04-06-2007, 08:48 AM
<!--QuoteBegin-->QUOTE<!--QuoteEBegin-->Mind your language
Barkha Dutt
LETâS just end the hypocrisy and admit it: the future of India will be written in English.
And if you are the sort who will dismiss that as elitist, stop and think again. On the contrary, English can be the architect of a more equal and egalitarian India. Unleash it from the possessive control of a privileged few, send it out into the open, and watch it become the bridge across Indiaâs class divide.
Instead, we have looked on mutely as preposterous politicians imprison its growth.
Isnât it ironic that the city that first propelled India onto the global stage is now in the news for its retreat from modernity?
High-tech Bangalore was once Indiaâs proud proof that the world is flat. Now thereâs evidence that a bulldozer ran over a few brains as well.
You all know the story: More than 200,000 English-speaking children will have to switch schools and unlearn their education. The government of Karnataka has threatened to strip 2000 schools of their legal status for violating a 1994 law that requires them to use Kannada as the primary language of instruction.Â
And, a few outraged newspaper editorials later; we have all sat back and let this happen. Perhaps itâs because we still havenât resolved our dysfunctional relationship with the English language.
Hereâs how the men who wrote our constitution saw its place in Indiaâs future: 1965 was set as the date of demise. This was the year in which English was to cease being an official language on par with Hindi. Instead it would become âan associate additional official languageâ till such time as a special committee could oversee a full transition to Hindi. Of course protests from the southern states ensured that never happened.
And nor should it. To foist a single language on a country that speaks thousands of dialects is both undemocratic and bigoted.
But does that mean that English canât be treated on par with other languages? India has fifteen recognised national languages. English is not one of them.
Why? Is it because weâre still grappling with misplaced pride? Are we reluctant to put the official stamp of Indianness on a language gifted to us by the British? Well itâs time to get over that. The English we speak and write today is as Indian as butter chicken and as global as McDonaldâs French fries. Weâve thrown the stock into our melting pot, embellished it with the spices we like and made it into a dish thatâs our very own, but just perfect for visitors as well.
In other words, Indian English is both homegrown and foreign. We speak it in our own peculiar accents, we spell differently from the Americans and we specialise in Indianisms. We are like this only.
But even so, our brand of English is, at the very least perfectly functional. Not just that: itâs our competitive edge in the global wrestling ground. We have to stop being embarrassed about English. Instead, we need to embrace it, and hold it tight. Itâs what sets us apart from the pack.
I got my wake-up call this week in Las Vegas, America. No, sadly, Iâm not gambling my savings away in the worldâs casino capital: Iâm here for Fortune magazineâs annual Most Powerful Women Summit. And India is clearly top of the mind. Chennai-born, Indra Nooyi, the new Pepsi chief, tops the charts as the worldâ most influential businesswoman. Another woman of Indian origin, Padamsree Warrior of Motorola is showcased as a ârising star.â Some of the biggest names in business- the CEOs of Xerox, MTV, Disney, Coco-Cola, Ford and Procter and Gamble are among those attending the conference -looked on in alert attention as panels debated the âthreatâ from India and China.Â
Later, when my friend Rama Bijapurkar and I spoke at a breakout session on India, many of them had the same question for us: How did we explain the inequities of Indiaâs education system? On one hand they saw an India that was the launch pad for the finest brains in the world; on the other side, here was a state that hadnât even met its targets on primary education.
We spoke about how outsourcing had subverted all the old stereotypes about India: young Indians are now teaching American high-school kids how to improve on their English grammar. Outsourced Indian tutors cost twenty dollars an hour, compared to the steep 50 dollars charged for local hires. Some of my Indian friends are even teaching the Chinese how to speak the international language of commerce.
And yet, statistically, only 5 per cent of India is considered proficient at English. Can you imagine how the global power-equations would collapse and change if those numbers grew?Â
Talking to the women business leaders at this summit got me thinking. What is the one thing that distinguishes public schools from government-run schools in India?
Itâs the quality of English. We have kept English wrapped up in soft-tissue paper, accessible only to the privileged. Is it because we recognise that English is the fastest vehicle of upward mobility? And the status quo is more comfortable for those of us who have it good anyway?
Dalit writer Kancha Ilaiah has long argued that quality is even more crucial than quotas. His demand: English-medium primary schools for Dalits across villages and cities. English, he says, is the difference between the haves and the have-nots. And so it is.
PepsiCo Chief Indra Nooyi graduated from an Indian Institute of Management. Padamsree Warrior wears her IIT tag proudly and publicly. What leverage would these women have had in the gladiatorial fight for corporate mindspace, if they didnât speak English?
When we travel outside India, we like to talk of ourselves as a global powerhouse. We always gloat about the skilled workforce available in our country at competitive rates. And we are acutely offended by the patronising foreigners who compliment us for speaking English âso well.â
But back home we sneer at those who canât speak English as glibly as us. And we do precious little to change that. Once, I was trying to explain to a friend, the difference between my competence in Hindi and English. I said, I can speak in Hindi, but I dream in English. Now I wonder: is it a dream we are too greedy to share?
