Punjabi as ‘father tongue’
MY mother often reminisces that theirs was one of the first Punjabi weddings in Yorkshire, England, in the 1960s. She shows newspaper cuttings to bolster her claim. The headlines read: ‘The teacher weds the lady twice’. This was to acknowledge that my parents first had a conventional marriage at my maternal grandparents’ place, followed by the registered court marriage. Though the Punjabi community in England was small, to begin with, the common thread of the native language of the early settlers wove them together.
When I was a child, one of my father’s university colleagues (a British woman) wisely advised him to retain Punjabi as the language of conversation at home so that I could learn it and be connected to my roots. She opined, ‘Your son would absorb English from the air, but the challenge would be to make him understand Punjabi.’ As a rule, my parents would speak in Punjabi at home; I picked it up with ease and that made my father’s heart swell with pride.
He had an intense attachment to his mother tongue, while having respect for other languages. It was no surprise that his PhD thesis in linguistics from the University of London was titled ‘The phonology of the Punjabi verb’. Eventually, he returned to India, took up a university position, and we settled here. He was content that I went to a school that laid emphasis on teaching and learning Punjabi.
A generation later, my schoolgoing son had just been promoted to the senior section. It was time for him to choose an additional language, and he decided to take French. I asked him, ‘Is there another choice?’ ‘Punjabi,’ he replied nonchalantly.
I was quick to suggest that Punjabi should be his automatic choice. He claimed that most of his friends had picked French. He said it gave them an advantage to learn an international language, and it was fashionable to learn French. If at all he opted for Punjabi, his existing class section with all his friends would be changed. I looked at him and then played a masterstroke, ‘But your mother tongue is Punjabi.’ He carefully thought over it and then announced, ‘I agree that my nana-nani speak Punjabi occasionally, but my mother tongue is Hindi since mom is from Ambala. She always speaks in Hindi.’ I was nonplussed. Finally, I said, ‘Son, in that case, your father tongue is Punjabi and that should be a good reason for you to consider taking it up!’
My argument convinced him and he dutifully opted for Punjabi. His section did get changed and his friends of five years were separated from him, but he honoured my pride in my mother tongue. I could see my deceased father’s appreciation mirrored in my son’s beaming eyes once he started learning Punjabi. May everyone’s mother tongue flourish… with or without a nudge from the father!
