I started reading Braiding Sweetgrass a few weeks ago, and just a few pages in, I was completely in love, enamored with the book, with the author, with the way she spoke about nature.
She described maple, goldenrod, asters, pecans and everything in nature with great
admiration. As a self-proclaimed tree hugger, my emotions were all over the
place.
Then, my children came home for winter break and by then, I was on the chapter about languages. I couldn't and wouldn't stop talking about
it.
My daughter finally said, “Show me
what you’re reading. Whatever you’re talking about feels like I’ve read it
before.”
And what do you know?
She had! That very chapter had been part of her college
English class.
We had our small world story. I love those moments—when life
folds in on itself in unexpected ways, connecting us in ways we never
anticipated.
That chapter made me reflect on my own journey with
language.
English is not my first language, not my native language. It
was added to my curriculum when I was in the 5th grade as a third language.
Yet,
for some reason, it came easily to me. Fast forward to adulthood, it would become
the language I wrote in, studied in, eventually thought in.
But recently, after a trip home to India, I noticed
something unsettling. At times, I found myself fumbling for my native words.
Struggling to recall expressions that once came effortlessly.
I did not like that at all.
Why did I forget my language?
When my children were little, we spoke to them in our native
language. But then school happened, friends happened, and slowly, our household
conversations turned to English. They still understand it and can get by.
And then—life surprised me again.
Two of my three children, on their own, chose to study Hindi
as a foreign language in college. Now, not only can they speak it, but they can
also read and write it.
They told me it was easy for them to learn.
We had come a full circle.
It makes me incredibly happy and proud.
But I am also a
little sad.
Sad that I didn’t stay as connected to my native language,
Marathi. Sad that English became my dominant language, that I now even dream in
English.
And yet, even after all these years, I still do basic math
in Marathi.
Addition, subtraction, multiplication all happens in my native
language. Strange, isn’t it? The things that stay with us, buried deep in the
mind, untouched by time?
What About You?
Do you speak multiple languages? If you do, do you talk to
your family in your native language? Have you ever struggled with losing touch
with a language that was once a part of you?
Tell me your stories, I’d love to hear them.
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