Anandi Mishra’s journey into learning Bengali mirrors Jhumpa Lahiri’s linguistic explorations, revealing profound insights into the nature of learning and self.
:quality(75)/https%3A%2F%2Fassets.lareviewofbooks.org%2Fuploads%2F202110bengali.png)
A woman contemplates a new language, symbolizing the introspective journey of language acquisition.
Before feeling even remotely confident in speaking basic Bengali, the fear of sounding awkward and unrefined loomed large. The author’s mind raced to comparisons with Jhumpa Lahiri, a literary figure who had embraced Italian with such depth, even authoring a book in the language, embodying a respected persona deeply connected to her adopted tongue. In contrast, the author was just beginning to navigate Bengali after moving in with her partner in 2018, a journey fraught with personal anxieties and cultural nuances.
Her partner, M, a Kolkata native and an only child, stood in contrast to the author’s upbringing as the second child in Kanpur, a North Indian town. Despite geographical differences, both regions shared a historical Bengali presence. The author’s childhood memories were punctuated by Durga Puja celebrations spent with her parents’ Bengali friends. Even as a child, she sensed a distinct cultural identity, a unique presence within the Hindi-speaking landscape. The shift from summer to spring was marked by Durga Puja, a nine-day Hindu festival celebrating the triumph of good over evil.
Bengali celebrations of Durga Puja were particularly elaborate. Pandals, idols of the goddess Durga, fairs, food stalls, dance performances, and literary events filled the nine days. Her parents’ Bengali friends would take time off work, their children would miss school, all immersed in a unique festive atmosphere.
This level of celebration felt different.
While sharing religious common ground, the author’s family didn’t celebrate with such intensity. During these gatherings, she would keenly observe, trying to decipher the essence of these grand celebrations, sensing that the Bengali language held a key. In her own family, only weddings were celebrated with comparable scale and duration, sometimes stretching over weeks.
Bengali, to her young ears, sounded vibrant and lively, a celebration of spoken expression, of life itself, and of living in the moment. Listening to Bengali speakers felt like witnessing a joyful affirmation of their ability to communicate. The melodious flow of the language filled spaces with a gentle rhythm. The inflections, expressions, and tonal shifts were observed in silence, her ears absorbing the nuances.
In mid-2018, moving in with her partner marked Bengali’s re-entry into her life, this time with permanence.
Reflecting on the word “sondare” in In Other Words, Lahiri describes it as “methodical, stubborn research, into something that remains forever out of reach,” calling it “[a] well-aimed verb that perfectly explains my project.” This concept of persistent exploration resonated deeply with the author’s burgeoning relationship with Bangla (Bengali’s native name). She recognized striking parallels between her growing affection for Bangla and Lahiri’s passion for Italian.
It began with “keno,” a sweet, concise, and frequently used Bangla word. Heard in streets, neighborhoods, offices, among Bengali colleagues, and now with her partner, it was a common query. The concluding “o” sound seemed inviting. She learned it meant “why” and quickly integrated it into her Hindi conversations with family.
Listening to M converse with his parents, debate with friends, politely interact with colleagues, or bargain with vendors, the language seeped into her subconscious. Without conscious effort, she started recalling words, eager to learn more, displaying enthusiasm among colleagues.
“Tumi kicchu jaaano na (you know nothing at all),” became her first favorite Bangla phrase, a playful catchphrase. She would jokingly use it with friends who teased her pronunciation, comparing it to someone from East Bengal. Small steps like these helped her overcome the fear of mispronouncing words. Walking home from work, she and M would discuss their day or a recent movie, and she would subtly insert a Bangla word or two. She preferred learning the language discreetly, without the pressure of performance or expectations. Amidst the traffic noise, masked by her N95, she would quietly utter “Taarpor (what else).” M, perceptive as he is, would notice but never explicitly acknowledge it.
Lahiri describes Italian’s allure in her essay: “Like the tide, my vocabulary rises and falls, comes and goes. The words added every day in the notebook are transient.” Similarly, by subtly incorporating Bangla, word by word, the author was building a collection of words, phrases, and fragments, mirroring Lahiri’s approach. Like Lahiri, she began using these in daily interactions.
