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Move Over Eliza Doolittle.. Ravi Shenoy Ravi Shenoy was born in India but has lived in Canada, Switzerland, Germany, France and Finland. She has been living in Chicago and its suburbs since 1974. She loves her job as a reference librarian in a large public library. She writes book reviews for a professional journal. She is the mother of two daughters, one of whom is now married. Her husband and children look after her, leaving her free to watch storms, trees, birds and animals.

My mother tongue is Konkani. It is spoken by a very small group of people, who live along the west coast of India from Goa to Mangalore. When my daughter was in grade school she had a friend whose father was from India, her mother was French. One day, Kiran told her mother. "Shami speaks Konkani." Her mother replied, "Nonsense! Shami is making things up. I know India. There is no such language."

Even though very few people speak Konkani, the idioms and accents of the Konkani speakers all along the coastal strip vary. Accentwise Karwar is distinct from Goa. And the Konkani of the people of Mangalore is quite another thing. In fact, my father claims that the Konkani of my mother's family that came from a village 20 miles away is different from his Konkani. Before my marriage I used to act in Konkani plays. The only reason for this was that I got a chance to play the leading lady; unlike mainstream theatre in those days there was not much competition in the Konkani theatre. The directors were from Mangalore so part of my role was to learn to speak my piece with a Mangalorean accent. When I married a man from Mangalore, I entertained my sisters-in-law and nieces and nephews with passages from my histrionic career. By the way, I did learn to read and write too. I went to an English-medium school run by the nuns dedicated to giving us the proper accent. We had a class called "Speech Training and Elocution," in which we recited poetry in cultivated voices.

"The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story.."

Inflection, enunciation, pronunciation and the sound of the words was everything. I don't think we worried too much about the meaning. Discernible to the trained ear was the English-medium accent (expensive school) vs. English-medium accent (non-expensive school.) which again was different from the non English-medium accent. "Open your mouth, and I'll tell you where you come from." However having a real British or American accent would have been tantamount to giving oneself airs. There were the regional snobberies-the jokes about Marathi-English, UP-English, Gujarati-English, Punjabi-English, Madrassi-English, Bengali-English. Not to speak of the linguicide of regional languages committed by the English speaking brigade. Recently, I heard Bharati Mukherjee, her accent sounded "expensive English- medium." She too must have recited poetry in "Speech Training and Elocution."

This "English-medium school" accent wasn't much help to me when I went to live in Switzerland. There I had to learn German. For three months I spent three hours a day cooped in the language lab. When I woke up thirsty in the middle of the night I would pant "Wasser!" in German. In Switzerland I learnt the Swiss dialect and to call out "Gruezi Mitternand!" in a sing-song voice. Some years later we were in Munich and I had to unlearn the Swiss dialect and learn Bayerisch and to say "Gruss Gott!" (Good Day) to my neighbors. Once travelling in the north of Germany (Prussian area), I was surprised by the horror on the faces of the other guests when I walked into the dining room of the hotel and greeted everyone with a cheery "Gruss Gott!" They must have heard cowbells ringing!

I prided myself on my conversational German. But here again pronunciation must be everything. "Ich komme in der nacht, gestern." I meant I arrived last night. "Did you realize what you just said?" My friend explained. "What you said was "nackt" that is, I arrived naked yesterday."

In America, people would remark "You have such a delightful English accent.". I felt like replying. "Oh you're too ignorant. This is pukka English-medium Convent school." I work at the reference desk in a large public library in the midwest. My colleagues get a kick out of the perceptions of the public about my origins when they talk to me on the phone.
"The woman you spoke to, does she have an accent?" a colleague enquires. "Yes. A southern accent, I think."
"Where are you from?", I'm asked when I answer the phone.
"You tell me."
"Ireland? Decidedly Ireland."
Once I had to call the Irish Heritage Society. The man answering the phone listened seriously. "You sound Irish yourself." Finally he remarked. "I'd say you must be from County Cork."
"Ha! Ha! You're very good. It must be that coastal strain."

My children have the standard American midwestern accent and for over 25 years I have fought it fearing that I might sound affected/ a cultural lightweight/adrift in a linguistic no-man's land in these United States. It must be a postcolonial thing. After all Gayatri Spivak sports Timberland boots but she still wears a sari over them. But change is in the air. Only yesterday, I was describing a book. "You have to read this travel narrative about Afghanistan." I said 'Af-gan-is-tan' to rhyme with "Dan" and "tan." I gasped. I had pronounced the word like a true Midwesterner. I couldn't believe I'd done that. Was I growing horns? Should I amend it to 'Af-ghaan-is-taan'? No, 'Af-gan-is-tan!' 'Af-gan-is-tan!' I repeated loudly with great delight. My listeners didn't bat an eyelid. "You must really like the book!"

I guess I've finally arrived. By way of 'Af-gan-is-tan.'