English is not the be-all and end-all

For a long time, I believed that being able to speak, read, and understand English meant having the power of knowledge. In hindsight, I also realise that if learning English was simply like picking up another language, my journey would have been much smoother and definitely more enjoyable. 

I took pride in learning Maithili from my mother and Tharu from my father’s workplace, and those experiences were both fun and fulfilling.

Previous episodes of this column, Angrezi, explain how I struggled with self-doubt, feelings of inferiority, and low self-esteem because of my deficient English language. When I came to the capital, I realised that English held a different significance in this city. 

In my village in Sunsari, it was often seen as a way to show off. In Kathmandu, it represented much more than that: it was a source of power, a means of access, and a gateway to opportunities.

During my first visit to Kathmandu in the late 1990s, I listened to a relative unleashing every possible curse word she knew in English to her sister-in-law. That outburst was triggered by the sister-in-law reporting her brother for domestic violence. 

I found the sister-in-law to be incredibly courageous in taking that stand. It was also the first time I heard English being spoken among family members within a home, which surprised me. But this family was considered intelligent simply because its members could speak English. Even though I was only 13 at the time, I couldn’t help but question how someone who believed that domestic violence should be hushed up could be considered smart. 

When I came to Kathmandu for my Bachelor’s I encountered a few individuals who enjoyed discussing English films, books, and music, and felt out of place and had little to contribute to the conversations. 

At times, I would pretend to engage, while other times I would make excuses to leave early. I also attempted to learn more about the books and films being discussed, but it was exhausting. Despite my silence, I realised that they had information, but lacked deeper understanding. 

They seemed captivated by popular music and literature, yet did not grasp the underlying messages those songs and books conveyed. Throughout my nearly year-long work experience at a school library, I remembered there was only one parent who visited. Not a single parent inquired about the types of books their children were reading or what genres excited their interest. 

Their primary concern revolved around their child’s English proficiency. Many expressed frustration over their children’s struggle with the language, feeling embarrassed when their children could not communicate effectively in front of relatives and friends. 

I recall Wangdi Sir saying that a school is not a language institute. A child may struggle with English, but they may excel in other subjects like science and math. Unfortunately, he struggled to persuade parents who had invested thousands in the hope that their children achieved fluency that it was not that important. 

I encountered similar attitudes among parents across the country over the years. Many had moved from rural areas to cities, working tirelessly abroad to afford to send their children to English medium schools. There was also a noticeable bias, as families often prioritised sending sons to these more expensive schools and not their girls.

No wonder, society considers those who can speak English as intelligent, smart, or even a genius. To be sure, mastery of the English language can unlock a wealth of knowledge and provide opportunities for employment worldwide. 

However, many do not understand that simply speaking English is not equal to intelligence, if one lacks access to enriching content in literature, art, music, or film. Ultimately, it is an individual’s upbringing, socialisation, choices, and the guidance they receive that plays a crucial role in knowledge and wisdom through English. 

The English language is often misinterpreted as a sign of knowledge, not just in Nepal but in other developing countries where education is sometimes prioritised for language skills over true learning.

Ramesh Kumar, an economic journalist with Himalkhabar.com, recently shared on X that Nepali press releases from the World Bank and UN agencies in Kathmandu read like they were Google translated. He noted that hiring communications officers should not solely depend on their proficiency in English, they should also be skilled in the local language. 

Relying on Google Translate or AI without understanding the context can lead to lots of embarrassing misunderstandings. Ultimately, all languages serve as tools for expression, but the messages conveyed can vary greatly.

My 5-year-old niece was already speaking English fluently even before she started pre-school. She lives in the village with my parents, where English is rarely spoken unless absolutely necessary. Yet, she picked up the language as if she had grown up in an English-speaking environment. 

How did this happen? The secret was her love for cartoons, which she only watches in English. She has been learning both Nepali and English simultaneously, much like I did with Nepali and Maithili. I often wonder how her understanding of being a person, a woman, and a citizen will develop. 

Language alone will not shape those identities. I hope we, as Nepalis, can grasp this concept. I also wish that our education system would instill in our children the values of humanity, equality, diversity, and not consider someone ‘civilised’ just because they can rattle off some English.

Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal.