നിങ്ങളെന്നെ മലയാളിയാക്കി

Tweet

സ്കൂളില്‍ പഠിക്കുന്ന കാലത്ത് കേരളമെന്നു കേട്ടാല്‍ അഭിമാനം കൊണ്ടു ഞെളിപിരി കൊള്ളുകയോ മലയാളമെന്നു കേട്ടാല്‍ രക്തം തിളച്ചുമറിയുകയോ ഒന്നും ചെയ്തിട്ടുള്ളതായി ഓര്‍ക്കുന്നില്ല. മലയാളം പഠിക്കുന്നതും കേള്‍ക്കുന്നതും വായിക്കുന്നതും പറയുന്നതും ഒരു വശത്തു കൂടി കടന്നു പോയി എന്നേയുള്ളൂ.

കേരളത്തില്‍ നിന്നു പുറത്തു വന്നില്ലായിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍ അങ്ങനെ ഒരു വികാരവും എനിക്കുണ്ടാവാന്‍ സാധ്യതയുണ്ടെന്നും തോന്നുന്നില്ല. കേരളത്തില്‍ എന്‍റെ കൂടെ പഠിച്ചിരുന്ന വടക്കേ ഇന്ത്യക്കാര്‍ മര്യാദയ്ക്ക് മലയാളം വാക്കുകള്‍ രണ്ടു-മൂന്നെണ്ണം പഠിച്ചു സന്തോഷമായി ജീവിച്ചു. അല്ലാതെ ഞങ്ങളെ ചൊറിയാനൊന്നും വന്നിട്ടില്ല.

ആദ്യമായി "മല്ലു" കഥകള്‍ കേള്‍ക്കുന്നത് ജോലിക്കു കയറിയതിനു ശേഷമാണെന്നു തോന്നുന്നു. ഒരു കൂട്ടുകാരി തന്‍റെ കൂടെയുള്ള വടക്കന്‍റെ കഥ പറഞ്ഞു. മലയാളികളെ കളിയാക്കാനുള്ള തന്ത്രവുമായി ഇറങ്ങിയതാണത്രേ ആ ചേട്ടന്‍. മലയാളത്തില്‍ 'z' ശബ്ദം ഇല്ലാത്തതു കൊണ്ട് മലയാളികള്‍ 'zoo'-നു 'soo' എന്നാണ് പറയുന്നത് എന്നായിരുന്നു അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്‍റെ കണ്ടുപിടുത്തം. അതു തെളിയിക്കാന്‍ ഒരു മലയാളിയോട് ആ വാക്ക് പറയാന്‍ അദ്ദേഹം പറഞ്ഞു. മിടുക്കിയായ ആ മലയാളി 'ജൂ' എന്നു പറഞ്ഞു. ഹിന്ദിക്കാര്‍ sabzi-ക്കു സബ്ജി, zindagi യ്ക്കു ജിന്ദഗി എന്നൊക്കെ പറയുന്ന കാര്യം നമുക്കറിയാമല്ലോ. വടക്കന്‍ ചൂളിപ്പോയി എന്നാണ് കഥ.

ബാംഗ്ലൂറില്‍ വച്ച്, ഒരിക്കല്‍ എന്‍റെ കൂടെ ജോലി ചെയ്തിരുന്ന ഒരു വടക്കേ ഇന്ത്യന്‍ മലയാളി (എന്നു വച്ചാല്‍ നോര്‍ത്തില്‍ ജനിച്ചു വളര്‍ന്ന മലയാളി) യുടെ മുന്നില്‍ വച്ച് ഞാന്‍ ഹിന്ദി പറയാനിടയായി. ഏതോ മറുഭാഷക്കാരനോടായിരുന്നു സംഭാഷണം. ലാലേട്ടന്‍റെ ഹൂം ഹൈ ഹോ പ്രശ്നങ്ങള്‍ എന്നെയും സ്ഥിരമായി അലട്ടാറുണ്ട്. മലയാളികള്‍ ഹിന്ദി പറയുമ്പോള്‍ സൗത്ത് ഇന്ത്യന്‍ ആക്സന്‍റ് ആണെന്ന് ആ മലയാളി സഹപ്രവര്‍ത്തകന്‍ അല്പം പുച്ഛത്തോടെ പ്രസ്താവിച്ചു. മലയാളിയായ എന്‍റെ ഹിന്ദിക്ക് അല്പം ആക്സന്‍റ് ആയതു സ്വാഭാവികം, മലയാളിയായ നിന്‍റെ മലയാളത്തിന് എന്തിനാണ് ഇത്രയും ഹിന്ദി ആക്സന്‍റ് എന്നു ഞാന്‍ തിരിച്ചു ചോദിച്ചു.

വടക്കേ ഇന്ത്യക്കാരെക്കാളും മലയാളികള്‍ തന്നെയാണ് നമ്മുടെ ആക്സന്‍റും മറ്റു കാര്യങ്ങളും കളിയാക്കാന്‍ വരാറ് എന്നു പിന്നീട് മനസ്സിലായി. അത്യാവശ്യം കാര്യം മനസ്സിലാക്കാനും ജീവിച്ചു പോകാനും മാത്രമല്ലേ പൊതുവേ അന്യഭാഷയുടെ ആവശ്യം. ഓരോ പ്രാവശ്യവും 'മല്ലു ആക്സന്‍റ്' എന്നു മലയാളികള്‍ തന്നെ കളിയാക്കുമ്പോള്‍, "അതിപ്പോ ഞാന്‍ മലയാളിയല്ലേ, എനിക്കു ഹിന്ദിക്കാരന്‍റെ ആക്സന്‍റ് വരുമോ? ഹിന്ദിക്കാരന് മലയാളം മലയാളിയെപ്പോലെ പറയാന്‍ പറ്റുമോ? പോട്ടെ, മലയാളിയായ നിങ്ങളെന്താ മലയാളം ഹിന്ദിയില്‍ പറയുന്നത്?" എന്നൊക്കെ തിരിച്ചു ചോദിക്കാനാണ് സന്തോഷം.

അങ്ങനെ, സുഹൃത്തുക്കളെ, നിങ്ങളെന്നെ മലയാളി എന്നു വിളിച്ചു കളിയാക്കുകയും "അപമാനി"ക്കുകയും ചെയ്തില്ലായിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍ ഞാനിന്ന് ഒരു യഥാര്‍ത്ഥ മലയാളി ആകുകയില്ലായിരുന്നു.

(Disclaimer: ലോകത്തില്‍ പലതരം മലയാളികളും ഹിന്ദിക്കാരും മറ്റു ഭാഷക്കാരും  ഉണ്ടെന്നും ഇതവരുടെയെല്ലാം കാര്യം അല്ലെന്നും എന്‍റെയും ഞാന്‍ കണ്ടിട്ടുള്ള ചിലരുടെയും മാത്രം കാര്യമാണെന്നും ഈയവസരത്തില്‍ വ്യക്തമാക്കാന്‍ ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നു. )

(Disclaimer 2: ബാംഗ്ലൂരില്‍ വളര്‍ന്നു വരുന്ന എന്‍റെ പുത്രന്‍ അത്യാവശ്യം ആക്സെന്‍റോടെയാണ് മലയാളം പറയുന്നതെന്നും, കുറച്ചു നാള്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞ് ആരും കാണാതെ ഈ ബ്ലോഗ്‌ ഡിലീറ്റ് ചെയ്യേണ്ടി വരുമെന്നും ഞാന്‍ മനസ്സിലാക്കുന്നു.)

Tweet

When time runs out...

Tweet

I wonder who came up with the phrase 'run out' to mean finish (or end, used up, etc).

My time is running out.

I picture an alarm clock with a pink bow on its forehead dashing to the door, gathering its long skirts in its hand, looking back over its shoulder in fear.

Recently, I overheard someone announce that he could not buy the latest gadget in the market because his allowance had run out. I had that vision again - a few thousand rupee notes heading for the door, afraid someone might pursue them and stack them into his pocket and spend them against a brand new handset.

As I said, I admire the one who first thought of it. Great visionary.

Tweet

Second Timer's Unluck!

Tweet

There is indeed such a thing as Beginner's Luck - we all know that.

Wikipedia says,

Beginner's luck refers to the supposed phenomenon of novices experiencing disproportionate frequency of success or succeeding against an expert in a given activity.

Nothing else can explain the fact that the very first time I made aviyal in my life, it tasted great - so great that I assumed I was already an expert, perhaps a genius, and that I had a natural knack (coupled with a natural lack-of-interest) for cooking. Forget the part that the second time I made it, it was a disaster and was saved only because my Mom was around.

Every week, my son has to learn words for his dictation in school, and it is my painful duty to teach him. Sometimes I tell him to "just write, let me see how many words you already know." He ponders for long over each word, applies phonics, thrusts his tongue out for effect and comes out with a result. I look at it, and am amazed - the word is perfect. English is a crazy language, as I always say. Nothing in English is as it seems. There is no clear rule for pronunciation, sometimes it is this way, sometimes it is that. For instance, I taught my son that if 'e' comes after 'g', it is pronounced like a 'j', example: strange, damage, danger. He pointed to 'belonged' and read it as 'belonjed'. He asks me why 'Ocean' is pronounced as 'oshen', shouldn't it be 'oseyan'? Anyway, he has his phonics right most of the time, so he gets some of the dictation words right at the first attempt. I am pleased. I don't bother with those words, and focus on the rest. The next day he comes back with the dictation results and lo and behold - the words that are wrong are exactly the ones he had got right the previous evening.

I firmly believe Wikipedia should devote a page to Second Timer's Unluck, because such a thing exists as much as Beginner's Luck does. It is almost inevitable and unavoidable that the second time the smug beginner attempts something, it should fail miserably. Because Sir Isaac Newton has rightfully said, "Every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

The first time, we are careful more than usual, we thrust our tongues out and ponder for long over each step. The second time, we feel it is easy - we have already done it right once, it was no fluke, and it was quite simple, really - and our concentration slips. We are prepared for an Encore. And the second time, we are unlucky.

The first (action) and second (reaction) balance each other out, and from the third time onwards, we are careful enough, we are experienced enough, we are sensible enough and we are balanced enough to get a moderately good (or sometimes better) result.

Tweet

Bringing up NRK

Tweet

If you are a Malayali living in any part of the world, and if you are middle-aged or thereabouts (or older), you will know what I am going to talk about.

Those of us who regularly surf Malayalam TV channels have inevitably cringed and flinched and blanched and winced at the weird accent that flows out of those so-called-Malayalis who rule Prime Time TV. We have secretly and publicly mocked and laughed at and insulted these people to our heart's content. We have easily blamed their parents for not teaching them our beautiful language, for not correcting their Anglicised accent, for not telling them that though chetta and Chetta are spelled the same in English, there is a world of difference between the two.

But let me start at the very beginning... a very good place to start...
*A crimson Sun rises over the Western Ghats & Suprabhaata plays in the background*


The population of the world is divided into four groups : Malayalis, semi-Malayalis, adopted-Malayalis & non-Malayalis.

The first, Malayalis whom others fondly call Mallus, are born and brought up in Kerala; they think and talk in Malayalam, they also dream in Malayalam, when they are angry they swear in Malayalam (sometimes using words borrowed from friendly neighbourhood Tamil), when they wake up they read a Malayalam newspaper, they love Kilukkam, most of their lives they have lived in places where Malayali voices float in from outside, when they go out to a shop or in a bus, they are greeted (or abused) in Malayalam, and they have a special love-hate relationship with hartals, rains, alcohol and communism. A real Malayali is defined by more or less a blend of these, and much more.

Adopted Malayalis were once born as non-Malayalis but due to circumstances or fate (usually a mix of both) have learnt to understand the Malayali culture and speak Malayalam like an authentic one. (Much like the Punjabi family of Punjabi House.)

Semi-Malayalis are those quirks of nature who were brought up outside Nammude Kochu Keralam as Non-Resident Keralites, and as a result know precious little about their homeland and its fragilities, and they speak like foreigners. (I don't mean half-Malayalis). Yes, they are our topic of discussion today.

(Some of my friends would argue that though they were brought up as NRKs, they have the characteristics and mannerisms of a full-fledged Malayali. Full marks to them. 

I also know of another set of people who try very hard to conceal the fact that they are Malayalis, and they go through such troubles to not let anyone overhear when they are forced to speak in their mother tongue. 

There are obviously some overlaps.
Then there are half-Malayalis. Expecting them to behave like one of us is totally unfair.)

Non-Malayalis, of course, are the rest of the world.

If you know who you are, then you know who these people are too. Nee aaranennu ninakkariyillenkil nee ennodu chodickku nee aaranennu... etc. etc. 


