Mother Tongue

Growing up in Kerala, I attended a Malayalam-medium school following the state syllabus until 10th grade. My father believed that everyone eventually learns English, so he emphasized the importance of being fluent in our mother tongue, Malayalam, while we were young. He believed that thinking in one’s mother tongue is essential.

When I was about 7 years old and my brother was around 9, we had a neighbor from another state living nearby. He would often park his car in our extra car porch. One day, my father asked us to fetch his car key and coached us on the magic words: ‘Papa wants the key to the car,’ since the neighbor didn’t understand Malayalam. We practiced this phrase like it was a top-secret mission. 

The next morning, we marched over to his house, and as soon as he opened the door, we chorused with all the enthusiasm of a surprise party, ‘Papa wants the keys to the car!’ It was clear our acting skills were a little too convincing. The neighbor, taken aback by our enthusiastic shouting, not only refused to hand over the key but also kindly escorted us back to our home. It looks like our overly dramatic performance made him worried for his safety!

During my pre-degree studies at Women’s College, most of my classmates came from English-medium schools and convents. Whenever they met, they spoke in a particular way that was unfamiliar to me – a mix of English peppered with local slang and fashionable phrases. This style of speaking was like a code I couldn’t crack.

Once, a girl from a convent school spotted a dragonfly in the classroom and exclaimed, “Look at a thumbi!” She used the Malayalam word confidently, unable to recall its English counterpart. This incident made me wonder if some words might be identical in both Malayalam and English.

In a Physics class, when the topic was simple machines, the teacher used the word “pulley.” In Malayalam, “pulley” can mean a person, so I wondered if it was a case of the same word having different meanings.

The convent-educated gals seemed louder and more confident compared to us. We, the Malayalam-medium students, were generally more reserved, partly because we weren’t sure if the convent-educated girls spoke Malayalam at all! Even the dress code was different: we wore traditional full-length skirts and blouses, while they came dressed in Western clothes.

At their gatherings, they would eagerly sift through each other’s bags in search of Mills & Boon novels like treasure hunters on a quest.  I realized my literary world was a universe apart and was limited to Malayalam authors such as S.K. Pottekkatt, Vaikom Muhamad Basheer and Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai. Though these Malayalam masters had shaped my imagination, I became aware that there was a whole world of English literature I had yet to explore!

In the first year of my engineering program, my friend and I encountered a classmate from another state outside of college. Upon seeing him, we crossed the road and said “Hi.” It was only then that we realized he couldn’t speak Malayalam and his pronunciation of English was quite different from ours. This left us in a bit of a dilemma. In Kerala, although we were good at English in reading and writing, we never ventured into speaking it. We ended up saying “Bye,” so the conversation was limited to just “Hi” and “Bye.”

Throughout my postgraduate studies at NIT, I had to push myself to speak in English without hesitation, as the majority of students and faculty members came from different states. In the mess hall or around campus, it was common to encounter someone who wasn’t a Malayalee. Although I initially found this quite challenging, I eventually came to terms with it and found peace.

I had to move out of Kerala after marrying a Malayalee who had attended an English-medium school with a central syllabus and frequently used English slang and phrases (perhaps to impress his newlywed wife). With many non-Malayalee friends, I had no choice but to speak in English whenever we went out, though not at home. Going to the cinema to watch English films was quite a challenge for me at that time. Up until then, the only English film I had seen was The Sound of Music!

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge. Both my kids attended an English-medium school with a central syllabus. I made it a point that the language for communication at home was ONLY Malayalam. Though they occasionally slipped into English during family meals, I would intervene and steer them back saying ‘ mother tongue, mother tongue’.  

Recently, my kids mentioned that although they didn’t always enjoy my intervention, they obeyed because, since I came from a state syllabus and Malayalam medium school, they felt they had to comply to accommodate me. They asked me why my blog posts are in English instead of Malayalam. I told them it’s because most of my friends are from other states and countries—honestly, I was wondering the same thing myself!

The idea of “mother tongue” has changed. In the past, parents from the same community made sure their child learned their language. Today, that’s not always the case.

My daughter married a boy from another state who doesn’t speak her mother tongue. So now, English is the main language at home. Time flies, and so do the language rules! 🙂

Having replanted to a neighboring state after marriage and still living outside Kerala, whenever I meet a Malayalee, I ask, ‘Nattil evideya?’ (Where are you from?) and immediately switch the conversation to Malayalam.