Language Skills

The cook has decided I'm slow. She speaks to me in a mixture of Hindi and sign language. When she wants to talk about eating, she says the Hindu word "khana," which means food, and then she mimes putting actual food into her mouth.

It's a little dispiriting. For a long time, I thought I spoke Hindi like a native. (I don't know why I thought this, maybe because I first learned it before English). One afternoon six years ago, I was bargaining in a market and I scored a few good deals. I went to show my aunt. She complimented me on my bargaining skills, at which point I crowed, "People don't even know I'm an American!" She looked at me like I was crazy. This was how I knew.

The hard part about speaking a language you don't know very well, especially later in life, is that you often feel stupid. It's not just that even children are more fluent than I am, it's that I'm so used to communicating clearly. Words are how I define myself, they're also my defense in tricky situations. After all, it's unlikely I'll ever be able to punch anyone who wants to do me harm. On my international travels, I picture myself a little like an ethnic Jimmy Carter, suavely negotiating my way out of the most difficult positions.

Yesterday my sister called me and I suggested that she should learn a little Hindi before she comes here. But I also said, honestly, that it would be difficult. When I was 13, and I went to Spain for the first time, I'd only been studying Spanish for two years. I remember that I nearly cried at the lunch table the first day I arrived. The entire family turned out to meet me, but I knew no one. They kept asking me questions, and I actually couldn't answer.

It's especially difficult when people expect you to understand them, and you can't. Then you feel not just like a disappointment, but a failure. I doubt the people in Spain thought of me that way, but that was how I saw myself.