It was a nervous process, demanding patience and causing anxiety, yet she felt energized. Driven by an inexplicable urge, she moved forward. She had to resist the natural inclination to retreat, to be passive, but she persisted in her learning journey.
Within her wider social circle, she was possibly the only one not fluent in multiple languages, feeling like the Indian equivalent of the stereotypical monolingual American, often perceived as uncultured. She disliked this perception and wanted to shed it. She also felt a desire to impress, reminiscent of a Hindi film industry acquaintance who knew seven Indian languages plus English, leaving her feeling inadequate. Learning Bangla became a way to connect with a larger community, to surpass her own limitations, and to keep her linguistically inclined mind engaged.
Rereading Lahiri’s essays in In Other Words, she found a shared understanding. Learning a new language had become her way to understand a new dimension in her life – a new person and their place in it. The parallels with Lahiri’s journey were numerous. Like her, Lahiri chronicled the journey of a language learner, expressing hesitation, self-doubt, and incomplete comprehension.
However, there were also differences. Lahiri aimed to read and write in Italian, while the author focused solely on spoken Bengali. Lahiri was immersed in Italy, with access to tutors, books, and written resources, whereas the author learned independently, risking mistakes and potential embarrassment. Lahiri had a collection of essays, a home in Rome, and connections with Italian literary circles, while the author only had Lahiri’s book as a touchstone. Through In Other Words, she found companionship. She realized that their core emotions, motivations, and affections were aligned.
Both were anxious individuals, navigating the trials and errors of learning a language they loved. An unfamiliar grammar captivated and charmed them, making them willing to embrace intellectual discomfort to grasp it. In both cases, the languages became inescapable. Italian came to Lahiri in waves, and Bengali enveloped the author in words, fragmented phrases surfacing even in her dreams. They were on separate journeys, geographically and temporally, but driven by similar motivations – unscholarly obsessions fueled by love, affection, and a deep fascination. They were both drawn to these new languages, in a sense leaving their linguistic comfort zones behind, like lovers moving on.
Her colleagues and friends were pursuing more career-oriented language skills like French, Spanish, German, Korean, and Mandarin. Compared to these, her dedication to Bangla seemed minor, even inconsequential. She wasn’t attending formal classes, commuting to language centers, taking exams, or engaging in forced conversations in Bengali. Instead, she was walking to the office pantry, the phrase “tomake chai (I’ll love you)” echoing in her mind. As the water dispenser filled her glass, she recalled the unique Bangla expression where liquids aren’t drunk but eaten. “Tumi cha khabo (will you have tea)?” Was her passion for Bangla any less valid than her friends’ pursuits?
Lahiri writes about Italian: “It seems like a language with which I have to have a relationship. It’s like a person met one day by chance, with whom I immediately feel a connection, of whom I feel fond. As if I had known it for years, even though there is still everything to discover.” This resonated deeply with the author’s feelings for Bangla. Hindi was her first language, but she recalled the soothing sounds of Bengali from childhood. She remembered feeling drawn in, sensing it could reveal a new world. She felt a pull, a subtle yet persistent tug, urging her to explore, understand, and uncover the hidden layers beneath the language’s apparent foreignness.
Weekends were spent with M, or alone if he was working, watching and re-watching Bengali movies. Initially, she relied on subtitles, matching the spoken words to the English text. Hindi words often took longer to express than their Bangla equivalents, but she persevered, noting down words whose sounds she could recall. Weeks later, she watched the same movies without subtitles, testing her progress. She asked M to quiz her on ten common words. When she struggled with a few, he reassured her, “It will come gradually, you shouldn’t force the language.”
Lahiri describes the intense emotions she experienced as she started grasping Italian: “When I discover a different way to express something, I feel a kind of ecstasy. Unknown words present a dizzying yet fertile abyss. An abyss containing everything that escapes me, everything possible.” This mirrored the author’s own experience with Bangla. She felt a thrill in coaxing words out of her memory, letting them linger in the back of her mind, and retrieving them after moments of anticipation.