*Zoom into a particular slice of time, chenda melam in the backdrop*

Some time before my son was born, I happened to work with a Malayali born and brought up in Pune. His accent was worse than that of a Westerner learning an Indian language. One day, overhearing both of us discussing the project in English, a colleague commented, "Why are two Malayalis conversing in English?" Without a moment's hesitation, I snapped, "I don't consider him a Malayali." The Pune NRK smiled good-naturedly. Later he confessed that he spoke to his parents in Malayalam but most of his time was spent with friends and others, which explained his accent. I wasn't convinced. I said to myself that surely he spoke to his parents in Hindi or Marathi or whatever language Pune-folk used.

Fate has its own weird and twisted sense of humour, people. When my son was born, I was determined that he would speak, think, dream and shout in Malayalam like a 24-carat Malayali. When others in Kerala and Bangalore admired his perfect two-year-old accent, I beamed and burst with pride. Then came school. I realised for the first time that he did not know a word of Kannada, English or Hindi to communicate. His ayahs knew only Kannada and pieces of Hindi, and none of his teachers spoke Malayalam. A Communication Disaster was knocking at my little baby's doors.

But he survived. A few weeks later, he demonstrated the words he had picked up from other languages, and I was impressed (and enormously relieved). Things started to go downhill from there - I think. His friends circle consisted of Malayalis, Tamilians, Kannadigas and Andhraites, and their common language became English. Even when only Malayali friends are around, they forget to switch language and would continue in English. When he comes running in from play, he begins with "Do you know what happened?" or "Amme, can I play for some more time?" When I roll my eyes at him, he thinks for a few minutes and then slowly understands why I did so, and then restarts in Malayalam. If I roll my eyes every time he does that, there wouldn't be much left of my eyes. Sometimes, rather than bothering with the eye-rolling routine, I confess I'm guilty of replying in English too. A friend, who overheard him one day, observed sarcastically: "You should teach your son a little Malayalam." Seriously! After all this effort, this is what I get to hear. Just you wait, I thought, your baby will soon start speaking - then you'll know!

When one day my son, then six years old, began to talk about "Njaan oru tree-yil climb cheythu" -- I almost fainted - and it was not because he was climbing a tree. Terrified out of my wits, I began to roll my eyes harder, and pretended to not understand a word of what he was saying until he used all words in Malayalam. (Another time, in the middle of an interesting story, he said frustrated, "I can't remember the Malayalam word for camel !") Every time this happens, the good-natured smile of my Pune NRK friend flashes before my eyes.

At seven and a half years, my son takes the hint and corrects himself, but a few years from now, he may not bother.

In every visit to Kerala, I observe how effortlessly and clearly the children there speak, how well they understand synonyms of a word simply because they hear these words from different people around them, and I realise it isn't as easy as I thought. It is even harder since my son does not get to learn Malayalam in school. (Which is another heavy responsibility of an NRK parent.)

One little girl who lives next door to us in Bangalore, who spent the first five years of her life in Kerala, speaks such delightful Malayalam that I make sure I converse with her whenever I see her. (I also shamelessly show my displeasure when her choice of words extends unnecessarily to English.) I suppose the early years spent steeped in Malayaliness do make such a big difference. My son understands his mother tongue very well, but there are some phrases and words that he may not come across at all, over here. There is no way I can teach him those. I taught him to count in Malayalam, painstakingly, at least till twenty, and then in spurts of ten until hundred, but the important part is that, today when he needs to count something, it comes out as onnu, randu, moonu instead of one, two, three. It wasn't easy, people. It wasn't easy at all, to say the least.

It was (is) like pushing a heavy rock up the mountain - if I relax for an instant, it would start rolling downhill, and I would have to chase it down. And there are miles to go before I reach the top, to the safe plateau from where no amount of gravity can pull it down.

Sometimes I fear that I try too hard, and he will end up saying something blasphemous like, Oh I hate Malayalam.

But perhaps there is no cause for concern. I meet a lot of folks here who speak Kannada like a native, and Malayalam with a rich, beautiful northern Kerala accent. Maybe those lads were born and brought up somewhere over here, or in places like Mangalore. If they can manage two languages so well, perhaps...


