Venue – Gandhi Memorial Hall, Delhi

Time – 2018

It’s six o’clock in the evening now, just half an hour before the show starts. This is the most important period of time. Bapi da says that this particular interval acts as a conjuncture, the right moment to forsake of one’s own present identity and to detach oneself with the circumstances around, and become moulded into the very character of the play. Closing the door of the dressing room he sat before the mirror. At this time, no one will come here. Before every show, Bapi-da’s strict instructions must be followed by everyone in the group. Now the tube light in this room has been turned off, only the light bulbs around the mirror are burning, in the midst of this bright light, as if a magical illusion is being projected in the mirror, in which every incidents of the drama continues to play in sequence.

The character he is playing today is drenched with a bloody history related to his own life. A large walled courtyard of a four-storied house, in which a group of men of various ages standing in a row, with darkness of death in their eyes and face, a black owl sitting on the branch of a bur-flower tree at a corner of the yard is wailing continuously, the foxes outside too getting intoxicated and impatient to taste fresh human flesh and blood, are yelling from the bushes around. They hide themselves for this particular dark moments of night. From a five-year-old child to a ninety-year-old man all are waiting for a terrifying moment. At that moment, there sounds a gunshot and the entire canvas has been covered with blood and guts of the men, and from behind the bloody screen, deadly screams of women and the toxic frenzy of a group of ghouls are emerging out, in a few moments bayonet thrusts create a round hole in the middle of the canvas, covered with bloody entrails, through which a new born baby gushes out along with stream of blood, having the festering marks of bayonet stabs all over its body.

Amidst of this bloody imagery, the new born baby project itself in a map of a new country. Closing his eyes for a moment, he saturates himself with the entire content, then, darkness appears all around, the first bell of the show rang.

From the beginning of the play to the end, he is in a daze, at the sound of the first bell he heads for the stage, the passage from the make-up room to the stage is terribly dark, this path can be compared to the darkness of the mother’s womb, the path through which an actor descend on the stage of life. The identity of the past, everything has to be cast off behind like a slough. Like every other time, Panchajannya Sen has shown the ultimate manifestation of his soul strength in the role of Major Vinayak Batra in the drama ‘Ekattar’ directed by Bapi Bose.

This particular play by Bapi Bose has been going houseful for the last two years. After receiving the ‘Mahendra Excellence Theater Award’ for the best play of this year, they have been invited to a drama festival organized by the National School of Drama in Delhi. Today, the festival was auspiciously inaugurated with their play. At the end of the play, like every time, he stands silently in the middle of everyone, at this time a strange expression can be seen in his eyes, this moment of Panchajannya can only be compared to the expression of spiritual power that can be seen in the body language of a meditating yogi after coming out of his meditation. He does not want to stand on the stage anymore after the end of the play. This time he prefers to sit in the make-up room quietly. But every time at the end of the show, Bapi da would come up on the stage to praise his drama and panchajanya, then he gets exemption. Today is no exception too.

After the play was over, Bapi Bose, after introducing each of his crew to the audience, said, “If one wants to experience the strength of theatre, one has to watch ‘Ekattar’. Every character in this drama is based on real life, my childhood friend Vishnu Sen’s family was attacked in Mirzapur, Bangladesh in 1971; this drama is the picturization of the terrible consequence of this family. My priceless achievement is Panchajannya, Vishnu’s only son, who has played Major Vinayak Batra, the main character of this drama. I have never seen an actor like Panchajannya in my thirty years of stage-life. He poured himself out completely while acting. Getting fully into the character and presenting that exactly is not acting, but worship. The pursuit of Panchjanya’s excellency is resulted to the winning of the Mahendra Excellence Award for ‘Ekattar’.”

After Bapida’s speech, the theater hall erupted with applause from the audience. Then slowly the crew left the stage. Panchjanya comes to the make-up room and closes the door and sits quietly. Every time Bapida arranges a separate make-up room for him. Although Bapida is his father’s friend, everyone calls him Dada, so he has also become Panchajannya’s Dada. There is no room for personal relationships here, Panchjanya doesn’t care about these little things at all; he has an uncanny ability to adapt to any environment. This is why he can easily get along with everyone and after a few days of association, the people around him tend to be controlled by him. In this way, besides acting, he does not forget to collect his personal privileges. A little later the make-up artist would come to remove his make-up, but before that he spends this ten minutes in seclusion. After sitting in front of the mirror for a while, there was a knock at the door.

Panchajanya expected the make-up artist to came, so he said, “Come in.” The door opened and two men entered with Bapida. Sometimes Panchajanya gets very upset and irritated with Bapi da because of some of these problems. To raise funds for the next play, he even agrees to sell himself, but there is no point in blaming Bapida, this is how the theater has to go on to survive, sadly there is no way out. Panchajanya assumed that these two men may have agreed to invest money in the new play and they are both his fans, so maybe Bapi da has brought them to meet him under some duress.

“The whole family of your grandfather was killed by Khan’s soldiers, his two sisters were brutally raped day after day and stabbed to death. Your grandfather is still carrying this pain in him. We are offering you the opportunity to take revenge to this insult to your family, as not everyone gets such chance.”

Panchajanya prefers to carry on the day-to-day performance of his personal life off the stage very gracefully. He can control and manage his personal feelings beautifully as the environment and situation changes. He looked at the two men with a smile on his face, standing up like a Hero. One of them gestured Bapi da to leave the room.

Bapi da turned back and told while leaving quickly out of the room, “Shut the door from inside, talk freely without worrying, no one will come here while I am there.”

“Bapi da has a personality problem, the guy is so crazy about theater that he can do anything for it.”

Panchajanya seems to be as Noti Vinodini himself, what a great sacrifice she had to make to keep this theater alive! In this era, actors also have to be exploited in various ways, did Bapi da has any such intention?

The second person lifted the door latch from inside and looked at Panchajanya and said, “There is nothing to fear, you sit first.”

Panchajanya is being asked to sit in his own make-up room! Also their body language is completely different from ordinary people, these two are looking at him in such a way, it seems that they are also reading Panchjanya’s mind. It is difficult to look at them for a long time, but Dadu says, “You shouldn’t show your weakness in front of anyone, as long as there is life in the body, you have to maintain the courage and strength of the mind.”

Panchajanya keeps sitting with his eyes closed. Now the first person said, “We are from ‘Worldwide Alliance for Reconnaissance’.”

Panchajanya with astonishment, “WAR! The most powerful international intelligence agency!”

The first person nodded yes.

Panchajanya has a deep fascination towards the mysterious activities of this organization. A friend of Bapida, Jitender Kaushik used to work for this organization, Jitender Kaushik’s life inspired him a lot, his self-sacrifice for Mother India is memorable.

Panchajanya controlled his emotions and said quiet normally,”But what can I do for you?”

One of the two said: ”We are looking for a suitable person for one of our special missions, your acting performance and personality attracted us to you. We first watched your performance two years ago, then have come to you today after your surveillance completely for the past two years.”

Panchajanya thinks of himself as very clever and intelligent, but he is unable to figure it out that how has he been under surveillance for the past two years without his notice. There is a lot of excitement he is feeling inside, controlling which he said, “But can I do such kind of job?”

The atmosphere inside the room is very mysterious, in the light and dark atmosphere around the mirror, everyone’s faces look different. The atmosphere is very quiet for a while, except the hissing sound of the fan circulating in the room.

After remaining silent for a while, one of them said, “The whole family of your grandfather was killed by Khan’s soldiers, his two sisters were brutally raped day after day and stabbed to death. Your grandfather is still carrying this pain in him. We are offering you the opportunity to take revenge to this insult to your family, as not everyone gets such chance.”

Another said, “Observing your performance in this drama, it is understood that you too still carry that insult in your heart.”

Panchajanya expressed his surprise and said, “But how did you know my grandfather’s mind?”

One of them laughed now, there was a terrible cruelty in this laugh. Laughing he said, “Every evening for the last two years a man goes to play chess with your grandfather, you know him?”

Panchajanya realized that he was completely trapped in their moves, there was no other way out of it. He said, “This person came to Delhi two years ago after being posted from Bhopal, now he has rented a house in Chittaranjan Park, he met Thakurda through Facebook.”

“Yes, everything is happening two years ago. Your grandfather now visits his house sometimes, he has told many secrets of your family to this person. That’s why we come to know.”

Two people stood up and said, “You have very little time in your hand, what you decide, tell by tomorrow morning.”

When they were going out, Panchajanya stood up and said, “How to let you know? Give your contact number.”

One of the two approached Panchajanya and said, “Your Thakurda is now at his dear friend’s house, today there is a special chess game. The competition is on, two more friends of his best friend are present there. Tomorrow morning when they will go to your house to drop your grandfather, you will open the door by yourself. That would be your consent.”

They both left the room and closed the door. Panchajannya dialed his Thakurda from his mobile, the phone is ringing and his heart rate is increasing.

After ringing several times, Thakurda picked up the phone. Before Panchajanya could say anything, Dadu said, “The game is at its pinnacle, don’t call now, we will talk tomorrow.” Saying this he hung up the phone.

In a few minutes the events happened as if everything was very normal, it was his duty to accept such normal situation and to adapt with it. (Continues)

Click here for Part-I , Part-II

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Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her most recent novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date.     

Rajesh Giri, born in Kolkata, had his early schooling from Kolkata and then from Medinipur—a village in Bengal. He graduated from Calcutta University with Physics and Maths and Master’s from Burdwan University in 2016. Now he is associated with Adhdhyaan educational institution teaching Physics. History enthusiastic Rajesh Giri is particularly interested in the ancient civilization of India and other regions like Egypt, Mesopotamia, and North America. He loves traveling.

The post Maharaja Dahir Sen – Resurgence of Sindh – Part-III first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Shoukat Lohar  

Linguistic imperialism is a phenomenon that describes the dominance of one language over others in a particular region or country. It is often associated with the spread of colonialism and the imposition of the colonizer’s language over the indigenous languages of the colonized people. The impact of linguistic imperialism on regional and indigenous languages has been significant, resulting in the marginalization and sometimes even the extinction of these languages.

The history of linguistic imperialism dates back to the colonial era, when European powers established colonies in various parts of the world. In many cases, the colonizers imposed their language on the local populations, either by force or through policies that favored the use of the colonizer’s language over the native languages. This was done with the intention of facilitating communication and control over the colonized people and to establish a sense of cultural superiority.

The effects of linguistic imperialism have been devastating for many indigenous and regional languages. In many cases, the imposition of a foreign language has resulted in the displacement of the native language, leading to a loss of cultural identity and heritage. This has been particularly true in the case of minority languages, which often lack the same level of political and economic power as the dominant language.

The impact of linguistic imperialism is not limited to the displacement of indigenous and regional languages. It also has far-reaching consequences for the social, economic, and political development of affected communities

One of the most striking examples of linguistic imperialism is the case of the Spanish conquest of Latin America. The Spanish colonizers imposed their language on the indigenous peoples of the region, resulting in the displacement of many native languages. Today, Spanish is the dominant language in most Latin American countries, with many indigenous languages having become endangered or extinct.

Similarly, in India, the imposition of English during the colonial era had a profound impact on the linguistic landscape of the country. English became the language of the elite, and many Indians began to view knowledge of English as a symbol of status and success. This has resulted in the marginalization and decline of many regional languages in India, which are often viewed as inferior to English.

The impact of linguistic imperialism is not limited to the displacement of indigenous and regional languages. It also has far-reaching consequences for the social, economic, and political development of affected communities. For example, the dominance of a single language can limit access to education and employment opportunities for speakers of minority languages, as well as impede political participation and representation.

In recent years, there has been a growing awareness of the impact of linguistic imperialism on regional and indigenous languages. Efforts are being made to promote and preserve these languages, often through language revitalization programs that aim to encourage the use and development of local languages. However, these efforts often face significant challenges, including a lack of resources, political opposition, and a lack of interest among younger generations.

Linguistic imperialism has had a significant impact on regional and indigenous languages, often resulting in the displacement and marginalization of these languages. The effects of linguistic imperialism can be seen in many parts of the world, from Latin America to India, and have far-reaching consequences for affected communities. While efforts are being made to promote and preserve these languages, much work remains to be done to ensure the continued vitality and diversity of the world’s linguistic heritage.

Despite being one of the major languages of Pakistan, Sindhi has been marginalized due to linguistic imperialism

 Pakistan is a linguistically diverse country, with hundreds of languages spoken across its regions. However, Urdu and English are the dominant languages used in education, government, and media. Urdu, the national language of Pakistan, is spoken as a first language by a significant portion of the population, particularly in urban areas. English, on the other hand, is the language of the elite and is widely used in official and business contexts.

While Urdu and English enjoy a dominant position in Pakistan, many regional languages are struggling to survive. One such example is Sindhi, which is spoken by the Sindhi people in the province of Sindh. Despite being one of the major languages of Pakistan, Sindhi has been marginalized due to linguistic imperialism.

Linguistic imperialism refers to the imposition of one language over another, often through political, economic, or social power. In the case of Pakistan, Urdu and English have been promoted as the languages of power, while regional languages such as Sindhi have been neglected. This has resulted in a lack of investment in the education and development of these languages, leading to their gradual decline.

The marginalization of regional languages has had a significant impact on the cultural identity of Pakistan. These languages are an integral part of the heritage and history of the country, and their decline is a loss for the entire nation. It is essential to promote and preserve these languages to ensure a diverse and vibrant linguistic landscape in Pakistan.

Conclusion

While Urdu and English are dominant languages in Pakistan, the neglect of regional languages such as Sindhi has led to a loss of cultural identity and diversity. It is important to recognize the value of these languages and promote their development to ensure their survival for generations to come.

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Shoukat Lohar is Assistant professor in English at Mehran University of Engineering and Technology Jamshoro. He can be reached at Shoukat.ali@faculty.muet.edu.pk

The post Linguistic imperialism and the survival of indigenous languages first appeared on Sindh Courier.

ANJUM ALTAF

It would be best to state at the outset the premises on which this perspective is based:

1. Education requires a medium and that medium is language.
2. Education has a number of functions and a different language may be best suited to each one of them.
3. The only languages that matter for education in Pakistan are the local languages (of which there are many), regional languages (of which there are a handful), Urdu and English.
4. It is not advisable to impose any language on anyone as that only fosters resistance.

Education for Learning How to Learn

The primary and most essential function of education, one that starts in childhood, is to equip an individual to be able to understand and learn. Without a child’s acquiring the ability to learn, all attempts to teach him or her particular subjects of value would be less than fully effective.

The only tool in this process is language and every child enters school with an intimate familiarity with the language/languages spoken at home and in the immediate environment. These languages give him or her the vocabulary with which to enter into the two-way communication that is needed for the learning process.

The learning process begins naturally by associating visual images to the words with which the child is familiar, by listening to, constructing, and articulating narratives with the help of this vocabulary, and later by writing, reading and understanding the combination of words whose individual meanings are already known to him or her.

It is true that English is the language of upward mobility in Pakistan but this in no way implies that English is the best language with which to begin the process of learning

There is now so much research confirming the claim that the home language is the most effective in facilitating the understanding and learning process in early childhood that there is no need to repeat it here. The alternative is to give up the tool that the child is most familiar with and substitute for it one that is unfamiliar and linguistically not cognate with any of the local or regional languages. Common sense suggests that the outcome from doing so can never be as good although the human mind is so incredibly resilient that even such maltreatment cannot entirely stop the learning process.

Policymakers and parents who insist on early childhood education beginning with a language other than the home language, most often English, are drawing an incorrect inference from a correct observation. It is true that English is the language of upward mobility in Pakistan but this in no way implies that English is the best language with which to begin the process of learning. Such a determination is the domain of cognitive research in pedagogy which, as mentioned earlier, has repeatedly confirmed the superior effectiveness of the home language as the foundation for the learning process. The absurdity of such an inference would be obvious immediately were someone to suggest that all children in Pakistan should be taught from class one in Chinese because that is going to be the language of the future. The correct inference should be that Chinese, like English, could be offered as an optional language at an appropriate stage for those who wish to learn it.

Learning English and learning in English are two very different propositions that are not adequately differentiated in the minds of policymakers and parents.

Learning English and learning in English are two very different propositions that are not adequately differentiated in the minds of policymakers and parents. All they need to do is reflect on the experience of countries like Japan, South Korea and China, all of which have made very rapid progress while retaining their own languages for early childhood education and teaching English at a later stage based on the needs of particular students. By contrast, former British colonies that have given precedence to English at the expense of the home languages in early childhood education are vastly less developed. This comparative evidence should be enough to convince anyone that English alone does not guarantee success if the foundation of learning is impaired in the process.

It would not matter all that much if the emphasis on English in early childhood were costless. It is seemingly so for children in whose homes English is spoken on a regular basis although the effect on their creativity remains unmeasured. But for everyone else the cost is clearly high and parents are damaging their children intellectually by insisting on learning via a language that is unfamiliar to the latter. This can be illustrated through some simple analogies. Everyone agrees that for a child to learn to walk is very important as an end goal. Yet, that does not mean that one should start forcing a child to walk from the day he or she is born. There is a natural physical process of development in which the child has to learn to crawl first before his or her muscles acquire the strength to be able to walk unaided.

Similarly, it is considered important as an end goal for everyone to know how to ride a bicycle or drive a car. Once again, this does not imply that a newborn should be forced to ride a bicycle from birth. Rather, there is a physical process in which the child learns to walk by crawling, learns to maintain his or her balance often with the aid of a tricycle, before being introduced to a bicycle. These analogies are intended to drive home a simple point: Any attempt to force children to walk or ride a bicycle before they have learnt to crawl and maintain balance will result in physical damage. In a very similar manner, attempts to teach in a foreign language before a child has acquired the ability to learn will result in cognitive damage. Parents realize the former but not the latter because physical damage is observable while cognitive damage is not. It exists, all the same, with deleterious lifelong consequences.

Urdu has no special place or claim in early childhood education. It is at par with all the other local languages of Pakistan and should be the medium of instruction only for those children whose home language is Urdu.

Education for the Purposes of Functional Interactions

The functions of daily life today entail interactions of almost every individual with external agents be they related to the formal bureaucracy or to the private sector. Thus, everyone has to fill forms for obtaining identity cards or bank accounts, to read bills received from utilities, to read instructions on products, often hazardous like crop sprays, or to follow critical operating procedures on the job floor. Productivity is greatly enhanced by a functional literacy and numeracy that facilitates such interactions and ensures compliance.

The overly large size of provinces in Pakistan does pose an issue in this regard. Thus, Hindko can claim to be a prominent regional language in KPK along with Pashto while Saraiki can do the same in Punjab along with the Punjabi of Central Punjab

Given the number of languages in Pakistan, it is not possible for such documents or instructions to be issued in all of them. But given the localized nature of the interactions, it is certainly possible to do so in the dominant provincial languages. For this reason, there is a strong case for the teaching of the provincial language following early childhood education in the home language. The general practice in Europe, which has a similar mix of home and regional languages, is to introduce the regional language in secondary school.

The overly large size of provinces in Pakistan does pose an issue in this regard. Thus, Hindko can claim to be a prominent regional language in KPK along with Pashto while Saraiki can do the same in Punjab along with the Punjabi of Central Punjab. In this regard, the policy in India of carving out smaller states along linguistic lines offers food for thought.

Education for the Job Market and Advanced Training

It is quite true that knowledge of English yields advantage in the job market and is also a globally dominant language for advanced education in the sciences as well as of the transmission of information via the Internet. For this reason, there is a demand and a strong case for English to be offered as a language. The only question is at what stage of a child’s education, should he or she. begin learning English as an additional language. There are varying opinions on this but given the number of languages that need to be learnt in Pakistan, the optimal time might be in high school.

For those who desire to pursue professional education, the medium of instruction can shift to English when the student enters college. He or she would have a sufficient platform to follow the limited technical vocabulary required for training in the professional disciplines. The study of English as a language can continue to proceed simultaneously for those desirous of pursuing it.

Education for Upward Social Mobility

The desire for upward social mobility is an understandable aspiration but the notion that it can be achieved by acquiring English is problematic. While it may be sufficient in some individual cases there is no historical evidence of such a phenomenon on a mass scale. Social status is largely inherited or acquired by the rapid accumulation of wealth that is legitimized over a span of two to three generations. The proposition that everyone or anyone can be taught English to the level that they can breach the social elite, the Eliza Doolittle phenomenon, is unrealistic in the extreme and well-lampooned by George Bernard Shaw in Pygmalion.

If the aim is to level the social playing field, a much more realistic approach is to increase the salience of regional languages by requiring competency in them. This can be achieved for example by having sections of college entrance examinations and employment tests in these languages. The signal would transmit itself rapidly to parents and educational institutions that competency in these languages has become essential for competitive reasons. Many more positions of social importance would become accessible to those who are intellectually competent but not sufficiently well-versed in English. The Russian example illustrates this well: the elite was French-speaking at one time but is now educated in Russian like the rest of the population.

Education for Active Citizenship

Active citizenship, a necessity in the era of representative governance, requires two types of inter-group communications. First, the ability of citizens of a country to communicate with each other, and second, the ability of the ruled to communicate with their representatives. There is no getting away from the fact that this requires a link language, a choice that has acquired problematic dimensions in many postcolonial countries (including the pre-1971 Pakistan) comprised of groups speaking different languages.

The case for Urdu rests on the fact that while it can be considered a local but not a regional language of Pakistan, it has by virtue of path dependence already become the de facto link language.

This potentially contentious subject calls for a pragmatic, level-headed and unemotional, approach. It should be obvious that just by virtue of being local and regional, these languages cannot serve the purpose of being a link language. The real choice in the post-1971 Pakistan is between Urdu and English.

The case for Urdu rests on the fact that while it can be considered a local but not a regional language of Pakistan, it has by virtue of path dependence already become the de facto link language. Thus, when people speaking different local languages in the Northern Areas get together, they inevitable communicate with each other in Urdu, no matter how broken. This process is likely to continue on its own and Urdu will increasingly serve as the link language for the ordinary people in the country. Not much additional benefit would be obtained in this regard by any official anointing of Urdu for the purpose. In fact, the results are likely to be counter-productive. It is best to consider Urdu as one amongst the local languages that, for reasons of our tortured history, has emerged as the de facto link language.

