Tag Archives: english

Wonderful India (as it was) in English, Bengali, and Urdu

Posted on by
Reply

IN A SECONDHAND BOOKSHOP in Thame (Oxfordshire) I purchased a book called “Wonderful India”. It must have been published by 1943 because inside its front cover there is the name of its first owner, LW Morris, and next to that he added “Royal Air Force, Calcutta, July 1943”. The book is trilingual. Its text is written in Bengali (Bangla), English, and Urdu. It was published by The Statesman and Times of India Book Department. The Statesman is a newspaper that was founded in 1818, and published simultaneously in Calcutta, New Delhi, Siliguri and Bhubaneswar. The Times of India was founded 20 years later. The gloriously illustrated book, which covers pre-Partition India, as well as Sri Lanka, Burma, and Nepal, contains no text in Hindi. In British India, the official languages were English and Standard Urdu, and later Standard Hindi (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Languages_with_legal_status_in_India#History). Oddly, for many years Bengalis were opposed to using their language as an officially recognised one, for a long time preferring to use Persian for formal (especially commercial) use (https://thespace.ink/bengali-and-persian-in-british-raj/). Yet despite this, the book I found favours Bengali and omits Hindi. I suspect that  because the book might well have been published in Bengal, the Bengali script has been included. Hindi written in the Devanagari script only became the official language of India in September 1949, several years after “Wonderful India” was published.

Dhaka (now in Bangladesh)

The book covers all the regions of pre-Independence India as well as some of its neighbours. It is rich in black and white photographs, many of which are superb examples of photographic technique. Each picture is captioned in Bengali, English, and Urdu. The only pieces of prose are the general introduction (which includes a photograph of Mahatma Gandhi) and introductory paragraphs at the beginning of each section. The Urdu introduction is at the rear of the book, and is next to a picture of Jawaharlal Nehru. There is no picture of any member of the British Indian hierarchy.  

Bangalore, a place which I have visited often, is given only one sentence at the beginning of the section on Mysore and Coorg:

“The British retain some territory at Bangalore, which is the administrative headquarters of the state, while Mysore is the capital.”

There are three photographs of the city, Sadly, not the most interesting in the book.  To compensate for this, the book is filled with pictures of touristic sights and daily life of India as it was before WW2 had ended. The book provides a fascinating window on a part of the world that has in many aspects changed beyond recognition.

Protesting about lettering in Bangalore

Posted on by
Reply

Happy New Year!

KANNADA IS THE language spoken by the indigenous people of the Indian State of Karnataka. It is a Dravidian language spoken by about 44 million ‘natives’ of Karnataka and a 2nd or 3rd language for about 15 million ‘non-natives’.

The city of Bangalore is home to many people who either know no Kannada or for whom the language is not their ‘mother tongue’. Consequently many shop signs in the city either have no Kannada or have both English and Kannada lettering.

At the end of February 2024, it will be a legal obligation for all shop signs in Karnataka to have at least 60% of their coverage in Kannada script (currently, the requirement is 50%). However, for some fanatic Kannada nationalists this is not soon enough. On the 27th of December 2023, a few lorries loaded with men toured Bangalore. They stopped outside shops and attempted, often successfully, to damage or destroy the English lettering on shop signs. They did this not only to those signs which were entirely in the English script, but also to some bilingual signs (I.e., signs with both English and Kannada script). Not only did they damage or disfigure the English script, but in some cases, they also smashed windows.

Defaced shop sign

The police attempted to restrain these pro-Kannada activists. A few of them have been arrested. However, two days later I read that further unrest in Bangalore is threatened if those who have been arrested are not released.

While I sympathise with locals being upset that many of those who have come to Karnataka from elsewhere have little or no knowledge of Kannada, vandalism is no way to promote usage of the language and its script.