The bottom line is that I have stopped making fun of those Manglishi TV anchors. As a parent, I know how difficult it is, even if we are determined to put in the right amount of effort. It is easier to stop trying. When you have more important things to worry about, it is easier to pretend not to notice.

You're right, I am pretty much obsessed with this.

Who knows how this story would turn out?

*Sunset over the glorious Arabian Sea*

Tweet

Simply complicated

Tweet

"Amme, my friend is calling. Can I go to she's house?"


Why on Earth is English such a complicated language?!

Tweet

I hate Malayalam Movies...

Tweet

...  in which Malayalis don't speak like Malayalis.

In the recent past, I have come across a few youth-ish films in which youngsters talk like foreigners learning Malayalam. (At least the foreigners sound cute.) In reality, even in Bangalore, I don't hear so much Englishised Malayalam as that. Malayalis born and brought up outside Kerala may have this difficulty in twisting their tongues to the 'zhas' and 'Las' of Malayalam. When I look around, I see my son and children of my friends let go the perfect Malayalam that their parents taught them when they started speech. In this multi-cultural environment that they are growing up in, holding on to one language is very tough. The children are shifting to a mixed accent right before our eyes, and there is not much we can do about it, except insist they stick to the Mother-tongue at home.

But Kerala is a different story. Or isn't it? I don't remember coming across such atrocious accent in Kerala so far. Maybe it is cleverly evading me.

If the youth in Kerala really speak like that, I pity them.
If they don't, I still pity them, because many of them are going to watch these films and begin faking their accent.

Older posts:
Malayalam, a Unique Language

Tweet

I could not able to...

Tweet

It was the summer of five years ago. Or was it six? In the long conference hall that could seat 50 people if required, with a huge white board at one end and a clock at the other, and an oval table in the middle, we sat discussing our project. There were features and there were deliverables and then there were those inevitable creeps they call bugs. A member of my team, a young engineer, was explaining his predicament - the bug he was trying to squash refused to be squashed.
"I tried," he said, "but I could not able to fix it."

I looked up. His face betrayed helplessness and confusion. The conversation strayed to possible methods to tame the bug. I stayed where I was, unblinking. I could not able to... His thoughts must have stumbled over each other, I decided. I could not fix it and I was not able to fix it had collided, I consoled myself. I shook my head free and hurried to join the others.

It did not take me long to realise that the thoughts, if they had collided once, had become glued to each other. Every time he could not able to fix something, he said... I mean, every time he could unable to... okay, whatever. You get the idea.

It was not just he, I soon noticed. A lot of people could not able to do a lot of things. The virus was spreading!

One can imagine how my mouth fell open when last week I received a mail from a senior official in a Government organisation, a reply to my request for something or the other...

"Dear Madam, Please send me the details so that we can able to update our records... "


Watch out! Apparently the virus is not yet under control...
I could not able to resist posting this here.

Tweet

A unique language

Tweet

One day in office, during lunch which all eleven of us were having together, my Malayali colleague and I started chattering in our mother tongue. Those of us who shared a common language (there were also Kannadigas, Tamilians, Andhraites etc. in the team) had this habit of slipping into our own language now and then, and none of the others would mind. If it was something everyone should hear, the medium was, of course, English (rather than Hindi, which some didn't follow well). After a while a Tamilian, who was sitting next to me, asked, "Why do you guys use your names in the conversation? Don't you have a word for 'you' in Malayalam?" My 'compatriot' and I grinned at each other. Sure enough, our conversations (directly translated from Malayalam) sounded like this:
"Did Joe go to the party last night?"
"No, did Jeena go?"
"I didn't either. Did Joe stay late in office?"
...

One would have thought we were talking of people who were nowhere in the vicinity - nah, we were asking about each other. It's not that there are no words for 'you' in Malayalam, the problem was elsewhere. Like most Indian languages, Malayalam too has two ways of saying 'you' - the word that you use with buddies, nee ('tum' in Hindi) and the more respectful one that we use with elders, ningal or thangal ('aap' in Hindi). Nee was too familiar a form; my colleague and I were close, but not close enough to call each other 'nee'. Ningal or thangal were too formal, we didn't use those either. The most courteous and favoured and easy (safe?) way (at least, in my part of Kerala - others may differ, I do not intend to spark a debate) to speak was to use the other person's name. I haven't heard this kind of third-person usage in any other language - and I have had a brush with more than a handful of them. It may be too far-fetched to call Malayalam a really unique language (or maybe not) - even considering that the name, Malayalam, is a palindrome - but it sure does have its own weird, interesting and rare styles of speech. But I don't intend to digress.

