I realize that most of the time when I write on my blog, its about experiences I’ve had and the few peculiarities that make those experiences worth writing about. I read something, usually in English, and comment on it. Something happens to me, or I do something, and I record the result in my head until it feels worthy enough to spill out into this strange medium.
I write in English. I read in English. I mostly think in English. I have dreams in English. But when I listen to something in Hindi (my first language), when I read or write something in Hindi, or when a thought only makes sense in Hindi, I feel a little something different. Like when I speak to my parents or friends in Hindi, theres a piece of beautiful I’m tapping into.
As if my indigenous tongue’s platonic qualities are tied to deep meaning, connection, livelihood, memory. Hindi’s an old language, no doubt, but I’m not talking about rendering it exotic. I’m talking about what it means to me, that the language is tied to family, of times growing up and on the phone - a world with which I am intimately familiar. And which is made apparent to me almost every time I open my mouth and sound out an English with a slight southern twang.
One time, when I was in India and I was about 15, I was riding on the waves of a perky mind that picked up Hindi in a snap. I was speaking in Hindi, cracking jokes in Hindi, thinking in Hindi. Upon coming back to the states, I started reminiscing of times traveling long distances in dusty Marutis with drivers with working-class roots and cousins who loved to sing. And when I did, the conversations I remembered fondly were transformed into English; those long conversations had mutated upon stepping off the jet. It was the strangest thing, and it was the first time I realized how easy I could switch between languages, how this balancing, juggling act would remain with me the rest of my life.
I sometimes regret not studying more of Hindi. Nowadays, I listen to as much Hindi/Urdu as I can, I try to read Hindi when I remember. But to be honest, I don’t speak it as much as I’d like, and the more I continue this way, the more it’ll keep reminding me of a distant, uncurrent past.
