The great Indian mother tongue tango: Pride, slaps and salty tea
While the world obsesses over LLMs (Large Language Models), India is busy with its own flavour of LLMs: Lots of Language Modes slapped onto faces.
India has always been like the Tower of Babel.
Satyen K Bordoloi
In Mumbai's latest episode of "Speak Marathi or Else", early July, some traders found themselves slapped, not with fines they can manage, but greasy palms slammed on their faces at the speed of xenophobia. For what? For choosing Hindi over the local lingo. While language pride is laudable, turning it into a nasty contact sport has been India's national pastime since... well, since Jawaharlal Nehru's reluctance to divide the nation along linguistic lines was overruled.
So, while the globe hyperventilates over 'language' in a different way with their LLMs—Large Language Models—churning out Shakespearean sonnets, we Indians deploy our impromptu street language audits or every Som, Danish and Harish. I know, because I have faced it myself.
It is Bangalore, 2007, my first day in Karnataka. Fresh off the bus, feeling unwell, I drag myself to a pharmacy. What I receive isn't just Paracetamol, but also a hearty dose of Kannadiga pride, served up by a sweetly smiling elderly uncle. "Why don't you speak in Kannada?" he inquires, like he's offering me sweet nakul dana from the latest aarti in the nearest temple. "I will," I reply, "if I stay here longer! This is just my first hour in your magnificent city!" I think that truth plus city-pride-hyperbole would end the matter. Silly me. Uncle now deploys his own kamikaze logic drone. He beams, radiating the positivity of a thousand suns (Now, I am become Death?): "Then it's the perfect day to start!"
My expression? Pure, unadulterated, "Dude. Seriously?" Thankfully, my pills arrive, rupees change hands, and below a bewildered headshake, my legs carry me back to the hotel at Olympic speed to escape this linguistic conversion.
And you know the irony? That uncle's well-intentioned ambush backfired. It, and other incidents reported in the media since, left such a bad taste that I developed an involuntary reflex to avoid Karnataka. I've since ventured there only with the enthusiasm of a cat facing bath time. And the tragic, personal casualty? Hampi. That glorious miracle of the Vijayanagaran Empire is firmly in my global top-five must-sees. Yet, while I travel the world – doing slow-tourism of Varanasi (Hinduism HQ) and Rome (Christianity Central) just in the last year, Hampi eludes. All thanks to one retired gentleman with more time for linguistic gatekeeping than, following our scriptures, to, you know, leave for Sannyasa ashram.
Since then, every news flash about someone getting thwacked in Maharashtra (where I've now lived half my years), Karnataka, or frankly anywhere for linguistic reasons, instantly teleports me back to that Bangalore pharmacy. That cocktail of anger and frustration bubbles right back up. If our aan, baan, shaan, and our naam, namak, nishaan, is our nation, India, why let hyper-local supra-pride manifest as public humiliation? Will insulting someone in the name of your 'mother' tongue make your mother proud, or serve as an advertisement for the "greatness" of your language and culture? And does it come with a brochure? A free phrasebook, with the address to the nearest night school that teaches your language? Nope? Just a stinging cheek followed by decades of resentment.
Those of you branding me an anti-lingo or anti-national, hold your horses, cause the truth is the opposite! Genetically hailing from the Far East (Assam), raised in the Far West (Gujarat), and having loitered all over the country since, I've become a linguistic chameleon. Gujarati, Hindi, Assamese? Speak, read, write. Hindustani and Urdu? Proficient enough to order biryani with poetic flair (even began learning Farsi as a kid, till a new Maulvi proclaimed me Hindu and banished me). Bengali, Punjabi, Marathi? Understand fluently, speak like a charmingly broken robot. Nagamese, Oriya? I catch the drift, generally. The glorious dialects and languages under Hindi: Braj Bhasha, Bundeli, Haryanvi; Awadhi, Bagheli, and Chhattisgarhi; Maithili, Bhojpuri and Magahi?
Perfect comprehension, passable spoken attempts. I'm basically a walking, talking poster for national integration, or in today's lingo, for "Bharat Mata ke bhasha ki jay".
My Achilles' heel? Total blackout on the Tibeto-Burman tongues of the North-East. And shamefully, the magnificent four Southern languages. Though, while living in Hyderabad for a bit, I did dabble in Telugu, enough to land myself in hot water with a client after calling him "hantakudu" (murderer) instead of saying "andagadu" (handsome). Honestly, why wasn't learning one South Indian language compulsory in school? I believe it's a national tragedy. And shame.
So yes, I live in the Land of Loving Languages. So, all you passionate Kannadiga warriors, champions of the Marathi manoos, Tamizh thaai devotees – here's my suggestion: Inspire, don't require! Instead of unleashing the Slap Brigade, how about unleashing the "Adopt-a-Non-Local" initiative? Get your people to gently take a clueless outsider under their wing and teach them your language, word by glorious word. And guess what: No one will object! Why? Because it's ridiculously useful! Exhibit A: My dear departed father.
Fresh off the train from Assam to Gujarat in 1974 (he hadn't even heard of a dhokla before), his Hindi was Bollywood-basic, Gujarati non-existent. At his first Gujarati home visit, wanting sugar in tea, he requested "meethu." While "meethu" sounds like it means sugar, it actually means salt in Gujarati. The bewildered host, assuming salty tea was an Assamese delicacy, obliged. Not wanting to offend, dad drank. Decades later, we blamed this incident for his hypertension. Jokes aside, my point? Most long-term residents, like my dad, realize the immense benefit of the local lingo and want to learn. The burning question: Who's gonna teach them? The slapperatti?
Here's a still better suggestion for all you Bharatiya language lovers. March down to your state's tech startup district and inspire (please, no slaps) someone to build the next big thing: a hyper-local Duolingo rival! Storm your AI companies! Instead of forcing LLMs (Lots of Language Modes) down throats, demand they build actual LLMs (Large Language Models) in your language! Get tech to do the heavy lifting of preservation and promotion!
And the other thing you can actively do: sharpen your culture. Because, despite the Bangalore Pharmacy uncle's unintended effect, my aversion to Kannada has been chipped away gradually by you know what: Karnataka's music, art, culture and most importantly, cinema. Films like Thithi, Kantara, the sheer operatic madness of KGF... they make me wish for a Matrix-style instant Kannada download jack at the back of my head! Plug me in, Morpheus, I need to understand this awesomeness properly! And then came the Booker's nod to Banu Mushtaq's writing? I read one of her short stories in English and it wrecked me with its prose. Imagine its power in the original! That's the pull. Wherever you are in this glorious, noisy nation, if you want to promote your language and culture? Make your art irresistible. Make your language a magnet, not a mallet. Build a pull economy where people crave to learn, not a push economy where you shove it down reluctant mental throats.
So, as a tribute to the linguistic assortment I adore (and the many more I aspire to master before I abandon this mortal coil), here's a little… let's generously call it a poetic interlude… in my four beloved tongues:
नयी भाषा सीखो, नई दुनिया देखो। (Nayi bhasha seekho, nayi duniya dekho.)
શબ્દો એટલે પુલ છે, અંતરને જોડે. (Shabdo atle pul che, antar ne jode.)
शिकलेली भाषा आपल्याला जगात नेते. (Shikleli bhasha, aapalyala jagat nete.)
আৰু এটা ভাষা, নতুন বন্ধুৰ আশা। (Aaru eeta bhakha, notun bondhur aakha.)
For the linguistically challenged amongst us – a.k.a. most normal people – here's a translation:
Learn a new language, see a new world.
Words are bridges connecting hearts.
A learned tongue carries you into the world.
One more language, hope for new friends.
Build bridges with words, stop constructing walls with slaps. Onward, linguistic India! But with a cultural hug, not a slap.
Friday, July 18, 2025
Wednesday, January 1, 2025
Essay/tribute worth reading
Gentle and noble colossus: Remembering the exemplary patient that was Dr Manmohan Singh
Dr Singh never demanded attention but also never declined to undergo tests when prescribed. He was an epitome of courtesy, walking with the doctors to see them off
"On the balance of probabilities, let us go in for surgery." The economist in PM Manmohan Singh was never too far away, even on the cath lab table.