The third-person usage is fine, more or less, as long as the correct phrases come into play when we switch to English or Hindi. However, recently I happened to listen to a Malayali speaking to a Kannadiga in English, and because of the direct translation, this is how it went.
"If I do this part, Auntie can take care of the rest, no?" ('Auntie' was the elderly Kannadiga lady.) "I will finish this and call Auntie."
Of course, Auntie understood that she was being referred, so there were no issues.

When I speak to a child, I refer to myself as Auntie (or whatever s/he should call me) instead of saying 'I'. "Auntie is feeling cold, so Auntie is wearing a sweater. Why aren't you wearing one?"

To be frank, this is the exact sentence I spoke to a four-year-old today morning, that triggered the series of thoughts behind this post.

Tweet

Malayalisation

Tweet

We Malayalis have an oddly terrific sense of humour, so much that it sometimes gets on our own nerves. We try to make fun of everything and play with words till they become part of our daily jargon. We stop laughing at these jokes after the first two or three times, and then use them gravely as though the twisted word is the correct one.

Here are a few such, from my circle of Malayalis.

- Automatic, instead of Autorickshaw.
   "I think I'll call an automatic to go to the temple. " / "Oru automatic pidichu ambalathil pokam."

- Ambulance, instead of omelet.
   "Would you like some egg ambulance with the rice?" / "Chorinde koode mutta ambulance veno?"

- Omelet, instead of boli.
   "Will they be serving omelet and payasam with the lunch?" / "Sadya-de koode payasavum omeletum undo?"

- Endosulphan, instead of Endoscopy.
   "Doc asked me to get an endosulphan done." / "Oru endosulphan cheyan doctor paranju."

... The list is endless.
Mind you, I am not making fun of the illiterate people of the society: these words are most commonly used by the highly elite and educated Malayali.

New words are added to the Malayalised vocabulary daily: some of them originate from our very own genes, the hereditary skill of making up words handed down generations from our great-grandfathers, and some of these are new(er) phrases and usages that have been effectively handed down from our own movie superheroes. Some of the words are not even funny, but that does not stop us from using it.

When I re-connected after several years with some friends who had been travelling around the world, who now speak nineteen to the dozen about life in other lands and what our country pitifully lacks, I was pleased to find that underneath everything, the Malayali-ness was still intact when they let slip some of these words...

Tweet

English - From UK to US

Tweet

Contd from Bangalorisation of English 3.

There was a time when the English in use in India was completely UK-English. I remember spelling "colour", "honour" and "neighbour" in school, without any confusion or fore/after-thought. Then somewhere around 15 years ago, things began to change, when my attention was elsewhere. Then- when I looked again, everywhere there were "color", "honor" and "neighbor", spellings changed, pronunciations changed. No, not everywhere. Newspapers stayed loyal to the older version - they do, to this day. However, hoardings, displays and other miscellaneous territories were taken over by this new(US) version of English.

The problem with smooth transition to the new English was that no one realised that such a transition has happened. People thought they had been spelling words and articulating all wrong, all this time. It is a foreign language, anyway. One never knows.

When I started writing - like, serious writing - I did not pay much attention to "what English" I was using. What English, as in UK English, US English, Canadian, Australian, etc. ('Indian' English being mostly identified by the mixed-up grammar due to direct translation from the Mother-tongue and pronunciations, and rarely by the spellings.) The result was a splash of color, honour, neighbors, recognise, realize and so on. Looking back now, I guess I failed to even notice the red underline that the very helpful MS Word and other word editors provided.

Then one day I decided that I shall be following the Mother of all English, the Queen's English, otherwise known as UK English, from now on. Once this decision was reached, it was essential to know the differences between the most common two versions found in this region - UK and US.

The last three years have been an eye-opener for me in terms of my acquaintance with the language. Once I decided that I will follow UK English (primarily, - for I cannot keep away the expressions that diffuse from different parts of the world, the 'American', 'British' and 'Indian' versions, and I can hardly identify them for where they belong!), it was imperative that I know what the differences between the two were. So, my saviour Google came to my aid. (I list a few of them here, the remaining can be found in the sites I have mentioned below.)

* British English words that end in -re (e.g. centre, fibre, theatre) often end in -er in American English (center, fiber, theater).

* British English words that end in -our (e.g. colour, humour) usually end with -or in American English (color, humor).

* Verbs in British English that can be spelled with either -ize or -ise at the end (e.g. recognize/recognise) are always spelled with -ize in American English.

* Verbs in British English that end in -yse (e.g. analyse) are always spelled -yze in American English (analyze).

* In British spelling, verbs ending in a vowel plus l double the l when adding endings that begin with a vowel (e.g. travel, travelled, traveller). In American English the l is not doubled (travel, traveled, traveler).

* British English words that are spelled with the double vowels ae or oe (e.g. archaeology, manoeuvre) are just spelled with an e in American English (archeology, maneuver).

* Some nouns that end with -ence in British English (e.g. licence, defence) are spelled -ense in American English (license, defense).

* Some nouns that end with -ogue in British English (e.g. dialogue) end with -og in American English (dialog).

The above listed information has been taken from the following sites:
http://www.askoxford.com/betterwriting/us/?view=uk
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_and_British_English_spelling_differences
http://www.tysto.com/articles05/q1/20050324uk-us.shtml


I do not know the Canadian or Australian versions of the language, are they similar to US or UK, or much different?
Welcome any thoughts on this!

Tweet

Bangalore by any other name...

Tweet

Is it Bangalore, Bengaluru, Bengalooru, Bangaluru or Bangalooru?

Agreed, Bangalore is out - it was the old English name given by the British Babus who could not pronounce the regional name; the city was recently rechristened to the original Kannada name "Bengaluru". Almost every Indian city thus has a local version and an English version of its name. And each one of them, after fifty years of Independence, is slowly reverting back to its original name that locals know it by. (Bombay-Mumbai, Madras-Chennai, Calcutta-Kolkata, Trivandrum-Thiruvananthapuram, Cochin-Kochi).

Which is all very good.

As long as there is no ambiguity involved in the way one spells it. Because there is only one way to write each name in the regional language (for example, ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು in Kannada) - whereas there are a thousand (well, almost!) ways to write it in English! (Look at the different ways Bengaluru is spelt in the first sentence of this post.) I am sure one of these is the "official" spelling.

However, the City Railway Station is still called the "Bangalore City", the other surrounding stations in the track are "Bangalore East", "Bangalore Cantonment" etc. instead of "Bengaluru ..." Elsewhere in other government offices, the location is spelled as "Bengaluru". In other establishments not related to govt., we find the remaining versions of the name.

I still have not fully switched my mind to the Kannada name yet, it's still Bangalore in my thoughts. Not that I consider it important to change the name, when we have a million other things to worry about. Still, if it makes someone feel better, let them. I don't mind either way.

A city by any other name, we would say, would still have its share of traffic, pollution, and water woes. Speaking of traffic... I should speak of Bangalore's traffic and vanishing greenery some other time. It is a much-much-spoken-of topic, but surely has enough space for my small contribution.

Tweet

Bangalorisation of English 3

Tweet

What version of the English language should be used by an Indian writing an official email to a person in China, Korea or Taiwan? Is it American, British, Australian or Canadian?? Or Indian?

Do I say, behaviour or behavior?
Color or colour?
9/27 or 27/9 ?
Football or soccer? -- well, that doesn't appear in the mails I send, of course!

Having been brought up on English brought to India by the British, my loyalty lies with what I would call The Real English. All else, to me, is derived from it and not worth following. However, when I communicate with customers from other countries whose only exposure to the language is perhaps through the movies from America, and my Word editor not only suggests with a red underline but adamantly changes every UK English spelling I type to US English, I slip to a mixed version which looks absolutely unacceptable to me but does serve the purpose.

Not that it matters, of course. The replies that I get to my mails do have only the least semblance of the language.

As days pass by, and English grows as a global language, it is becoming more and more difficult to categorize the phrases as belonging to this or that region of the world.

More on English from this part of the world, later.
For earlier blog posts, go here.

Your experiences?

Tweet

Pretol or Petrol?

Tweet

Language... is fascinating. Language is just a tool for communication, but we definitely do more than just communicate. We try to refine our vocabulary and convey our thoughts in an interesting and imaginative way that captures the listeners' interest (or readers' in some cases!). For a three year old, though, language is just what it is intended to be. My son says "Pretol" for petrol and "Blangore" for Bangalore. When he tries to correct it, following my persuasion, he succeeds "Pe.... trol". The pause is essential to make the word sound right. If the pause is lost, he falls back to Pretol. Last night he was a mechanic and had his tricycle upside down and was pumping "pretol" into it. (No, in his world the tricycle cannot stand straight when petrol is poured into it.) He gives running commentaries as the pretol is being poured. Every time he said the word, I corrected him, "Petrol". He tried a few times, and finally said, "Look, I am pouring this thing into my cycle." As long as it is flowing to the cycle, what does it matter whether it is pertol or petrol?

Tweet

Bangalorisation of English, contd.

Tweet

Ever since I began noticing the crude English phrases in use around me, I have been struck with a nagging thought... How do I know which is the correct usage and which is not? Not many worry about how they put a point across, with good grammar or not, as long as the point does go across. But now that I have decided to worry about it, it has become more than a worry, it has been a strong concern.


For example.
Someone said to me yesterday, "Moving forward, would you please take care of this?"
I felt considerably uncomfortable with this sentence, without knowing why (Of course, that didn't stop me from saying, "Sure".).
A week ago, a person who takes more care of his language said, "What would you like to do, going forward?"

Because I have noticed at several instances that the latter's language is more polished, I assumed that "going forward" is more correct than "moving forward".

But why fear when Google is near? I put an end to this misery and did a search. This is what I found.

Going Forward is apparently the correct(er) phrase. However, to my relief, it has been declared over-used.

Another interesting site lists out the most boring, over-used clichés.
Perhaps I should make a similar list of my own. The rusty language around me flows in a circle with no option to insert new words and thoughts into it. It is perhaps time I broke free!


Having said this, I am a person who believes that as long as one speaks and writes his/her Mother tongue well there is no cause for concern, and English is just English, a language for communication when the other party does not speak yours. And in a metro like Bangalore where the percentage of languages in use (Kannada, Hindi, Telugu, Tamil, Malayalam, Marathi, Bengali,... ) is almost uniform, English is the most commonly used language, even ahead of Hindi as most of the South Indians are not well-versed in the National Language.

Tweet

Relook?

Tweet

Relook - is there such a word?
I checked. There isn't.
But from popular usage if words are born, then such a word is now born in Bangalore. The meaning is to "look again" or "revisit" or "re-verify".

A vast majority of people use sentences like these:
"I will relook into it."
"Could you please relook and update me?"

When I googled "relook", all the sites that came up were Indian.

Does that provide a clue?

Tweet

Bangalorisation of English

Tweet

I do not fancy my English was exceptionally brilliant when I came to Bangalore a few years ago, but it definitely was passable and the grammar was fine, all picked up from school days and nurtured with the lot of fiction (American, British, translations from Spanish, Hindi Bengali,..) I used to read. And also complemented perhaps by the innumerous movies along the way. But English in Bangalore was a revelation. A jolt. A real disaster. I had curiously observed the warped usage of the people with whom I had occasion to interact, but never realised the depth into which I myself was sinking and the deterioration beyond recognition of my own precious little knowledge of the language.

It took me more than a couple of years to realise that my perfect grammar was almost history, my vocabulary was becoming extinct, and I had begun to speak like the rest of them.

"For what this is?"
"What you are doing?"
"Where you are going?"


Urrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh...

It took two of my friends to poke me awake, make me sit up and take notice that my language was decaying and if I did not take hold of it now, the Queen's English will be non-existent in my life. But these two friends to whom I am indebted, do not know how they have influenced me. So began my journey to revamp my vocabulary and here I am, clinging to the little language I grew up with, but determined to salvage it. I haven't the least idea whether I will be successful - but I believe I have made a good start by realising that my language is not currently the best.


This thought was triggered by an article in the Times of India a couple of days ago, and the following internet link I came across.

http://www.chillibreeze.com/articles/IsitIndianEnglishorEnglishinIndia.asp

This site sums it all up.
"Indians from different parts of India, especially those who learnt another language before English, speak English as a translation of their own mother tongue using the same grammatical rules."
Well said!


Hey, don't rate my English but would certainly like to hear your experiences on English in the Indian soil :)

Tweet