One fine morning, a young student took the podium in the auditorium of a university. She adjusted the microphone, looked out at the throng of students and teachers, and said confidently- 'Myself XYZ.'
There was no hint that she thought she had incorrectly uttered the phrase as her tone exuded confidence. I corrected her by saying, ‘My name is XYZ, which is a better way of expressing.’ What I believed to be a gentle prod became a profound change. Her smiles vanished as her conversation with me became monotonous. I then discovered that I had done more than just fix her English.
She might have learnt how to introduce herself in this way from her parents, teachers or the broader culture in which she had grown up, so it felt normal to her. However, I wondered at the moment if this performance was intentionally misrepresenting the English language. Or did she own the English of her neighbourhood sanctified by decades of use? However, the sentence would sound funny to the native ear but it seemed real to the girl.
Here, by no means I am going into the problematic realm of linguistic barbarism. Renowned literary critic Homi Bhabha referred to it as ‘vernacular cosmopolitanism’ which views such aberrations as a positive blending of languages rather than a failure.
‘There is not only one Indian English, there are several Indian Englishes we designate variously as Hinglish, Pinglish, Tinglish and so on,’ says Dr. Neena Gupta Vij, an English literature Professor at Jammu Central University. ‘These are all deviations from standardised English in terms of grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation. Such as the excessive and inappropriate use of "the" in Pinglish.’
Dr. Gupta has studied the quirks of Indian English for years. ‘These deviations challenge the notion of pure forms or purity in language and are mistakes according to standardised rules,’ she contends. ‘These provide a lot of entertainment in the form of puns, and purists are constantly amused and irritated by them. Nonetheless, English will inevitably change as it emerges from books and scholarly works and engages in casual interactions with the multilingual Indian market. Therefore, a better way to grasp Indian English is through hybridisation.’
An MA student at the university recalls a funeral in his hometown. A man who had been widely despised for his rude behaviour was nevertheless remembered as Swargiya (departed to heaven). ‘In death, the language itself sanctifies the person. Even if their life was ignoble, their speech-afterlife becomes noble. Similarly, ‘my good name is XYZ’ is a way of ennobling the self in the act of introduction.
Everyday Language
Ramesh Manhas, a middle-aged grocery store owner in Jammu's Sainik Colony, grins as I bring up the issue of language. After several years of unemployment, he eventually returned to managing his family's little shop. Though his official schooling in English was limited, he is well aware of its good and bad. Manhas has made a habit of asking customers, "What is your good name?" He justifies the practice with quiet conviction, ‘just asking someone's name sounds abrupt and almost disrespectful. But when I say 'good name,' I show respect. It communicates to the other person that they are valued.’
Just down the street, a government schoolteacher defends the usage of 'Myself XYZ'. 'I used to teach children this because it helped them gain confidence,' she says. 'We should also claim the ownership of the English language. It is no longer the Queen's English. Why should we be ashamed?’
These voices demonstrate that Indian English is not a flawed kind of English, which grammar aficionados often ignore. It is an Indianized register that conveys vanity and sophistication.
The Bureaucratic Afterlife of the Raj
Though the British Raj formally ended decades ago, its afterlife found a safe haven in Indian bureaucracy. Step into any government office and you enter a parallel world of the English language – ‘Out of station’, ‘Do the needful’, ‘As per your esteemed order’.
Red-carpet events, circulars and file notings still survive in the borrowed language of colonialism. You generally dismiss it as colonial hangover but the bureaucracy has its own language of negotiation. It knows what is continuity and what is rupture. The red carpet, after all, is one of the most valuable gifts to Indian Babudom. Protocol survives on ritual and ritual necessitates language.
However, the connotation of red is never neutral. When you mention revolution or subversion, red becomes dubious, a colour of disarray and danger. Within protocol, however, red represents honour. Here, irony is striking. The terms originally designed for colonial servitude have been repurposed as symbols of official dignity.
History Speaks
I turn to Almas Saeed, a PhD student of colonial history at Delhi University, to learn why these expressions still exist. ‘A bureaucratic English that was both commanding and polite was created by the British Raj,’ she says. ‘Do the needful’ conveyed authority without coming across as impolite. Half civility, half command, they served as instruments of government.
South Asians kept these implements after gaining their independence. Rather, they were assimilated into daily life of the language.
For instance, the term ‘out of station’ historically referred to officers departing from their cantonments. Almas Saeed observes that ‘it eventually came to mean just being out of town.’ However, most office goers associate the phrase with a railway station. It has no memory of the British cantonment at all.
In a similar vein, ‘foreign return’ is a 20th-century prestige symbol. In the past, international travel was uncommon and costly. People who could afford to travel abroad were considered socially superior. Most Hindi writers still proudly cite their international travels on their CVs- ‘travelled abroad twice or thrice.’ In this setting, phrases like 'foreign return' provide an intriguing mix of social capital and language embellishment.
The Endless List
Once you start paying attention, the list of Indian-English terms seems endless. Consider the popular term ‘pass out from college.’ To a native English speaker, it suggests fainting in class, yet in India, it clearly alludes to graduating. The word has its roots in colonial military academies, where cadets ‘passed out’ after finishing their training, a usage that has refuses to pass away. Instead, it has found new life in university brochures and daily conversation.
Another popular phrase in corporate life of India is ‘revert back.’ The sentence is repetitive, but it thrives, as if to reinforce the writer's trust in the eternal return of communication itself. People frequently use the phrase 'cousin brother or sister', which requires no elaboration but demonstrates India's fixation with gender categorisations.
The list doesn't end here. ‘Kindly adjust’ is murmured in Jammu's cramped Matadors when someone squeezes himself into half a seat and pleads to your patience with a courtesy that conceals discomfort.
‘Prepone’ is the logical opposite of ‘postpone’ and it is widely used in offices and WhatsApp groups, however the Oxford English Dictionary only reluctantly recognised it after decades of Indian lobbying. Timepass is both an action and an attitude: doing something idle, frequently frivolous, yet totally viable as a mode of existence. Cricket has emerged as the national pastime in Indian English. ‘Do one thing’ is a cliché in Indian problem-solving, usually followed by an irrational answer.
According to Dr. Neena Gupta Vij, learning English as a second language invariably results in it acting as a language in translation measured only by a certain distance. She continues, ‘it frequently keeps users from understanding the cultural context of English, which results in slips or distortions when meaning is transmitted across registers.’ She uses the courteous greeting ‘How do you do?’ as an example, which is meant to be only a formality in British English. However, an Indian speaker may interpret it as a literal question about health and well-being and reply with a thorough description of pains, ailments or the day's problems.
Each of these expressions is more than a peculiarity. They are remnants of the interaction between the vernacular imagination and empire, influenced by humour, bureaucracy and aspiration. They contain ‘trope’ of troops in cantonments, clerical fandoms in dusty offices working beneath fans, worried parents filling out forms for their kids, business executives writing courteous notes and packed buses where goodwill must be negotiated verbally. In each case, English yields to nativised pressure of India and becomes something else.
Mistake- No more an intimate enemy
English is something to be achieved in India, a marker that denotes admittance into a specific social orbit as opposed to Britain, where it is acquired as an inheritance. To claim status is to speak it, even if haltingly or incorrectly. Thus, mistakes take on a certain familiarity. They are no longer about grammatical errors.
Though Indian English is more about pompous class position, it also permeates the public spheres of intimacy and identity. These varied forms, according to historian Almas Saeed, bear witness to the legacy of empire. ‘Colonial English survives in ways even the British cannot recognise,’ she notes. It guarantees power and permanence for bureaucrats. It conveys confidence and dignity to commoners. According to Professor Neena, it also exemplifies hybridity, showing that Indian English is a living, breathing language rather than a relic of the original.
However, this phenomenon is present in all languages worldwide and is not specific to English. Languages adapt to geographical differences, slippages and mispronunciations rather than staying stable. If faithfulness to ‘pure’ form were the sole acceptable standard, then almost all cultural and religious customs would crumble under their own weight. Most marriages would be deemed void if they were evaluated based on how accurately liturgical texts were pronounced whether they were Arabic recitations for Muslims or Sanskrit mantras for Hindus.
Have you liked the news article?