It is not anything like the 1960s and 1970s when there were systematic efforts to drive Hindi out because of a real worry that it was being imposed. Personally, the kid and the teenager in me who actively sympathized with the anti-Hindi emotions continues to be happy that Hindi has not become the lingua franca. And, the fact that the younger population gravitate towards English is also an asset when it comes to the global economic marketplace.
But, ... if only the youngsters were equally passionate about Tamizh!
While I may have lost the fluency I once had in the language--the fluency and interest that drove me to read a whole lot of Tamizh literature even though I did not formally study the language in school after the primary years--there is, I suppose, always an emotional attachment to the language that we first learnt. But, more than mere emotions, I am afraid that by not having a passion for Tamizh, the youngsters deprive themselves of a phenomenal opportunity to gain a little bit of understanding of the oldest living language with a rich literature past and with a very, very long history.
A few weeks ago, dad gave me an article to read in which the author lamented about having watched a television show in which they went around asking people who Bharathidasan was. The author seemed to be livid with the the ignorance on display, and I agreed with his feelings. One, he wrote there, even replied that Bharathidasan was a former governor of the state! That is a reflection of how much there is scant interest in Tamizh.
I hope the tide will change. Soon.
Showing posts with label mozhitees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mozhitees. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
I turned a few heads and eyes towards me. Because of a t-shirt. Yay!
We now laugh about that remark :)
Perhaps dad was under the impression that I might wear a dress shirt at least to a formal event to which I had been invited. It was for an "upanayanam," which is (used to be?) an important step in a Brahmin boy's life. Like the bar-mitzvah of the Jewish traditions.
He was partially correct in assuming that my attire would be different--I didn't wear shorts, but wore trousers!
No dress shirt though. Instead, I wore the t-shirt that generated good buzz at least once before, and bad buzz even before I wore it!
At the event, I noticed people looking at the t-shirt. There is a probability that they wondered about the appropriateness of such a casual attire at a formal, religious, ritualistic gathering. It is also probable that they looked at it with appreciation because there is practically no t-shirt sold with Tamizh lettering, and that too such a quality t-shirt.
I was so tempted to poll the people at the event about their views on this unique t-shirt. Thankfully, I refrained from getting into any serious discussion on this topic.
Later in the evening, I was at a local restaurant with my parents. The waiter who took our order kept staring at my t-shirt. A few minutes later, another waiter swung by the table under the pretext of asking whether we needed anything but in reality was merely reading the letters in the t-shirt.
I thought to myself that if a large-chested young woman wore this Tamizh t-shirt, it might be quite a challenge to figure out what the viewer/voyeur was focused on :)
As we were getting ready to leave, two more waiters came by. One said he was very happy to see a t-shirt with Tamizh letters. "I have never seen one like this, sir" he added. The other waiter who came with him seemed ecstatic with the words he read, and commented "that is a wonderful phrase, sir."
"Yes, a profound phrase indeed" I replied.
The phrase, "தமிழ் எங்கள் பிறவிக்கு தாய்," translates (in my crude translation) to "Tamizh is the mother who gave birth to us."
Language and poetry continues to stir passion, which is a healthy sign that people haven't completely fallen hook, line, and sinker for everything that is not good for the soul. At least, not yet.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
"You speak good Tamizh, sir. But, slightly like an Anglo-Indian"
I had planned to go to the beach--it has been a few days since I saw those blue waters, and I miss those friendly waves of hello and goodbye.
Turned out that the afternoon was better spent with an even better friend, "S" and family.
"S" called and said we could meet and chat over coffee if I was not doing anything else. I got the address and directions needed for the autorickshaw ride.
I was barely out the house when I spotted an autorickshaw, and asked the driver how much he would charge me.
"100 rupees, sir" he said.
"Appa told me it would be a maximum of 75" I told him in Tamizh and added that I knew a little bit of the city.
He smiled and said "but, I have to go around, sir. The direct road will be blocked at Gemini flyover." He wanted 90 rupees.
I sat in, with no idea that a wonderful interaction was coming up.
"Sir, I can tell you are a foreigner. But, I am so happy you are wearing this shirt, sir" he said.
I was wearing the t-shirt that I had purchased at the Chennai Book Fair. (A simple post about this became controversial in Facebook!)
The driver was simply too impressed with the t-shirt, and with me wearing it. "There is no respect for Tamizh and for people who speak the language, sir. In Bombay and other places, they call us Tamizh people as thieves" he lamented.
I was not going to argue this point with him. But, I went after it another way. "Tamizh is the oldest living language with a rich literature" I replied.
Of course, our entire conversation was only in Tamizh. At times, I struggled for Tamizh words to replace in my mind the English words that came naturally.
"Are you a Tamizh professor, sir?"
I told him I teach economics. In fact, this has become my standard reply to most people. "Geography" tends to make people wonder what there is to study in geography--the old stereotypes of the wonderful discipline persist in India as much as they do in the US.
The driver wanted to know how long I have been in the US, and was impressed to know that it has been 25 years.
"Sir, even after 25 years you are wearing this shirt about Tamizh language. I am very happy." And then he added, "you speak good Tamizh sir. But, slightly like an Anglo-Indian."
I smiled. First time ever that somebody has termed my Americanized Tamizh as an Anglo-Indian accent. I wondered how he would have reacted to my Tamizh if it had been soon after I landed here in Chennai, two whole months ago!
When I return to the US, people would think, and perhaps even comment, that my Indian accent has become stronger after a 100-day stay in the country. Always with an accent wherever I go :)
Turned out that the afternoon was better spent with an even better friend, "S" and family.
"S" called and said we could meet and chat over coffee if I was not doing anything else. I got the address and directions needed for the autorickshaw ride.
I was barely out the house when I spotted an autorickshaw, and asked the driver how much he would charge me.
"100 rupees, sir" he said.
"Appa told me it would be a maximum of 75" I told him in Tamizh and added that I knew a little bit of the city.
He smiled and said "but, I have to go around, sir. The direct road will be blocked at Gemini flyover." He wanted 90 rupees.
I sat in, with no idea that a wonderful interaction was coming up.
"Sir, I can tell you are a foreigner. But, I am so happy you are wearing this shirt, sir" he said.
I was wearing the t-shirt that I had purchased at the Chennai Book Fair. (A simple post about this became controversial in Facebook!)
The driver was simply too impressed with the t-shirt, and with me wearing it. "There is no respect for Tamizh and for people who speak the language, sir. In Bombay and other places, they call us Tamizh people as thieves" he lamented.
I was not going to argue this point with him. But, I went after it another way. "Tamizh is the oldest living language with a rich literature" I replied.
Of course, our entire conversation was only in Tamizh. At times, I struggled for Tamizh words to replace in my mind the English words that came naturally.
"Are you a Tamizh professor, sir?"
I told him I teach economics. In fact, this has become my standard reply to most people. "Geography" tends to make people wonder what there is to study in geography--the old stereotypes of the wonderful discipline persist in India as much as they do in the US.
The driver wanted to know how long I have been in the US, and was impressed to know that it has been 25 years.
"Sir, even after 25 years you are wearing this shirt about Tamizh language. I am very happy." And then he added, "you speak good Tamizh sir. But, slightly like an Anglo-Indian."
I smiled. First time ever that somebody has termed my Americanized Tamizh as an Anglo-Indian accent. I wondered how he would have reacted to my Tamizh if it had been soon after I landed here in Chennai, two whole months ago!
When I return to the US, people would think, and perhaps even comment, that my Indian accent has become stronger after a 100-day stay in the country. Always with an accent wherever I go :)
Saturday, January 14, 2012
What sells at the Chennai Book Fair? Ahem, ...
Back home, I am a huge fan of C-Span's BookTV. I have spent one too many hours at home watching and listening to authors talk about their books. I have even spent the mornings of the first Sundays of many months watching the extended three-hour sessions with writers.
A couple of years ago, when I was in Chennai for a few days, I was starved for intellectual activity. I scanned the paper every single day for any interesting and non-religious talks. It was so disappointing and frustrating not to have anything to attend.
Then, one day I spotted a book-review, I think, that excited me. The book was a compilation of selected Tamil poems--from the Sangam period to modern times--that had been translated into English.
