THE MALLU PRONUNCIATION - A SMALL INSIGHT

THE MALLU PRONUNCIATION - A SMALL INSIGHT

     “Mallus often pronounce Ball as ‘Boolu’, Cricket as ‘Kriketu’ and Bat as Baatu”, said a Tamilian to me and started laughing. Another day a very well versed Kannadiga guy (a person from Karnataka) came to me and said, “Malayalam Pronunciation is very funny, you know." One of my close friends, a South Indian- turned North Indian, confirming to the status strata she seemed to follow after her requisite adaptation to a so called 'different world' from South India, i.e North India, said, while I was discussing about a vegetable – Onion - in a shopping mall, that it was ‘Aniyan’ and not ‘Onion’, in terms of pronunciation, and said she had to bear a lot of insult for an uneducated pronunciation (i.e ‘Onion’), once in her starting days of her college life, in the new 'North-Indian' World. I accept the pronunciation issues involved with Mallus, and I daresay she is right. But shouldn't there something in place to de-congest this pricking and pinpointing complaints which, as a matter of fact,arise out of the deficiency in self realization?     

         Are the people, who make a fuss on the way other state people pronounce, fully Oxford-ised? A lot of Kannadigas pronounce temporary as ‘temparavary’. Tamilians say ‘Aail’ instead of ‘Oil’ and ‘jero’ for ‘zero’. For most of the North Indians the word ‘L’ comes as replacement for ‘zha’ as in ‘Tamizhians’ (in terms of Original Tamil).   

       We get a Bengali zephyr, when even our revered President, Mr. Pranab Mukherjee, addresses in English. 

Please understand that it’s not a riposte that I am looking forward to, as I happen to be a Malayalee, or rather a ‘Mallu’ as everyone put it, myself. I am just talking about the way people satirize other people for the way they pronounce English, like they are coming right out of a Charles Dicken’s book.

       In India each language is unique in its own way. There exists for each Indian, a mother tongue, and our tongue often gets trained with the way we pronounce our mother tongue. So, it’s up to the person to pull himself up by his bootstraps, accordingly, to find harmony with the new languages; be it English or any other. In that case, when there is a paucity of time, or probably vintage involved, the perfection to which the acclimatization occurs is a matter of incertitude. Students and toddlers who are trained in schools from nursery, with English communication skills, in the right way it appeals to the teachers (who in fact follow the Text books) will be able to do well, and excel in communicative English. But for the others, it’s a matter on the rocks. Whenever they try to say something in other language, in which they might be grammatically perfect and strong, their tongue more often than not, falls for the the twists and turns involved in the mother tongue. Their speech will carry the wind of mother tongue whenever it comes out, ending up as something alien.  So, it’s not fair to laugh at or stereotype a Mallu, Kannadiga, Bengali, or even a Chinese guy. The people who often do the valuation, should introspect and find out what English code they follow. UK or US? And at the end of the search, if they find out are following either UK or US English, pristine, then they may fasten their seat-belts, and tram all those in their way with their dominating language quality. But till then; till our Nation becomes fully Oxford-ised; kindly see English as any other language, commonly used as means of communication, AND DEFINITELY NOT AS SOMETHING WHICH CAN DETERMINE A PERSON'S STANDARDS. IT’S THE HUMAN VALUES THAT STAND, FOR THAT CASE. Do not degrade a person based on the way he pronounces. Do not put him in a place where he fears, he will end up a hostage to fortune trying the Angresi beats with his tongue. Do not make anyone afraid that he might become a joker. Know that, though we are using it, we are not the actual owners of it. Attempts for improvisation is appreciated, but attempts to defame sans a look at the mirror before vying for the facial advertisement might not help. We all have problems here or there. NO ONE IS PERFECT IN THIS.

HEMANTH SREEKUMAR

+91 8197560094

FIRST RIDE

FIRST RIDE

"I still remember pleading his mom to serve more of her specially made 'Bhiriyani'. She teased me for making a puppy-face, after I have had three rounds already. She then patted on my back, saying, it will be served next, only if I return home for dinner with her son. I agreed and promised to return for dinner.

It was my new bike and I wanted to test its speed and do a little show-off, with my friend on the pillion seat sharing the pride. He was not just friend. He was my best friend. So why not! I revved the engine to life, and my bike roared in it's young voice. I could feel the power in my hands. Within a few seconds the wind whizzed in toe with the throttle. I was riding quite audaciously and I still remember him, asking me to slow down as he was scared. But, the little maturity I had in me, was completely overridden by my excitement. It was a wonderful and joyous moment that I enjoyed, until that moment came.

Amidst all the excitement gushing through my veins, one small boy, out of the blue, jumped into the middle of the road, which suddenly pumped my heart beat to an all time high. Red-Alert! It developed in my brain, an urgency to avoid a hit, which automatically prompted me to try to brake the bike to a sudden halt. The bike ended up skidding, and I felt my hands giving up on its fight, to maintain its control over the handle. My control went to its precarious best, and things went out of my hands, to the hands of fate. I felt the mixed effect of friction and pain on my right knee, as I skidded on the road. And then, I was pushed off the road by some force.

And I guess it was him; the creator of that force - my best friend.

Dirt and muck started hugged me while I was rolled in an uncontrolled manner. Leaves brushed past my face, with its stems scratching wherever it can on my body. After a split second, even before my eyes registered the events to my brain properly, I saw it happen. Something that would flash across my mind for the rest of my life, perhaps.

A torrent of blood was dripping from my eyebrows. I could hardly make out the figure of a bike and a man being crushed up by the big paws of a giant lorry. The rest, all disfigured and crushed. The traffic was blocked. I tried to get up. My blood-stained body was only half accepting to get up though. People came running from all sides. Like watching a tennis match being played, they kept on switching their gaping at me and the other spot, which was in fact the scraps of what was traveling with me, in the same velocity as a single object, according to the laws of physics. The people around were flummoxed. They tried to help me. But I denied help. I managed to limp my way towards the lorry, the accident spot. Hue of the evening light, raucous sounds of horns, the blood bath, and the commotion around, triggered my heart beat to an electrified speed. Limping across the unconcerned faces, or rather spectators, all I could see was a glimpse of my new bike being crushed up like a cola can, and a hand trapped beneath the front tire of the lorry. What followed it, and from what was left of the body under it, only the dresses helped me to discern who it was. Upon inspecting the scene further, I could see that the bike was covered with blood spots, with shirt pieces torn and the organs of my best friend splattered in every direction around it. Why, I don’t know, but between the giddiness my head carried, tears sprung into life. It was then that I realized that my ‘best friend’ was no more. The message came from within my soul reached me the very next moment. I realized..

'What Have I done?'

Beside me stood a small boy, confused. He was wondering perhaps, whether to thank or console me. I couldn't recognize him, but I guessed it was for this boy, that I lost my best friend.

It was certainly driver’s justice, but selfishness and carelessness which paid a hefty price.

The next thing that ran through my mind: 'How will I face a mother who awaits her son and his best friend for dinner?'"

HEMANTH SREEKUMAR