The case for English rests on the perverse argument that Urdu, being just one of the local languages, should not be privileged in any way over the others. It is better to avoid any notion of bias by adopting a completely alien language, ironically one that was the language of the hated colonial masters. To avoid this semblance of bias in unduly favoring one local language over others, the proponents are willing to pay the price of entrenching the existing social privilege and hierarchy since it is neither necessary nor possible to raise everyone’s English to the level of the fluency of the social elite. It is socially much more progressive to increase competence in a language that is already serving as the link language instead of importing a colonial language for that purpose. The advocacy of English as the link language is a classic case of cutting off the nose to spite the face.

Education as the Repository of Wisdom

An under-appreciated but potentially most important function of education is to connect an individual with the repository of wisdom that is contained primarily in literature and to thereby enable the abstract and critical thinking that comes with encountering issues without categorical answers. It is for this reason that the study of literature is considered an essential part of a full education. Over the years, this dimension has suffered a great decline in Pakistan manifested in the concomitant rise of intolerance and rigid thinking.

The choice of which literature to study requires considerable thought because it is not a neutral either/or choice. The literature in English is very rich but requires background knowledge of history and culture that is beyond the competence of even most teachers of English literature in Pakistan. For example, Milton is full of Biblical allusions and Joyce replete with references to Greek epics that require extensive familiarity before the narratives can be fully appreciated.

In this regard, the obvious conclusion to stress Urdu literature in Pakistan must be subjected to critical reflection. The written literature in the language is fairly recent. Some of it was produced, as at Fort Williams College starting in 1800, to further colonial imperatives. Quite a significant amount came into being in the aftermath of the defeat of 1857 and espoused instrumentalist revivalist objectives through a return to religion and piety, prescribing social norms to be followed by women, and fostering nationalism of various varieties. This caution relates much more to prose than to poetry. The instrumental prose texts found their way over the years into most syllabi intended for the study of Urdu literature. It is revealing to read from the preface of Hafiz Mahmud Sherani’s, Sarmaya-e-Urdu, which was the standard text for matriculation students till not very long ago, that an explicit objective of the author’s selections was to promote nationalism among the readers.

The ability to express and communicate ideas well requires fluency in, and familiarity with, the literature of at least one language.

Given the above, selections from Urdu literature, especially prose, must be subjected to conscious critical review. It would be advisable to stress the much older literary traditions of the regional languages that are much less compromised in this regard. In addition, for those pursuing a literary education seriously, an exposure to Persian would be beneficial as its stock of wisdom is the equal of any other language and serves as key to understanding much of the cultural history of Islamicate South and Central Asia.

Knowledge of a classical language has many other benefits as well including embedding foreign ideas in a familiar framework to make them relevant in new contexts. In this regard, a comment by the Nobel Laureate Amartya Sen is very suggestive of this phenomenon:

I decided that I had to combine some understandings generated by Marxian analysis with other political and intellectual lines of reasoning. I was very strongly influenced by Adam Smith—his economics as well as his philosophy. And John Stuart Mill. I had to combine all that along with my own interests. Sanskrit was, along with mathematics, my favorite subject. And I knew the Sanskrit classics, including the Lokayata, which is of the materialist school. So I was influenced by a number of things. In many ways, the old Sanskrit studies that I had, along with, for the want of a better word, left or progressive European thought, combined well with me.

Education for Expression

Another under-appreciated dimension of education pertains to its role in facilitating effective expression. It is not sufficient to have excellent ideas if one is unable to articulate them and communicate them to others. Some researchers have gone so far as to claim that it is not possible to think clearly without first having a vocabulary with which to articulate the thoughts. Even if such a claim is discounted, the acquisition of an extensive vocabulary is important because without one abstract ideas cannot be translated into the words required for good communication. An extensive vocabulary can only be acquired through the practice of frequent and continuous reading, a practice that has been progressively marginalized in schools in Pakistan.

The ability to express and communicate ideas well requires fluency in, and familiarity with, the literature of at least one language. This language can be a matter of individual choice though pragmatism would tend to favor either Urdu or English because of their more universal usage in Pakistan. Since the fundamental competency of effective communication is transferable, the rewards from a wide reading in Urdu would exceed that of investing the same effort in English simply because Urdu is a more familiar language cognate with most local and regional languages.

Conclusion

The bottom line of this analysis is that education has different functions and languages are variously suited to each. Early childhood education should be in the home language to facilitate learning followed by the introduction of the regional language in secondary school for functional literacy and English in high school as a window to the world of higher education. English can be the medium of instruction for those pursuing professional education in college.

For everyday functionality, the regional languages offer the best choice. For access to the repository of wisdom, the regional languages also have much to recommend them. The corpus of Urdu literature, especially prose, requires a degree of critical analysis before its adoption for reasons of its association with colonial imperatives and instrumentalist ethos following the trauma of 1857. For serious students of literature and those interested in Islamicate history, Persian is highly recommended at an advanced level.

The vital function of serving as a link language in Pakistan is increasingly being performed by Urdu without any formal push in that direction. In this regard, Urdu is a better choice than English but that does not require it being officially anointed for the purpose which would only serve to stir controversy that cannot be resolved on the basis of reason alone. It should be left to the provinces to decide if they wish to include Urdu in the school curriculum or progress from the home language to English via the regional language alone. Urdu should be considered at par with the other local languages to be utilized as desired by the provincial governments.

Along with learning a language for its instrumental advantages, it should not be overlooked that effective expression and communication requires extensive reading in at least one language to acquire the vocabulary required to translate ideas into words in a convincing and aesthetically pleasing manner. The choice of language for this purpose can be left to the individual although, for pragmatic reasons in a mobile world, it would come down to one between Urdu and English.

Finally, it is an exceedingly harmful notion to think that the social playing field in Pakistan can be levelled by raising the English competency of the majority to that of the social elite. It would be much more desirable and doable to raise the profile of the regional languages for competitive purposes so that the social elite has to compete on a wicket for which the non-elite could realistically be better prepared.

The recommendations advanced in this perspective are intended to serve as a vision for the future whose achievement would undoubtedly involve much toil. The difficulties that would be faced in implementation are not insignificant but they should not be allowed to serve as an excuse for a continuation of the status quo. Not doing anything would be an immense disservice to the vast majority of the coming generations.

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Dr. Anjum Altaf earned his PhD from Stanford University. He was Professor of Economics and Dean of the School of Humanities and Social Sciences at the Lahore University of Management Sciences. He is the author of Critical Reflections on the Single National Curriculum and the Medium of Instruction and What We Get Wrong About Education in Pakistan, both published by Folio Books, Lahore, in 2022.

Courtesy: Dr. Anjum Altaf/ The South Asian Idea (Received on March 6, 2023)

The post Education and Language: A Functional Perspective with Special Reference to Urdu first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Anjum Altaf

A recent interview between Karan Thapar and the finance minister of Tamil Nadu, Palanivel Thiaga Rajan (The Wire, 29 November 2022), is worth watching to get a sense of the prevailing opinion on the medium of instruction for higher education. It illustrates how it is possible to be both completely right and profoundly wrong on the same subject. Parsing this contradiction can provide a partial explanation for several persistent social and economic problems in South Asia.

The interview discussed whether technical education should be imparted in languages other than English. Leaving aside the perennial issue of which language should substitute for English, it was interesting that both participants were opposed per se to the use of regional languages for higher education. Both stated categorically that Hindi, for example, should not be used even at IIT Kanpur which is located in a Hindi-speaking region.

Their rationale was the familiar one of English being the language of modern science and technology and displacing it would hurt the global competitiveness of India and its students. Mr. Thapar mentioned that CEOs of sixteen of the major global tech firms were Indians and this wouldn’t have been the case had they not been educated in English. Mr. Rajan gave the specific example of Sundar Pichai, the CEO of Google’s parent firm, asserting that had Mr Pichai, born in Madurai, been educated in the regional language at IIT Kharagpur, he would not have attained this position.

The interview discussed whether technical education should be imparted in languages other than English.

There is little doubt that if a Tamil-speaking student like Mr. Pichai had been made to study in Bengali or Hindi, languages alien to him, he would have been at a disadvantage vis a vis native speakers of those languages. It seems plausible to argue that recourse to English as the medium of instruction would negate this disadvantage and level the playing field for all. But this proposal glosses the class dimension of the solution which comes to light only on asking who is included in the “all” for whom the playing field is being levelled.

Students who enter the IITs and IIMs are more likely than not to have acquired proficiency in English at school. But many others are not so fortunate; students from small towns in UP would be hugely disadvantaged at IIT Kanpur if the English with which they entered was woefully inadequate. This disadvantage would be mitigated to some extent if the medium at IIT Kanpur were Hindi. This is an alternative perspective on levelling the playing field that is more inclusive than the first.

One is reminded of Arundhati Roy’s observation that India’s middle and upper classes have seceded vertically from the rest of the country and now exist somewhere up there in the stratosphere where they only interact with people like themselves (Roy 2007). One could read this exclusivity in Mr. Thapar’s concern that not being educated in English would severely handicap the chances of Indians who aspired to be Executive Directors at the IMF, World Bank or ADB, or wished to join the UN.

Mr. Thapar was not playing the devil’s advocate in the interview. He does believe that English confers this advantage without any tradeoffs. In a separate comment on Zareer Masani’s biography of Macaulay, he has written of the latter’s minute on education that “though undoubtedly disparaging of Indian science and philosophy, literature and religion, [it] is the reason why India has such strength in English…. That, I would add, is the basis of our success in IT and why we fare so well when we work abroad.”

Such unexamined biases can also lead to misinterpretation of evidence. In making the case for English, Mr. Rajan mentioned a study that established a strong correlation between proficiency in English and both the human capital index and productivity. He then read off the countries at the top of the list – the Netherlands, Austria, Denmark, etc. While he was aware that none of these countries employed English as the medium of instruction and stressed proficiency in the language mainly to enhance the capabilities of their students, he derived the conclusion that favored his argument.

In fact, this evidence suggests exactly the opposite – that it is indeed possible to teach in languages other than English and yet be highly productive. If English were really related to productivity in the way Mr. Rajan inferred, these countries would have substituted it for their own languages from the outset. The conclusion also overlooks the fact that everyone in these countries has access to an acceptable quality of language instruction. It is not that some get the English of Eton and Harrow while others are taught by teachers who don’t know the language themselves.

Furthermore, the correlation does not even provide a definitive determination of whether the rise in productivity was due to instruction in the local language or of teaching English as a second language. One could ask how countries like Japan, South Korea and China became so productive without teaching in English or requiring every student to be proficient in the language. Or how Indonesia managed to progress without Dutch, the language of the country with the highest productivity on Mr. Rajan’s list. These countries may not have as many global CEOs, Executive Directors at IFIs, or officials at the UN but they are well ahead of India in all indicators of development. This does not support a causal association between English and productivity; there might be some other variables at play.

One such variable, the education gap, is starkly illustrated by this account from Japan (Sen 2003):

“The Fundamental Code of Education, issued in 1872 (shortly after the Meiji restoration in 1868), expressed the public commitment to make sure that there must be “no community with an illiterate family, nor a family with an illiterate person”. Thus – with the closing of educational gaps – began Japan’s remarkable history of rapid economic development. By 1910 Japan was almost fully literate, at least for the young, and by 1913, though still very much poorer than Britain or America, Japan was publishing more books than Britain and more than twice as many as the United States. The concentration on education determined, to a large extent, the nature and speed of Japan’s economic and social progress.”

