Studying Hindi in Landour

These pictures give some impressions of our lofty perch above the clouds where the moss and ferns make the most of the cool, damp climate. On weekends we trek down to Mussoorie where the mall has a carnival atmosphere. I included one photo to prove that we have actually been studying Hindi.

Ruth and I spent the past six weeks in Mussoorie, a Himalayan hill town. The Landour Language School, where we have been studying, is located just a little further up the steep mountainside from the Woodstock International School established by American missionaries during the colonial era. Mennonite missionaries once owned two boarding houses at the school. How the houses got the good Welsh names of Ellangowan and Chennyowyth remains a mystery.

Mothers would come here to be with their children and to escape the fierce summer heat on the Indian plains. Fathers would join them a little later. It was a time for socializing with other missionaries from the various denominations that supported the school. How I wish the trails that wend their way through the sprawling campus could speak. Who were these children and their parents? What were their doubts and struggles—their hopes and prayers? The mission endeavor they were part of has now receded into the pages of history. What can we learn from them and their era?

Like them, Ruth and I came here as a respite from the heat and congestion of our home in Kolkata. The hills are a verdant green during the monsoon season. Moss and ferns cover the trunks and branches of the trees. Clouds swirl around the mountains, dropping their heavy loads of rain, making everything damp and cool. Monkeys and black-faced langurs scamper through the trees scavenging for food. After heavy rains wash the atmosphere, we can see the distant snow-capped peaks of Tibet.

As we walk the narrow roads, we pass simple village folk from the surrounding hills. They carry heavy loads on their backs and sometimes have produce to sell. Their small packhorses are even more heavily laden. They’re a gentle people who often greet me with a courteous namste. They remind me of the Amish neighbors I knew as a child in rural Pennsylvania.

In the evening or early morning, we love listening to the call to prayer wafting up the mountain from the mosque far below. Our days are spent in classes where we learn the Hindi script and grammar. Teachers drill us on putting phrases and simple sentences together. Our mouths and tongues struggle to make the strange sounds. The rest of the day is usually spent in our small cottage pouring over lists of words and listening to recorded dialogues on our computer.

We sometimes wonder if our fifty-year-old brains are capable of learning another language. We tease each other that such mental gymnastics should at least help prevent the early onset of senility. As maddeningly frustrating as language study can be, it’s a window into another culture and society. The rhythms and syntaxes of Hindi open a strange new world to us. It may be too strong to say that languages create worlds but they certainly help shape the worlds they’re part of.

English sentences begin with the subject and the ever present “I.” Hindi sentences prefer passive structure or even completely hide the doer. “I want” becomes, “To me is needed.” Hindi is also more relational and familial. I’ll probably never learn the exact title for each family member. For instance, paternal grandparents have different titles than maternal grandparents. Because Ruth and I are paternal grandparents, we are Dada and Dadi to our two new grandchildren. So it goes.

The Hindi language has a whole set of causative verbs indicating whether the action is done directly or through someone else. If it’s through someone else, it indicates both a first person causative and a second person causative. If I have my clothes washed, the verb used indicates whether a dhobi “washerman” will do the work and if I will have it done through someone else (i.e. Ruth).

My language teacher told me that the causative structure of Hindi verbs is related to the ancient caste structure of Indian society. This is best understood in relation to society before the advent of money. Remember that Indian society is thousands of years old. I still don’t have an innate feel for the caste system in India but this helps.

Indian society is broken into four distinct castes: (1) The Brahmins are traditionally the spiritual teachers, (2) the Rajpoots are traditionally the rulers and warriors, (3) the Vaishyas are traditionally the merchants, and (4) the predominant Dalit castes are traditionally the menial laborers such as washers, sweepers, and leather workers. There are clear social markers delineating each caste. In such a society, verbs indicating exactly how the work is caused to be done become very important.

Much oppression and social conflict in India is tied to the caste system. It’s a religious-cultural phenomenon that’s extremely difficult for an outsider like me to understand. I sometimes hear remarks about caste as an explanation for certain social problems or relational difficulties. The connection is assumed to be obvious but to me it’s still rather fuzzy. Relating caste oppression and prejudice to racism in our American society can be helpful but it’s not exactly the same thing. It may be closer to the way we disparage “redneck” or poor white culture, but with the added weight of exclusionary social customs that are thousands of years old. Before I understand better, I will be slow to make judgments.

The process of learning a language is not unlike gaining other kinds of knowledge or skills. Listening comes first, then understanding, and finally speaking. Unless I can hear and make sense of the jumbled sounds striking my eardrums, I cannot speak. It can be terribly frustrating and, therefore, takes lots of patience and perseverance. Please don’t tell me stories about people who have become fluent in a foreign language within a year. It takes a lifetime to learn a language well.

I need to swallow my pride and be willing to make a fool of myself as I try to speak. That doesn’t come easy for someone my age and in my position, but it certainly cultivates humility and a perspective on the frailty of life. One cannot lean a language without first butchering it. Thankfully, Indians are generally very gracious as I stumble around in their language.

Even more importantly, one cannot learn a language without falling in love with it. Like other kinds of falling in love, it’s beyond explanation. For me it goes back to my childhood in a traditional Mennonite community. I can still hear the cadences of the German dialect being spoken and sung in church services. There was an uneasy dissidence between it and the English spoken in school. Those two languages embodied different worlds. And I knew there were yet other languages and other worlds to explore. Perhaps that’s why I’m here in Landour studying Hindi today.