Readers...please excuse, if this reads like a nefarious attack on Sardars across the globe...trust me, it's not. This post really is about the French classes that I am attending off late on weekends, and my complete incomprehension of the wonky language.
As kids, we have grown up listening to thousands of lame Sardar jokes, one of them being about Milkha Singh, the athlete. This is how it reads:
Milkha is resting after a win. Reporter approaches Milkha, and asks him "Excuse me, are you relaxing? (read Relac Singh)". Milkha with his proverbial Sardar brain replies "No, I am Milkha Singh" That’s the happy ending to this really sad joke. But the point remains; I am gradually discovering the Milkha in me…in the French classes.
I was over the moon when I enrolled at Alliance Francaise (I hope the spell check is working) last month. My long term ambition of learning a major European language was just getting fulfilled…wow! I was filled with absurd self-pride, having brought myself so far (Whatever this means).
So our classes started. The instructor made us sing French nursery rhymes to start with. Unbelievable eh? I even remember the lyrics…
“Bonjour bonjour,
coco salut,
je va bien,
merci beaucoup…”
It was just some elementary greeting song…and I went on like an imbecilic parrot…as they say “there are neurons, protons, and MORONS!!!”
Shell-shocked at my remarkable capacity to indulge in nonsense, I thought I should rise above all else and say something intelligent in class. So when the instructor asked “When you think of France, what are you reminded of?” “Da Vinci”, I bellowed. “Da Vinci is Italian”, the instructor snapped back. Eiffel Tower, I thought would be too plebian…Marie Antoinette, too esoteric…Bonaparté, too historic…so Da Vinci, it had to be. And that’s how my pride had to disappear.
In the next few classes, I tried my best to bring out the Newton in me. But Milkha kept peeping out. We were divided into groups to ask questions to each other in French, and nothing but French. I soon found out, not only was it that things were way beyond my comprehension; the others seemed to follow the ‘things’ just right. My 13 year old classmate comforted me… “Don’t worry Aunty. (aunty? You mean aunty? You really mean aunty?) It happens.” Sure.
With strained concentration however, I had started warming up to the idea that things would get better for me. I learnt to say “J’m’appelle Debanjana…et vous?” (“My name is Debanjana, what’s yours?”). With reinstated self-belief, I started ringing up every living well-wisher, to repeat the lines in French. More than me understanding French, French was starting to understand me. I was almost ecstatic.
Ecstasy switched to agony once more last week. We were practicing conversation in class as usual. The instructor asked me “Êtes-vous un ingénieur?” (“Are you an engineer?”) “No”, I replied, beaming with misplaced self-conceit. “Je suis indienne” (“No, I am Indian”). Milkha refuses to die!
As kids, we have grown up listening to thousands of lame Sardar jokes, one of them being about Milkha Singh, the athlete. This is how it reads:
Milkha is resting after a win. Reporter approaches Milkha, and asks him "Excuse me, are you relaxing? (read Relac Singh)". Milkha with his proverbial Sardar brain replies "No, I am Milkha Singh" That’s the happy ending to this really sad joke. But the point remains; I am gradually discovering the Milkha in me…in the French classes.
I was over the moon when I enrolled at Alliance Francaise (I hope the spell check is working) last month. My long term ambition of learning a major European language was just getting fulfilled…wow! I was filled with absurd self-pride, having brought myself so far (Whatever this means).
So our classes started. The instructor made us sing French nursery rhymes to start with. Unbelievable eh? I even remember the lyrics…
“Bonjour bonjour,
coco salut,
je va bien,
merci beaucoup…”
It was just some elementary greeting song…and I went on like an imbecilic parrot…as they say “there are neurons, protons, and MORONS!!!”
Shell-shocked at my remarkable capacity to indulge in nonsense, I thought I should rise above all else and say something intelligent in class. So when the instructor asked “When you think of France, what are you reminded of?” “Da Vinci”, I bellowed. “Da Vinci is Italian”, the instructor snapped back. Eiffel Tower, I thought would be too plebian…Marie Antoinette, too esoteric…Bonaparté, too historic…so Da Vinci, it had to be. And that’s how my pride had to disappear.
In the next few classes, I tried my best to bring out the Newton in me. But Milkha kept peeping out. We were divided into groups to ask questions to each other in French, and nothing but French. I soon found out, not only was it that things were way beyond my comprehension; the others seemed to follow the ‘things’ just right. My 13 year old classmate comforted me… “Don’t worry Aunty. (aunty? You mean aunty? You really mean aunty?) It happens.” Sure.
With strained concentration however, I had started warming up to the idea that things would get better for me. I learnt to say “J’m’appelle Debanjana…et vous?” (“My name is Debanjana, what’s yours?”). With reinstated self-belief, I started ringing up every living well-wisher, to repeat the lines in French. More than me understanding French, French was starting to understand me. I was almost ecstatic.
Ecstasy switched to agony once more last week. We were practicing conversation in class as usual. The instructor asked me “Êtes-vous un ingénieur?” (“Are you an engineer?”) “No”, I replied, beaming with misplaced self-conceit. “Je suis indienne” (“No, I am Indian”). Milkha refuses to die!
3 comments:
To quote you, "I tried my best to bring out the Newton in me. But Milkha kept peeping out. "
same is happeing here!
Hope you remember one thing about sardars - one who erases the books when the teacher erases the board. I do the same in my Maths class in my MCA........lol
Is Da Vinci really Italian? :) So there you go girl...there are more Milkhas in the world than Newtons. And it's so much more fun to be a Milkha. As they say...Newtons can be made...but Milkhas are born that way! (now, don't ask me who said that!)
i'm laughing like hell, looking at tat pic.. haha
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