Experiments in ensuring the kids new their language(s)

A prompt on the Momspresso blogging platform nudged me to write this post. It took me back to the days of mad hands-on hit-and-miss parenting experiments. Most of my posts are now more reflective or borderline morbid. Maybe it's a 'phase of life' thing. Well this one is from another phase:

We live in city where if you step out to any public space-an event, airport, or a bus you get to hear a cacophony of languages: Telugu, Kannada, Tamil, Hindi, Malayalam, Bengali to start with. In a situation where adopting any one Indian language over the other seems to tread on regional pride, most people have adopted English as the link language.

So much so that my children's generation now speaks and thinks in English as their first language and falter to even complete a sentence in other Indian languages. At one point, I thought it was ok, language is for communication. If the kids find English an easier medium to connect with people, and they anyway need it for school, let them use English exclusively.

But then a language is much more than a tool for communication. It connects you to an entire culture, your traditions and your heritage. Determined to preserve the connection to their roots for my not-so-interested children, I have tried multiple experiments over the years.

Assigning languages to people:
Using only Bengali while talking to grandparents. Speaking only in Hindi with parents.

Outcome: Slow, painful and yet at times hilarious conversations. (4-year-old telling Ramayana to her grandmother: taar pore ora Ram ke jungle-e bheje dilo. The literal translation: Then they fried-off Ram in the jungle). The convoluted conversations would end up with the grand-parents speaking in English. It was a bit confusing and even I would end up mixing the language and person.

Assigning days:

Saturdays were declared Hindi days; Sundays as Bengali days. These became the most peaceful days as the kids were still not fluent enough to fight without English. Given a choice between not squabbling or building up their vocabulary, they adapted soon and now we had cat-fights in three languages! I am not sure whether this was a good move or not.

Movies:
Yes. Bollywood was far more successful in teaching Hindi to my kids then any enforced language class. It still took some time to catch up though any there would be real confusion like the time my then 6-year-old watched Band-Baaja-Baraat to wonder in the end: But who was Baraat in the movie?

It was more difficult to coax them to watch Bengali movies, so I started with a fun-movie Bhooter Bhavishyat. They enjoyed it, so I pushed my luck with another comedy, but this with a bit of partition history, Goynar Baksho. That went well! Excited, I tried playing more contemporary movies but then my luck ran out- “Can we see only Bengali Ghost movies?” I guess the other facets of culture will have to wait.

Travel:

There are large parts of the country where English doesn’t work that way. And kids learnt it on their own. While in Delhi they picked up the Punjabized Hindi, in Bangalore they learnt to intersect it with 'aiyos'. In Rajasthan, they interacted comfortably with the neighborhood children in colorful Hindi and my elder daughter told me with pride how she bargained in Bengali, in Banaras!

School:
I think this was the most effective channel. My children went to boarding school and broadened their horizons beyond the confines of family and region. They had friends from all parts of the country, were exposed to songs and movies in multiple languages and they learnt to appreciate unique facets of different cultures. If there was a weekend movie in Marathi, they would make a Marathi speaking friend sit with them and translate all the words, beyond subtitles.

Now they insist that while Bahubali was dubbed very well; to enjoy the songs, I must listen to the Telugu version! That’s the circle of life, I guess.

Lost in languages

Why can’t these people speak in English? My friend fumed as a project discussion again lapsed into local lingo. Why don’t you learn the language, someone quipped back.

But what language was that?

When I had shifted from Delhi, I just knew that people in Karnataka spoke Kannada. Soon, I learnt, Bangalore was another world. 

First, you need to identify which of the 7-8 (leaving out the dialects) languages was being spoken.

Oh it's not that difficult, when most of the words end with “u” it’s Telegu, when they end with “aa” it’s Kannada, Malayalam sounds completely different, and Tamil you can make out from the tone….was the advice.  As for Tulu and Coorgi, they are somewhat similar to Malayalam.

Wooah! I stopped trying to figure out languages from then on.

In Germany, I was touched when people would look up words online to get the right English word to explain things to me.

Oh, but when an animated discussion starts everyone lapses back to fluent native German. And then they notice me, and apologize for leaving me out.

But I keep telling them, it’s is really not a problem for me.

It’s like being back in Bangalore

As you speak, so you become...

Are you a Punjabi?

My mom-in-law asked one of the kids’ friends.

No, I am English.

No way, my mil insisted, tell me what language your parents speak in when they are at home.

Oh, they speak English and Hindi. They speak in Punjabi only with my grandmother.

There, I told you-this means you are a Punjabi.

The five year old clarified furiously:

No, It means my Biji is a Punjabi, I am English and my parents are Hindi, English and Punjabi!

My daughters speak Hindi (tinged with Punjabisms) with their “North-Indian” friends, English in school and with all other friends, and Bengali with grandparents. With us, they use all three.

They also sprinkle their sentences with quite a few Tamil expressions, learnt from the “day-care aunty”, Telegu words gleaned from the maid who works there, and a lot of Kannada absorbed from all around.

I wonder what they are…