posted March 24, 2001 06:07 AM         

by Carl Muller

Reproduced from Carl Muller's forthcoming book "Firing at Random-Selected Essays" to be released this year

By the end of this 21st century, English and a few other languages would have vastly increased and there will be many English-speaking populations. There are many social, political, economic and technological forces that are already encouraging English, as a big language, to get bigger. There is, for instance, the explosive growth of electronic communications; and English maintains its dominant position in conveying information.

What about the smaller languages of the world? What about the language of my country — Sinhala? Ah, our people will say its alive and well, thank you very much .. .and that is very true; but when the use of Sinhala, as this country’s national language, begins to decline (and, mark my words, it will) it will not be because Sinhala is deficient in any way, but because English has become the "open sesame" to the world and the craze for English is seen everywhere. After all, even the most average Sinhalese is not enchanted with the idea of being an ‘un-English’ person. He is, in his headlong haste to learn and speak English, a victim of a quite unintended by- product of external forces. It’s a sort of tragedy, global in extent, and in a kind of classic Greek mould.

Writing in the magazine of Bristol University recently, Dr. Andrew Woodfield, who is Director of the Centre for Theories of Language in the University’s Department of Philosophy, said that by the next century, 95 percent of the world’s 6,000 languages will become extinct. Minority communities will succumb to economic, political and psychological pressures and (as we see in Sri Lanka) rising generations would rush to become English-educated.

This is one reason for the huge intake of students in the "international schools" in this country, where if classes in the vernacular are also offered, is mere lip-service to a bogus show of nationalism!

"No one wants these languages to die," says Dr. Woodfield, "yet, that seems to be their fate."

Despite the paraded efforts of the government of Sri Lanka to keep Sinhala as vibrant as it should be, western TV broadcasts, cable TV and cinema halls will always attract huge audiences, even non-English-speaking audiences. It is, as Dr. Woodfield says, a sort of "cultural nerve gas" and it foils all the plans of mice and men who want the people to romance their own language. Another peculiar thing about this country is that there also seems to be a concerted effort to "Indianise" - God knows why - and, together with English, our people are now become totally enamoured of cheap Hindi films, Hindi songs and Hindi dance, and swarm to see and listen to visiting Hindi artistes. Bollywood needn’t worry about its canned rubbish which consists of sex-charged dances and hick actors and actresses swarming up and down slopes and around trees and screaming their sentiments at each other. There’s always a market for this junk in Sri Lanka!

And are our culture-wallahs concerned? I think not. And is all this good for the continuance of Sinhala? Even Sinhalese singers and actors are now proud of the fact that they can also sing Hindi songs and swivel their hips and send Morse code with their pudenda as the Hindi dancers do. It’s all this mania to imitate that makes our prize idiots think it a new art pinnacle to ape everything Bollywood tosses our way.

Language, any language, has its value. Fifteen million Sinhalese in Sri Lanka find that Sinhala has for them, an extremely high instrument value; but for the rest of the world that knows no Sinhala, the instrument value is zero, apart from, say, commercial entities who may wish to communicate with the Sinhalese in their own tongue. Even this is rarely the case. Usually, the non-Sinhalese will employ English; the Sinhalese also respond to a non-Sinhala world in English as best they can, and the Muslims and Tamils in the country will use Sinhala when dealing with the Sinhalese.

This can be pretty disheartening when considered as a global whole, but we still could have such exchanges at international cricket matches which, if not being fixed, are actually played.

Sanath Jayasuriya could well address Shaun Pollock: "Oi! You booruwa!" which, in Sinhala is to call said Pollock a donkey. Maybe Sanath was provoked. After all, Pollock has doggedly kept bowling outside Jayasuriya’s right stump, and we all know that our Sanath is not particularly keen on the reverse sweep.

Pollock does not like the tone in which the words are said. "What did you say?"

Sanath obliges. "You’re a booruwa."

Pollock tries to make the ball a mashed potato. "What d’you mean?"

"Oh nothing, really," says Sanath airily. "Means you’re a strong, stubborn fellow."

"Humph!" Pollock snorts and sends down a yorker. Then he grins. "Strong, stubborn fellow," he tells the umpire, "that’s me." He likes it.

Oh yes, language can be such a delicious thing!

But just because a population needs a medium of communication, it does not mean that one language must be relegated to make way for another. Shaun Pollock may even tell his friends, and with some pride, of the tribute paid him by the Sri Lankan captain. "I’m a booruwa." He will say, "you know what that means? Strong and stubborn. Learnt a new Sri Lankan word yesterday."

Later, some Sri Lankan in Chatsworth or Cape Town will hoot merrily and say, "why, you - you donkey, Heehaw, hee-haw!" and Pollock will want to do all manner of things to our Sanath.

But you do see what is happening here. Of the 15 million Sinhala-speaking, almost 6 million can now pride themselves on being bilingual. But, as the proportion of bilinguals increase, the instrumental value of Sinhala declines. To new generations, Sinhala may even be a sort of "default language". When the children are less and less motivated to learn Sinhala, opt for Hindi films to bring them wet dreams and for English to ensure their future, what will happen? Will Sinhala become moribund?

Of course, if all the world spoke English, all human communication becomes so easy; That’s good ... or is it? What happens to the excitement of linguistic and cultural diversity? The Tower of Babel business may have been a bad thing - a sort of divine whim - because God, like the colonial Englishman, may have also wished to divide and rule; but, as Dr. Woodfield said, there was one jocular comment on the Tower of Babel: that God made nations speak in different tongues to stop them arguing with one another!

