Things my mother said: the gift of bilingualism

Things my mother said: the gift of bilingualism

Last year a friend of mine discovered that my parents had never learned English, even though they moved to England in 1969.

He raised a crooked eyebrow. “But you speak it so well,” he said, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he mocked those who had so magnanimously paid me the same compliment in the past.

He, a British-born Asian like me, knew that there was no reason for me not to speak English well. After all, I was born, raised and educated in England.

Maybe I shouldn't be snippy about the compliment. After all, English is my second language, although I write, think and dream in it (and only in it).

My first language or “mother tongue” is Bengali, and although it was left to conversations with my mother, I am grateful that I have it. It certainly borrows from English, but its unique colloquial expressions and phrases bring a richness to my life that would otherwise be missing.

As a writer (and also as a reader), I often jot down particularly beautiful sentences.

[It’s] the kind of laugh that doesn’t have any lungs behind it. It sounds more like the rustling of fallen leaves.

You can hear that laugh, right?

Dementia wanders the corridors of her mind and turns off the lights. And the darkness that remains is often filled with phantom fears.

crackle. What a word!

I don't read in Bengali, but my mother occasionally says something wonderfully humiliating or amusing in a way that can't be translated into English.

Amar shoril ekere kulya zargi

The literal translation is “my body is opening,” the best translation is “my body is coming apart at the seams,” but neither captures the poignancy of a woman grieving the loss of her health.

In a completely different mood, my mother once remarked:

Tai ekshor fon gontor farborni

This wonderfully caustic insult was hurled at a particularly gloomy neighbor. The expression – “as if she could count a hundred pounds” – is not nearly as caustic in English. The nuance and bite is completely lost in translation.

Occasions like the ones above remind me how lucky I am to speak two languages, how lucky I am to be able to access the words of another country on another continent on a whim and use them to twist a charming phrase or carve a cutting insult.

These occasions also make me lament the lines I will never read. What a pleasure it must be to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez in his own language. I tried it once but gave up when I realized my Spanish wasn't nearly good enough. I'm still practicing, but I'm afraid I'll never reach a point where I can enjoy the intricacies of the language, or the untranslatable gems that bring me so much joy in Bengali.

alt=“What a pleasure it must be to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez in his own language”>DreamtimeWhat a pleasure it must be to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez in his own language

If it were possible to urge monolinguals to learn a second language without condescension, I would do it. I have benefited from one of the best state educations in the world, but I believe it is letting us down linguistically.

One only has to travel to Norway or Switzerland to see how a second language can be learned seamlessly alongside a first. We in the UK, USA, Australia or any other English speaking country in the world can gain great benefits from learning a second language.

Bilingualism and multilingualism open up job opportunities abroad, provide a wealth of cognitive benefits, make travel easier and even strengthen the economy. They improve perception, decision-making and can even improve English.

Plus, perhaps best of all, they can help you craft deliciously worded insults for your moronic neighbors—and who wouldn't want that?

Mission statement: Dreamstime

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