Lingo-istic

By Sneha Anand

“In the beginning was the word. And the word was made flesh.
It was so in the beginning and it is so today. The language,
the Word, carries within it the history, the culture of traditions,
the very life of a people, the flesh. Language is people. We
cannot conceive of a people without a language, or a language without a people.
The two are one and the same. To know one is to know the other.”
–Ulibarri, 1972

Identity is a funny thing. No, really. You can go on living your life without ever questioning your identity or you can suddenly be consumed by the question: What is my identity and what makes my identity? The place where I was born, the institution from which I completed my education, or my mother tongue – do these make my identity? Or it is just what I think I am and not what others want to slot me as according their own understanding of the category most befitting me? I think identity can be ten thousand things and then, there are another ten thousand and ten things it isn’t.

The fluidity of identity is intriguing as well as perplexing; the way it runs from one form into another, the way it is never just one thing. Identity can be temporary as well. My identity right now in Mumbai is that of a North Indian who cannot speak Marathi, even to save her life. This was a major concern when Raj Thackeray first led his public crusade against North Indians. Even though Mumbai prides itself on being cosmopolitan, the identity people choose to reckon with is clearly very local. So what happens in such a situation to the likes of us, the ‘outsiders’?

Actually, nothing. I didn’t have any problems nor did any of my friends, and mind you there are substantial number of north Indians here whom I happen to know. The only ones to suffer were, not surprisingly, the so-called lower class people who can speak their mother tongue and manage a bit of Hindi.

Hindi gets you by fine here. Everyone understands you, maybe even knows that we are not from here, but still things go on smoothly. It’s actually funny how many situations I have found myself in, in which because I can speak in Hindi, I was able to save the day. Recently, while shooting a documentary in Koliwada, Dharavi, I ended up doing all the talking as my partners were not that comfortable with Hindi and none of us knew Marathi. I don’t feel threatened that I don’ know the language here.

“Language is more than just a tool to communicate. It connects people with something greater than themselves. A common language breaks barriers between people. It allows people that share that language to identify with each other although they are different. A new language makes you notice things that you have always missed. It leads to an appreciation of things that you never knew existed. In doing so, a new person is formed; the old is not gone but is somehow different. You are what you speak. The language I learned as I grew up became me.”
–Mlungisi C. Mabele

I agree with Mabele’s ideas about what a language does and how a new language can open up so many other avenues for the individual. But I am not comfortable with accepting that the notion that we are what we speak or that the language we learn becomes us. This statement would mean that the local becomes more important or somehow more real than the national. Your ethnic identity is more important than your national identity. A local language might help you feel a sense of belonging to a community, whereas the national language might take you away from the coziness of that little world.

The local language in Mumbai is given a great degree of importance and I am not just referring to Marathi. Bambaiya, which is thoroughly local, has a national appeal. Almost anyone would the know the meaning of “khopdi ke khopche main khalibali machaye” (Lage raho Munnabhai). This national appeal, I guess, is the charm of Mumbai, which gives you the feeling of belonging. It’s not so much the language itself but rather, the attitude with which it is spoken. Mumbai is a city which gives you the opportunity to belong and still be aloof.

The irony of language-based identities is that they cannot exist without creating an ‘Other’. For instance, a community of people from a neighbouring state, which speaks its local language, is considered a linguistic outsider in Mumbai. This was evident in the attack on North Indians in Mumbai by Raj Thackeray’s Maharashtra Nav Nirman Sena in February 2008.

It looks as though a language-based identity is anything but self-sufficient. It always turns out be an assertion of a distinctive identity which gets defined against an Other that threatens it. If one was to delve deeper into the discussion and debate around these linguistic identities, one would realise that they are not drawn from “languages and cultural traditions with over two thousand years of continuous existence” as many prevalent texts keep reminding us.

What kind of wrinkle is on the forehead of
time? I don’t understand.
How can someone be the enemy of art and
knowledge? I don’t understand.
Why would any moth show distaste for any
candle whatsoever?
What is the madness of this age? I don’t
understand.
I understood a lot about the prejudices of
this age.
Today languages too are Brahmins and
Sheikhs? I don’t understand.
If there are charges against Urdu, that it too
is an outsider.
Then whose homeland is India? I don’t
understand.
The beauty of the garden comes from
flowers of every color, Rashid.
Why is any flower at all a disgrace to the
garden? I don’t understand.
-Rashid Banarsi

Though Banarsi speaks only of Urdu, I think same holds true for other languages as well. Why does any minority community feel threatened when it is very much possible for every language to co-habit? Identity indeed is a funny thing. It leads people to believe that it exists outside them, that it is something tangible, something that can be had or destroyed.

Identity is that perpetual state of nihilism, a constant struggle with nothingness.