AFP
Dr K Srinath Reddy
Updated on:
28 Dec 2024, 2:50 am
5 min read
The passing of a long-serving former Prime Minister, celebrated also as an erudite finance minister who boldly untethered the Indian economy, has evoked a national mood of respectful remembrance.
While I too share that emotion as a grateful citizen, my memories are also greatly enriched by my association with Dr Manmohan Singh as the doctor who chaired his medical panel from 2004 to 2014. Those years gave me an opportunity to observe and admire the many qualities of head and heart that marked him for the greatness the whole world celebrated.
I first met Dr Singh when he was Finance Minister in Mr PV Narasimha Rao's government. While serving as a cardiologist at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) in Delhi, I was also the officially appointed Personal Physician to Prime Minister Rao (PP to PM) during 1991-96.
The only personal interaction I had with Dr Singh during that period was when I went to invite him as the chief guest at an Indo-US cardiology conference I was organising. Apart from his pleasingly courteous demeanour during our meeting, his erudite and sagacious speech at the conference won my admiration and gratitude.
I was surprised when a request was communicated some years later to the Director of AIIMS, from the Prime Minister's office in 2004, asking for my services as Personal Physician to the newly sworn-in Prime Minister Dr Singh. Perhaps I should not have been surprised that he chose to repeat Mr Narasimha Rao's choice, because Dr Singh never wavered in his admiration for Mr Rao till the end of his life.
I told the Director that I could not accept that assignment, despite the high honour, since I was by then the Head of Cardiology at AIIMS. The combination of my clinical and administrative duties coupled with my research-related commitments would make it difficult for me to accompany the Prime Minister during his travels abroad and within India.
Instead, I recommended two highly competent and conscientious younger faculty members of the cardiology department at AIIMS to be personal physician and alternate physician. The Prime Minister's office went on to constitute a medical panel, chaired by me and having both personal physicians and Dr Nikhil Tandon (diabetes specialist at AIIMS) as members. We continued to officially assist with the healthcare needs of Dr Singh during the ten years of his premiership and unofficially thereafter.
Dr Singh was an exemplary patient. He readily accepted medical advice and followed instructions scrupulously, provided the rationale was clearly explained to him. He never demanded attention from doctors but also never declined to undergo tests when prescribed. He was an epitome of courtesy, walking with the doctors to see them off till their cars.
On one occasion, when the Director of AIIMS and I visited him at his home to check on a sutured cut, Dr Singh noticed that there was no table near Dr Venugopal for the latter to place the cup of tea that an attender had brought in. The Prime Minister walked to an adjoining room and brought back a small table which he placed in front of his guest. I was astounded at that gesture of attentive and courteous hospitality from a person holding India's most important political office.
A challenging time came for our medical team when Dr Singh experienced episodes of chest pain in January 2009, a week before the Republic Day. He had earlier undergone coronary bypass surgery (CABG), performed in a British hospital in 1990, while he was serving on the South Commission in Geneva. He later underwent a coronary angioplasty at a Delhi hospital in February 2004. He now needed an urgent evaluation by coronary angiography. Though the Republic Day was just a few days away, he agreed to undergo the procedure at AIIMS in Delhi on January 21.
The angiogram revealed several blocks, including those of the two stents placed in 2004. The team of attending doctors, which included cardiologists and surgeons from AIIMS and some other hospitals, was divided in opinion as to whether the preferred procedure was coronary angioplasty with multiple stents in different arteries or coronary bypass surgery with arterial grafts. The former offered less risk during the initial procedure but carried the hazard of stent thrombosis over time. The latter carried the risks of repeat surgery in an elderly person but held the promise of better long-term results with the assurance that the Prime Minister could attend to his duties with confidence that his heart would not let him down.
The comparative risks and benefits of both options were explained by me to Dr Singh even as he lay on the table in the cardiac catheterisation laboratory where the angiogram was performed. He took just about thirty seconds to process the information before calmly telling me: "On the balance of probabilities, let us go in for surgery". I was amazed at his clarity of thought and the speed of processing the risks associated with each procedure to estimate probabilities. Thus spake the brilliant economist is what I think whenever I recall that episode.
