Estimated reading time: 6 minutes
Lost in Translation, Found in தமிழ்
“Woe is me!” I cried, and my mother playfully swatted my shoulder; I had repeated a mistake. I was supposed to be writing the தமிழ் alphabet, and the last four letters were a pain. They sound alike and look alike—both to each other and to other letters. Now, according to my mother, they have distinct sounds but I secretly think she’s making it up. “What’s the difference between ண and ன?” I asked her. “One is ‘na’ and the other is ‘na’.
Focus, Nakul, it’s easy,” she replied, not helpfully. Both “na” have a very slight difference in pronunciation, not something we have in English, but is common in Indian languages. I grumbled about the hardships of life and dodged another swat. Although I was bantering and didn’t seem to take it seriously, I did, and I enjoyed writing with my mother.
For a long time, I never knew who I was culturally; I was just “Indian.” I always craved something more, a deeper connection, perhaps a more specific form of heritage. I never felt I could fit in with the people I thought I should be, and I always felt ashamed and oddly annoyed at myself when I couldn’t feel pride in my culture. But that shame made me ponder over what “my culture” actually was.
Over time, I realized that to survive in a diverse world, I had to remember my roots, because if I didn’t, I would be anchorless, like drift weed, floating and lost. Then another realization hit: language is the most important part of culture. It brings people together and reminds them of who they are, perhaps more than any other aspect of culture can.
Cultural and congnitive benefits
Take the Irish language for example, they spoke their language as a form of resistance against British rule and have been doing it for almost 200 years. Famous Irish revolutionary and author, Pádraig Pearse, said “Tír gan teanga, tír gan anam,” which roughly translates to: a country without a language is a country without a soul. Their language united them, and over many years, some parts of Ireland gradually gained independence. So many examples: Bahasa creating national identity amongst 700 regional languages in Indonesia, Arabic uniting people across the Middle East and North Africa, Switzerland maintaining strong national identity by officially embracing four languages (German, French, Italian, and Romansh) show us how powerful a language can be. Remarkably powerful in the way it draws people together— over different continents, even.
Learning a second language also has several cognitive benefits. According to a 2022 Cambridge article, “Bilingual people have more of these neurons and dendrites compared to people who speak only one language. This means that their grey matter is denser.”. Which then boosts academic performance, memory, and concentration. Furthermore, research has shown that learning a second language increases communication between the lobes of the brain, making the brain much more efficient.
Learning Tamil, connecting to roots
I started learning தமிழ் (Tamil) last summer. I find it beautiful, with its almost musical sounds. I remember a few years ago, when I was about eight or nine years old, my mother read out an excerpt from an old epic; she struggled to read it, for it was in Old Tamil: archaic and formal. I understood only a few simple, 1-2 syllable words, but it was magical.
The beauty of தமிழ் is that it flows— sometimes like a lazy river coursing through bends, other times like rapids, fast and sharp. I hadn’t learnt the actual alphabet yet, but I memorized and learned how to write the three letters that make up my first name, and gave me immense pride. I had learned it before, but I had quickly forgotten because its importance was not evident to me until later. I still often write my name, over and over, to prove to myself that I know who I am. Earlier, when people said “I’m Indian,” I didn’t know what that meant, or who I was.
I do know now: I am Tamil, from the southern tip of India, and I am proud of it.
Learning தமிழ் didn’t just help me understand my culture; it influenced what I thought of my parents. I spent time with my mom, working through exercise books and small story books. I laughed at her English, she laughed at my தமிழ். I learned to be proud of my parents and the people before them. Learning தமிழ் helped me understand their heritage.
I should admit, there have been days when I have felt overly conscious, even borderline embarrassed, about where I’m from. It’s the way India is portrayed in modern media, especially social media and movies. People reduce India to largely: poor people, tech experts, and spicy food. They laugh at the highly dramatized, extreme notions of culture—Sikhs in turbans or women stifled in a patriarchal society.
Learning தமிழ் taught me to appreciate India for what it is: a diverse land, rich in culture and nowhere near as unilateral as a Bollywood movie may portray. I learned to feel proud of who I was. I learned to say India, not America, when people ask me where I’m from.
Language as a sense of purpose
I want every child to have the experience I did—no one should feel ashamed of who they are because of how sensationalist modern media ignorantly portrays it. I want people to feel a sense of identity and pride for their homeland.
It’s hard for us, children of immigrants. We struggle with who to be, whether to conform to our surroundings or to our roots. Should I speak English all the time, wear American clothing, and stare blankly at those who don’t? Or should I proudly wear kurtas on Diwali, vivudhi (sacred ash, holy to Hindus) smeared on my forehead?
I’ve learned to strike a balance and enjoy the best of both worlds while staying true to my roots. I am now comfortable hanging out with non-Indian kids while dressed in a kurta, sharing my chakarapongal (Indian dessert) with them, before we all head out to McDonald’s or Baskin-Robbins. Kids like me need to connect with and be a part of something bigger than ourselves, to feel at least confidence, if not pride, in it.
Language preserves the essence of culture, it draws people together from all over the world, helps them empathize with each other even if they don’t understand the words, and gives people an identity. For children of immigrants, it helps us find who we are, know who we are. It gives us a sense of diversity and a sense of purpose. Perhaps next time I learn தமிழ் with my mom I’ll be grateful I have someone to tell me the difference between ண and ன.