I’ve long suspected that my ‘Tam Brahm’ credentials are questionable on both counts. True Brahmins eat rasam with their hands. I prefer my dosais with a fork, my idlis with a knife, and — on difficult days — everything with ketchup. And my Tamil, it turns out, is in roughly the same condition: technically present, quietly scandalous.
Until recently, I had no doubts about the “Tam” part, though. I was born in Tamil Nadu (albeit in French Pondicherry), and Tamil has been the family tongue for generations. Then one day, my husband complimented my spoken Tamil—a rare and suspicious event, given that he maintains a running list of “Gita-isms” for his pleasure. He actually agreed when I proudly called myself a Sakala Kala Vali. “Yes, yes,” he said—twice, which should’ve been my warning. “You certainly are a Sakala Kala Vali—like a … pain in the …” (his words trailed off, as they often do when kindness wrestles with sarcasm). As anyone who knows us will confirm, the phrases “Yes, yes” and “I agree” are rare gems in our marital vocabulary.
To be fair, I didn’t stand a chance. My parents, for reasons that remain mysterious, spoke to us in English—in India! By virtue of my French birth certificate, I was “allowed” to study French or “Higher English” instead of the mandatory local language. Add to that a nomadic childhood hopping from city to city, and you get a Tamilian who can conjugate avoir and être but needs subtitles for Aval Appadithan.
Additionally, my mother, educated in French with Latin and Greek as her 2nd and 3rd languages at school, loved using classical adages to guide us—an effort that failed spectacularly because, well, they were literally Greek and Latin to us!
So really, none of this is my fault. All my Tamil words live rent-free in my brain—but spelled in English.
My Tamil is essentially English in costume. Thus, if someone says to me that my ‘vyse’ is showing, my first thought is ‘How the heck does she know about my new affinity for margaritas?’ Or, when that Tamil candidate once asked me for a VaayPu, I nodded sagely, thinking he wanted a digital VOIP setup.
Many of my Tamil words are literal translations from English; I could never understand why people looked puzzled when I asked for the ‘sadhai’ off my orange or why the priest said to me that he is not in the business of ‘killing’ our family God (kolai deyvam). Even at home, I can’t request groceries without linguistic consequences. “No,” my husband sighs, “they don’t sell tigers at the Indian store, but I’ll ask for tamarind instead.”
If I start a sentence in my Tamil with “I’m thinking…,” he immediately interrupts: “Well, hang it to dry then.” Looking back now, I realize that I might have had the right idea when I assumed he was ‘Vedhala’ gothram; never heard of Vadhoola gothram before…
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, my Telugu Carnatic music teacher told me that she would not teach me ‘Theeradha Villayatu Pillai’ until I master the subtle art of distinguishing L from LL and N from NN. Apparently, mispronouncing them is not an oops but an offense.
So this Navratri, I have a modest goal:
Days 1–3: (rid yourself of the bad) purge misunderstood words.
- Savugaasam vs. Saaguvasam (I bet most Tams don’t know the difference),
- Vikkal vs. Vekkal vs. Vick-ify (Sell? Hiccup? Hay?– not sure on this one yet).
Days 4–6: (add the good stuff) finally master my Ls and Ns.
Days 7–9: (learn from what you gave up and what you learned) graduate to full Pullavar status—ready to impress my AathuLimo (AathuCar is too banal for his expectations).
Tamil Words and Expressions I am currently Wrestling With:
- MamiYaar – it’s not a question. It means Mother-In-Law
- Pullavar – it’s what I will be soon; never mind that it sounds like I’m trying to pull the wool over …
- Pulli-Yaar – Lord, I have prayed to the wrong God forever – no wonder I still have so many obstacles
- Illengo – better to say ‘Illai’ even if you want to be extra respectful
- Makkal – means people. Nice people, not Decayed, or Stupid
- Bihu – it’s what people think I am doing when they ask me to speak in Tamil. It’s not! I only do that when I am asked to sing.
- Vali – means pain, not heroine
- Vayas – is the way to say age, not Vice!
- Pulli, Puli, Pu{L}i: Dot, tiger, tamarind. Simple. Unless you’re me.