From coronary angiography to surgery, Dr Singh wanted all details of his medical condition to be openly and accurately shared with the media without any camouflaging of facts. I thought it was very unusual for a politician actively facing close scrutiny in public life.
He chose to be operated at AIIMS, with Dr Ramakant Panda performing the surgery. Dr Panda was a gifted cardiac surgeon, trained initially at AIIMS and then at the Cleveland Clinic. He was working in Mumbai but his expertise in re-do coronary surgery made him the preferred choice, especially as he usually employed arterial grafts for all blocks and performed his meticulous surgery on a beating heart without using a cardio-pulmonary bypass pump.
Dr Singh underwent an eight-hour surgery on January 24. When the media asked Dr Panda why the surgery took so long, he replied memorably "When I am saving a life, I do not look at the clock."
When journalists challenged me as to why a surgical team from Mumbai was brought in to operate on Dr Singh at AIIMS, I replied using an analogy from cricket's Indian Premier League (IPL) - "this is not a contest of Mumbai Indians versus Delhi Daredevils. It is Team India batting for the Prime Minister."
Conversations with Dr Singh always provided an education on various aspects of India's development and global affairs. An aside here. I always felt that he was a more effective communicator while conversing with a group of college students than as a public speaker at a mass political gathering.
He had a deep interest in improving health services and launched the National Rural Health Mission. He also initiated the constitution of a high-level expert group to develop a framework for universal health coverage.
Dr Singh was an able and noble leader, highly learned yet humble, firm in convictions but gentle in manner. A scholar-statesman beyond compare. In the words of Shakespeare, 'His life was gentle; and the elements so mixed in him, that Nature might stand up and say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!'
(Dr K Srinath Reddy is a Cardiologist, epidemiologist and Distinguished Professor of Public Health, Public Health Foundation of India.)
Dr Singh never demanded attention but also never declined to undergo tests when prescribed. He was an epitome of courtesy, walking with the doctors to see them off
"On the balance of probabilities, let us go in for surgery." The economist in PM Manmohan Singh was never too far away, even on the cath lab table.
AFP
Dr K Srinath Reddy
Updated on:
28 Dec 2024, 2:50 am
5 min read
The passing of a long-serving former Prime Minister, celebrated also as an erudite finance minister who boldly untethered the Indian economy, has evoked a national mood of respectful remembrance.
While I too share that emotion as a grateful citizen, my memories are also greatly enriched by my association with Dr Manmohan Singh as the doctor who chaired his medical panel from 2004 to 2014. Those years gave me an opportunity to observe and admire the many qualities of head and heart that marked him for the greatness the whole world celebrated.
I first met Dr Singh when he was Finance Minister in Mr PV Narasimha Rao's government. While serving as a cardiologist at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) in Delhi, I was also the officially appointed Personal Physician to Prime Minister Rao (PP to PM) during 1991-96.
The only personal interaction I had with Dr Singh during that period was when I went to invite him as the chief guest at an Indo-US cardiology conference I was organising. Apart from his pleasingly courteous demeanour during our meeting, his erudite and sagacious speech at the conference won my admiration and gratitude.
I was surprised when a request was communicated some years later to the Director of AIIMS, from the Prime Minister's office in 2004, asking for my services as Personal Physician to the newly sworn-in Prime Minister Dr Singh. Perhaps I should not have been surprised that he chose to repeat Mr Narasimha Rao's choice, because Dr Singh never wavered in his admiration for Mr Rao till the end of his life.
I told the Director that I could not accept that assignment, despite the high honour, since I was by then the Head of Cardiology at AIIMS. The combination of my clinical and administrative duties coupled with my research-related commitments would make it difficult for me to accompany the Prime Minister during his travels abroad and within India.
Instead, I recommended two highly competent and conscientious younger faculty members of the cardiology department at AIIMS to be personal physician and alternate physician. The Prime Minister's office went on to constitute a medical panel, chaired by me and having both personal physicians and Dr Nikhil Tandon (diabetes specialist at AIIMS) as members. We continued to officially assist with the healthcare needs of Dr Singh during the ten years of his premiership and unofficially thereafter.