What is the real value of a language? What we must remember is that a language is not just a medium of communication. It is also the repository of a cultural tradition. Let’s take a simple example, just to show you what I mean. A Sinhalese will say, in Sinhala, of course: "Enakota enne thanguspota dhige; yanakota galkambath kadagana yanava. " This is a typical proverb, culturally fixed and it tells of the moods of fortune. It’s pretty spot-on too, with that delicious and typical Sinhalese approach and attitude. It conveys the thought that one need not try very hard when the good times roll, but when the times are bad, even the best of men can fail. Such an expression tells us of the attitudes, even philosophy, of a people. When a Sinhalese tells you (with a twinkle in his eye) that adversity is sweeter than prosperity, you need to look at the whole cultural approach with new eyes yourself: "Athirasa thittha rasai - pamini duk pani rasai." Sweetmeats are bitter ... how sweet is misfortune! Hmm. Can you get the connection between this expression and the one given earlier? There is sweetness of a kind in anything that some think sweet, even if others will think is bitter. Let’s say elections in this country are postponed. There are those who will consider it a bitter pill indeed. They have waited long enough to throw the buggers out. There are others (as well as the "buggers" so specified) who find it so sweet. So it’s good times, bad times, and the sweetmeat of hope turns bitter while it remains honey-sweet to those who benefit from the postponement.

In the earlier expression we have the "galkamba" - and even the galkamba breaks when the times are bad. It’s so like the politicians with their famous high-wire act. But when the high wire snaps and their balancing act nose-dives, the hoi polloi will see the humpties doing a dumpty and cheer like hell. To them, the spectacle is so, so sweet. Now they can walk around with looks of deepest satisfaction and say to all they meet, "I told you so. How have the mighty fallen!"

Dr. Woodfield is very insistent:

"(A language) is a way of living which helps to confer a sense of identity upon its native speakers. A flourishing community will normally celebrate its own language, take pleasure in it and teach the young to prize it. To be deprived of that inheritance is a cruelty and injustice. Hence, we have a moral obligation to try to prevent such deprivation wherever possible."

Make no mistake about it. Sinhala is not just a language that exists. It is a living language. Every language contains clues about the history of a people. The stock of general words can reveal much. Even migration patterns can be worked out and supported by finding words that have been assimilated from the languages of neighbouring populations. It also reveals how the speakers classified things in their environment

Even neuroscience finds every language of great significance. Since language is a product of the brain, it is studied for neural structures and processes. Have you ever wondered what all infant brains have in common, such that any child, anywhere, can acquire any language? An Italian infant, depending in what region it is born, can acquire Aberishtia, or Franco Provencal, or Grecanico or Hrvatski. These are lesser-used languages, true, but they still remain the languages of certain Italian communities.

In Great Britain, we still have many "lesser languages" - Gaeilge in Ireland, Kernewek and Cymraeg in the deep south-west, Scots in Scotland and Gaudhlig in Wales. In the 19th century, Cornish died out altogether, but, thanks to enthusiasts, it was revised and is spoken again although no one, not even in Cornwall, speaks it as a native tongue.

In Australia, I am told, the aborigines conceive of space and self in ways different from us. They employ an "absolute" system for specifying position rather than a "speaker-relative" position. They will say, "the tree to the East", not "the tree to my left". Obviously, their travel patterns are different, so when a bushman goes walkabout, don’t try to go after him. Before you know it, you’re hopelessly lost!

It is only now that we are beginning to study the natural human capacity for language and many are the riches that lie in store for those who seek to know. Sinhalese actually tells us what the Sinhalese are. Dravid or Tamil can actually tell us what the Tamils are. Linguistic diversity is very much like biological diversity. We understand each other’s language and we begin to understand each other!

Sinhala, as a living language, is dynamic. Down the centuries, pronunciation and intonation patterns may have changed and new words coined, hut in it we have the manners, gestures, even styles of delivery of the Sinhalese people. We must see that it lives on and remains as buoyant and lusty as ever, never allowed to stagnate. At least, we have no fear of its survival prospects. It is deep-rooted and healthy and may I say, as a non-Sinhalese writing in English, that I could never live happily in this country without Sinhala! What is more, never in all my days have I found a language so succulent as Sinhala. You can’t scold or revile a person better than when you do it in Sinhala! It is the finest vehicle to blast the air with ... which brings me back to Sanath Jayasuriya and Shaun Pollock. The latter is not happy, He has subsequently learned that this booruwa has big ears too!

Interesting, these verbal exchanges on the cricket pitches of the world. Shane Warne of Australia, when he is not practicing his art on sundry nurses, likes to get all foulmouthed every time he is hit for six. Our Aravinda de Silva does just that, then listens to the stream of "F" words’ with interest.

"You," he may tell Warne, "are a bloody haraka!" and adds, if he wishes (not mandatory, of course) that, in street-Sinhala style, Warne should get to know his own mother. All this, in Sinhala, and in Biblical mode, and Warne glares redly. He is, shall we say, ozzified.

"What do you mean haraka?" he carols.

"Oh - you’re big and beefy!"

"Izzatso? Well play this one if you can!"

So the Aussie bull bowls to the Lankan bulldozer and the stumps microphone is absolutely paralysed. What sort of words did it just pick up? Never heard the likes of such before!

I will give to Dr. Woodfield the honour of getting in the last word in this language issue: