Love Across The Continents

by Rani Jhala

The language of love

  I was in the first year of my Bachelor of Arts course, when the student body of the university organised a multicultural fund raiser. The president of the student body sent out a bulletin asking for volunteers for an all Hindi play. Three of my close friends who were also of Indian heritage joined it. They insisted I sign up too with the words “Look, we will help you, no one will know. It has worked so far hasn’t it?”

  Unable to get out of it, I had signed up too and the four of us had marched to the main hall for our first meeting.

  As we had entered the room I felt as if I had entered an alien word. There was a lot of noise but none of it had made sense to me. My heart had begun to race. As I turned to exit the room, in true Bollywood style I had bumped into and stepped on the toes of a ‘true blue Aussie’, with blue eyes, sun bleached blond hair and skin tanned to my shade.

  “I am sorry.” I rushed my apology

  “Koi baat nahi, apka ye jakham to kismet walo ko hi milti hai” he replied, holding his heart as if in pain.

  I had just gaped at him as I had thought, ‘Just my luck to bump into a man who spoke an alien tongue’ but then I gave it one more shot.

  I pointed to his feet and mimed that I was sorry that I had stepped on his toe and had then given him my ‘forgive me, I am sorry’ smile.

  “Is muskan ke liye to mera doosra pau bhi hazir hai” he continued with another smile.

  By that time the student body had begun to round everyone up and I somehow got pulled into the room and found myself seated between my friend Reema and the ‘blondie’, the name that my mind had already given him. Ten minutes later I found myself placed in the role of the love interest of the male character who was an Aussie who had made an ashram in India his home. My ‘blondie’ was that love interest.

  “I think you better tell them that you are in the wrong group. This is a Hindi play.” I had said, articulating each word slowly in the hope that the slow speed would make it easier for him to understand.

  Blondie merely smiled and then gave another one of his incomprehensible dialogues ‘ To Aap yaha kya kar rahi hai?”

  “Oh dear, we are in a mess aren’t we”. Then without waiting a moment longer I had pointed out to the producer that the man next to me was in the wrong room and did not speak the language.

  ‘Peter! He can teach the best of us. He is majoring in Hindi and actually is the person who has written the play. He is also an English professor”

  If I was surprised, everyone else had been astonished. And then rage took over as I whispered “What do you write? Tragic flops?”

  “Actually successful romantic comedies” he had replied with a grin. I learnt later two of his manuscripts had been converted into Bollywood movies. At that moment though, I re-joined the play thinking that I would show ‘blondie’ that if he could learn Hindi, I could learn it better and faster.

  Luckily we had a two week break before the rehearsals began and I employed my three friends to teach me.

  One would have thought that the language of my ancestors would have been easy to learn but it was the most stressful endeavour that I had ever taken on. The genders, the matras and the script, combined and succeeded in making a total mess of me. When the university resumed, I caught up with the producer and withdrew my name.

  As I walked out of the room, the scenario of our past meeting was repeated and I stepped on ‘blondie’s other toe.

  “I am sorry,” I apologised to him.

  “Don’t worry about it, this pain is received by the fortunate,” he had translated his very first sentence.

  “Is this from your play?” I had joked with a smirk.

  “For this smile, even my second leg is at your service” he translated again with a gentle smile.

  And then with an impish grin he had added “So what are you doing here?” Another smile had followed. “Now that ends my translations.” he finished.

  “You made a fool of me, that was not very nice. I came here to withdrawn my name.” I had replied cringing at the thought of the fool I had made of myself.

  “I thought most Indians taught their children their mother language.” ‘Blondie’ had asked

  “My parents came from different parts of India and spoke different dialects. The common language between them had been English. I considered myself an Aussie and did not want to learn Hindi, nor did I think that it would be needed.”

  And when you visit, is it not needed them?” he had asked.

  “Most people in India speak English now, and I manage with actions,” I had replied and then questioned “and you, why did you learn an alien language?” I asked.

  “My father was Indian, and my mother insisted that both she and I learn his language. She said it was the heritage that I had inherited and one that I should embrace.”

  I had stood for many moments in silence. What could I have said to one who had accepted what I had rejected?

  “I can teach you.” he had added.

  “I have tried for the past two weeks, and failed miserably. It is not for me.” I had replied.

  “Ah, you must have made the same mistake I made when I started. You must have spoken it from your tongue and not your heart.”

  “And how do you learn a language with your heart?” I had questioned.

  “You put on a CD, you close your eyes and you listen to the song. Then you get the lyrics and you match the words. That is how I started to learn the language. It works, believe me.”

  After that I went back and signed on again, but I withdrew from the role I had been given and took instead a smaller one with fewer lines that I memorised and uttered with my Aussie accent.

  By the time the play was staged, ‘blondie’ and I had begun dating. And he would make me sit through these weird Bollywood movies as he translated the dialogues or he would put on the subtitles and spend the evening correcting their translations.

  Peter also introduced me to a lady who ran a Hindi school and I enrolled as her oldest student. I also became a source of entertainment as I struggled to pronounce what the little kids in my class mastered with ease. But the two years were worth it, for I did learn the basics of the language and I truly began to enjoy the wonderful literature that was available.

  But it became the language of the heart when Peter asked me to marry him and I accepted in the language that had brought us together - Hindi.