Stories from the road:Mind your language
Like I said,I'm spending a lot of time traveling.So I thought, why not narrate anecdotes that span from hilarious to weird to borderline insane!
Before I start,just to clarify,kannada is one of my native languages and I am reasonably fluent in both the written and spoken forms of the language.
I was traveling by the infamous BMTC just yesterday when the conductor stopped by.
Samanya seveya masika appane cheetiyannu torisi.
Wait,what? A dozen page faults later,it struck me that he was asking for my pass.Why couldn't he just say pass torsi like every other normal conductor? I wondered.Since I had the pass ready in my hand already,he was oblivious to my momentary expression of bewilderment.The passengers around me, however, weren't and a few of them giggled while others laughed outright.
Gurutina cheeti ideya?
Id card. I was prepared this time and the lookup happened instantaneously. I extended the ID card towards him.
He concluded that my language skills were up to the mark and moved on. I stood there ,watching him as he moved from passenger to passenger,speaking in perfectly-worded fluent Kannada that made him seem like a medieval poet. Every one of his victims would gaze at him nonplussed as he rattled off word after word of unadulterated Kannada.He was so out of place and the scenario so ridiculous that I myself couldn't help laughing a couple of times.
Inititally,I was contemplating calling this On meeting a language zealot.But that seemed rather harsh a pronouncement to make on a fellow human being,especially this one.I have previously encountered language fanatics who would mercilessly harass an outsider for not speaking the local lingo.But this guy was rather meek;except that he would first yell at the other person saying You live in this blessed land whose language you have to learn and then proceed to teach the annoyed passenger a couple of words himself.
He was so dramatic that none of the passengers could take their eyes off his antics.We watched him; wholly amused and entertained.This eccentric served as a glue to totally unrelated people.Suddenly the bus was transformed into one united mass.We had something in common--our weird conductor.Or nirvahaka as he called himself.
On a slightly serious tangent,I remember thinking about the dilemma of preserving something(language,culture,religion) versus tolerantly letting it evolve(even if that means letting it die out). I am somewhat inclined towards the latter simply because I believe that people deserve a choice in accepting/rejecting all of these.On the other hand,I realize that anything that has survived the onslaught of time is probably worth preserving,by the same laws of evolution.Therefore,like many other matters,I refrain from an extreme radical opinion and resort to the safer middle ground. Consequently,I look at radicals with neither hate nor fondness but merely curiosity that one directs towards something different.
What is it that made this guy do this on every trip,everyday? Obviously he'd have been scorned at and laughed at by 90 percent of the people. Another five percent would have been openly hostile and probably even abusive. Maybe five percent would have approved of him. Yet he persisted in this endeavor day in and day out. He even seemed happy, as if he were fulfilling some higher purpose of life. I honestly do not know what adjective to describe him with.
This guy also thought of himself as something of a tour guide. The mundane bus stop names that I would hear yelled out everyday were transformed into exotic tourist destinations as he bestowed them with fancy names and also solemnly narrated an interesting tidbit of their hitherto unknown(at least to me) history.
I reached my destination and got down, feeling as if I had emerged out of a bizarre dream. I can't say that I enjoyed the ride, but it was remarkable enough to warrant writing about!
P.S:The sketch for this was made on the actual journey, but the article was written over minutes snatched from all of the past three days. Consequently, I'm pretty sure my thoughts and the writing's all over the place. My apologies for that :D
Before I start,just to clarify,kannada is one of my native languages and I am reasonably fluent in both the written and spoken forms of the language.
I was traveling by the infamous BMTC just yesterday when the conductor stopped by.
Samanya seveya masika appane cheetiyannu torisi.
Wait,what? A dozen page faults later,it struck me that he was asking for my pass.Why couldn't he just say pass torsi like every other normal conductor? I wondered.Since I had the pass ready in my hand already,he was oblivious to my momentary expression of bewilderment.The passengers around me, however, weren't and a few of them giggled while others laughed outright.
Gurutina cheeti ideya?
Id card. I was prepared this time and the lookup happened instantaneously. I extended the ID card towards him.
He concluded that my language skills were up to the mark and moved on. I stood there ,watching him as he moved from passenger to passenger,speaking in perfectly-worded fluent Kannada that made him seem like a medieval poet. Every one of his victims would gaze at him nonplussed as he rattled off word after word of unadulterated Kannada.He was so out of place and the scenario so ridiculous that I myself couldn't help laughing a couple of times.
Inititally,I was contemplating calling this On meeting a language zealot.But that seemed rather harsh a pronouncement to make on a fellow human being,especially this one.I have previously encountered language fanatics who would mercilessly harass an outsider for not speaking the local lingo.But this guy was rather meek;except that he would first yell at the other person saying You live in this blessed land whose language you have to learn and then proceed to teach the annoyed passenger a couple of words himself.
He was so dramatic that none of the passengers could take their eyes off his antics.We watched him; wholly amused and entertained.This eccentric served as a glue to totally unrelated people.Suddenly the bus was transformed into one united mass.We had something in common--our weird conductor.Or nirvahaka as he called himself.
On a slightly serious tangent,I remember thinking about the dilemma of preserving something(language,culture,religion) versus tolerantly letting it evolve(even if that means letting it die out). I am somewhat inclined towards the latter simply because I believe that people deserve a choice in accepting/rejecting all of these.On the other hand,I realize that anything that has survived the onslaught of time is probably worth preserving,by the same laws of evolution.Therefore,like many other matters,I refrain from an extreme radical opinion and resort to the safer middle ground. Consequently,I look at radicals with neither hate nor fondness but merely curiosity that one directs towards something different.
What is it that made this guy do this on every trip,everyday? Obviously he'd have been scorned at and laughed at by 90 percent of the people. Another five percent would have been openly hostile and probably even abusive. Maybe five percent would have approved of him. Yet he persisted in this endeavor day in and day out. He even seemed happy, as if he were fulfilling some higher purpose of life. I honestly do not know what adjective to describe him with.
This guy also thought of himself as something of a tour guide. The mundane bus stop names that I would hear yelled out everyday were transformed into exotic tourist destinations as he bestowed them with fancy names and also solemnly narrated an interesting tidbit of their hitherto unknown(at least to me) history.
I reached my destination and got down, feeling as if I had emerged out of a bizarre dream. I can't say that I enjoyed the ride, but it was remarkable enough to warrant writing about!
P.S:The sketch for this was made on the actual journey, but the article was written over minutes snatched from all of the past three days. Consequently, I'm pretty sure my thoughts and the writing's all over the place. My apologies for that :D
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