Tara’s First Few Words

January 27, 2008
Suddenly, Tara has acquired a huge vocabulary in the past few days. Earlier, her vocabulary consisted of baba, mama, and aunnnnnnn (for auntie – courtesy the cook), and I’m not sure she knew the meanings of these. Everything else was ma or ka, or variations on these themes such as, amma, akka, mama, or kaka.
Later, she abandoned these words in favour of complete gibberish. Now, there seems to be a recognisable language emerging from the gibberish. Not, admittedly, a very easily recognisable language, but now her words are often accompanied by actions indicating what she means and also, more importantly, that she knows what she means.Here’s a list of what I’ve managed to recognise so far – words that she’s repeated often enough to rule out coincidence.
  • aaa-kkaaay (okay – shaking head from side to side)
  • Bye-bye, ta-ta (waving hand, often when someone is leaving, but
    sometimes also at bedtime or when she is going into her room)
  • no-no (nose – grabbing hers or sometimes mine, Amit’s or Mrini’s)
  • ouuuu (out – talking back when I order her out of some place)
  • owwww (ouch – imitating me when she grabs my nose)
  • ba (ball – pointint to it)
  • buku (her picture book – pointing at or fetching it)
  • mata (mat (for sleeping on) – at bedtime, fetching it to spread on the bed)
  • ae-o-pa (aeroplane – pointing upwards when she hears one passing; Mrini used to call it “ae-ppy” but now no longer does.)
  • hapu (high five – holding both hands up by her head waiting for the high five, big grin on her face)
  • emmmm (arm – patting her arm)
  • backa (back – bending her arm around and touching her back!)
  • tamtam (tummy – patting it and grinning)
  • dudu (dudh, milk – when she sees me pouring it out into their bottles)
  • da-i (dahi, curd – when served to her at lunch time)
  • mumm-mumm-mumm (yum-yum-yum – while eating curd)
  • yea (yes- decisively, in response to the question “Are you hungry?” at
    lunchtime )

Impressive, don’t you think? Considering she’s been exposed to English (and Hindi) for only the past four months.

Mrini isn’t saying much these days – at least, not anything that’s recognisable that is. I suppose she’ll unleash another flood of garbled words on us at some point. For now, she seems pretty happy to let Tara do the talking.

Advertisements

Teaching Un-thinking

August 7, 2007

Although it tends to get overshadowed by my German exam, which looms large this weekend and contains horrors such as the spoken part of the test, I have not entirely forgotten that I am also studying Archaeology and that that course is also slowly nearing its end.

This does not flood me with the same kind of relief that the prospect of the end of my German class does. The German class has been great fun: once again I have enjoyed myself quite extraordinarily, despite frequently making an idiot of myself in front of 15 people (and laughing loudly when others do likewise). I liked our teacher quite a lot – she has a good sense of fun, and is quite capable of stepping out of herself and laughing at herself, at India, or at the coming together of the two in the most absurd fashion possible, going by what I understand of the events that she sometimes narrates to us (in her super fast, super fluent German, of course).

But, despite all the fun, it’s quite horrible having to sacrifice 5-6 hours on both Saturday and Sunday every week for 16 weekends! This, my Archaeology course does not demand – an hour or two every weekday evening, four days a week seems to work just fine for that. That’s why I’ve decided to take a break from my German course and continue with Archaeology, when common sense demands that I do it the other way round.

In the approaching German exam, lots of things are quite familiar. The exam consists largely of multiple choice answers, which test your understanding of given text and of the rules of grammar, sentence construction, parts of speech etc. That apart, there’s a letter to be written, which smacks of English classes about 20 years ago. The spoken part is the most nervous-making, but even that reminds me of the viva voce sections of lab exams in school. So, in a sense, nothing is altogether unfamiliar about the entire examination process.

