The Great Language Experiment

This is one of those things that felt almost mother-effing cool in my head while it was happening, but the way I say it, things may start to get "What the fuck was wrong with the guy?". Just to make things clear, this is a true story. It's just too witless to make up.

SITUATION 1: 

Coming home from work, (not work actually, just something I usually do from morn to dusk), I was at the bus stop, waiting for the Kerala Govt. owned KSRTC bus to my home at Aluva; a 40 minute journey. Anyone with any experience with State Government facilities would tell you that you're never served when you're supposed to, and if by some huge cosmological aberration you are, you're just too stunned to know what to do next. Meanwhile, I wasn't served. Not for 45 minutes. Not as I was waiting at that ill-lit street-corner seeing gay rapists and drug dealers all around me.

 Like I said, rapists and drug dealers...

Being thus stranded as I was, I chanced to hear two people engaged thus in conversation  (words translated for your reading pleasure):

Man 1: Man, screw KSRTC. These guys are never on time.

Man 2: You're right. The last bus was to be here half an hour ago. ... and so on in a similar drift.

What I was testing: As I was listening in, I thought to myself, would they say the same thing to someone outside Kerala? Or would they paint colorful pictures of how truly blessed they are to be in Kerala, where the KSRTC is nothing short of philanthropic? Since there wasn't any foreigner in sight I could ask questions of, I decided to take on the part myself. I approached the two gentlemen and put forth the same comments they had said only moments ago (except in Hindi, mixed with English for the words I didn't know). 

Result: To my amusement, the two men  proceed to shoot me a murderous look and start trying to convince me of how KSRTC is the most punctual bus-service in India (this at 7:45, when we're waiting for the 7:15 bus). Their cleverest reasons for the bus being late were, "It's dark", "Buses go slower when crowded" and "It's fuckin' dark!" That's like saying the reason the Indian cricket team lost to Australia is because we're colored. It's like they're telling me, "You're in our land, you'd fuckin' better love it".

I chat with them a while longer, place a few bogus calls (talking in rapid-fire Hindi to the lady at the other end who's telling me to check my number), and barely escape an all-Kerala whup-ass.

Oh and by the way, I'm a visitor from U.P. interning in one of the companies in Kerala. I know enough Malayalam to read bus boards, but lack the verbal skills to carry out a mentally-unretarded conversation. And yes, I'm really enjoying my stay, thank you very much!

SITUATION 2:

At 20 minutes behind schedule, the bus finally arrives (the two men act like that was the right time all along). Once on board, I decided to try the same thing on the bus conductor. I've often noticed these guys to be notoriously intolerant of foreigners; there's something about the language barrier that seems to remind them of their tortuous school days.

So, I say to him, "Bhaiya, ek ticket Aluva ke liye." The conductor asks me for 50 paise in Malayalam. I decide to play dumb and stare blankly at everything he says. Remember the bus is packed to shit, and the conductor is trying to get the message across while being ribbed with a plough by a drunken land laborer. As for me, I managed, by replying to each of his questions with Duh!, to get him to do the whole act in sign-language.

Result: By the end, the poor sod was so exhausted, people around us started to feel sorry for the guy. Colorful Malayalam swears flew around, none of which I was expected to understand. It turns out I  was to blame for everything from the conductor's headache to Kerala's degraded youth to the lack of liquor in the State.

Things were going great; I even made a few phone calls home jabbering away in Hindi (my mom thought I was surrounded by gun-wielding LeT operatives), a friend called me (I had to convince him later that I was still reasonably sane), until another U.P guy (the real deal, this time) felt a bout of regional patriotism and came up to talk. If I wasn't a great big fraud, this would have been a lively conversation between two brothers in a foreign land. But as things were, it went along these lines:

Him: Namaskar, bhaiya. Kahan se ho? (Hello, brother. Wherefore are you from?)

Me : (Shit!) Mein U.P se. (Me from U.P.)

Him: U.P mein kahan? (Where in U.P?)

Me : Um... Gandhi Junction, U.P.

Him: Suna nahin. Aluva mein kya hain? (Never heard of it. What's in Aluva?)

Me : (God, save me!) Kaam pe... dost ka khar. (Got work... friend's house.)

Him: Tum aise baat kyo kar rahe ho? (Why're you talking all funny?)

By this point, whatever I said would have got me sent to jail for a count of fraud. Thankfully, the bus arrived at my stop, saving me from having to answer that question. If you think I made this story up, here's why not: it's over. No brilliant ending... just "I got off and was picked up by my uncle who was sent in the anticipation of the LeT attack".

CONCLUSIONS:

1. There's nothing like language to unite even warring peoples.

2. People don't translate well under stress, but they rock at word mimes.

3. Don't try this at home, but if you do, send me a mail.