Dr Singh was an exemplary patient. He readily accepted medical advice and followed instructions scrupulously, provided the rationale was clearly explained to him. He never demanded attention from doctors but also never declined to undergo tests when prescribed. He was an epitome of courtesy, walking with the doctors to see them off till their cars.
On one occasion, when the Director of AIIMS and I visited him at his home to check on a sutured cut, Dr Singh noticed that there was no table near Dr Venugopal for the latter to place the cup of tea that an attender had brought in. The Prime Minister walked to an adjoining room and brought back a small table which he placed in front of his guest. I was astounded at that gesture of attentive and courteous hospitality from a person holding India's most important political office.
A challenging time came for our medical team when Dr Singh experienced episodes of chest pain in January 2009, a week before the Republic Day. He had earlier undergone coronary bypass surgery (CABG), performed in a British hospital in 1990, while he was serving on the South Commission in Geneva. He later underwent a coronary angioplasty at a Delhi hospital in February 2004. He now needed an urgent evaluation by coronary angiography. Though the Republic Day was just a few days away, he agreed to undergo the procedure at AIIMS in Delhi on January 21.
The angiogram revealed several blocks, including those of the two stents placed in 2004. The team of attending doctors, which included cardiologists and surgeons from AIIMS and some other hospitals, was divided in opinion as to whether the preferred procedure was coronary angioplasty with multiple stents in different arteries or coronary bypass surgery with arterial grafts. The former offered less risk during the initial procedure but carried the hazard of stent thrombosis over time. The latter carried the risks of repeat surgery in an elderly person but held the promise of better long-term results with the assurance that the Prime Minister could attend to his duties with confidence that his heart would not let him down.
The comparative risks and benefits of both options were explained by me to Dr Singh even as he lay on the table in the cardiac catheterisation laboratory where the angiogram was performed. He took just about thirty seconds to process the information before calmly telling me: "On the balance of probabilities, let us go in for surgery". I was amazed at his clarity of thought and the speed of processing the risks associated with each procedure to estimate probabilities. Thus spake the brilliant economist is what I think whenever I recall that episode.
From coronary angiography to surgery, Dr Singh wanted all details of his medical condition to be openly and accurately shared with the media without any camouflaging of facts. I thought it was very unusual for a politician actively facing close scrutiny in public life.
He chose to be operated at AIIMS, with Dr Ramakant Panda performing the surgery. Dr Panda was a gifted cardiac surgeon, trained initially at AIIMS and then at the Cleveland Clinic. He was working in Mumbai but his expertise in re-do coronary surgery made him the preferred choice, especially as he usually employed arterial grafts for all blocks and performed his meticulous surgery on a beating heart without using a cardio-pulmonary bypass pump.
Dr Singh underwent an eight-hour surgery on January 24. When the media asked Dr Panda why the surgery took so long, he replied memorably "When I am saving a life, I do not look at the clock."
When journalists challenged me as to why a surgical team from Mumbai was brought in to operate on Dr Singh at AIIMS, I replied using an analogy from cricket's Indian Premier League (IPL) - "this is not a contest of Mumbai Indians versus Delhi Daredevils. It is Team India batting for the Prime Minister."
Conversations with Dr Singh always provided an education on various aspects of India's development and global affairs. An aside here. I always felt that he was a more effective communicator while conversing with a group of college students than as a public speaker at a mass political gathering.
He had a deep interest in improving health services and launched the National Rural Health Mission. He also initiated the constitution of a high-level expert group to develop a framework for universal health coverage.
Dr Singh was an able and noble leader, highly learned yet humble, firm in convictions but gentle in manner. A scholar-statesman beyond compare. In the words of Shakespeare, 'His life was gentle; and the elements so mixed in him, that Nature might stand up and say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!'
(Dr K Srinath Reddy is a Cardiologist, epidemiologist and Distinguished Professor of Public Health, Public Health Foundation of India.)
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