When less became very much more

Posted on by
Reply

IN JANUARY 1994, we had a Hindu wedding ceremony in the Indian city of Bangalore. Although the ceremony was attended mostly by family and a few close friends, the reception that followed it had about 350 guests, most of whom I had never met before. So, as an attempt to introduce me to some of them, my parents-in-law arranged a series of parties to introduce me to some of them before the ‘big day’. The gatherings were held in the spacious living room of my in-laws’ home in Koramangala – a suburb of Bangalore. As with many parties held in India, the proceedings began with a long session of drinks and snacks (‘finger food’). The parties end with food served at a buffet. Once, this late supper has been consumed, the guests leave, and the occasion ends abruptly.

My in-laws had a bar counter in their living room. At each party, an off-duty employee from the Bangalore Club was hired to serve as barman. Back in 1994, my preferred alcoholic drink was vodka. I enjoyed drinking it either with lumps of ice or with a drop of water.

At one of the series of parties, I went up to the bar and asked for vodka with water. I was handed a tall glass (approximately 330 ml, I guess) filled with a transparent, colourless liquid. I sipped it. It was rather dilute vodka – not very exciting! When I had finished the glass, I returned to the bar, and said:

“Another vodka, but less water this time, please.”

I did not watch the barman preparing my drink. He handed me a freshly filled glass, which was the same size as the one I had just emptied.

I took a small taste of my second drink. I could not believe what I tasted: it was neat vodka. The barman had poured me a third of a litre of pure vodka. I could not believe my luck. As the evening moved on, I took sips of my reservoir of vodka, and chatted to various people – I hope reasonably coherently.

Eventually, the drinking part of the evening’s proceedings were over, and people began to partake of the dishes on the buffet. Being a member of the family, I waited until the guests had taken their food, before approaching the tables where it was displayed. As I reached a counter, I felt my ankles weakening, and I thought that I might have been just about to topple over, which would not have looked good. Luckily, the vodka had not affected my brain. So, sensing the imminent risk of falling, I gripped the counter with my hands, and thereby averted embarrassing the family.

Now, my drinking habits are not the main point of this short tale. It is the meaning of the word ‘less’ in English spoken in India that is important. If, for example, you want to order coffee without sugar in India, you should say:

“Sugar less.”

That does not mean that you want less sugar in your coffee. It means you do not want any sugar in your beverage. It has taken me years of visiting India to realise this meaning of ‘less’. That is, ‘less’ means ‘none’. I did not know this in January 1994 when I asked for less water in my vodka. I suspect what happened was that English was not the barman’s mother tongue. So, hearing, the word ‘less’, when I had asked for ‘less water’, he had believed that I wanted not a drop of water in my drink.

Cheese is nice … a true story

Posted on by
1

A POST ON FACEBOOK reminded me of something that happened about 27 years ago in a country east of France.

We were staying with a German lady, who used to become easily stressed. One day I was sitting in her living room whilst she was preparing a meal in the kitchen nearby. Something must have been going wrong because I heard her shouting “cheese is nice” in an angry voice. She repeated these words over and over again.

I like cheese, but could not understand why she was expressing a liking for cheese so angrily. And then the penny dropped. It dawned on me that she was not talking about cheese, but about Jesus Christ. In her perfect but Germanically pronounced English she was saying what sounded like “cheese is nice” but in reality she was cursing by saying “Cheesus Christ”

The posting on Facebook showed Joseph and Mary looking at Ababa doll in an opened Amazon delivery package. The caption to the picture was “Bloody hell, Alexa, I ordered baby cheeses”.

A writer’s confession

Posted on by
2

HIG 2 BLOG

NOBODY IS PERFECT, not even yours truly.

I was a pupil at London’s Highgate School when I was studying to take state examination, then known as ‘O Levels, taken by 16 year olds. I was studying for 9 subjects, but decided to drop one of them, German. Its grammar was beginning to defeat me and to jeopardize my chances of success in the other 8 subjects.

