Wednesday 29 August 2007

Learning Indian (2)

Last night I ate out at a licensed restaurant. My experience of such places since I've been in India is that the title 'Restaurant & Bar' means that the clientele will consist of middle-aged men sitting alone, drinking spirits, eating snacks and engaging the waiters in lengthy conversations. I assume the occasional addition of 'Family' to the title is intended as a joke. Invariably the lights are low, the cigarette smoke thick. All such places that I have visited had an air of what can only be described as 'slight dodginess'. But I wanted a beer with my dinner so I went in. The middle-aged Indian man at the next table started a conversation with me in Hindi, I converted it to Marathi (Mi Marathi bolto thoda thoda. Mi Hindi bolt nahi), and we talked while he drank whiskey and ate parathas and I drank beer and ate chicken. One question he kept asking, and I kept misunderstanding, involved a word I couldn't decipher. I guessed the question was 'When did you come here from London?' This morning, as I opened my notebooks to begin Marathi shiktoy, I saw the word he'd used staring me in the face, and realised he was asking me when I'm going home.

However, this experience has been the exception rather than the rule in my Marathi conversations so far. I learnt early on that 'thoda thoda', meaning 'a little', is the most useful phrase for a foreigner to know in Maharashtra. Say anything in Marathi to someone and their surprised response will be to ask 'Tu Marathi boltos?' ('Do you speak Marathi?'). If you say 'Thoda thoda' to this they will be all smiles.

Various people in the areas of Pune I most frequently frequent recognise me now and greet me when they see me, the white man who tries to speak Marathi to everyone even when they speak English. My longest Marathi conversations have been with rickshaw wallas, for obvious reasons. One gave me his mobile number at the end of the journey, and stopped to say hello (and to ask where I was going) when he saw me out walking a week later.

I've also made friends with a group of boys who hang around on the street near my lodgings. On our first meeting their ringleader commanded me to stop (Bas!) and introduced himself as Sachin. I nicknamed him Tendulkar, whereupon he introduced two of his friends as Kemel (Lotus) and Kajul (the Indian equivalent of mascara). On our second meeting he approached me borne on the shoulders of Mascara (or was it Lotus?), asked my father's name, and told me he was off to visit his wife. Tendulkar can't be more than 10 years old. Even if I understand most of his Marathi (or at least the sentences he speaks to me, rather than about me), it's hard to know when he's being serious and when he's teasing the white man who keeps asking him to huloo huloo bol (speak slowly).

And the obligatory factoid: although recorded alcohol consumption per capita has fallen since 1980 in most developed countries, it has risen steadily in developing countries. In India consumption by 'adults' (15 years and above) increased by 106% between 1970-2 and 1994-6. In addition, during this period the international brands have claimed a large chunk of the market. In the places I've been to, the price of a bottle of beer is equal to, or greater than, the price of a meal. Cheers.

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