As a third culture kid living in Singapore, I haven’t been able to be in touch with my roots that lie in India as much as I would have liked to. This has caused me to move away from my culture in a variety of different ways - from the clothes I wear, the sports I like, the accent I have and even through the food I eat. I’ve been so deeply immersed in a Westernized culture going to an international school that I don’t align with many of the patterns revolving around Indian culture. My accent doesn’t pinpoint me to a specific place, my music playlists contain no Hindi songs and I’m not very interested in cricket, even though it is loved and watched by almost all Indians, even those who live in Singapore. The food I eat isn’t very spicy as I have a low spice tolerance and yes, I strongly dislike mangoes, something that makes other Indians look at me in horror.
But what sets me away from my country arguably the most is the inability for me to wrap my head around my mother tongue, Hindi. While I can understand Hindi whenever others speak it, it’s not such a special ability as listening is typically the easiest for people to get the hang of when it comes to their mother tongue. What also shouldn’t be challenging is speaking the language, but this is where I fail. I can’t speak Hindi without making a grammatical error within the first sentence itself, without stuttering and stumbling over each phrase, or without wracking my brains for a simple noun. I definitely had the potential to be bilingual but unfortunately at 16 years old, I’m still monolingual. It’s embarrassing how my Spanish, the language I learn at school, is infinitely better than my Hindi. The only connection I have to the language, other than the occasional holiday to India, is when my parents speak it with each other. Often times, they speak in Hindi with the thought that I wouldn’t be able to understand what they’re saying. But even my ability to understand Hindi when it is spoken is fading quickly into the shadows, as the words become more unfamiliar, foreign, unknown. So most times, they would be correct in thinking this way.
All these thoughts rushed to my head when International Mother Tongue Day arrived. In mentor time, we were required to record a message in our mother tongue saying our name, why we like the language and how we learnt it. Realization punched me in the gut as I came to the conclusion that the only thing I would be able to say would be “my name is Rahul”.
Part of me blames my parents for not putting me in Hindi lessons like many of the other kids in my condo (I once had them, but I was very young; so young I didn’t even know I had had them until my parents told me). Part of me wants to point my finger at them and tell them how disadvantaged I am. But part of me - the honest, wiser part of me - knows the burden isn’t on them, but mostly rests on me. I never asked. If I never expressed a desire to learn and dive headfirst into my culture, why should they sign up? Why should they want it more than me?
My lack of understanding as well as my sister’s was never brought up by my parents - only rarely, before trips to India when we would be expected to practice the language with our older relatives. But when I don’t speak in Hindi and force my grandparents in India to speak in English instead of Hindi, it occurs to me that they always make the effort to speak in a language they don’t prefer, and I should have the decency to do the same.
While it’s later than I should be learning it, I’m working on my ability to understand the language. With simple phrases I practice speaking and reading every day in Hindi, hopefully I will eventually become more and more capable of understanding my home language. It may take some time but when I get there, I’ll feel more connected to my home country than I would have ever felt. It’s so important we always go back to our roots because they are part of defining who we are today, and the language spoken in that country is a bridge to your extended family that you don’t want to break.
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