German was not the only language that was causing me trouble as I approached the O Level exams. Unknown to me and possibly unnoticed by our English teacher, Mr B, my command of written English was insufficient for me to pass the English Language O Level exam. It was the only O Level that I failed. I passed the other subjects, but without displaying much academic excellence.

My failure to achieve the pass marks in English Language cannot be blamed on anyone except me, but there were factors that predisposed me to downfall.

During the examination, I attempted an essay that asked the candidate to discuss whether or not it was fair that pop musicians often earned more than nurses. Being by nature somewhat contrarian, I decided to write an essay in defence of the high remuneration of pop musicians. This idea, to which I no longer subscribe, expressed with poor grammar and spelling, cannot have made the person marking my paper feel sympathetic to me.

The other predisposing factor was our teacher Mr B. He was far more interested in using class time analyzing the poetry of Ted Hughes and Philip Larkin than ensuring that all of his charges were proficient in basic skills such as grammar and essay writing.

Failing English Language did not prevent or delay my commencing the subjects in which I was to prepare for the A Level examinations that were required for admission to university.

One of my three A Level subjects was biology. The senior biology teacher was Mr S, affectionately known by his first name George. He set us three essays per week. On Saturday mornings, we had a double-length period (one and a half hours) with him. During this, he went through our essays, pointing out their good points and bad ones. The essays of one student, ‘P’ were particularly dreadful. His spelling was awful as was his punctuation: there was none except a full stop at the end of each foolscap page. And, to my annoyance and surprise, P passed English Language O Level at the same time as I failed.

Six months after failing my English Language O Level, I took the exam again. I passed with a good grade. I believe that I had learnt a great deal about essay writing from George’s Saturday essay critiquing sessions. I shall always be grateful to him.

On Saturday mornings, parents thinking of sending their sons to Highgate were shown around the school. The biology laboratory, where the essay classes were held, was on the tour. George, who was a genial old fellow, allowed us to relax during the Saturday morning classes. However, he always told us that if we heard the door to the laboratory being opened, we were all to act as uf we were concentrating on something serious while the parents peered in.

On Friday afternoons, we had a three hour practical class during which, for example, we dissected the parts of dogfish not required by fishmongers. Friday lunchtimes found George drinking in one of Highgate Village’s numerous quant pubs.

George used to arrive at the Friday afternoon practical classes having drunk far too much. For the first hour of the class, he was a menace, arguing with anyone unwise enough to approach him. After about an hour, he used to sit down and fall asleep. The last two hours of the class were supervised superbly by George’s deputy, Mr Coombs.

George was a wonderful teacher. He inspired his pupils’ enthusiasm for biology. Like my PhD supervisor, Robert Harkness, his range of interest extended from microscopic intracellular detail to the whole organism. Once, when walking to the Dining Hall with George, he stooped down and picked up a fallen tree leaf. He asked us what kind of tree had produced it. None of us knew. He said:

“That’s the trouble with you youngsters. You know all about DNA, but you cannot recognise a leaf from a plane tree.”

George was, as far as we knew, probably celibate. When we reached the part of the biology syllabus that dealt with human reproduction, he told us:

“You know all about this. You can read up the details in the book.”

I have wandered from my starting topic somewhat. Maybe, you were beginning to believe that I was trying to distract you from my sad performance in English and from thinking that, given my record, I have great ‘chutzpah’ writing and publishing books.

Picture shows coat of arms of Highgate School, founded in 1565

English abroad: Globes, robots and bogies

Posted on by
Reply

Stop light_240

 

I must have been about eleven years old when the headmaster of my preparatory school, the Hall School in Hampstead, interviewed all of us individually in preparation for our applications to secondary school. When I had answered several questions using the word ja (pronounced ‘yah’), the headmaster said that it was wrong to say ja when I should be saying ‘yes’. 

The reason that I said, and often still say, ja instead of yes is that my parents were born and brought up in South Africa where ja is often used to express the affirmative.

