English Winglish

 

English Winglish 

Each one of us has a few socially embarrassing memories of ourselves that make us cringe even today. I also have my share of such mortifying moments.

I still remember the day, when I was standing in front of the whole school. It was the birth anniversary celebration of great scholar, mathematician, philosopher, and ardent nationalist

Lokmanya Bal Gangadhar Tilak. I was midway through my speech and all of a sudden words just failed me. I stood there frozen, looking like a complete fool. I was a mere third grader and I am sure, none of my classmates would have minded. They were not listening to my speech any way, so they didn’t give a damn. And nobody makes fun of an eight year old, who has forgotten her speech. I just hung my head in shame and stood on the dias, on the verge of tears,unable to utter a word. About three minutes later a kind teacher came forward and rescued me from my predicament. But this scene from my distant past still haunts me. I am now well past my middle age, and yet, I have not forgotten the horror I felt at such a tender age. Later on I overcame my fear of public speaking with the help of some benevolent teachers, who encouraged me to try harder.


In school I was always a bright student, extrovert and an all- rounder, teacher’s pet and I too revelled in that adulation. Soon the fear of public speaking was a thing of the past and I even bagged a few prizes that everybody coveted.


I went to a school where the medium of instruction was Marathi, the regional language of Maharashtra, which means I learned my English alphabet when I was in fifth grade. Opportunity to speak in English never presented itself. When I joined my first year of college, again there was only Marathi medium if you were an Arts faculty student.

After finishing first year of college, I decided to attend a German course at Max Mueller Bhavan during summer break. The institute was situated in the posh locality of Pune; namely Koregaon Park. On the first day itself I received a cultural shock. Max Muller Bhavan was a happening place at that time, busy, lively and vibrant. It was like a center stage for a fashion show. As I entered the premises in my unflattering modest cotton salwar kameej , two long braids and pliable old slippers, I felt totally out of place. As I was waiting near my classroom door to find someone more approachable to talk to, a guy appeared out of the blue and stood beside me. He was much senior to me in age. He turned towards me and said “Hello!” I was too dumbfounded to speak. Then he started asking me series of rapid questions in English, mundane questions like, where did I come from and which course I was supposed to be taking and so on. And I just stood there, motionless as if frozen, without uttering a word.

I was afraid of speaking in English and I guess I even might have had some sort of a panic attack. My mind went blank, I was all shaky. My mouth went dry at the thought of speaking to that formidable looking person in English. His face became red, I could see, he had certainly taken umbrage to my strange behavior, which he must have thought very rude. He hurled some insults at me, most of which I didn’t get. But I heard the last word that he uttered and it hurt, it hurt bad. He called me dumb and then he left. For the remainder of the course he didn’t talk to me. Little did he know, that he had incited a riot within me with his harsh words. My total lack of social skills must have made me appear quite uncouth in his eyes! I did not recover very soon after facing dejection on the very first day and became lackadaisical throughout the course.
 

One thing was certain though. I was anything but dumb. I was infact the opposite. I was the university topper. So I looked at myself from a whole new perspective and devised an action plan for the next few years.

I have this inane quality in me that sometimes makes me take up daunting challanges. Especially if someone would challange my ability, I don’t take it lightly.

That day I had an epiphany, that in order for people to consider me a smart girl, I needed to have good social skills and an ability to articulate my thoughts in English in front of total strangers. So I met this challenge squarely and studied English with a vengeance for the next few years. So much so, that it became the love of my life.

After a few years, like a gymnast who is able to stretch deeper after each training, I began to broaden my horizons, expand my knowledge, discover new things, familiarize myself with a broader range of conceptions. I purposely studied the language, its finer nuances, collocations, phrasal verbs and so on diligently and untiringly. Thus my love affair with the English language started much later in life.

After all writing is a craft, a hefting of ideas, phrases, images into shape; a weaving of words into beautiful thoughts. And writers know this.

I guess, along with luck, you also need a little chutzpah on the side to be successful at what you do. To cut a long story short, this newfound love for the English language put me on the path to become a translator. I certainly did not set out to become a translator, but perhaps like the best things in life, I stumbled uopn it while looking for something else. But I shall tell you all about it some other day....




By: Mrs Leena Sohoni