With the Archaeology course, it is a different story. I’m just not used to reading a subject for an exam and not having to memorize anything. I’ve never done this. I keep thinking as I read: how on earth am I going to remember all this? Then I realize: hey, I don’t have to; if I need this, I can open the book and look it up. Then I feel massively guilty, as though that’s cheating. But the way my Archaeology course is structured, it’s just not. The assessment is based on an assignment, and that assignment is your answer to a question. The questions are provided to you along with the course materials, at the start of the course. You are expected to read the questions beforehand, and if you have an idea of which one you’re going to work on, well and good. Then you’re expected to keep your selected question(s) in mind as you read through the course material, so that you can make note of the relevant information as you go. This soooooooooo looks like cheating! I can’t get used to the thought that it is not only ok, but expected and demanded that you should have your text books open as you write your “exam”.

In the Indian education system I’ve been accustomed to, studying means learning what’s in the text books and spewing it out as close to verbatim as possible. Diverging from the printed material is not encouraged and questioning it is tantamount to heresy. To my alarm, I find that in this “new” educations system, far from spewing out verbatim, even merely ingesting an idea and presenting it in your own words is considered plagiarism. To my greater shock, it is considered plagiarism even if you conscientiously and dedicatedly quote your sources from beginning to end. Measured by this yardstick, every exam I’ve ever given in my life, with the possible exception of German, has been based on plagiarism. Not because I wanted to plagiarise, but because I didn’t know any other way. In fact, I didn’t even so much as know that there was another way.

Apparently, there is. The other way, the way that allows you to open as many textbooks as you please while you write your “exam”, tests not your memory or your understanding of what is in the textbooks, but rather, tests what you think about it. This, to me, is extraordinary. Me, think? Who ever allowed me to think? Why, when in school days I tried to think, I always came up with questions; and when I raised questions in class, I was told to shut up, or to go stand outside the class. Nobody wanted me to think, not even in thinking subjects like math, physics and chemistry, which I liked and I was good at. What my teachers couldn’t understand was why on earth I would even need to think when all the thinking had already been done and set out in the textbook for me. In fact, most of the teachers had ceased to think years ago and had forgotten how.

I did try to think a bit, when I did my Bachelor’s degree in English Literature. It was easier then, because I had already switched to distance learning by then, and hence I had no teachers to stop me from thinking. I did an absolutely unheard of thing and actually read all my set texts, straight from Chaucer, through Shakespeare and Milton, and all the way to Eliot. What’s worse, I quite enjoyed it. Then I did the even more unheard of thing and went and read all the best, most famous, and most controversial critics. I even enrolled in the British Council Library just to get access to these books. I can’t say I enjoyed reading the critics, but, perhaps for the first time, I found I had the freedom to think. I realized that I agreed with some of their views, disagreed with other views, and could defend my point of view quite satisfactorily – well, to myself at any rate.

I’m not quite sure why or how, but I passed that degree. Not surprisingly, though, I wouldn’t say I scored very highly in it.

I didn’t know it then, but I had taken a small step towards thinking. Only now do I realize what a tiny little first step that was. When I agreed or disagreed with the critics’ points of view, I was, perhaps, still guilty of plagiarism, because, though I acknowledged that it was someone else’s view, I did not take the next step and state my own view. (Probably just as well, or I might not even have passed!) I think that I sometimes had a view of my own, but it was not clear to me that it ought to be stated.

In this course, Archaeology, the Leicester University guidelines for assessing the assignment clearly state that presenting known views and supporting them with citations is not only not sufficient for a good grade, but is considered rank plagiarism. You have to have your own point of view, you have to present arguments for and against, but ultimately you have to take a stand that is your own. In other words, you have to think.

That’s scary!


Almost Multilingual – 2

May 25, 2007
I had noticed this six months ago when I was yet again submerged in a sea of Bengali, during a trip to Calcutta to meet Amit’s family.

By “this” I mean, I noticed that my language skills in Bengali had suddenly improved in something like a quantum leap. I still made mistakes, but at times entire sentences (mistakes and all) tripped off my tongue without my having consciously thought about them. After struggling sporadically for nine years to become coherent in a language I had acquired only as an adult, it was a pleasant surprise.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last long and up to the current date I was back to stumbling along minus the quantum leap. I did wonder why it had happened and why it had stopped happening, but I put it down to good mood (we were on holiday), feelings of self-confidence (it was before the infertility business got going), practice (the Aunt had been staying with us briefly) or other such indefinable influences.

