Wet and Cool

Oh! Am in a new city that charms visitors with its colonial cosiness and humid harangue. My trade, gauging and engaging other’s language, has become a shady affair here. I tinker with other’s language, but people here are bickering about my language. I can hardly sneak into the sense of the classical language spoken here. Neither can they understand what am asking them nor can I understand their broken response in what is called their English and Hindi. They first puke out their words and then if kind enough, translate them into English and if even more generous, a word or two of Hindi.

Linguistic hygiene you see. Language is not a matter of communication but a sense of pride. Defeats the whole purpose of Homo sapiens inventing what we call language now, some 40000 years ago. I roam in the most vibrant part of this city and everyone seems a stranger. Neither do they scare me nor do they seem to care for me. My transition into this city has just begun and am not very sure how it would go. Yet the encouraging thing is that my migration has decreased my carbon footprint as I would take to public transport, rather than biking earlier. Nothing could have been more reassuring today, the World Environment Day.