Of Learning A Language
By Salman Sowdagar
THEY say learning a new language is easier when you are a child and it gets tougher as you grow up. It proved to be right in my case. This in no way means that my hair had started falling. I was just closer to becoming a teenager. So, I wasn’t a child after all, was I?
The ordeal showed its ugly face when my father was transferred from Pune to Hyderabad in 2006. Though I was born in Kurnool, a not-so-big not-so-small city in Andhra Pradesh, I had moved to Pune at the age of four. My father had got his job posting there. And Urdu being my mother tongue, I had not known a word of Telugu — the language of my home state, by the time I made my way to Pune. And in Pune, you don’t hear it at all; Marathi is its call.
Children as we were, my sister and I (though she being older than me by a year or so) gave in to the need of the hour and learned a good deal of Marathi during our eight year long stay in Pune. But grown-ups as they were, my parents could never learn it. Or was it that they never tried?
Then came the much awaited transfer to Hyderabad when I had finished my 6th grade. Much awaited because my family had ever since longed to go to Hyderabad as it was nearer to our native place. It is human tendency to try to be close to people and places that make us feel like home. So when the transfer finally came, we were more than just happy.
But it seemed my home state failed to see that. For once I was back, it seemed to switch on its revenge mode. Revenge for I had abandoned it earlier. It looked as if it wanted to shove down my throat the whole of the Telugu I had missed. A language all my cousins who lived in the state had mastered. But never did I envy them for that. Firstly because I had Marathi with me. Secondly, I had never found Telugu very appealing.
But alas, I had no other option but to opt Telugu as a second language from 7th grade onwards. After all, I could not have discontinued my education to avoid that. So I reluctantly started learning it from scratch. The two centres of learning that taught me the ABC of Telugu were the specially conducted remedial classes in school and my mother at home. Without a doubt, the latter was better.
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Fortunately or unfortunately, I soon realized that in Hyderabad, one could do without knowing much Telugu. Most of the people there seemed to know a bit of Hindi or Urdu. So I started taking my struggle for learning Telugu lightly. I learned only that much that would enable me to pass the examinations without using any dubious means.
However, that worked in my favour only for three years. When I reached 10th grade, I realized the seriousness of the situation. I could no longer afford to take Telugu lightly as it was the year of board examinations. A fear took birth inside me. I was afraid I would not be able to prepare enough to clear the final Telugu exam. There was plenty of time for the exam but the fear would not let me do anything. It only grew stronger as the days passed. But then I did not know that Allah had a plan for me. His plan that would help me overcome my fear of Telugu.
I had always been a good speaker since my childhood (at least I like to think that way). I used to participate in storytelling competitions and win prizes. The habit had continued and my speech for the Independence Day elocution contest in my 10th grade had impressed all my teachers and friends alike.
The Telugu Language Day was due in the same month and many activities were planned for the students. Some of my teachers, impressed as they were, wanted me to give my name for the elocution competition where I had to speak about the importance of Telugu in Telugu. And when they saw that I was far from doing so, they did it themselves. They gave my name without my consent in front of my very eyes. I tried stopping them but they kept telling me that I could do it. I was left with no other choice but to wait for this unexpected tragedy that was fast approaching me.
I got my speech written by my mother and it took me two days to practice it. When the D-day arrived, I was a bundle of nerves. I felt my hand shiver as I held the mic and faced the audience. But after only three minutes, it was all over. I had done it. But not without referring a couple of times to the paper I was holding in my hand on which I had written down the speech. I did not know how I had spoken until my name was announced for the first prize. It came to me as a shocker.
That day, it was not the prize that I had won. It was something else. It was my fear of Telugu that I had won over. I realized that if I could speak in Telugu in front of a large audience, I could also face it in a board examination. For writing something privately is easier than public speaking.
So, that was Allah’s plan for me. And it made me realize that doing the ordinary things that one usually does to overcome a fear may not help in the long run as the fear may try to resurface time and again. In order to defeat a fear, what one needs to do is something different, something extraordinary. When the final Telugu exam eventually came, I was confident. And it showed in my result. I scored a 63.
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About the Author
Salman Sowdagar is a poet and short story writer living in Hyderabad, India. His work received a Commendable Mention in Wingword Short Story Prize 2017. Salman was among the Featured Writers in Wordweavers Poetry Contest 2017. His work has appeared in magazines such as The Bombay Review, Merak magazine, Verse of Silence, The Pangolin Review, CultureCult magazine, Infinithoughts, etc. He is currently studying MA English at MANUU.
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