After a year, a new sense of accomplishment emerged – the ability to construct a complete, albeit short, sentence. One August evening, waiting for M at the press club, she called him. After several rings, he answered, and she blurted out, “Tumi kuthai thako (where are you)?” She could hear his smile through the phone. His usual worried expression seemed to soften as he replied in Bangla, “Aami office e aachi (I’m in office).” She practiced words on him, showering him with questions at night until he playfully told her to sleep and rest her brain.
What began as language discovery was evolving into gradual growth. She was carving out a space for Bangla within herself, a personal linguistic space. With her imperfect, often inaccurate Bengali, she continued, gently shaping her mind’s affinity for languages, yielding more progress each day.
Lahiri describes her intense passion for Italian: “I don’t want to die, because my death would mean the end of my discovery of the language. Because every day there will be a new word to learn. Thus true love can represent eternity.” Reflecting on her own modest efforts in Bangla, she saw it as a smaller reflection of Lahiri’s grand love affair with Italian. The journey was long, but like Lahiri, she believed she would eventually reach her destination.
“Learning a foreign language is the fundamental way to fit in with new people in a new country. It makes a relationship possible. Without language you can’t feel that you have a legitimate, respected presence. You are without a voice, without power.”
The author’s frustration with Bangla arose when she tried to express complex thoughts to strangers. In conversations with unfamiliar people, she felt like an imposter, imposing on their patience. People were often impatient with her hesitant, stammering speech. They would lose interest, interrupt, and switch to Hindi, implying that efficient communication was prioritized over thoughtful exchange, and Hindi was the quicker route. She would retreat.
Living in a South Delhi area with a mix of Bengalis and Punjabis, and being more familiar with Punjabi, she was acutely aware of her Bangla imperfections. Before the pandemic, she would practice at the local market. Unsupervised, she would attempt to speak Bengali with vegetable vendors. She would manage to order: “Doo-to bell paper, pau kilo pyaaz koli, ek kilo notun aaloo (two bell peppers, 250gm spring onions, 1kg small potatoes),” waiting for their response. The vendors would often look at her with disbelief, assemble her order, and then state the price in Hindi.
Defeated, she recalled Lahiri’s words: “There will always be something unbalanced, unrequited. I’m in love but what I love remains indifferent. The language will never need me.”
Exhausted and discouraged on such days, she would revert to Hindi, letting the interaction flow without linguistic friction, accepting the language’s seeming indifference to her efforts.
As time passed, she learned to value small victories. She enjoyed recognizing cool Bangla words used by English speakers. She took pride in understanding phrases like “nikochikoreche (fuck this shit),” and smiled inwardly.
Her Bangla comprehension improved to a point where she could understand about 85% when M spoke to her in Bangla, and respond in a mix of hesitant Bangla and English about 60-65% of the time. For now, she found contentment in this progress. During lockdowns, she watched Satyajit Ray movies in Bangla (mostly without subtitles) to further immerse herself. She listened to “Aaami Chini Go Chini Tomae” repeatedly, letting the rhythm of the words settle within her. She eavesdropped on M’s phone conversations and felt pleased when she understood most of it.
Lahiri’s acceptance of the slow pace of language acquisition offered comfort, reassuring her that her own hesitant progress was valid.
As a writer, she could deconstruct and reconstruct herself. She could manipulate words and sentences without needing expert status. Writing in Italian, for Lahiri, was bound to involve errors, but unlike past failures, these didn’t cause distress.
Ultimately, language learning is a continuous process, and both Lahiri and the author were, in a way, fellow travelers on this path.
Anandi Mishra is a Delhi-based writer and communications professional who has worked as a reporter for The Times of India and The Hindu. Her writing has been published by or is forthcoming in Chicago Review of Books, Mint, Popula, Transformations, Rejection Letters, Berfrois, and elsewhere. Her essay “A Satyajit Ray Lockdown” appears in the anthology Garden Among Fires (Dodo Ink, July 2020).