One of the authors was a faculty member at IIT Madras. I emailed her inquiring whether there would be any book-reading like how it is done in the US.
She replied almost right away. "Thank you so much. We are having a launch for The Rapids on August 21st at 6 (Landmark, Apex Plaza). Please do come if you are around."
I was excited. But, disappointed too--the event was to be held a couple of days after I was to leave for the US! An O Henry irony in real life :(
Largely because of that experience, I went to the book fair with zero expectations. Furthermore, as with all things in India, I have come to learn not to question anything, and not to expect anything. I just have to take it the way it comes. India is simply incomprehensible anymore.
At the book fair, it seemed like four kinds of books dominated over everything else: religious/spiritual books, various exams- and competencies-related texts, left of center books, and books from local newspaper/magazine publishers.
The left-of-center books, with Marxist language, looked and felt so old. Looking at copies of Mao's dictates in Tamil was quite surreal.
The libertarian streak in me scanned for anything that might challenge the role of government. I did not see anything along those lines.
Oh well!
Of the Tamil books I spotted, if it were 30 years ago, I would have purchased the complete collections of short stories by Pudhumaipithan. I leafed through the table copy, but that was it. There was once a time and a place for that in my life. That moment has passed.
After I put that down, a thirty-something woman picked it up and started scanning it. I was glad.
And then at another booth, she again picked up a book that I put down. Now, I was not glad. When I saw her again at a third booth, well, I skipped a couple of booths and continued on without any worries. Maybe America has made me paranoid about such things!
As I later told mom, the best thing about the book fair's content was this: the two main preoccupations of the people here were missing at the fair. And the two that were, thankfully, missing? Cricket and movies.
So, if you are in Chennai and, if not for any other reason but to get a place where nobody bugs you about cricket or movies, at least for a couple of hours, head to the book fair :)
While you are there, pick up tee shirts at a booth that sells wonderfully attractive ones that are unique--they have creatively designed Tamil phrases on them. They look great. Want to check them out before you go?
A couple of years ago, when I was in Chennai for a few days, I was starved for intellectual activity. I scanned the paper every single day for any interesting and non-religious talks. It was so disappointing and frustrating not to have anything to attend.
Then, one day I spotted a book-review, I think, that excited me. The book was a compilation of selected Tamil poems--from the Sangam period to modern times--that had been translated into English.
One of the authors was a faculty member at IIT Madras. I emailed her inquiring whether there would be any book-reading like how it is done in the US.
She replied almost right away. "Thank you so much. We are having a launch for The Rapids on August 21st at 6 (Landmark, Apex Plaza). Please do come if you are around."
I was excited. But, disappointed too--the event was to be held a couple of days after I was to leave for the US! An O Henry irony in real life :(
Largely because of that experience, I went to the book fair with zero expectations. Furthermore, as with all things in India, I have come to learn not to question anything, and not to expect anything. I just have to take it the way it comes. India is simply incomprehensible anymore.
The left-of-center books, with Marxist language, looked and felt so old. Looking at copies of Mao's dictates in Tamil was quite surreal.
The libertarian streak in me scanned for anything that might challenge the role of government. I did not see anything along those lines.
Oh well!
Of the Tamil books I spotted, if it were 30 years ago, I would have purchased the complete collections of short stories by Pudhumaipithan. I leafed through the table copy, but that was it. There was once a time and a place for that in my life. That moment has passed.
After I put that down, a thirty-something woman picked it up and started scanning it. I was glad.
And then at another booth, she again picked up a book that I put down. Now, I was not glad. When I saw her again at a third booth, well, I skipped a couple of booths and continued on without any worries. Maybe America has made me paranoid about such things!
As I later told mom, the best thing about the book fair's content was this: the two main preoccupations of the people here were missing at the fair. And the two that were, thankfully, missing? Cricket and movies.
So, if you are in Chennai and, if not for any other reason but to get a place where nobody bugs you about cricket or movies, at least for a couple of hours, head to the book fair :)
While you are there, pick up tee shirts at a booth that sells wonderfully attractive ones that are unique--they have creatively designed Tamil phrases on them. They look great. Want to check them out before you go?
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