By Roswitha Joshi, IANS
Recently a German nephew visited me in Delhi and after listening to a conversation between my Indian husband and myself was surprised that we switch effortlessly between three languages, namely English, German and Hindi. He then asked me whether we do it for any particular reason. And I spontaneously replied: “No. In fact, I had not even been aware of these switches. They have become so normal.”
My residing in India has also become so normal that I once forgot to renew my residential permit on time. It was during the emergency regime (1975-77) and a bulldog of an officer barked at me: “How can you forget such an important thing?” And I replied in a small voice: “I forgot it because I feel so much at home here.” He renewed my permit without further comment.
I later thought about why we switch languages and came to the conclusion that we do it because we want to get a point quickly across, or in a particularly pointed manner. Whenever I translated a text from English into German I noticed that I needed about 20 percent more words to express the same content. This might mean that English has a larger vocabulary, or that the German mind works in a more complicated and complicating manner.
Writers like me, who write in a country which is not their native country, in a language which is not their mother tongue, are labelled migrant writers.
Strangely, I never regarded myself as a migrant, maybe because I never felt the necessity of borders, especially mental ones. And, thus, whenever I encounter them I try to overcome them by understanding the circumstances and mindset of those who erect or perpetuate them. Preconditioning and the resulting prejudices present a constant challenge for me. So does my daily life. It inspired me to name my first book “Life is Peculiar”.
In India, multiculturalism has been inherent for a long time, whereas in Germany it has only recently gained in importance due to the European Union and globalisation. A wave of migrant authors has been swept up, who no longer merely deal with topics relating to the culture of their original country but those of their chosen country as well. Their perspectives are foreign and native at the same time and, thus, blur the line of distinction between the two.
The exposure to a different environment changes the personality of the writer as well. I sometimes feel that I have acquired parallel identities. What I also have acquired is a love for language.
Newly arrived in India, I was bursting with impressions, but had no means to express them. So I created the means by making a passionate attempt to master English. For, the people I met made it a point to speak English with me. Lately I have come full circle and write in German as well. Maybe I feel now strong enough to straddle both worlds of words.
To live in India and write in English made me on one hand vulnerable to mistakes and misinterpretations and offered me on the other plenty of opportunities to be amazed, shocked and shaken. And to laugh. For, in the process of living and writing about being alive here, I realised that it is possible to dig deep into a matter and then step back and, from a distance, see the humour in a situation. Humour also constituted a shield behind which I could hide – at least a bit.
Unlike the German indologists of the 18th century I had harboured no romantic ideas about India. However, when I disclosed to family and friends in Germany that I intended to shift to India I had to face a barrage of deep-seated prejudices and biased arguments, which shocked me. They also strengthened my desire to discover India through my own eyes and battle pre-conditioned notions within as well as outside myself.
I learnt a lot and, by learning, underwent a transformation. I developed air-roots and felt that, like a snail, I carried my home on my back. I am now an insider-outsider. A foreign-native. Not an ‘either this or that’ but a ‘this as well as that’. In other words: I am an Indo-German and a global human being in word and spirit.
I have become intrigued with what aligns people, not what separates them, and the trivial and not so trivial details of life, wherever it is lived out. And I want to share my insights and experiences in a language which is fun to read or to listen to.
When I now travel to Germany I enjoy the rain and the grey sky, the orderliness and predictability. But, after about three weeks, I want to return to India: the sun, the blue sky and the colourful chaos. Both are my home-countries now. And, as far as I have figured out, in equal measure. Or to quote the Cuba-born Italian writer Italo Calvino: “The ideal place for me is the one in which it is most natural to live as a foreigner,” which has translated for me into India.
(Roswitha Joshi is a German writer settled in India. She can be reached at [email protected] )