At the same time “[T]he medium of instruction was also a factor. The Japanese had insisted on their own language. The result was that modern knowledge and scientific spirit through the popular medium could percolate down to the masses. In India, colonial education widened the gulf and accentuated the age-old divide” between head and hand (Kumar 2021).

It is precisely the education gap and lack of percolation of modern knowledge that led Lant Pritchett to describe India as the ‘flailing state’ (Pritchett 2009):

“India is an emerging global superpower as its rapid growth has transformed its economy and has maintained itself as the world’s largest democracy. But at the same time India lags in many dimensions—its malnutrition rate is one of the highest in the world, its immunization rates are lower than most African countries, and Bangladesh has a better infant mortality rate. I argue that this is in part because the Indian state is “flailing”—it’s very capable head is no longer reliably connected to the arms and legs of implementation.” 

English can conceivably serve both purposes but only if all children in the country have the same quality of instruction in the language.

The interplay of language and education should bring to mind other Indians like Tagore, Gandhi, Amartya Sen, and Gyatri Spivak, who have arguably had a greater impact in the world than global CEOs, IFI EDs, and UN bureaucrats. All of them are on record that being schooled in the home language made a huge contribution to their intellectual development in addition to the acquisition of skills. English was an addition to rather than a substitute for their local languages. Gandhi (1946) had, in fact, referred explicitly to the choice of languages even for technical education.

The unrecognized class bias and the resulting education gap calls for a rethink on the position of English and local languages in education. It is true that linguistic diversity in India and Pakistan distinguishes them from countries like Japan, China, South Korea, and the Netherlands. But dealing with this diversity requires a conceptual separation of the need for a common language for communication from the choice of a language as the medium of instruction in education.

English can conceivably serve both purposes but only if all children in the country have the same quality of instruction in the language. If that is not possible, it would be more equitable, and also pedagogically more effective, to be taught in a local language while English is offered as a second language. In such an alternative, each IIT/IIM could teach in its regional language in which case Mr. Sundar Pichai would not have gone to IIT Kharagpur but to IIT Madras where he would not have been disadvantaged. At the same time, thousands of students from the catchment areas of these institutions handicapped by being deficient in English would have gained.

One should ask why early exposure to English is so skewed if the intention is to have all higher education in the language. One hypothesis is offered by Peggy Mohan in her book Wanderers, Kings, Merchants: The Story of India through its Languages (2021) – the skew persists because privileged access to English results in a congruence of caste and class advantage that gives the elite an insurmountable edge over everyone else. Mohan notes the fact that the British had made English the medium of Instruction only from Standard 6; it was Indians who, when they had the choice, pushed it back to Class 1 without ensuring equal access for all.

Another perspective on this issue would emerge by questioning the purpose of higher education in India and the metric to gauge its success. Is the achievement of India’s IITs and IIMs to be measured by the number of CEOs of global corporations, Executive Directors of IFIs, and Assistant Secretary Generals at the UN? Is the success of medical schools to be assessed by the ease with which Indian doctors can practise in the West?

What are these institutions contributing to the development of India itself which was recently ranked 107th on the Global Hunger Index (2022) and has perhaps the highest prevalence of severe malnutrition in the world? How effectively are physicians trained in English taking the histories of the vast majority of patients who know not a single word of the language? The entire education system seems to be geared to provide an escape into the stratosphere for a lucky few at the expense of both the education and welfare of the unfortunate many.

There are those who concede the efficacy of local languages but argue that by now it is too difficult to revert to them for higher education.

Asides from everything else, the contradiction in the stance on local languages expressed in the interview is full of irony. On one hand is the pride in regional languages which architectural digs have confirmed are thousands of years old and in which amazing work has been accomplished in all fields. On the other there is the acceptance that these languages are not capable of dealing with modern science, technology, and medicine. This is what Mr. Thapar is asserting by subscribing to Macaulay’s conclusion that India could not progress without English and that one shelf of a library in England was worth the entire stock of books in Indian languages. Macaulay is to be admired for anticipating what India needed almost two hundred years ago.

There are those who concede the efficacy of local languages but argue that by now it is too difficult to revert to them for higher education. Yes, many countries have succeeded while teaching in local languages – Japan, Korea, China, Denmark, Russia, among others. But South Asia has allowed its languages to be impoverished and it will now take a very long time for them to become capable of acquiring the vocabulary needed for modern disciplines. At the same time, marginalized social groups have become insistent on an education in English and their demand cannot be denied in a democracy. Given these considerations, there is no alternative but to continue down the path initiated by Macaulay.

A number of responses to this argument-by-inertia are possible. First, while there are many examples of countries progressing while teaching in local languages, there are hardly any of countries doing so while teaching in a foreign language, or, more broadly, where the rulers and the ruled speak different languages. What is the guarantee that a hundred years of going down this path will get India to where its founding vision intended it to? This seemed obvious to Gandhi (1938) who said “If we borrow another [culture] we impoverish our own.”

Second, the demand of the left-out groups for English is not based on any conviction of the superiority of English as a language. It is simply a reflection of the fact that Indians have made English the passport for decent employment. It would just take a stroke of the pen to change the filter for selection which would impact immediately the skills upward-aspiring people would seek to acquire. More so when there would be no bar to learning English while the medium of instruction was a local language.

Third, contrary to the claim that it would take a very long time to prepare local languages for higher education, one can cite examples of countries where the language of elites was foreign (e.g. Russia and Vietnam where it was French) but which shifted to their own languages within reasonably manageable timeframes. The most dramatic case is that of Iceland which for centuries was under Norwegian and Danish rule and became fully sovereign only in 1944. Yet, the language policy of the University of Iceland (2016) requires all subjects, including science and technology, to be taught in Icelandic. If a language with fewer than half a million speakers can acquire such capabilities, surely Indian languages could do the same. Gandhi (1946) was aware of this dilemma but quite clear on its resolution: “The medium of instruction should be altered at once and at any cost, the provincial languages being given their rightful place. I would prefer temporary chaos in higher education to the criminal waste that is daily accumulating“.

Fourth, it is a misconception that teaching science in a local language requires finding a local equivalent for every scientific term. The instruction can be in the local language while specific terms that have entered common use can be retained from the English lexicon. By way of a historical parallel one need not look beyond the Arabic terms of science in English – algorithm, algebra, alcohol, alchemy, etc. It is a long list. This is how engineering, law, and medicine were taught in local languages in Roorkee from 1938 and in Hyderabad till 1950 (Kumar 1984).

This leaves a number of questions for further consideration:

First, when we talk of levelling the linguistic playing field why is the emphasis so overwhelmingly on the horizontal (regional) axis at the complete exclusion of the vertical (class) one? Why does elite privilege so outweigh equal education in the minds of Indian opinion makers?

Second, why do we so undervalue our local languages with their long histories and remarkable achievements in scholarship across all disciplines?

And third, while the obvious answer to the above two questions is the protection of elite privilege inherited from the colonial period, we still need to explore how other countries managed to forge a different path, e.g., Russia, Vietnam, and Iceland? China, when it regained Hong Kong, changed the medium of instruction from English to Cantonese (Evans 2002) despite all the global advantages conferred by the former and without suffering any great loss in the bargain. An exploration of these experiences might offer some inkling of how the politics of transition from English to local languages in India might be crafted. A transition is important because without one we may be fated to prove Gandhi (1938) right when he warned that “[W]e can never grow on foreign victuals.”

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Dr. Anjum Altaf earned his PhD from Stanford University. He was Professor of Economics and Dean of the School of Humanities and Social Sciences at the Lahore University of Management Sciences. He is the author of Critical Reflections on the Single National Curriculum and the Medium of Instruction and What We Get Wrong About Education in Pakistan, both published by Folio Books, Lahore, in 2022.

Courtesy: Dr. Anjum Altaf/The South Asian Idea (Received on Jan 30, 2023)

The post The Language of Instruction and the Narrative of Privilege first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Hindi

Jhootha Sach (Two Volumes) by Yashpal: It is novel of epic dimensions because it is a work of literature and political sociology rolled into one. By creating a complex web of characters, Yashpal, who was a close comrade of Bhagat Singh and later turned into a Marxist, has brought out in sharp relief what went wrong that made the Partition happen and depicts the political generation that set in in the post-Partition India.

Like Yashpal, Bhisham Sahni too was a Punjabi who was uprooted from his comfortable existence in Rawalpindi and had experienced the horrors of Partition first hand. Little wonder that the Bhiwandi riots of 1973 deeply affected him and he was inspired to write this novel which is a subtle, sensitive and moving account of the Partition.

Aadha Gaanv by Rahi Masoom Raza: In contrast to most other Partition novels, Aadhaa Gaanv was written by Rahi Masoom Raza, a Muslim who deeply felt his rootedness in his village in Uttar Pradesh’s Ghazipur district and did not have to migrate but who was a helpless witness to the way Pakistani ideology easily gripped the youth even in a remote village.

Gujarat Pakistan Se Gujarat Hindustan by Krishna Sobti: Krishna Sobti published this novel in 2017 when she was in her early 90s. This novel deals, in a creative manner, with her experiences of getting uprooted from Gujarat in West Pakistan, arriving in Delhi as a “refugee”, and taking up an assignment as a governess in the ruling family of the erstwhile princely state of Sirohi in Gujarat in India.

Punjabi

Nanak Singh: Nanak Singh is really the benign banyan in the world of Punjabi letters. Born in 1897 in Chak Hameed, Peshawar, in the present-day Pakistan, he lived through the cataclysmic event of Partition. Inspired by the Singh Sabha movement in his initial years and later by Munshi Prem Chand and the Progressives, he exhibits a developed humanist streak in his writings. His novels Khun de Sohile (1949) (Hymns in Blood) and Agg di Khed (1948) (The Game of Fire) are replete with anguish around the hitherto unimagined violence that Punjab witnessed during Partition.

Kartar Singh Duggal: Nahun te Maas (Nails and Flesh) 1950 delineates the composite communities that flourished in towns and villages before Partition and how they were forced to separate along artificially created boundaries. Partition constitutes a rupture in the land of Punjab that had been known for its syncretic spirit and was a nursery of Sikhism and Sufism. Man Pardesi (Heart is a Traveler) and Ab Na Baso Eh Gaon (No More Will I Live in This Village) reveal the many ruptures in the private lives of people who lived in harmony before Partition.

Surinder Singh Narula: Din Duniya depicts the commercial, social and cultural life of the city of Lahore on the eve of Partition and what transpires as a consequence of the division. Dil Dariya (Ocean of Heart), situated in Delhi, similarly explores Gandhian socialism as a possible solution to the extreme violence unleashed on the streets during Partition.

Amrita Pritam: In Pinjar (1950), Pritam presents a woman-centric view of Partition. It highlights the plight of a woman who is kidnapped and later, when she is able to reunite with her family with much struggle, is ironically rejected by them because of the ‘dishonor she has brought to the family’.

Sohan Singh Sital: Sital is connected to the dhadi style of devotional singing, apart from being one of the veteran voices in the world of letters. Tutan Wala Khoo, literally The Well Amidst Mulberry Trees, set in Kasur, is a story of a village where the syncretic bonds between Hindu-Muslim communities are real and thriving, and Partition causes a disruption in their everyday harmonious coexistence.

Niranjan Singh Tasneem: Jadon Saver Hoi is set in the tumultuous decades of the 1940s and explores the complexities of love across communities in a deeply divisive time.