Now, I notice it’s happening again.

One of those indefinable influences I had sort of vaguely attributed my improved Bengali language skills to, was my German language skills, which in those days were not too bad, all things considered. Now that I’m back to studying German, could it have again had a positive effect on my Bengali? Sounds strange, but perhaps it is not entirely unbelievable. After all, learning a language means forcing your brain to work in a vocabulary and grammar it is not used to. The way we’re taught German, we’re made to attempt to think in German, as opposed to thinking in English and trying to translate (which never works). So, once the brain is forced out of its comfort zone of English, could it be that it explores impartially pathways in Bengali and German?

(BTW, I don’t think there’s been any impact on my Hindi language skills, probably because I learnt Hindi as a child and have a certain level of fluency and assurance in that language, comparable to my English. I don’t have any difficulty understanding or framing sentences in Hindi; the only thing I need to improve is vocabulary.)

I have read that people who learn languages as adults generally find it easier to pick up successive languages once they have mastered the first few. This is true even of entirely unrelated languages. It seems to work for me as well, because, though I am struggling a bit with German, it is nothing like the enduring battle of nine years that I’ve had with Bengali. It is particularly easy to tell the difference when I listen to native German or Bengali speakers. It’s a bit like listening to the radio softly when you’re driving in heavy traffic… you can hear the voice saying something, but unless you really focus on it, it just washes over you like so much background noise.

For many years, I had to pay 110% concentration to someone addressing me in Bengali, to pick out key words and try to make sense of what they were communicating. The trouble often was, I might catch the key words, but would not be sure about who was doing the action, whom it was done to or on, and other such crucial bits of information. The difference, for instance, between, “Did he tell you everything?” and “Did you tell him everything?” – Even if I catch “he” “you” “tell” and “everything” – which is a lot to catch in such a short sentence – I might still not be clear on what I’m being asked and how I should respond. It has led, times without number, to awkward situations.

In German, I have come to, and largely crossed, the same level of comprehension in a much shorter time. I still have to concentrate like hell when listening to the teacher (who seems to make no allowances for our relatively rudimentary language skills when she addresses us in 100% Deutsch) – but having done so, I do manage to pick out the key words and usually even manage to figure out who did what, and to whom. Sometimes, I end up translating long and complicated instructions for my table-mates – usually capturing the essence more-or-less accurately. Now, if only I could paraphrase in German instead of translating to English… (sigh) That, surprisingly enough, is something I can do in Bengali, even though I usually make a hash of it.

I do wonder sometimes whether my Bengali is better or my German. Right now, it’s a bit of a toss-up – I think my fluency in Bengali is better, and perhaps my vocabulary, but I’ve never had any formal training in Bengali, so definitely my understanding of grammar is stronger in German. Then again, I can’t really read Bengali. Perhaps, someday, I’ll improve at that too. After all, if learning a second language as an adult makes the first language stronger, then learning a third language should make the first two stronger, right? Hmmmm… let’s see – shall it be Spanish? Mandarin?? Greek???


Deutsch Lernen – Again!

May 7, 2007
It was like being thrown into a bucket of cold water. I walked into the room and was greeted by a flood of German. It passed over my head just as smoothly as water too – in all, I comprehended not a single word in the first five minutes.

For the next two hours, I concentrated very, very hard. I found that, by doing this, I could usually catch every fifth word or so, and inspired guesswork did the rest in making sense of the verbal onslaught. Occasionally, I got lucky and would catch an entire phrase.

After two hours, I was tired. It was so much easier to just let the language flow overhead without making any conscious effort and that way only about one word in two hundred would make any impact on the poor, sodden mind.

It’s bad enough that, having spent eight months of weekends attending German class, I took a break of eight months, thus throwing down the drain about 80 % of what I’d spent the first eight months struggling to learn. Language, like any motor skill, once acquired does not really ever go away, though it might get rusty with neglect. But first, you must acquire it, and in eight months of weekend classes, I had only just begun to acquire it.

