By Robert Clements
Mocked for Speaking English…!
So, there I was, outside my favourite tea stall—chai steaming, bun maska crumbling—and all was right with the world. The monsoon clouds had taken a lunch break, the air smelled like hope (and diesel), and I was at peace with humanity. That is, until I heard it.
Not a political promise, not a pothole cover being stolen, but a snort.
“Angrez ban raha hai!” said a voice, dripping with ridicule. I turned to see a young man sheepishly backing away from a group, having made the cardinal sin of saying “Thank you” instead of “Dhanyavaad.” For this, he was mocked. For this, he was laughed at. And I thought, not for the first time, we Indians are a strange lot.
You see, we’ll pray for our children to go to Harvard, but mock the neighbour’s child for saying “excuse me” instead of “hat jaa!” We dream of our startups being acquired by Silicon Valley giants, but roll our eyes when someone quotes Shakespeare. We send WhatsApp forwards in Hinglish, and then frown when someone uses proper grammar. Irony, thy name is subcontinent.
And in this curious circus of contradictions, along comes our Honourable Home Minister and drops a little linguistic grenade: “One day, people in India will laugh at those who speak English.”
Bravo, sir. Not for the sentiment, but for the sheer entertainment value. Because that one statement summed up perfectly our collective Everest delusion.
Ah yes, Everest. Let me take you back to that imaginary base camp I often speak of. There’s a group of amateur climbers—dressed in brand-new gear, not a drop of sweat between them. “We’ll train hard!” says one. “We’ll tackle the ice head-on!” says another. But then one fellow, probably with a PhD in Positivity from WhatsApp University, stands up and says, “But you’re already at the top!”
Cheers erupt. Laddoos are distributed. Campfires are lit. And not one of them takes a step. Why bother climbing when you’ve already convinced yourself you’re there?
And that, my dear readers, is what happens every time someone tells us we don’t need English.
We are not on top. We haven’t even left base camp.This isn’t about colonial hangovers or linguistic elitism. I love my vada pav more than my vanilla sponge cake. But English isn’t just a language—it’s a key. A tool. A bridge. It’s how we talk to the world. It’s how we trade, negotiate, research, heal, code, teach, and yes, even flirt on dating apps.
Want to be a pilot? Speak English. Want to attend an international science conference? Speak English. Want to understand the warranty terms of your newly imported washing machine? You guessed it—English.
And yet, we’re being told to laugh at it. As if mockery is a national growth strategy.
You know what’s worse? It’s not even new. We’ve been fed these fairytales before. The ancient Vedic plane story? Remember that? Pushpak Viman zipping through the clouds while Wright Brothers tinkered with wood. Or the one about Lord Ganesh being the first plastic surgery patient. It’s a fun fireside story till your medical student cousin actually quotes it in an anatomy exam.
And so, we continue to lull ourselves into this dangerous dream—where we are already great, already global, already there. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is not dreaming—they’re doing. Updating their apps while we chant about our ancient operating systems. Publishing scientific papers while we dig up mythology as empirical evidence.
Now, before I’m misquoted or misjudged, let me be clear. I love our languages. Every syllable, every nuance. Hindi, Tamil, Bengali, Malayalam, Khasi, Punjabi—they are the soul of India. But pride should never come with prejudice. Language should open doors, not shut them on others.
You can wear your dhoti and recite Shakespeare. You can sing a bhajan and submit a research paper to Oxford. The two are not mutually exclusive.
But when a leader mocks a language, what he’s really doing is mocking aspiration. Telling millions, “You don’t need that key.” And the poor believe it. Because it’s always the poor who pay the price. The leader’s son will still study in London. The minister’s daughter will still intern in New York. But the rickshaw driver’s child, who once dreamt of being a global citizen, now wonders if he’s less Indian for wanting to learn English.
We forget, language isn’t just words. It’s access. It’s inclusion. It’s mobility. And in a world that is becoming one giant Zoom meeting, refusing to learn the common language is like joining the call without unmuting yourself—and then blaming the host.There’s a joke going around in international circles that India is the land where talent is abundant, but translation is missing. Our engineers build code for NASA, but can’t present their work without a translator. Our scientists conduct cutting-edge research but struggle with global publication because their English isn’t “polished.” Is that the fault of the child, or of the system that laughed when he said “How are you?” instead of “Kaise ho?”
So yes, dear reader, speak your mother tongue with pride. It is your identity, your root. But also learn the world’s language.
And to those who mock English speakers—here’s a gentle truth bomb: Abroad, no one laughs at them.
They hire them.
Because while we sit here laughing at an accent, the world is climbing their Everests. And every now and then, they look down at us and wonder why we’re still pitching tents at base camp.
So the next time someone says, “Angrez ban raha hai!” just smile, sip your chai, and say, “Thank you.”
In fluent English…!
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