The Power of Language

Five years ago in the slums of Paris, clutching our bags, K and I wandered into a tiny smoky convenience store after an hour of confused wandering. A desi man with a scowl sat hunched on a stool at the counter and squinted his eyes at us as we walked in. Unable to speak French, we asked if he spoke Urdu. He did. Three minutes later we turned the proper corner and quickly boarded the train.

Three years ago I stood in a school corridor when I saw a small girl in hijab looking at her feet as she stood in line, overwhelmed. I remember our eyes meeting and the look of relief as I spoke to her in Urdu. She never left my side. She gripped my hand tightly when the fire drill came on and her shoulders softened as I explained what it was. A young girl fleeing Afghanistan would naturally be horrified to hear the piercing shrieks of the fire drill without explanation. Madiha and I remain close to this day.

This Memorial day weekend at a wedding on K's side of the family, I spent time with his uncles. They're the type of people whose goodness and warmth is contagious. We spoke in Punjabi and this weekend I fell in love again with Punjabi and the ease with which the words rolled off my tongue, the inherent warmth in the delivery. No matter what anyone says, its a beautiful language. Because I know Punjabi I understood their jokes which lose the full humor in translation, I understood their references and could respond properly to their delight, because I understood them.

Today I answered the help line at work by accident. The man spoke in broken English struggling with each word as though stepping on splinters. I recognized his accent. Urdu? I asked. Hindi. He sighed. I spoke to him in Hindi, a close cousin to Urdu, a language I know. His tone softened, his voice relaxed as we spoke.

The loss of language. Some say its inevitable. K says it'll happen to our kids as it does to the kids of others. Sometimes I think he's right. Sometimes I think that this language will end with us. That this is inevitable.

But this thought breaks my heart. Will they never be able to sit with my chachi and tease chacha to make another round of chai and truly understand the subtlety that defined the humor of the moment? Language is so powerful. It connects us, it eases our loneliness. It helps us truly understand each other, not through translation which evaporates so much of the true meaning of the words spoken. I know that when I have children i'A that I must pass this gift on to them because Language is so much more than a hat trick. Its so much more than a resume booster or a way to whisper about the green haired man behind you without fear that he understands. Its important for all the reasons I can list, but even more so for all the reasons that defy explanation. Language is one of the few priceless gifts you can pass on. I thank my parents for teaching me. I always wondered if I would pass my language on, pay it forward, I know it would take a great deal of effort, but now I know I will.

A parent's love

A parent's love is unlike any other. I read this story and could not stop the tears from springing from my eyes. I grieve for the people of China. To help, donate here.

"When the rescuers found her, she was already dead, crushed by the collapsed house. Through all the debris, people can see her posture: both knees down, upper body forward with hands holding her body, like praying to the heaven. When the rescue team moved on to the next collapsed building, the team leader felt strange about the posture of the dead lady. He went back, checked and shouted to his team: "Come back, there is a baby alive under her body!" After a hard try, they carefully cleared the debris around the dead woman. Under her body was her wrapped baby, about three month old. Because of his mother’s protection, he wasn't hurt at all. He was still sleeping when he was taken out. The doctor came over to perform a routine check and found a cell phone tucked under his blanket. The screen had a message: “my loving baby, if you can survive, please remember I always love you.”

Thoughts on laryngitis

For three days I lay bedridden, unable to move from the bed to the kitchen to pour myself some water and then poof, today I woke up feeling almost okay [though not quite] and as I opened my mouth to tell my husband.... squeak. Nothing came out. Nothing nada. I have laryngitis as I cannot speak except at a soft whisper. I guess all the coughing finally pissed my larynx off enough to say you know what? when you learn to treat me better then I'll consider coming back, but until then you just think about how much you took me for granted! If I could send it a dozen tulips, I would.

What's interesting is the reaction to me having laryngitis. Some examples from a Whole Foods excursion:

Fish guy as I point out the salmon and then make a hand gesture for 1 pound raises his eyebrows and says "You think you're being followed or something?" Lesson 1: People with laryngitis cannot speak, they do not suffer from paranoid delusions.

Meat guy as I point to the cut I want and whisper the third one, says I can't hear you. I point to my throat and shake my head. I stand on tip toe and whisper as loud as I can and he says as a matter of factly "You just gonna have to speak up now" Lesson 2: If you have laryngitis you just can't!

Check out lady asks me if I've tried the soup before, I whisper no but it looks good. She in turns whispers back that many customers say its the best one. Lesson 3: You do not have to whisper back, people with laryngitis often have exquisite hearing.

I represent disabled children so when I briefly encounter a temporary disability such as this where I am without an important bodily function, though I find it inconvenient, I'm amazed at the strength of those, some just children, who live with such obstacles and curious glances day in and day out. I guess in everything even sometimes in the seemingly bad, there is cause to pause and be grateful.

Randomness

Hi. It's me. Still here. I've been quite MIA. Between writing, working, etc I haven't had a chance to blog for some time. Hopefully things will settle down soon so I can begin blogging regularly again. In the meantime, I've accomplished 20 things in my 108 in 2008! Most noteworthy in my humble opinion is loading the dishwasher each night before bed so that my counters are dish free! Only 88 more tasks to go!

Is a hippopotamus really a hippopotomus or just a really cool opotamus?- Hedburg