Column

Last December, I was in Nairobi for an elite gala hosted by a Kenyan company - my first time in Africa.

One of the events was an elaborate dinner, where the prime minister of the country was the chief guest and the who's who of the city was invited. This totally multinational milieu could in no way be associated with what they call the 'third world'. At a randomly arranged sit-down dinner table, there is an American, two Africans, a European banker and well, three Indians, (ahem)... three Gujaratis (including myself).

In a non-traditional setting, it would not be easy to make out a Gujarati from his appearance, unless of course he starts talking. So, the two gentlemen were animatedly conversing, and whatever fragments of their dialogue I could catch (mind you, they were not even talking in Gujarati yet), not to mention that their decibel was relatively higher - I knew within a couple of minutes where this evening was heading. And bang on… I felt like an empowered version of Nicholas (Cage) in Next (a 2007 Hollywood flick where Cage can look two minutes into the future. Watch it if it's playing sometime on TV). After a few oblique glances, one of them couldn't control his curiosity anymore and decided to ask me right across the table, (in English) if I was an Indian.

Like I said I knew where this was heading. So while answering in the affirmative, I cut short a few levels of interrogation and confidently supplied in my nicely accented Gujarati that I was from his home state. Needless to say he was so thrilled to hear this that he immediately broke out in melodic Kathiawdi-laced Gujlish and floored me with all about himself and his family, his village (in the united states of Kathiawad) and directions there to/from Rajkot; when and how his forefathers reached Kenya, their travails through different businesses in the continent, the issues they faced, issues with Africans, issues with Indians, what needs to be set right….. all this in a span of about 10 minutes through the first course. More details followed through the four-course meal.

The sound of Gujlish can do things to an average Gujarati in a foreign continent (I am as desi as they come). Emotions like joy and pride come to the fore for obvious reasons at a prestigious dinner in a different continent hosting the premier of the country; it is no mean feat that all the Indians at a randomly assembled dinner table are Gujaratis.

At the time, I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation. In retrospect, the main reflection I had about this interaction - was that of all the innumerable Indian ethnicities that these men could have belonged to, I knew instantly that they are Gujaratis because of their accented English and pronunciations. I find it extremely interesting how generations after they have left Gujarat, never even lived here except visiting a few days once in a couple of years, their accented Gujarati is as crisp, if not better than mine.

I learnt over the next hour, with help from a newly formed Kenyan journalist friend, that these were "powerful" people in Nairobi with much clout. I was surprised. Though sauve, they sounded much like our average Gujju businessman in Amdavad, not high-flying tycoons of a foreign country.

So now, my 'good African-Kathiawadi friend' introduces me to his son who has proudly inherited the family business and married an African-Gujarati girl. The son, about my age, is extremely well-mannered and seems as pleased to see me - a native Gujarati.

But I am baffled when he too talks in his deeply accented Gujlish. I'd audaciously say most of my convent-educated elite acquaintances in Amdavad or Bombay (not Mumbai), wouldn't be caught dead with this accent! He is extremely comfortable in his skin, taking great pains to go around introducing me to other Indians (many Gujjus) at the gathering - something a just-found Amdavadi acquaintance would never do. My journo friend winks at me time and again, "watch out, he is so-&-so here, an important man in Kenya"!

How does an outgoing globe-trotting community like ours still manage to confuse the sound of vowels in the Queens's language, and actually take enormous pride in it! So much so that these language gaffes have become something of an identity. Baffling, yet heartwarming, isn't it?

Like an average snobbish Amdavadi, I used to take great pride in ridiculing people with accented Gujlish and 'atrocious' pronunciations, some which the Sisters at my convent school would never even accord as 'English'. An argument I have often encountered is that different people have different pronunciations of every language. For instance, Amitabh Bachchan would never identify with Rajnikanth's Hindi, but dare we make fun of Rajni Saar?

Gujjus' pronunciations have been the butt of many jokes over the years, lately in Bollywood too. And that brings me to the question I have been mulling for a few weeks now - 'different' can be funny all right due to its unintended puns, but is it fair to castigate it as 'wrong'?