Must we speak the same language to understand each other?

The unasked Questions

The recent controversy in Maharashtra over taxi and autorickshaw drivers being required to know Marathi got me thinking. Why do we learn a language in the first place? Is it to communicate with people or to prove our proficiency in it?

 A couple of years ago, I was travelling in Vietnam. I did not know a word of Vietnamese and many taxi drivers knew no English. But language was hardly a problem. I would speak into Google Translate, which would play my question in Vietnamese. The driver would respond in Vietnamese and I would get the translation in English. We managed perfectly well.

Today, technology makes it possible for two people who don't know a single word of each other's language to communicate. So, when we insist that an auto or taxi driver in Maharashtra must speak Marathi, shouldn't we first ask what problem we are trying to solve?

Are Marathi-speaking passengers actually being denied service because drivers cannot understand them? How frequently does this happen? And if not knowing Marathi genuinely affects a driver's livelihood, wouldn't he have enough reason to learn the language himself?

I have worked in remote villages of Maharashtra for many years. I understand Marathi almost completely, but cannot speak it fluently. I tell the community members they should speak to me in Marathi and I will respond in Hindi. I understand their Marathi and, considering the number of Hindi films they watch, they should make an effort to understand my Hindi too! It works. We have long conversations without worrying about which language either of us is speaking.

Which brings me to another issue.

I actually appreciate the idea of children growing up in any state learning the local language. It gives them an opportunity to interact more easily with people who speak the local language around them. But why do we teach it the way we do?

I have seen children struggling with grammar, syntax, difficult lessons and poems, memorising material for examinations and gradually beginning to dislike the language. If the purpose is communication, why not concentrate on spoken language, simple conversations and a limited but useful vocabulary? 

Teach them enough to speak to a shopkeeper, explain where they want to go to an auto driver, ask for directions, understand an announcement or chat with their neighbour. Once they become comfortable with the language, some may even want to learn more of it.

There is also an uncomfortable question we cannot avoid. Language has always been an easy tool for politics. Pride in one's language is natural, particularly when people fear that it is losing space. But there is a thin line between taking pride in one's language and using it to decide who belongs and who doesn't.

When a migrant's ability to earn a livelihood begins to depend on demonstrating proficiency in the local language, are we solving a communication problem? Or are we turning language into a political weapon? And does such compulsion strengthen the language or create resentment towards it?

Of course, knowing the local language is useful. It helps us connect with people and understand a place and its culture better. Google Translate cannot reproduce the warmth and spontaneity of speaking to someone in their own language.

But ultimately, isn't language meant to help us understand and be understood. If we are managing to do that, does it really matter whether the Marathi is perfect, the Hindi is broken, or Google Translate is doing some of the work? 

(A L Sharada, is a sociologist and the former director of Population First)