English

Train to Pakistan, Khushwant Singh: Set in the fictional border town of Mano Manjra, in which people have lived together peacefully for ages until rumours of Partition, and then the actual event of Partition itself, tears the community apart.

Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie: The novel famously starts with its narrator being born at the stroke of the midnight hour, and thus “handcuffed to history” – so it’s not strictly speaking a “Partition novel”. But it does circle back to his grandparents and parents in pre-Independent India, touching upon the effects of Partition and the riots that followed. One character, who rails against Partition, points to the half-an-hour time difference between the new nations: “Those Leaguers plan to abscond with a whole thirty minutes!”

The Shadow Lines, Amitav Ghosh: Set in London, Dhaka and Kolkata, and not primarily about Partition per se, but the event casts a long shadow in the remembrances of a fractured family and their friends.

Clear Light of Day, Anita Desai: Set in Old Delhi, ranging between the past (the time of Partition) and the present, covering fissures and misunderstandings in the lives of a family over the years. Supposed to be at least partly autobiographical.

Ice Candy Man, Bapsi Sidhwa: Set in Lahore during the mid-1940s onwards, and thus directly dealing with the events of Partition, through the prism of the coming of age of a young Parsi girl.

Sunlight on a Broken Column, Attia Hossain: Again semi-autobiographical, and with actual Partition not making up a bulk of the narrative, but about a woman finding her voice and agency in the years leading up to 1947 and then after. This was a part of the 70 titles of The Big Jubilee Read chosen to commemorate the reign of Queen Elizabeth earlier this year.

Apart from the above five, some others that come to mind are: Looking Through Glass, Mukul Kesavan; What the Body Remembers, Shauna Singh Baldwin; A Bend in the Ganges, Manohar Malgonkar; and Difficult Daughter, Manju Kapoor.

Urdu

Aag Ka Darya by Qurratulain Hyder: This historical novel by the Sahitya Akademi Award winning writer is one of the most important Urdu novels covering partition of the Indian subcontinent. The author not only details the trauma of the partition but also provides a detailed context of it. Hyder deals with the socio-cultural history of the subcontinent, spanning over two thousand years and ending with the partition and its impact. Originally published in 1959, in English it is available as River of Fire.

Aangan by Khadija Mastoor: Like Aag ka Darya, it is also a historical, set in 1940s. However, it is very different from most of the ‘Partition literature’. According to literary critic Asif Farrukhi, “Aangan remains low-key, perhaps deliberately so, focusing on girls and women and, of course, men as well, chronicling the disturbances and havoc created in their lives by political events.” Originally published in 1962, in English it is available as The Women’s Courtyard.

Ghaddaar by Krishan Chander: Set in August-September 1947, this is one of the lesser known but a very significant novels detailing the partition. Literary critic Rakhshanda Jalil who translated it in English in 2017 says it is certainly the most compact yet moving piece of writing in his oeuvre. Originally published in 1962, in English it is available as Traitor.

Udaas Naslein by Abdullah Hussein: It is considered one of the best novels in written Urdu, which also touches upon the theme of partition. It is known for its realistic portrayal of modern and contemporary sensitivity, apart from wonderfully capturing the tragedy of rural Punjab.

Social scientist-translator Raza Naim, who has written the introduction to the reissued English edition (2016) of the novel, says it “may be read on three levels”.

Apart from the above novels, there are dozens of short stories which deal with the tragedy of partition. Several writers such as Saadat Hasan Manto, Rajinder Singh Bedi, Ismat Chughtai, Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi, Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, Intizar Hussain, Hayataullah Ansari, Qurratulain Hyder and others have written about it. Some of the most striking short stories about partition and its fall out are by Manto. He has extensively written about it. His short stories such as Thanda Gosht, Toba Tek Singh, Khol Do, Yazeed, Anjaam Bakhair, Khuda Ki Qasam, Harnaam Kaur are considered as must read as far as partition literature is considered. In Intizar Hussain’s writings also, one finds pain of the partition.

Bengali

Agunpakhi (The Firebird) by Hasan Azizul Huq, translated in English by Arunava Sinha

Dayamoyeer Katha (A Life Long Ago) by Sunanda Sikdar, translated to English by Anchita Ghatak

The two texts of Hasan Azizul Huq and Sunanda Sikdar which were published almost back to back, the first in 2006 and the other in 2008 trace the history of Partition from the period before 1947 to what happened after. It maps the dislocation, relocation, acculturation and adjustments of women who suddenly found themselves caught up in the political-social-economic upheaval that changed relationships of family, caste, class and gender.

In Agunpakhi, the nameless woman suddenly finds herself in a vortex of violence and the clamour surrounding it – Lorke Lenge Pakistan. Her response is “what will you do with it once you win it? Do you even know where Pakistan will be?” She discovers that after marriage, “Once I joined the drudgery, there was to be no end to it. If they said right, I had to go right. If they said left, I had to go left. …Am I a person or a person’s shadow? And even then, is that my own shadow?”

In Dayamoyeer Katha, the dislocation, relocation, acculturation and adjustment is an elegy of movement from Dighpait, a village in East Bengal of “ripuchis” (refugees) Muslim families that crossed into the newly created East Pakistan and the Hindu families that left for West Bengal. Dayamoyee’s transformation begins with her renaming as Sunanda. When she relocates to the metropolis as part of the flood of refugees, she says “For many years, I felt compelled to deny the profound truth of my life. Instead I rushed to become a part of the city and its life, so that people around me thought I was normal and comfortable. In truth, it wasn’t easy.”

Khwabnama (Saga of Dreams) by Akhtaruzzaman Elias

Elias has created an extraordinary tale of magical realism, blending memory with reality, a legend with history and the struggle of marginalised people with the stories of their ancestors. It is a deeply political novel, presenting a series of vignettes from undivided Bengal/India of the 1940s to Partition, Independence and after. While most novels depend upon the development and struggles of individuals to tell their stories, Khwabnama relies on the shared experience of people to tell a story about Partition.

The plot is woven around the Tebhaga peasant rebellion, in which sharecroppers demanded a larger share of the farm produce. Against this background, Elias unfolds the story of the fisherman-farmer Tamiz, whose life is one of crushing poverty, hunger and injustice. He embodies all that is painfully real among the underprivileged. Running through this grimness is a thin thread of the magical. The ghosts of a long-dead sepoy called Munshi and a wandering fakir called Cherag Ali flit in and out of the plot, pulling readers into mystical spaces where fish turn to sheep, waterbodies form and uniform whimsically, and music takes unlikely shapes.

Epaar Ganga Opaar Ganga by Jyotirmoyee Devi

This is a complex history of dislocation and relocation, of rupture that is best described. “Thus, in the Hindu city of Calcutta, Hindu Sutara who was first displaced and then saved by Muslims experiences another form of exile, rupture and violence. This is not a direct stab-wound from which the blood gushes out but a kind of internal haemorrhage leaving the person lonely and agonized. Compared to this state, her refuge in Tamijkaka’s house was better because there she was at least a part of a web of human ties. She was not (to quote the author): “A nuisance, a Pakistani refugee-nuisance.” Sutara loses her parents in the violence of Partition in Noakahli district and is rescued by a Muslim family, who help her recover and then help her join the rest of her family in Kolkata. There she is an outcast, a woman defiled by her association with her Muslim rescuers.

Puraba Paschim (East West) by Sunil Gangopadhyay

This is about the middle class, principally Hindu, reaction to Partition, across time and boundaries. The river Padma is a divider and a connector between the East and the West and symbolizes the flow of events and time. The notion of “home,” before and after Partition is a powerful signifier of dislocation, relocation, dispossession and impoverishment. The novel spans the years preceding Partition to 1971, when Bengalis in East Pakistan liberated themselves from the dominance of West Pakistan, to establish Bangladesh as a separate State where the inhabitants could express their pride in their identity, culture and language.

Sindhi books

Pakhiara Valarakhan Vichriyaa (Birds Separated From Their Flock) by Gobind Malhi

This 1953 book written by Gobind Malhi fresh from his own Partition experience, has hero Sanwal refusing to leave Sindh even when all his family and friends do. The book describes the situation of Partition vividly, and through Sanwal’s dogged determination not to succumb to a political categorization of religion, the author conveys the Sindhi Sufi ethos which puts humanity above all. Translated into English as The Anguish of Separation by Sindhishaan and published by Shobha Chandnani in 2014.

Yerwada jailajyu kahaaniyoon by Rita Shahani

Written in 1999, Shahani drew on the bedtime stories her husband Vishnu would tell their children about his life as a freedom fighter. This book uses different voices with different perspectives to present an all-round view of the Indian freedom struggle, the RSS, the bitterness at the loss of Sindh – on 15 August 1947, Vishnu ripped up the flag in anguish – and some changes that took place after Independence. Translated into English as Tales from Yerwada Jail by Saaz Aggarwal with the author in 2014.

One of the most prolific, original and vibrant Sindhi writers of recent times, a feminist role model, was Popati Hiranandani. Her autobiography and selected stories, The Pages of My Life, was translated from Sindhi by Jyoti Panjwani in 2010. Popati writes about her life in Hyderabad as a young girl, and her mother’s struggles to take care of the family after her father died. She describes the escape from violence and the traumatic resettlement, followed by her life as a writer in independent India. The stories are a fictionalised extension of the autobiography and their main themes are gender, Partition and social injustice.

Sindhi novels about Partition are few, but there was a huge outpouring of short stories and poetry in the anguished aftermath of separation, loss and struggle. Unbordered Memories, a collection of short stories, was translated by Rita Kothari in 2009. Freedom and Fissures, an anthology of Sindhi Partition poetry was translated by Anju Makhija and Menka Shivdasani with the poet Arjan ‘Shad’ Mirchandani in 1998.

Hem’s father is the mukhi of Tharushah. Away at Shantiniketan when Partition takes place, he becomes a successful and well-paid journalist in independent India. However, the feeling of being lost and not fitting in persists. This book is about his anguish, his conviction that he needs Sindh as much as Sindh needs him. He wanders through Kachchh, crosses the salt desert towards the border, and is never seen again. Tarandara Badal (clouds transgress borders) was written in the late 1990s by Krishin Khatwani, himself a student at Shantiniketan when Partition took place.

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Contributions by Kuldeep Kumar, Sakoon Singh, Mahtab Alam, Sanjay Sipahimalani, Shikha Mukherjee and Saaz Agarwal.

Saaz Aggarwal is an independent researcher, writer and artist based in Pune, India. Her body of writing includes biographies, translations, critical reviews and humor columns. Her books are in university libraries around the world, and much of her research contribution in the field of Sindh studies is easily accessible online. Her 2012 Sindh: Stories from a Vanished Homeland is an acknowledged classic. With an MSc from Mumbai University in 1982, Saaz taught undergraduate Mathematics at Ruparel College, Mumbai, for three years. She was appointed features editor at Times of India, Mumbai, in 1989.

Courtesy: Saaz Aggarwal/ The Wire

The post The Pain of Partition, as Seen in the Literature of Many Languages first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Pankaj Pushar

[Pramod Ranjan is a writer, a journalist and a teacher. He has edited many newspapers and magazines and is known in the Hindi world for his ideological writings. Pankaj Puskar is known for his scholarship and his social activism. He has taught in Delhi University and also been a member of the Delhi Assembly.]

Pankaj Pushar: What has been your relationship with languages during your educational journey? How do you relate to different languages? Which language(s) do you use in your different activities?

Pramod Ranjan: I was born into a family which spoke the Magahi language. I spent my childhood at my maternal grandparents’ place. My Nana’s family was Arya Samaji. My Nana subscribed to many magazines including Chand, Madhuri and Sarawati. By the time I could read and understand literature, these magazines had ceased publication. But their old issues were carefully preserved by my Nana. He insisted upon speaking and writing ‘pure’ Hindi and used to teach Hindi grammar, idioms and sayings to me. And that was not done informally. Every day he used to hold a Hindi class for me.

These magazines and my Nana’s classes aroused interest in Hindi in me. One of my high school teachers enhanced that interest.

My mother is a teacher. I talk with her in both Magahi and Hindi. When the conversation is formal, it is often in Hindi but when it is between an affectionate mother and a loving son, it is in Magahi.

PP: Two official languages – Hindi and English – and scores of people’s languages, including Adivasi languages, are used in the field of education and knowledge. What is the relative position of these languages in colleges and universities? Are they equal or some are placed over the others? What is your experience?

PR: In colleges and universities in the Hindi belt, discrimination between Hindi, English and other dialects and languages is very apparent. English is at the top, followed by Hindi. Other dialects and languages are simply ignored – they are almost ‘untouchable’. Our educational institutions do not merely promote this discrimination; they are the creators of this discrimination. I don’t know much about south India but this is true of the Hindi belt and the north eastern states.

PP: Does this linguistic discrimination affect the confidence levels, the participation and careers of students? What does your experience say?

PR: There is no doubt that it affects the students. I have been witness to several heart-rending incidents related to this. May be, I will write about them in the future.

PP: Do colleges and universities try to end this linguistic inequality? Or do they perpetuate and promote it?

PR: As I said earlier, schools, colleges and universities not only deepen these linguistic inequalities but they often give birth to them in many ways. Just think how these inequalities were born. You will discover that our educational institutions created them. Our educational institutions, by their very nature, create many kinds of inequalities. Linguistic inequality is only one of them. Our institutions do not see all forms of knowledge at par. They promote the knowledge which is the monopoly of the elite class. They look down upon the knowledge which is the heritage of the majority, of the commoners, of our country. In fact, they employ different means to prove that it is useless. That is why; the path of the students from the Bahujan classes is strewn with thorns.

PP: Did you ever feel humiliated or discriminated against or not treated as an equal because you did not have command of English or Sanskritised Hindi?

PR: I don’t think I need to comment on what kind of discrimination speakers of Indian languages have to face because of their poor command of English.

I have been a victim of this. I want to share my personal experience. I edited a bilingual (English-Hindi) magazine for about a decade. The magazine was primarily known due to my association with it i.e. people believed that I was its editor. But that was not so. I was never its editor, at least on papers. I was designated ‘Hindi Editor’. I wanted that my name should be published as the ‘Editor’. But the proprietors won’t agree. They made me ‘managing editor’ but never the ‘editor’. And this was not only about language. It also shows how communalism and language sometimes come together to play a sinister role. The proprietors were Christians and they wanted a Christian editor. After my departure, they chose to handover my job to an English-speaking Christian whose knowledge of Hindi was next to nothing. He was far from bilingual. His knowledge of Hindi was nowhere near my knowledge of English. But he was an English-speaker and a Christian. And that was why, in the eyes of the proprietors, he was competent and eligible for the job. As I was a Hindi-speaker, I was ineligible.

At the same time, common people and scholars do appreciate your work irrespective of your language. But there are technical issues. And these are not minor irritants. Language does not come in the way of your work. But if you cannot work in English, it does impact the assessment of your competence.

As for Sanskritised Hindi, I have no personal experience but I feel that if you say things in simple language, the editors of Hindi literary magazines don’t attach much value to it. A sprinkling of Sanskritised words makes your writing worthy of publication.

PP: There are some who believe that the words of Urdu and regional languages which have become a part of Hindi should be replaced with their Sanskrit equivalents. In your view Sanskritisation of Hindi would be a positive step or a negative one?

PR: To say that Hindi should be purged of the words of Urdu and regional languages is an asinine idea. But yes, it cannot be denied that Sanskritisation would help make Hindi the language of knowledge. If we have to make Hindi the language of knowledge, it needs to be have both folk and classical elements. Only classical elements would make it hypocritical. And only folk elements would reduce it to a language which is suitable only for routine conversations.

PP: How do you relate to the English language? Do you fear it? Do you find it your own? Do you love it? What is the place of English as the language of knowledge in your life?

PR: Of course, I love English. Whether that love is born out of compulsion or because it is the source of knowledge, I cannot say. But on reflection, I think the former is truer.

________________________

Courtesy: Countercurrents

The post India: Educational institutions are turning language into tool of discrimination first appeared on Sindh Courier.

A series of articles on education in the form of a multi-installment letter to the parents

By Anjum Altaf

Dear Parent,

I hope you are convinced by now that children learn best in primary school if they are taught in the language they understand best — this should be a matter of common sense; it would be very difficult for anyone, let alone a child, to learn in a language they didn’t know. Children can easily transition to other languages as they advance in school. All the evidence I have cited in earlier letters should leave little doubt about the global acceptance of the superiority of the paradigm of Mother Tongue Based Multi Lingual Education (MTB-MLE). In Europe, where many languages are spoken, this has been endorsed as the “Mother Tongue Plus Two” formula — children start in their home language, learn the national language if it is different from the home language, and the third language is left to the choice of the student.

One can ask why, in the face of this overwhelming evidence from theory and practice, governments in Pakistan continue to be obdurate and use as mediums of instruction either Urdu or English, neither of which are the home languages of the majority of students. There must be some very strong reasons for overriding a practice that is universally considered best for children.

Let me consider in turn the reasons that are offered and convince you that all of them are weak. First, it is claimed that English is a global language and we will be left behind if we don’t teach our children in English and in order to give them a flying start we should not lose any time but start teaching them in English from the first day in school. All these premises are incorrect. Begin with the actual evidence: We have been doing this for 70 years and have still been left far behind other countries that were at par with us but are now very far ahead despite teaching children in their home languages and not in English — China, South Korea, and Turkey are some examples. I am sure you can think of others. We cannot even say as a consolation that our children have learnt good English or Urdu — test them by having them write an essay in either language.

Then, very little reflection should convince you that teaching English does not require teaching every subject in English. Many students from the countries mentioned above learn enough English to go for higher study to the US or UK and succeed without having English as the medium of instruction in their own countries.

Finally, there is no evidence that there is any advantage in starting to learn a foreign language from the first day in school. In fact, many experiments have proved that the opposite is true — shifting to a foreign language after a planned transition as recommended by the MTB-MLE paradigm yields better outcomes. Once again, the examples of the countries mentioned above should provide convincing evidence. Students learn a foreign language when they need to and are motivated to do so.

The second reason for favoring English in Pakistan is that it is the language of science and we have to prepare our children for the world of science. Once again, the evidence of 70 years belies this proposition. In 70 years Pakistan has produced only one scientist of international stature, Dr. Abdus Salam, who surely didn’t start his education in an English-medium school. Becoming good at science requires teaching science well in the early years not teaching it in English. One should look at the increasing numbers of high schools without science labs to realize that Pakistan would never be good at science no matter in which language it is taught.

The third reason offered is that while we are ready to teach in the home languages good teaching materials are not available in them. This is another disingenuous argument. Why would anyone produce teaching materials for which there is no demand? As soon as there is an official announcement that primary schools would shift to teaching in the home languages after a period of, say, three years, the supply response of teaching material would be forthcoming. This can be promoted by organizing competitions and prizes for the best books in various languages.

One should not lose track of the fact that very little printed material is required at the primary school level. Overburdening young children with books at the cost of experiential learning is in any case a bad pedagogical practice only designed to make life easier for unmotivated teachers and lucrative for book publishers. Nor should one lose track of the fact that countries that have advanced in science have invested significant amounts of effort and money in translation bureaus dedicated to making new material available in local languages. Pakistan has done nothing in this regard — as always, a case of big talk and no action. One hundred years ago professional education in medicine and engineering was being provided in Urdu in Hyderabad (Deccan) and Roorkee on the back of such initiatives in translation.

Moving to Urdu, this is the medium of instruction available for children of parents who cannot afford to pay much for education as opposed to those whose parents can afford to pay for a “good” education in an English-medium school. Leaving aside this discrimination, which cannot be justified by any logic, the argument offered in favor of Urdu is that it is the national language and teaching everyone in Urdu would enhance national integration. Once again, both evidence and common sense are ignored. The attempt to force Urdu on Bengalis in the name of national integration resulted in a huge human tragedy. It is also another matter that Bangladesh, the one-time basket-case and millstone around the neck of West Pakistan, promoting its own language since 1971, is now running far ahead of the rump Pakistan — the joke has started doing the rounds that soon Pakistan will be taking its begging bowl to Bangladesh.

More importantly, the same argument applies to Urdu that was applicable to the case of English. Teaching everyone Urdu does not require making it the medium of instruction nor does it require teaching it from the first day of school. Urdu can be taught as a subject at the age recommended by the language ladder contained in the MTB-MLE paradigm.

The third reason offered for not teaching in the home language is that the home languages are not really languages at all but dialects which change every few hundred miles. So, which dialect is to be chosen as the medium of instruction? This argument is offered most often in the case of Punjabi. Interestingly, this is exactly the same argument offered by the colonial government when Urdu was declared the official language in the Punjab — there was no standard Punjabi to do the job. In making this argument, it is conveniently ignored that no language was born with a standard version. Spoken Urdu differed markedly between Hyderabad, Lucknow, and Delhi. Spoken English differed within parts of London itself as anyone who saw My Fair Lady would know. Spoken Arabic is often mutually unintelligible across its geographical expanse. But each language has evolved a “Kings” version for its written form that has become standard. Once again, the tendency to use excuses rather than doing the hard work is quite obvious.

The fourth reason offered is that parents don’t want their children educated in their home languages but prefer English or in Urdu. This sudden respect for democratic voice is rather touching in governments that ignore most other democratic demands. But more seriously, parents want an outcome — their children knowing adequate English and/or Urdu by the time they matriculate — which should, and can, be honored. But how to obtain this outcome most effectively is not something that most parents would claim to be experts in. Here, they too would agree, proven best practices should guide the methodology — their concern is with the outcome not the process.

One can also ask about the democratic rights of those parents who do wish to have the primary education of their children in their home languages. Why is such a democratic demand not respected? It can be easily accommodated by allowing private schools the freedom to use local languages as the medium of instruction. In fact, by allowing a hundred flowers to bloom, there would be the opportunity to prove with real evidence that the learning outcomes from such schools are better than those of equivalent schools using either Urdu or English as the medium of instruction.

The fifth reason given for not choosing local languages as the medium of instruction is that there are schools in which children speak a mix of local languages. Which one should be chosen as the medium of instruction without discriminating against some? The response is that the best should not be the enemy of the good. Pakistan is 60 percent rural where this problem of mixed languages does not exist. Even many urban neighborhoods are segregated by ethnicity. And in most places with mixed ethnicity, children find a common language in which to communicate. That common language can serve as the medium of instruction. This is a second-best alternative for sure but a compromise has to be tailored for a minority without sacrificing an effective education for the majority. It is stupid to hold the wellbeing of the majority hostage to the constraints of a minority.

The sixth reason offered is that while we cannot allow home languages to be used as mediums of instruction for the reasons listed above, we can consider them being taught as subjects in primary school. But what would be the point of teaching a language that children already know? There are two responses to this argument. First, children know only some aspects of their home languages; in general they do not know how to read and write in them which means that they cannot access fully, or at all, the wisdom that is available in the literature of their home languages. This wisdom which is the shared heritage of the community is the most contextually relevant in their lives. The quickest and easiest way to integrate children into this wisdom, knowledge, and ethical framework, is by making them proficient in their local language. This also sustains the bond across generations, which has been sundered because the existing school system has alienated students from parents who are considered backwards for not knowing English or even proper Urdu. One might also ask why children in UK are taught English in school when they already know it? Why isn’t the great opportunity availed to start them right away in a some language they don’t know? And finally, by this same logic, why is Islamiyat taught in schools when it can easily be taught at home or in the mosque? Why not allocate that scarce school time to science?

The seventh reason offered is that there would be no point teaching a local language when that skill is of no value in the job market. This argument also has two responses. First, it is tragedy to consider education merely a preparation for the job market. Education is meant to inculcate in students a love of learning, an ability to ask questions, the confidence to articulate their thoughts, to argue on the basis of reason, and to give them the foundation to decide what they want to do in their lives. None of these can be achieved by making children memorize things in foreign languages in order to pass exams and obtain paper credentials. The millions of children who have dropped out of school is one result of taking all the enjoyment out of schooling by foisting on them languages they don’t know or understand. And those who remain are either being trained or indoctrinated instead of being educated in the real sense of the term.

Equally importantly, the job market was not created by God when He was creating the world — it is the doing of ordinary mortals who are driven more by their self-interest than by anything else. We saw this during the colonial era when the objective was to produce “babus” who would serve their English masters faithfully or during the neocolonial era when the Americans came up with the Jihadi curriculum to create “jihadis” for their job market. The masters remain, only their color is not as white. Anyone who cares about the immense amount of talent being wasted in Pakistan by privileging English in the job market knows that this can be changed at the stroke of a pen. Students could be allowed to appear in admission tests in the languages of their choice. Once the most talented students are selected, they could be taught English and/or Urdu within one year using standard immersion methods. This is much more sensible than using English language as the filter for selection allowing entry to many intellectually weak students while closing the door on many brilliant ones. Only someone very stupid would equate knowing English with being smart — for evidence, just look around or watch the talk shows.

Just this minor change would spur the demand for learning of local languages and at the same time yield a much more talented pool of individuals to participate in the governance of the country. To gauge the behavioral response of students to such a policy change, look at the amount of time they spend (or are made to spend) in schools (and colleges and universities) learning Islamiyat which, for all its other claimed benefits, is even more completely useless for the job market. As for its other claimed benefits, the evidence is contrary — all that time and effort has resulted in a country run by mafias in which no project large or small is without an associated scam. How can this failed experiment in the allocation of time be justified while rejecting the claim of local languages if all that matters is the job market or inculcating morality? Wouldn’t Bulleh Shah be more effective for the latter?

It is time to reject all these flawed arguments and pay heed to the vast amount of global evidence on what constitutes a good education and what is the most effective way to deliver it. Parents need to come together on the first step and demand primary schooling in their home languages with Urdu and English taught properly as subjects at the right time. Without such a demand, their children would continue to be taught poorly — they would neither learn adequate English or Urdu nor will they respect their own languages and become proficient in them which will leave them alienated from their roots — they will be the “babus” of the modern era while the “masters,” no longer white, would continue to do all the thinking. And you know what their thinking is like.

Parents should stand up for good education otherwise things will get even worse with the Single National Curriculum which has a mish-mash of both Urdu and English as mediums of instruction for different subjects, which has no place for local languages, not even as subjects, and which overdoses on Islamiyat which now spills across all subjects — just take a look at the model textbooks. This is neither good education nor good preparation for the job market. This will be like Zia ul Haq on steroids. I quoted in the last letter what the Minister of Information said about the outcomes of the curriculum introduced by Zia ul Haq — the flourishing of extremism and terrorism although he claimed with a straight face that it was a conspiracy of the CIA which duped the mard-i-momin. To move even further along the same path, knowing that result, should be a cause for a lot of serious thinking. What exactly is going on in our ruling circles? At what altars is the welfare of our children being sacrificed? What kind of Pakistan will we have when these cohorts of students reach adulthood? Would we have the luxury of pressing the rewind button when these adults are ensconced in positions of authority?

A lot rests on the shoulders of parents.

Sincerely,

Dr. Anjum Altaf

Anjum Altaf

Former Dean, School of Humanities and Social Sciences, Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS)

For previous letters, click on Letter 1; Letter 2; Letter 3; Letter 4; Letter 5; Letter 6; Letter 7; Letter 8, Letter 9 , Letter 10 , Letter 11

The post Your Child Deserves Better – A Letter to Parents – XII first appeared on Sindh Courier.

A series of articles on education in the form of a multi-installment letter to the parents

By Anjum Altaf

Dear Parent,

With regard to the teaching and learning of English in Pakistan, I have been making six points:

First, that as long as the present socioeconomic system in Pakistan remains unchanged, the learning of English is a necessity for those who aspire to higher education and certain types of jobs in the public and private sectors. Whether the system needs to change so that brilliant students who are not adept at English are not penalized is a separate question that I will address in a subsequent letter. For the moment, keep in mind that that is also an alternative which exists in countries like China, Taiwan, South Korea, Turkey, and Iran, all of which are more advanced and more prosperous than Pakistan. Don’t be fooled by the argument that we will be left behind if we do not learn English — the truth is that we have already been left far behind despite our devotion to the language. Contrary to all that you have been told, there is no direct relationship between the learning of English and national development. But there is a direct relationship between the teaching of English as practiced in Pakistan today and the development of children. This is something you need to think about both for the well-being of your children and of the country.

Second, that, while English, or any other foreign language, can be taught as a subject, it should not be used as the MEDIUM OF INSTRUCTION to teach other subjects in early education. This is a violation of the cardinal insight from decades of research that for children to learn, we must teach them in languages they understand. Learning takes place by building on what a child knows. This does not bar the use of a foreign language as a medium of instruction but ONLY after a child has learnt it sufficiently as a subject to understand what is being communicated in it. Otherwise, the child will be condemned to the survival practice of memorization, a curse that will become a lifelong habit.

Third, accepting the necessity of learning and teaching English in Pakistan as it is structured today, I have addressed the question of WHEN it should be taught to children.

Fourth, I have raised the issue of HOW English should be taught during early education. I have not addressed this issue yet and will do so beginning with this letter.

Fifth, that the last two aspects, of WHEN and HOW English should be taught are technical issues related to the domains of cognition (how people learn) and pedagogy (how people should be taught) and should be determined on the basis of the best available research and evidence provided by experts in the fields. This is not something of which parents can be the best judges simply because they do not have full information. Neither can it be decided by bureaucrats, prime ministers, or chief justices no matter how well-intentioned they may be unless their decisions are backed by qualified specialists. And further, these specialists should be independent and not hand-picked to rubber-stamp the decisions of those who are in power to impose them.

Sixth, that education should be concerned primarily with the welfare and mental growth of a child. It should not be an instrument for the attainment of any other goal like promoting an ideology or moral piety, no matter how lofty these may be made to sound. Well-educated people will make better choices than those who are indoctrinated and prevented from thinking for themselves. Only weak and authoritarian governments lack trust in their citizens and wish to raise them like goats and sheep. It would be far better for governments to focus on creating jobs than to graduate hundreds of thousands of poorly educated students who lack the mental and technical competence to survive in a shrinking job market.

Now, I will begin discussing the matter of HOW I believe English should be taught during the first years of a child’s education. I hope you will agree that no matter what that alternative method is, and whether you agree with it or not, the reality is that English is NOT being taught well in Pakistan at this time. The proof of this is that even after ten, and at times eighteen years of learning English the majority of our students, especially from rural areas and secondary cities cannot speak, read, or write it as well as someone who has learnt it for two years in England whether that person was born English or not.

The simplest way to realize that English is being taught wrong in schools is to compare it with the way your child learns his or her home language at an even earlier age and with no formal instruction from trained teachers. A little bit of reflection will make you realize that when a child is born, it can neither speak nor read nor write let alone hold a textbook. All it can do is LISTEN. And that is all it does for almost a year in which its ear becomes sensitized and familiar with the sounds of the language. Do also keep in mind how you talk to a child of this age and the methods you adopt to communicate sounds to him or her.

After almost one year of this exposure to listening, the child begins to imitate and articulate sounds thereby entering the stage of SPEAKING. And after a few years of listening and speaking and wanting to make itself understood regarding what it wants, the child can figure out a lot of distinctions — between past, present and future, between genders, between singular and plural, etc., etc. — and carry on a fluent conversation about what it wants and is not getting. These conversations can be gems of expression including all sorts of elements of lies, truths, cajoling, threats, excuses, and fantasy.

Once listening and speaking skills are in place, many parents introduce their children to READING by giving them storybooks and showing how each sound can be related to a picture or a shape on a page. Children are amazing at how quickly they recognize letters that are associated with sounds — since there are only thirty-odd letters in the alphabet, this is actually not all that difficult for children who are not preoccupied by all the other useless things that plague adults, like talking politics and buying and selling plots of land.

Finally, comes the phase of WRITING when a child picks up a pencil or a crayon and begins to reproduce the letters that it can recognize, on paper or the wall or father’s favourite book or anyplace its fancy directs it.

Without ever realizing it, you have been a part of this exciting and amazing journey of teaching a language many times — the miracle of its success rests on the exposure of a child to the sequence of LISTENING, SPEAKING, READING, and WRITING – in that order. This is essentially pedagogy, or the science and art of teaching, in a nutshell.

Based on the pedagogical insight provided by this learning sequence, think now about how English is actually taught in primary schools and what may be pedagogically wrong with it. In my next letter, I will spell it out in more detail although most of you would by then be in a position to say that you knew everything already.

Sincerely,

Dr. Anjum Altaf

Former Dean, School of Humanities and Social Sciences, Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS)

Acknowledgement: I would like to thank Sheikh Tahir, Assistant Professor of English, Government Post Graduate College, Mandi Bahauddin, for a brilliant tutorial on how a foreign language should be taught in primary school.

Click here for reading previous letters: Letter 1; Letter 2; Letter 3; Letter 4; Letter 5; Letter 6; Letter 7; Letter 8.

The post Your Child Deserves Better – A Letter to Parents – IX first appeared on Sindh Courier.

A series of articles on education in the form of a multi-installment letter to the parents

By Anjum Altaf

Dear Parent,

In my last letter I had asked you to think whether your child would learn anything at school if, from his or her first day in Grade 1, everything was taught in a foreign language, say Arabic.

Related to this thought experiment, I came across something relevant in an Urdu short story by Bilal Minto, an excerpt of which I am going to reproduce today. There are two reasons for this. First, in my own life I have gained more from fiction than from textbooks. For example, I have read a lot of books on the history of the subcontinent but nothing has yielded as clear as understanding of some aspects of it, especially the social ones that deal with real people, than the novels of Quratul Ain Haider.

Second, these stories by Bilal Minto are among the most refreshing I have read in recent times, in any language. I am not equipped to discuss their literary merits but I know they are exceptionally good because as soon as I finish a story, I want to read it again and every time I read it I invariably laugh at the same places though, in fact, the stories are not intended to be funny and some are tinged with sadness. I can only urge readers to sample the stories themselves. The book is titled Model Town and is published by Sanjh Publications, Lahore. It is in its third printing which is very rare for a work of fiction in Pakistan and is added testimony to its outstanding quality.

This particular story (Dr. Walter) is about the Walter family that is building a house in Model Town and getting ready to move into it. The narrator is an eleven or twelve years old boy who lives near the house being built. The excerpt that resonated with the thought experiment mentioned in my previous letter follows in a translation by Kabir Altaf.

“At this time, the insidious General Zia had not descended on our country like a curse and new revelations about our religion, Islam, hadn’t begun to mushroom. No one in their wildest dreams could have imagined that prayers would become mandatory in offices or that a woman wouldn’t be able to appear on television without covering her head, or that punishments would be meted out to people seen eating or drinking during the Ramzan fast. And, even more surprising than all these, that every day, before the entire country, the TV news would be delivered in Arabic. All this was about to happen, just some days after the Walters built their house near us.

“This last bit — about the news in Arabic — was truly astounding. Every day a man appeared on TV and, without offering a reason, just turned his face to millions of people and began speaking a language they didn’t understand at all. The millions were us Pakistanis, whom the Arabs went about calling “Bakistani, Bakistani” only because the sound “p” is not in their language although, with appropriate practice, any sound can be produced from the mouth or throat. There is nothing really difficult in this because the tongue is only a muscle and training it to produce different sounds is an extremely simple task. In any case, it is fruitless to ask the Arabs why they call us “Bakistani, Bakistani,” especially when they themselves would be so shocked at the madness of the weird Pakistanis who broadcast the news every day in the language of the Arabs and when the name of their country is mentioned, refer to it as “Bakistan” themselves. There are also no grounds for complaint if someone doesn’t want to train their tongue and producing new sounds is not their priority. It’s their personal choice.

“Whatever it was, broadcasting the news in Arabic was extremely strange although there is no doubt that I know something even more shocking than that. It could even be said that what I know deserves to be added to the collection of the world’s strangest facts. It is that most “Bakistanis” go on reading the Quran — Allah’s final revelation — in Arabic but don’t think it at all necessary to read it in any language that they understand and from which they might learn what great things Allah has included in his last book, what injunctions he has prescribed, and what superb rules he has revealed for the conduct of life.”

It was obvious to a twelve-year-old that no matter how much one reads without understanding, it is not going to do much good — which can be verified by the fact that the level of morality in the country keeps plunging the more reading and memorization without understanding is injected in our lives to the point that now everyone is considered to be a crook. Still, one can argue that while it may not do much good, it does little harm either.

But the case of having all ones formal education in a foreign language, in this case English, is not so innocuous. First, learning it for years and years still does not yield any real benefit to the majority who continue to struggle to find decent jobs. Second, learning it in Pakistan comes at the cost of not only forgetting one’s home languages but actually cutting of all affinity to the rich heritage and wisdom they contain. The loss is huge and the gain miniscule. How can anyone justify such a bargain?

Wouldn’t it make more sense to first consolidate a child’s familiarity with his or her home language and its treasures before moving on to learn English at the right time and in the right way?

If a twelve-year-old child can see this truth why can’t our venerable policy makers? Perhaps, because only a child can say that the Emperor has no clothes while the policy makers have to kowtow to their bosses to protect their jobs. One is reminded of the fools in Shakespeare’s play who are anything but foolish and can say the wisest things from behind the facades of their foolishness. Some are able see through the facade. In Twelfth Night, this is what Viola, the play’s protagonist, says about the witticisms of Feste, the fool:

…This is a practice

As full of labour as a wise man’s art,

For folly, that he wisely shows is fit,

But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.

Sincerely,

Dr. Anjum Altaf

Former Dean, School of Humanities and Social Sciences, Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS)

Click here to read  Letter 1

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The post Your Child Deserves Better – A Letter to Parents – VIII first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Language policy is considered source of influence and supremacy. It is also foundation of power of media, administration, commerce, education and other sectors.

By Shoukat Lohar

Indigenous languages have been ignored and behaved like step daughter since independence in Pakistan. Language policies either support English or Urdu. It is mentioned in constitution 1973 that respective province is responsible to promote provincial language along with national language. For instance, Sindhi language was used in Sindhi as national language even in British rule. But after creation of Pakistan it has been vanishing in major cities of Sindh like Karachi and Hyderabad.

The countries in Europe are giving importance to their indigenous languages because people of local languages feel sense of inferiority. For instance, if a child is told that his/her language is inferior, it leaves negative image. Moreover, inferiority causes people to adopt alternative one. In this way, sense of cultural shame promotes. In the case of South Asia, people of lower caste are ignored and degraded. Such type of behavior creates frustration among them. When they become educated and powerful, they leave their own community and identity and adopt new one. In this way they leave their language and there is possibility of their language death.

In case with Pakistan, mostly local languages are at the verge of death. The language death means there is death of its speakers. Now main concern is that is it possible to save such languages? Is there future of such languages? Fishman (2001) mentions that it is possible to save dying languages by adopting useful strategies and better planning for the survival of indigenous languages. Language hierarchy in Pakistan is like this English, Urdu and then local languages. Sindhi and Pashto give importance to their languages and consider their languages as a source of integration and identity. Both languages are big and their speakers feel proud to speak them. In addition, in Sindh province Sindhi is considered source of power and frequently used in education, administration, private and government institutions and even in media. Pashto is less considered as a source of power and frequently used in educational institutions. It is rather known as identity marker of Pakhtuns. Panjabi speaks more Urdu than Panjabi and they consider Punjabi cultural shame. Elite of English medium schools forbid their children to speak Punjabi in schools. People prefer either English or Urdu. Mostly, Punjabi read English literature, books, and stories and use to watch English dramas not Urdu or any other indigenous language. Other local languages such as Balochi and Brahvi are small languages as compared to Sindhi and Pashto. Both languages are under immense pressure of Urdu. Now Balochi intellectuals, educated class and scholars realize that they should give importance to their language, promote and preserve it. It is usually, observed that Balochi and Brahvi are spoken in cities mixed with Urdu and have become Urdufied. Consequently, almost all indigenous languages in Pakistan are under immense pressure of Urdu and now it is utmost need to promote and preserve them.

Language problem in Pakistan is old. There have been always conflicts which language should be given importance. Even one year after independence in 1948 language problem broke out in Decca by Bengalis. To solve that problem a committee was made under the chairmanship of Abul Haq (father of Urdu). Committee’s main concern was to replace English by Urdu and use of Urdu as a medium of instruction at university level. In 1950, committee decided that Urdu shall be medium of instruction in schools in Panjab, N.W.F.P, Baluchistan and Karachi. In addition, at college level use of Urdu will be optional. Karachi soon became center of Urdu speaking. On May 11, 1949, Municipal Corporation of Karachi passed a resolution and mentioned one of its reports that Urdu will be main language of all corporation functions. For instance, all names of road will be named in Urdu rather than any other indigenous languages. Next step was to increase the user of Urdu for that teaching support was taken. Teaching and promotion planning included standardization of Urdu, creation of new vocabulary and terms, spreading it through dictionary and grammar books. Bengalis who were in majority (about 54.6 of total population of Pakistan at that time) felt threat to their language. After language issue in 1948 Bengali did not trust West Pakistanis. They set up their committee on December 7, 1950. Committee recommended non-Sanskritized Bengali because their language script was close to Devanagari Hindi. They feared it might change in Perso – Arabic (NASTALEEQ) script of Urdu. Such worries were expressed by Bengalis at many places such as in Legislative Assembly, in newspapers and students of Decca in university. One month before language riots in Decca on January 21, 1952, fourth language committee was made under the chairmanship of Abdul Haq. Committee again declared Urdu as National Language and placed Bengali as Provincial Language. In Language Policy Report 1953/54 Bengali and Urdu are mentioned as National Languages. Further it was declared that from class IV upward Urdu will be taught as a compulsory subject and Bengalis will learn Urdu along with their language. Thus, Urdu will be compulsory for Bengalis and Bengali will be compulsory for Bengali students.

Pakistan has faced numerous problems since her inception. Problems like language issues, political and other different sorts of riots created anarchy at that time. Hence, to overcome such issues General Ayub Khan imposed Martial Law in 1958 and declared one and unified central government in Pakistan. Ayub Khan promoted Urdu and saw Urdu as a foundation of integration, unity and common interest. In Ayub Khan Regime on December 30, 1958, Commission on National Education was setup. According to commission declaration, Urdu and Bengali would enjoy status of National Languages for the sake of national interest. Further, up to 1963, Urdu was to be used as medium of instructions in Sindhi medium schools after class six which was great threat to Sindhi language.  Ayub Khan had in mind a westernized custom and culture, specially their language. Another factor supporting English was to face, and combat Mulla culture of Pakistan. In addition, bureaucrats and army also supported English and English medium schools rather than Islamization.

Language policy in Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s government was almost same like previous languages policies. Though Bhutto is known liberal, democratic and social but he and his other members of government are found closer to the military. Further, we see Bhutto against Ulemas politically and intellectually but did not want to come in direct conflict with Ulemas. Education Policy of 1972 in Bhutto regime states that Urdu is to secure, to promote, to practice the basic ideology of the country. In addition purpose of language is to build national integration through education. Further it states that it is also source of promoting social and cultural harmony through basic ideology of Pakistan. All sorts of material should be provided in Urdu and there should not be difference between teaching material and Islam.

Gen. Zia ul Haq took control of Pakistan on July 05, 1977 by imposing Martial Law. Urdu flourished and developed a lot in his regime. It effects we see that in 1979 Ministry of Education was asked that all textbooks should be in Urdu language. In addition, English medium schools would start teaching everything in Urdu. Thus, Urdu got the greatest support by his regime but such support brought two results. One – it proved against the English which was official language of Pakistan since freedom and the other it proved immense threat to all indigenous languages. In Education Policy 1979, there is replacement of English by Urdu. In addition, it is mentioned that medium of instruction at all levels in school would be in Urdu or approved provincial language would be used.

In Pakistan we have seen how language polices are producing social, ethnic and cultural differences? Further, bureaucracy, westernized-mind people and forces encouraged globalization devaluing their own indigenous languages. As a result of globalization and supportive policies of government of Pakistan English has prevailing prestige over other local languages. Now local languages are under great pressure. The people of poor class have to get education and have grip on English. The result is that more and more people are running towards English. Thus globalization has become in favor of elite class in Pakistan and opposite to poor class.

Pakistan is a multilingual state and there is dire need to promote the sense of bilingualism or multilingualism like the Europe, where multilingualism has been promoted and importance given to their local languages. Such type of advancement is required in Pakistan. In this way national and indigenous languages can preserved. By this way sense of cooperation, integration and equality could be developed among people. It is necessity to give equal rights to all languages in Pakistan and at least five provincial languages must be given due importance. Along with English and Urdu, local languages should be taught in schools, colleges and even in university.

As is said that English is taught very well to upper class but very bad to poor class, the importance to local languages and multilingualism can save us from further loss of linguistic effects of injustice, cultural shame and anti-poor language policies.

(Concludes)

Click here for Part I

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About the Author           

Shoukat Lohar is Assistant Professor of English at Mehran University of Engineering and Technology Jamshoro Sindh

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