More about language

Despite the plethora of new experiences I'm having every moment here, it's interesting because there are a lot of times here where I don't actually feel like I'm in a foreign country.

Part of the reason that I think so much of India doesn't feel that foreign to me is that so many people here speak my language. There is Hindi on all of the street signs and signs for buses and buildings, but most of them also have English, and the majority of the advertising is in English.

Even some of the Hindi channels on TV have shows in English, and Ryan and I were even able to buy a Hindi dvd of a new movie with English subtitles (I'll let you know how it is, but based on the Hindi movie I watched on the plane, I 'm sure I'll love it.)

The menus are in English, people in stores speak English, and so do the rickshaw drivers. The only skill required in communicating with everyone is trying to decipher their thick Hindi accents.

Because of all of this, and I know this is going to sound quite radical - but I sometimes feel like being in France is more foreign than being here in India. In France, I have to order in a language I don't really speak, I have to decipher street signs and menus, and I have to figure out how to communicate with people and get my point across using only the 20 words of French that I know.

It's almost like I feel, in France, that this whole huge world is going on around me, and because I don't speak the language in which it is transpiring, I'm sort of out of the loop.

As crazy as it sounds, I feel less like that here, where I can (somewhat) easily communicate my needs and concerns to people. Sometimes it doesn't work, but I'm not sure if that's the language barrier as much as it might be an Indian custom of being a bit obtuse in their answers to specific questions.

Yes, the Indian world is going on without me (and in 22 nationally recognized languages) but there's always English, which seems to be used as an equalizer between all of the national dialects. And, of course, for foreigners like me.

The time I feel most like I'm in a foreign country is when I'm squeezed onto a rickshaw with Ryan, Erin, and Ryan's chair, bumping down the road, crossing over medians to go down the wrong side of the road, and shimmying up next to buses and cars, afraid for my life.

I wish I could accurately portray the experience of riding in an auto rickshaw to you all - it seems to me that it might be the quintessential Indian experience. It's hot and sweat is literally dripping down your face, all of the traffic spurs up a great quantity of dust and dirt in the streets, men go driving dangerously close the the rickshaw on motorcycles, suprisingly wearing full suits (in this heat!) and with a beautifully dressed Indian woman sitting demurely on the back of their bike.

You literally fly past fruit stands, bus stops, pedestrians, people on bikes transporting large quantities of building supplies behind them, dirty children selling giant olives, and white cows. It's really an experience unlike any other.

Francophile

In my first few days in Delhi, I've had some good success pretending to be French. I already automatically respond to nearly everything with 'merci' and 'oui,' and it's not entirely untrue since it is where I've been living for the last half of a year - so I'm not exactly lying when someone asks, "where do you come from?" and I respond, "France."

I hope this doesn't offend any of the Frenchies reading this blog - frankly, I think I represent your country well, except for the fact that I speak very little of your language.

Pretending to be French has its merits - I can ignore most of the comments in English I get, "hey, look at this," "pretty lady, you are nice," "I have something for you in your size,"
(WHAT - by the way) and just keep walking without feeling like I'm being an ass.

However, this did turn around and bite me in the rear today, when we were approached by a "government official" who turned out to have spent some time in Paris. His French was a little weird, but he did speak it to me, and I was at a bit of a loss and had to respond, "well, I do live in France, but I don't actually speak the language." Whoops.

I'm not deterred, however; I still think this is workable, especially until the basic Hindi Erin is teaching me replaces the automatic reflex of French words that come out of my mouth. It seems reasonable enough - when I was in Amsterdam during the beginning of the Iraq war and being American was potentially a bit dangerous, I told people I was Canadian.

Erin suggested that I pretend to be from a country where I can get away with it, like Deutschland, but then I lowered my head and admitted that my German is actually only incrementally better than my French.

Perhaps I'll pretend to be from Spain. There are lots of blondes in Spain, though not many that look like me. From meeting all of the Spaniards at Dechen Chöling, I think I could even fake the thick tonguey accent pretty well - at least well enough to fool some seedy Indian guy who has figured out how to say, "te amo, bonita."

love sarah