Barkha Dutt is Managing Editor of NDTV 24x7. She can be reached at barkha@ndtv.com
http://www.khaleejtimes.com/ColumnistHomeN...khadutt&col=yes
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Barkha Dutt
LETâS just end the hypocrisy and admit it: the future of India will be written in English.
And if you are the sort who will dismiss that as elitist, stop and think again. On the contrary, English can be the architect of a more equal and egalitarian India. Unleash it from the possessive control of a privileged few, send it out into the open, and watch it become the bridge across Indiaâs class divide.
Instead, we have looked on mutely as preposterous politicians imprison its growth.
Isnât it ironic that the city that first propelled India onto the global stage is now in the news for its retreat from modernity?
High-tech Bangalore was once Indiaâs proud proof that the world is flat. Now thereâs evidence that a bulldozer ran over a few brains as well.
You all know the story: More than 200,000 English-speaking children will have to switch schools and unlearn their education. The government of Karnataka has threatened to strip 2000 schools of their legal status for violating a 1994 law that requires them to use Kannada as the primary language of instruction.Â
And, a few outraged newspaper editorials later; we have all sat back and let this happen. Perhaps itâs because we still havenât resolved our dysfunctional relationship with the English language.
Hereâs how the men who wrote our constitution saw its place in Indiaâs future: 1965 was set as the date of demise. This was the year in which English was to cease being an official language on par with Hindi. Instead it would become âan associate additional official languageâ till such time as a special committee could oversee a full transition to Hindi. Of course protests from the southern states ensured that never happened.
And nor should it. To foist a single language on a country that speaks thousands of dialects is both undemocratic and bigoted.
But does that mean that English canât be treated on par with other languages? India has fifteen recognised national languages. English is not one of them.
Why? Is it because weâre still grappling with misplaced pride? Are we reluctant to put the official stamp of Indianness on a language gifted to us by the British? Well itâs time to get over that. The English we speak and write today is as Indian as butter chicken and as global as McDonaldâs French fries. Weâve thrown the stock into our melting pot, embellished it with the spices we like and made it into a dish thatâs our very own, but just perfect for visitors as well.
In other words, Indian English is both homegrown and foreign. We speak it in our own peculiar accents, we spell differently from the Americans and we specialise in Indianisms. We are like this only.
But even so, our brand of English is, at the very least perfectly functional. Not just that: itâs our competitive edge in the global wrestling ground. We have to stop being embarrassed about English. Instead, we need to embrace it, and hold it tight. Itâs what sets us apart from the pack.
I got my wake-up call this week in Las Vegas, America. No, sadly, Iâm not gambling my savings away in the worldâs casino capital: Iâm here for Fortune magazineâs annual Most Powerful Women Summit. And India is clearly top of the mind. Chennai-born, Indra Nooyi, the new Pepsi chief, tops the charts as the worldâ most influential businesswoman. Another woman of Indian origin, Padamsree Warrior of Motorola is showcased as a ârising star.â Some of the biggest names in business- the CEOs of Xerox, MTV, Disney, Coco-Cola, Ford and Procter and Gamble are among those attending the conference -looked on in alert attention as panels debated the âthreatâ from India and China.Â
Later, when my friend Rama Bijapurkar and I spoke at a breakout session on India, many of them had the same question for us: How did we explain the inequities of Indiaâs education system? On one hand they saw an India that was the launch pad for the finest brains in the world; on the other side, here was a state that hadnât even met its targets on primary education.
We spoke about how outsourcing had subverted all the old stereotypes about India: young Indians are now teaching American high-school kids how to improve on their English grammar. Outsourced Indian tutors cost twenty dollars an hour, compared to the steep 50 dollars charged for local hires. Some of my Indian friends are even teaching the Chinese how to speak the international language of commerce.
And yet, statistically, only 5 per cent of India is considered proficient at English. Can you imagine how the global power-equations would collapse and change if those numbers grew?Â
Talking to the women business leaders at this summit got me thinking. What is the one thing that distinguishes public schools from government-run schools in India?
Itâs the quality of English. We have kept English wrapped up in soft-tissue paper, accessible only to the privileged. Is it because we recognise that English is the fastest vehicle of upward mobility? And the status quo is more comfortable for those of us who have it good anyway?
Dalit writer Kancha Ilaiah has long argued that quality is even more crucial than quotas. His demand: English-medium primary schools for Dalits across villages and cities. English, he says, is the difference between the haves and the have-nots. And so it is.
PepsiCo Chief Indra Nooyi graduated from an Indian Institute of Management. Padamsree Warrior wears her IIT tag proudly and publicly. What leverage would these women have had in the gladiatorial fight for corporate mindspace, if they didnât speak English?
When we travel outside India, we like to talk of ourselves as a global powerhouse. We always gloat about the skilled workforce available in our country at competitive rates. And we are acutely offended by the patronising foreigners who compliment us for speaking English âso well.â
But back home we sneer at those who canât speak English as glibly as us. And we do precious little to change that. Once, I was trying to explain to a friend, the difference between my competence in Hindi and English. I said, I can speak in Hindi, but I dream in English. Now I wonder: is it a dream we are too greedy to share?
Barkha Dutt is Managing Editor of NDTV 24x7. She can be reached at barkha@ndtv.com
http://www.khaleejtimes.com/ColumnistHomeN...khadutt&col=yes
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