My tryst with Hindi
My
tryst with Hindi
As a
completely undistinguished student during my academic years, I have contributed
significantly to the birth and growth of acidity, colitis and other anxiety
related ailments that my mother currently suffers from. It is not as if, my
other parent – my father - was satisfied with the contents of my progress
report card – it was just that he was more spiritual and believed that everyone
found their strengths in life sooner or later and had reconciled to the fact
that I would find mine much, much later in life.
Age is
a great equalizer and in my 40s, I can now have enriching conversations with my
parents about topics that were until then not only difficult to broach but also
always ended with emotional outbursts on my part and / or serious reprimand on
theirs. Their weaknesses, their unfairness to me (or my perception of it),
human anatomy and physiology (from appreciative, generic and medical points of
view), relationships (theirs and mine with our respective spouses, siblings
etc), my issues with my BMI, my laizez-faire outlook to life and my
much-to-be-desired performance during my student years – all hitherto taboo
topics were now open for discussion. I can now laugh about it – but when I
think of some of the embarrassing moments I put my parents through – their
continued acceptance of me as their child serves as a pure, unadulterated
testimony of their love for me.
As a
child of south Indian parents who were born and raised in remote villages in
God’s own country, my exposure to Hindi was working class – where I learnt the
language from maids and handy-men who worked at my parent’s home. Needless to
add, this was of no help whatsoever in the presence of Hindi teachers whose
concept of Hindi was light years away from the working class Hindi that I had
unknowingly picked up. It was a very difficult language indeed. Not only did
Hindi grammar better known as Vyakran perplex me, my knowledge of genders and
tense (or the lack of it) changed the entire context of the lesson’s plot and
storyline. Why! Oh Why!! Why did inanimate objects require a gender? And Why!
Why!! OH Why!!! Why did verbs vary with gender? And Why! Why!! Why!!! Oh
Why!!!! Why did entire sentences change with gender? A “Raja jaa rahaa tha”
whereas “Rani jaa rahee thi” was a killer to the mind of a Malayalee child
whose native tongue was the most sexually indiscriminating language with the
added advantage of no genders specified to inanimate objects. My preferred
language of communication – aka – English also did not hold such difficult
frontiers to be conquered.
I
fearlessly ploughed along – fully surrendering to the fact that learning by
rote would be the only way I could clear the subject. But there too my cursed
luck did not support me.
In
class seven of the Maharashtra Board, there was a beautiful poem called ‘Desh
Hamaara’. It was an inspirational poem that hit the hearts of us thirteen year
olds with its description of the beauty of India and Indians. It started as
“Main banjara le ek taara, ghooma bharath saara”.
The
last paragraph spoke about the qualities of the Indian man and woman. “Bharath
ka har nar naahar ke samaan aur Bharath ki har naari angaar”. It meant ‘every
Indian man was like a tiger and every Indian woman was like a ball of fire’
I had
learnt this poem by rote, one because I liked it and two because this poem was
marked as ‘Important’ by the teacher for our oral and written tests.
Come
exam day, I was confident of my preparation by rote and hopeful that I would
score well on Questions from the text book and would probably lose marks only
in the ‘Composition / essay’ section.
And lo
and behold! When the paper arrived, ‘Desh Hamara’ featured majorly in many
sections viz; ‘fill in the blanks’, ‘critical appreciation’ etc.
There
was even a ‘ ek vakya mein uttar do’ aka ‘answer in one sentence’ – “Bharat ka
har nar kis prakaar hota hai?”
I knew
it all… I had nailed this paper.
A few
weeks later, we had our Parents Teachers meeting to discuss our performance in
the tests and my mother sat nervously in the waiting room – repeatedly asking
me if I was expecting anything untoward. I was confident on the averageness of
my intelligence and therefore told her that there would be no surprises this
time. Despite my votes of confidence for myself, my mother never relaxed.
My
name was finally called…. My class teacher who was also our Hindi teacher
beckoned us to the chairs opposite the desk where she sat. My mother and she
greeted each other warmly. She shared all the things I was good at and told my
mother that if I paid more attention and worked harder I had the potential to
top the class. But alas!
And
then she brought out my Hindi paper and opened sheet 3 of the set. She then
gave me a look of utter disdain and gave a look of abject sympathy for my poor
mother and pointed to the answer I had given to the question “Bharat ka har nar
kis prakar hota hai?” I knew the answer even as I stood there – a full 6 weeks
after the test. I was confident she was mistaken – until she read out the
answer. My poor mother – even with her poverty stricken knowledge of hindi
understood the answer and the stupidity or the wickedness of the answer –
depending on whether I had answered it through my lack of knowledge or with a
streak of mischief.
I had
answered “Bhaarath ka har nar naari ke samaan hota hai”. Literally translated,
it meant ‘every Indian man is like a woman’.
Oh the
shame of it all…. Other teachers, friends and cousins got wind of it. I was
never allowed to forget it until many years later.
I can
vouch that the answer was a product of careless over-confidence. But after that
I was a changed person as far as Hindi was considered. I was very careful with
the language thereafter. Careful and many miles away – I used it only when my
life depended on it. Oh and it became important to me many years later when my
north Indian mother-in-law from Lucknow who only spoke Hindi used to converse
with me. The only upside was that I gave her numerous opportunities to laugh.
And she loved the way her ‘Madraasi bahu’ spoke Hindi.
- Smita Nair Jain
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