Some Other Mother Language
C___ has offered numerous complaints that the Hindi taught by the institute isn't 'real Hindi,' i.e the Hindi of everyday life. "I embarrassed myself by using the word bhaviśya; no-one even uses that word! Everyone made fun of me! But the teacher said it was proper!"
I wonder at this point in my career as an academic and a human (the human career!) what the point would be in learning Hindi properly. Every other language has its point, doesn't it? Sanskrit and Literary Chinese for my ability to talk with the dead people I care about; French, German, Japanese, English, Modern Chinese to talk with the living people who care about the dead people.
With learning Hindi, it seems to me, getting to the level of discussing the odd things I really like to discuss would take a really long time and a great deal of investment. More immediately, within a few months, I would be entering a sensuous world of everyday life: the kinds of Wittgensteinian games like building things or talking about how much things cost.
Already every time I use Hindi without my trusty interpreters around, I feel like I'm being thrown into the deep end of a pool - proud that I'm not drowning but so glad to get out of there. So why bother getting better at it when English more or less suffices? Were I to analyze the amorphous fear and apathy I feel, it might sound like: These people hate and distrust me. (Maybe vice versa?) Even if we spoke the same language, we'd have nothing to say to each other.
Predictably enough, I find talking to small children not very stressful and completely wonderful. I'm comfortable in my position as a tall goofy weirdo who has magic powers (relative to children); and they're children AND their Hindi is better than mine, so there's lots to be excited about on their side.
With adults on the other hand, a conversation might look something like this:
"What are you reading there?"
"This is a book about hermaneutics. The people inside are Germans."
"What's hermaneutics?"
"That's the study of interpretation."
"What is your country?"
"America. Do you have any siblings?"
"Two younger brothers in Jaisalmer."
"How much does that ring cost?"
"Oh, maybe 5 lakh dollars." (This is a lie, and I don't know how much a lakh is.)
And then we just end up looking at each other.
"Okay, I'm going to go now."
This could very well be because I'm terrible at small talk in any language. I've always blamed this on account of my parents not being native English speakers. But lately, on account of my spoken Chinese being so elementary (家常), I've been thinking about how my mother's Mandarin was already a second language. She must still primarily think in Fujianese as a language of everyday life.
I wonder if Indians who have grown up in English-medium schools feel this way toward Hindi - that it's always going to be a language of childhood, of women, of home, of mothers (not necessarily their mother's mother-tongue though) - and they can only have certain kinds of high-falutin' conversations in English. Admirable that the institute tries to capture and recreate a world where Hindi can or could do a whole bunch of high-falutin' things, and maybe I'd like to meet those sensitive souls who write those short stories and talk to them in "pure" Hindi.
But they're not here, and I can't hold any conversation with a stranger for longer than five minutes anyway. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel alienated and lonely right now? And I'm doubtful that working on my Hindi would make it any better?
I wonder at this point in my career as an academic and a human (the human career!) what the point would be in learning Hindi properly. Every other language has its point, doesn't it? Sanskrit and Literary Chinese for my ability to talk with the dead people I care about; French, German, Japanese, English, Modern Chinese to talk with the living people who care about the dead people.
With learning Hindi, it seems to me, getting to the level of discussing the odd things I really like to discuss would take a really long time and a great deal of investment. More immediately, within a few months, I would be entering a sensuous world of everyday life: the kinds of Wittgensteinian games like building things or talking about how much things cost.
Already every time I use Hindi without my trusty interpreters around, I feel like I'm being thrown into the deep end of a pool - proud that I'm not drowning but so glad to get out of there. So why bother getting better at it when English more or less suffices? Were I to analyze the amorphous fear and apathy I feel, it might sound like: These people hate and distrust me. (Maybe vice versa?) Even if we spoke the same language, we'd have nothing to say to each other.
Predictably enough, I find talking to small children not very stressful and completely wonderful. I'm comfortable in my position as a tall goofy weirdo who has magic powers (relative to children); and they're children AND their Hindi is better than mine, so there's lots to be excited about on their side.
With adults on the other hand, a conversation might look something like this:
"What are you reading there?"
"This is a book about hermaneutics. The people inside are Germans."
"What's hermaneutics?"
"That's the study of interpretation."
"What is your country?"
"America. Do you have any siblings?"
"Two younger brothers in Jaisalmer."
"How much does that ring cost?"
"Oh, maybe 5 lakh dollars." (This is a lie, and I don't know how much a lakh is.)
And then we just end up looking at each other.
"Okay, I'm going to go now."
This could very well be because I'm terrible at small talk in any language. I've always blamed this on account of my parents not being native English speakers. But lately, on account of my spoken Chinese being so elementary (家常), I've been thinking about how my mother's Mandarin was already a second language. She must still primarily think in Fujianese as a language of everyday life.
I wonder if Indians who have grown up in English-medium schools feel this way toward Hindi - that it's always going to be a language of childhood, of women, of home, of mothers (not necessarily their mother's mother-tongue though) - and they can only have certain kinds of high-falutin' conversations in English. Admirable that the institute tries to capture and recreate a world where Hindi can or could do a whole bunch of high-falutin' things, and maybe I'd like to meet those sensitive souls who write those short stories and talk to them in "pure" Hindi.
But they're not here, and I can't hold any conversation with a stranger for longer than five minutes anyway. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel alienated and lonely right now? And I'm doubtful that working on my Hindi would make it any better?