October 10, 2004

Conversing in English in our society is not just a strange mode of communication, it can also be a tormenting experience

AMONGST the many urges found in our nation like the urge to cheat, pollute, sneeze and blurb (to other people’s faces), the urge to express our thoughts in English is overtaking all other urges with breakneck speed. We think that this will enable us to climb the social ladder and increase our respect in the country and abroad. With these lofty intentions, we set about speaking a language which we think is English of the highest order. Unfortunately, our social structure is built so much around languages. The social class is very much a function of the spoken language. The English speaking class is at the high end, while Urdu and regional languages-speaking majority are at the other. The middle class remains the same and does not graduate to the upper class due to this invisible barrier.

In this social setting, when people belonging to the middle and low classes are thrown in public limelight, they aspire to be seen as those belonging to the top most strata of society and try to eschew and conceal any suggestion about their background. In their opinion, there is no better way to demonstrate this but to use English as a vehicle of expression. But what they are so desperate to hide becomes all too revealing through their broken English.

The problem is that we like to feel that English is also somehow our mother tongue and it will come naturally to us once we decide on a given day that from henceforth all our public speaking will mostly be English. Yes, our public is exposed to English movies and English commentary, but most of the experience is limited to watching thrilling action. Their own running commentary never stops to allow any words of actors or commentators to penetrate their eardrums.

People at the forefront of this rage are our own cricketers (both past and present). During their interviews and commentary, they are too eager to make Shakespeare roll in his grave by unleashing the latent rich reserve of their own brand of English language. While a few have the dignity to reply in Urdu during the ‘man of the match’ interviews or keep their replies short, majority take the ‘English language allows in their own hands’. If asked how the wicket behaved, their reply is, “Oh crowd behaviour on the sport” (spot on, that is). If inquired “what were you thinking when last over began”, the reply usually is, “I am confident that I will do it, my mother pray so I do it.” When they speak, the future becomes the past, the present turns into the future and the gora interviewer becomes sceptical of his own English. Hence, he becomes more probing and asks, “What is your opinion about so many decisions going against you?” The answer generally is: “Umpires are humans I think so. If they mistake, we are mindless.”

Our potent fast bowlers strongly believe that if they can some how speak gibberish in a cockney or cowboy English, they will be labelled people whose upbringing has been mostly in Knightsbridge, London. When the fastest bowler was interviewed during a drink’s break sometime back, he was all about dialect and accent. I think he tries to copy the accent from the movie he watches in the hotel room the previous night. If it is a western, then he is a Clint Eastwood; if it is an overdose of BBC that night, then it is all out effort to be Time Sebastian. However, the contents and the laws of speech are for us to make out in coming weeks. After the interview, some players appear relieved, but most of them say thank you and proudly swagger as if they have delivered the most eloquent speech of the decade.

It has always been tough for Pakistan cricket followers. But now it is becoming heart-breaking. We are keen on watching ‘man of the match’ ceremonies but we often forget that it will be sheer agony and embarrassment to see our players telling the likes of Tony Greig after losing that “we unlucky, boys chase by heart but wickets lost one after second.” “In the end we prayed that we win but no help coming.” After Imran, Wasim Akram took the reigns of public speaking and courtesy his educated wife did cover it up for a while. At present, it is a hopeless situation.

Another keen segment too eager to speak English is our female film stars to whom stardom has been kind for some inexplicable reason. These actresses are in awe of Bollywood and since Bollywood’s heroines are proficient in English, they cannot be far behind. All our stars whose names end with ‘a’ (in case nobody has noticed) speak each sentence in two languages. The Urdu part usually gives the finishing touches or rather rescues a clump of English words going nowhere. “You know I was interested in”, pause, “dance ka bachpan se shock tha.” “My family love”, pause, “humay apni saqafat se lagao he”. “My favourite song is kothe da naach, sorry, dancing on the ceiling.”

The rivalries and jealousies amongst leading female stars are firmly embedded and are also expressed in English. Some gems are: She does not have manners to wear clothes (Usko kapre pehnenne ki tamiz nahin). What does she understand herself (Wo apne apa ko samajhti kiya hai). Acting has not even touched her while crossing (Acting to usko choo ke nahin guzri). My natural beauty is a given (Mera husn qudrat ki den hai). She should stop being at the backside and frontside of directors (Wo directors ke age pehcha hona chhor de). She is like my yesterday’s baby (Wo kal ki bachi hai). I am a large actress than her (Mein us se bari adakara hoon). People want me behind their curtains (Log muji parade pe dekhne chahte hein). My loves are plenty (Mujhe chahen wale bohat hein).

Then there are our FM radio hosts. Some of them try to give an impression that they genuinely believe that their mothers are Oxford professors of English literature and fathers, noble laureates. They speak Urdu in an English accent, which they think is closer to one spoken in London’s West End, trying to live the impression that it is too arduous for them to speak the alien language Urdu, which is only being used since majority of the listeners do not understand their natural language English. These counterfeit accents have made us hate FM radio. The few English words that they copy from foreign DJs also backfire. To a female caller form sizzling Jacobabad, they address by saying, “Hi you budhi (read: buddy) are you chilling out?” Why cannot we be ourselves, without pretences, trappings and complexes? We need to know and discover ourselves. We cannot live a life by proxy. We should respect ourselves for being what we are. In case we want to express ourselves in English than we should first properly learn the language so that Shakespeare can finally rest in peace.

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