In my childhood, I heard my parents using words that form part of South African English. At table, I always wiped my hands and mouth with a serviette, rather than a ‘napkin’. And, when we relaxed we usually sat in the lounge, rather than in the ‘sitting room’ or ‘drawing room’.

If I wanted to see a film, my father would enquire at which bioscope it was being shown. And, if a light bulb needed changing, he would insert a new globe. 

When we were in the car we used to stop at a robot, if the traffic light was showing a red light and then proceeed when it changed through amber to green.

By now, you can see that I was raised in England, but acquiring vocabulary that was only used many thousands of miles away below the Equator in South Africa. So, it was not surprising that I answered the headmaster with ja instead of ‘yes’. But, he probably had no idea about my parents’ background.

Many years after leaving home, I began visiting India and encountered another local English vocabulary. For example, when the car needs more fuel, you fill up at the petrol bunk. And, if you have baggage, you put it in the car’s (or bus’s) dickie, rather than the ‘boot’. And en-route you drive round a circle, rather than the ’roundabout’. When you board a train, you do not enter a carriage. Instead you board a bogie. If you want your coffee without sugar, do not say ‘without sugar’ but do ask for sugar less.  And, so it goes on…

 

English might well be one of the world’s most used languages, but it abounds with regional variations. American English is a prime example of this. As Oscar Wilde wrote:

“… we have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language“

Pigeon English

Posted on by
2

Creatures real and imaginary_500

 

Pidgin English is a simplified, often colourful, form of the English language used by some people for whom English is not their mother tongue. The various forms of  Pidgin English, and there are many, are typically mixed with the speaker’s native language. Well, for many years, I did not know that. I must admit that this was a symptom of my ignorance. Also, when people referred to ‘Pidgin’ English, I used to think that they were talking about ‘pigeon’ English, which in my ignorance I believed to be English as spoken by someone who knows as little of English as, for example, pigeons. True, people who speak Pidgin probably know less English than fully fluent English speakers, but they know a great deal more about English than pigeons.

I used to visit Italy often during my youth and early adult years. During this period, I picked up a smattering of Italian. I knew enough to have simple conversations with Italians. Although my Italian was mostly ungrammatical, people could make some sense of what I was trying to communicate.

Once, I was travelling through Italy on a train, having a chat with an Italian passenger. He praised my Italian, probably out of politeness and because I was making an effort to speak in his language. Modestly, I told him that I was speaking ‘pigeon’ Italian, when what I really meant, without knowing it, that I wanted to say I was speaking ‘pidgin’ Italian.

I said:

“Parlo italiano come un piccione” (Meaning: ‘I speak Italian like a pigeon’).

The person I was talking to looked at me as if I was mad. And, he was right to do so, because of my ignorance of the difference between ‘pidgin’ and ‘pigeon’.

Mistress

Posted on by
1

A man might have one ‘mistress’ or even several. However, there is no male version of this word in English. The word ‘mistress’ sometimes carries negative connotations, but it also suggests a more formal or longterm relationship than a casual one. In any case, having a mistress implies a relationship with a woman, who is not married to the man.

So given that there is no male version of a mistress , how does a woman refer to a man with whom she is having a relationship out of wedlock?

The word ‘partner’ is sometimes used. So, is ‘boyfriend’, ‘lover’, ‘guy’, ‘common law husband’, or even ‘paramour’. None of these words carry exactly the same interpretations as ‘mistress’.

To me, boyfriend suggests young love. When I was practising as a dentist, some quite elderly women used to mention their ‘boyfriends’, who were often at least as old as they were. To my ears, ‘boyfriend’ sounded wrong in these cases. ‘Partner’ seemed a better choice of word.

Years ago, a friend of my father, the late Cyril Sofer, used to refer to girls’ close male friends as their ‘chaps’. Although I like this term, it is still not a male version of the word ‘mistress’ with all of its implications.