By the end of class on Saturday, my brain was reeling, spinning, and doing somersaults, all at once.

Sleep helped, as did the fact that Sunday classes are in the morning, as opposed to Saturday classes, which are in the afternoon. On Sunday, I relaxed the concentration effort a little and managed to catch a little more of the flood that assaulted me for four hours. That was good as far as it went, but it really didn’t go very far.

The trouble with language is, it is not enough to understand it – one must be able to speak it as well. This is where I always have the greater difficulty. Inspired guesswork just doesn’t help in stringing a meaningful sentence together. What usually happens is that both inspiration and guesswork fly out the window, leaving you blank and silent and thoroughly embarrassed. That’s what happened to me when I tried to say: “she drinks a cup of coffee and reads the newspaper, as I do every morning.” Perhaps the word for newspaper stuck in my throat because this was such a blatant lie – I never read the newspaper, least of all in the morning, except on a Sunday if I have time, and this Sunday I hadn’t.

There was some small consolation in the fact that most of the others in the class struggled almost as much as I did. But it was small consolation indeed – I rate myself by where I want to be, not by where others are.

The good thing about a class is, it doesn’t really matter how many mistakes you make, because after all you are there to learn. Of course, people will laugh – for instance, we were supposed to be speaking about our partners (I mean life partners, spouses) in class and two guys who were supposed to exchange views on their respective partners ended up inadvertently speaking about themselves as partners (actually a very understandable slip-up), which led to raised eyebrows, pointed questions, and – as the newspapers love to say – uproarious scenes.

So, it’s ok to make mistakes in class, but it’s more difficult when you’re in an actual conversation and you want to say something and you don’t know how. For instance, the teacher was telling me how the woman at the cafeteria was so rude to her and refused to serve her, and I wanted to look sympathetic and say: “ohhhhh – that’s too bad,” but I didn’t, right at that moment, know how to express even this simple sentiment in German.

Oh well, if I keep at it, I might learn, eventually. That’s assuming that I can withstand the continued onslaught of German over the coming weekends. Wish me luck. (In German, if you please!)


Deutsch Lernen

December 20, 2006
So I gave up eight months of weekends to learn basic German. That was from January through August 2006, with a brief two-weekend break in the middle. The tragedy was that the exam for the second “semester” was scheduled for precisely the weekend we were leaving for Ladakh. Faced with a choice of Himalayas or German exam, the choice (if one can call it that) was obvious.

It was possible to take the exam scheduled for the next semester, I was informed, but I was doubtful whether this would really work out. Four months later, would I remember ANYTHING? Would I even remember that exam time was coming up and that I needed to enroll? Would I even want to?

But I did and I did and I did.

Not that the “anything” I remembered amounted to much, but when I woke up to the fact that enrollment time was rolling around, there were still a good three weeks to go before the exam. So I opened up my textbooks and notebook and though I found I did remember, I was still at first quite doubtful whether I remembered “enough”. Nevertheless, I plodded my way through it, making a proper plan and schedule and failing completely to stick to any part of it the way one does. I had scheduled days for writing sentences, practising adjectives, writing letters (10 marks!) and so on, and 90% of all this never happened. I did get carried away and download a couple of fairy tales from the Internet in German. Hansel and Gretel and Rumpfelstiltzchen (Rumpelstiltskin, I think, in English) – what horrible, sordid, depressing, morbid, grotesque, ghoulish tales! Who on earth ever thought they were fit content for little children?

Anyway, the most difficult part of this exam, as I had found in the first semester, is not the reading, understanding, or writing. It’s the hearing and the speaking. So, I practised diligently, by listening to the audio CDs provided with the course material, and by speaking to myself whenever I could.

And finally, yesterday and today, I went and gave the exam. In the last few days, I had realized that I would pass – even though pass marks were 60% – I would most likely even pass the spoken, provided sheer nervousness didn’t make a mess of me.

I think it all went off ok. There were a few hitches and glitches, here and there, but that’s only to be expected. For someone who’d completely lost touch over four months, I think I did “passably” well.

But I still don’t know. Not only do I not know the result, I don’t even know when I will know the result. Sigh. Life is full of suspense.


Almost Multilingual

June 18, 2006
My mother tells me I was a slow learner. That is, I was slow in learning to read, and for a while they thought I must be dyslexic. To this day, I remember sitting next to my mother in the living room, clutching a book of Noddy and trying to decipher the words and make sense of the sentences. I suppose I must have been pretty old at that time, if I can remember it. My mother was patiently prodding me to spell out the words, work out the pronounciation, skip the meanings of the difficult words till I reached the end of the sentence, then work out the meaning of the whole sentence and come to some conclusion about individual words that I did not understand. This was a pretty complex affair for a child who must have been 4-5 years old (specially considering the screwed-up phonetics of the english language).

I now attribute later reading habits, which were voracious to say the least, to that early struggle for literacy. I think that once I learnt how to read, I was so thrilled (and relieved) that I just had to do it again and again, just to be sure that I still could.

In class, once I was past the dyslexic stage, I always had the upper hand in English. For one reason, we spoke English at home, not Hindi, Punjabi, or Bengali. This, because my father was a Bengali from Allahabad who knew Bengali, Hindi  and Punjabi; and my mother was a UP-ite born in Australia and raised in Canada (don’t ask!) who spoke nothing but English. My mother was happy to know no Bengali and my Father made no attempt to teach it to my sister and me, so until I went to school and encountered Hindi, English was my primary language. So in school, which was dominated by Hindi and Punjabi speaking kids, I consistently flunked in Hindi and I shone in English.

Another surprising outcome of my struggles with literacy was that I mastered spelling in English. Since spelling in English defies all logic (and since I’m now learning German, I can state this with firm authority: Deutsch is so wonderfully consistent about spellings and phonetics) I had come to the conclusion that the only way to get spellings right was to pronounce words they way they looked like they should be pronounced – enunciating each alphabet. This I always did silently, in my mind, as I knew that the “correct” way to pronounce most words was in all likelihood quite different. By this means, my pronounciation was almost impeccable and – showoff that I was in those early days – I loved to read aloud in class and participate in recitation, drama and other such activities. I also loved dictation tests, in which I usually got full marks, or, at worst 19/20.  This helped me overcome the disgrace of getting 3/10 in Hindi in three successive tests and not being able to string a single sentence together in our national language. (The fact that I was brilliant at arithmetic was a bigger help and won me a certain degree of admiration from peers, but that came later.)

In the playground, I picked up enough Hindi and Punjabi to be going along with. And at some point in school, I had a two-year face-off with Sanskrit. Though I subsequently forgot all the Sanskrit and Punjabi I had learnt, Hindi as  a language I continue to use. Hindi as a subject I dreaded and struggled with all the way through school and till the first year of college; after which, thankfully, it fell off the syllabus and never reappeared. Strangely enough, though, in my Xth standard exams, I scored higher in Hindi than I did in English.

After having the misfortune to marry a Bengali, I realized that I really would have to come to grips with my “father-tongue”. I simply could not go through life with a Bengali name and not a word of the lingo to my credit. So I bought some books and a dictionary or two and elected Amit as my primary teacher. Although, over the years, I have acquired a degree of fluency and sufficient vocabulary to muddle along, my grammar is still a mess and I suspect I must sound offensively inarticulate to a native Bengali speaker.

Living in Karnataka, I tried to acquire a working knowledge of Kannada as well. I attended weekend classes for six months, at the end of which my Kannada was far more rudimentary than my Bengali – but at least I can say “where is” and “how much” (though I can’t always follow the reply).

I think my greatest stumbling block with learning languages has always been speaking (what with my battles with shyness and a dash of stage fright). Because it is so difficult to string together a sentence that is meaningful and grammatically correct in anything like the normal span of time required to make a sentence, I have always hesitated to speak in a new language. And so, of course, I have never managed to really get any level of comfort in the acquired language.

So far,  my efforts at learning German are about par for the course. I have as much of a grasp of the concepts of grammar and syntax as anyone in class. That is to say, I am equally befuddled much of the time.  I can’t string together a spoken sentence in any reasonable span of time, but given ten minutes and a sheet of paper I can usually come up with some good stuff (that’s the writer in me).  So far I have committed myself to seven months of weekends, and got through about five months. If I can endure another two semesters (seven months) of this torture, I might be getting somewhere. Some day, I might even get the better of that dyslexia.


Self-fulfilling Prophecies

December 12, 2005

When I was studying Psychology, I read of an experiment where some duffer kids were told that they were the best in the class, but, being late bloomers, their time had not yet come but soon they would outshine everyone else in a radius of 17 miles etc. So then, these kids, who naturally had low self esteem, slowly began believing in themselves, and, moreover, their teachers (who did not know this was an experiment) began believing in them and giving them more attention etc (rather than focusing on the bright kids) and lo and behold, several months later, the duffer kids were at the top of the class.

The point being, that if you believe in yourself, you can achieve much more than if you don’t, and that it is much easier to believe in yourself if you have people around (particularly people whose judgment you respect, teachers, superiors, close family and friends) who believe in you.

On the flip side, I have often enough seen or heard of people who get discouraged and stop believing in themselves because just ONE PERSON – maybe not even a particularly important person – keeps telling them how worthless they are. It is so easy to wear down someone’s belief in themselves by just being derogatory and scornful all the time.

This doesn’t often happen to me, because I have a very stubborn conviction that I am good at most things. But, in music, that is an exceedingly tenuous belief, due partly to the fact that my teacher always used to run me down and scorn me. In some people that might bring out the best, but in most people it only turns them into failures, and so it almost did with me. Until one day, I decided that if playing in a group with my teacher and so many others was going to make me so miserable, if he was always going to snub me in front of everyone, and if I was really so much worse than everyone else, then I was just going to stop.

It was one of the most difficult things I ever did in my life. I hated and feared my teacher. I was young and significantly lacking in social confidence ( I hadn’t started my working life then). I enjoyed music and I really did want to play and to be respected by the other players. I worked hard at that. I didn’t want to quit. But I didn’t want to be humiliated. So I called up my teacher and told him that, very quietly and firmly. I remember rehearsing my speech, and then forgetting it all, but getting the words out anyway.

To my surprise and embarrassment, my teacher apologised most humbly and begged forgiveness. This was strange! But it was nice. After that, he made sure he never said anything I could take as derogatory. Somehow, I felt good about myself. My playing improved too.

Tennis, now, is a different story. After playing with Amit for a few months more than a year ago, I haven’t even touched my tennis racket. Then, I started tennis lessons, on 1 December. Surprisingly, I hadn’t forgotten much. My teacher was impressed. Today was lesson number three, and he was most impressed. He kept saying “too good”. 🙂 Is he the sort of teacher who says this to everyone to encourage them? I don’t think so. For one thing, last time there were another two beginners with me, and he didn’t say such things to them (though the girl was clearly not very good at all). For another thing, he says good when I know I’ve hit a good shot, and then too, not always. So he doesn’t just say it all the time.

As though this were not enough, Amit surprised me the other day by saying a most unexpected thing. He said, I have talent!!! Me? Talented??? I could hardly believe it. I have NEVER thought of myself as talented at ANYTHING. I think I am most ordinary at everything.

Ok, I’m not asking for anyone to write in and tell me how talented I am…:-) I mean, it’s just that my own concept of myself is not of a talented person.

I felt pleased as punch. I still haven’t got over it. Me. Talented. At tennis, what’s more. I mean, I have never been much of a sporty person. I play badminton abominably (though I love it) and I even swim only moderately well (though I learnt when I was 3).

So anyway, what with being so talented and my teacher being so pleased at my progress, I’m feeling positively gung-ho about tennis. I can’t wait to get out on the court and get better. Why do I have tennis only three days a week??? I want to play tennis NOW!


%d bloggers like this: