"Here – make Malayalam movies. Mango tree, rice, views. Mango tree. Many Malayalam movies. Tamil movies. Hindi movies- yes. English movies – no."
Anil, our boatman – one of the nicest people you'll ever meet – said to us as he showed us rice paddies set against a backwater lake with an apparently famous mango tree along the shore. We took a canoe tour of the backwaters so we could go through the small canals only accessible by paddle-boat – rowed all day long by Anil. A tour of village life as well as a village breakfast and lunch was also part of the deal.
Earlier in the day, Anil said he and his family go to bed at about 10:00 after watching some Malayalam movies on TV. To him, the beautiful spot in which we were standing was more than just a stop on the backwater tour – it was a famous place whose cultural importance we should admire – just as he did.
"This is so beautiful," Emily said.
"Very beautiful," I said.
Anil just looked around, taking in the grandeur of his movie location.
"This is so great," Emily said.
"This is great," I said.
But despite the fact that we were clearly giving the unspoken, "…and we're done with it…" sound, Anil remained proudly staring. For several more minutes.
"Yep, pretty amazing…." I said.
Emily repressed a laugh.
Another minute passed and finally, we had all sufficiently absorbed the magnificence and could go back to the boat and continue.
Anil may be one of the nicest people on Earth, but he has the worst English in Kerala. Conversations were two and three word groupings at best.
It turned out that our village meals were made in his village – by his wife – in their home. The food was very good. Meeting his wife, son and neighbors was a treat. Sitting in their home – in their bedroom for mealtime – and talking with them was a wonderful cultural experience.
As I sat there, finishing a traditional Keralean meal, I wondered how we would look if we played back our visit and conversations on a video. We would realize how absolutely stupid and hilarious we were.
Talking with people whose language is different and whose cultural outlook is somewhat unknown, but who you want to respect is challenging. Emily and I both believe in going with the flow of how people do things. When we're guests in someone's home – that multiplies ten-fold.
So, there we were saying things like, "So good!" "So tasty!" "Really good" "You eat too?" repeatedly witha constant supply of "Thank you." everything someone did anything. Everyone smiled a lot at each other. I can't speak for Anil and his wife, but we were both deeply interested in them and mildly uncomfortable the entire time.
They wanted to know more about us and we struggled to both understand their questions and answer in ways they would understand. Usually, the wife – whose English was considerably better than Anil's – would catch on first and translate to Anil and sometimes their five year-old son.
"I am 33," I answered using my fingers to demonstrate 33.
"No baby. We just get married in June," I said pointing to my ring.
"New Marriage. New husband. We are new," Emily said when she saw some confusion on their faces motioning her finger back and forth between us.
"Kerala is good. We like. So beautiful."
"Kerala rice is good. From over there, right? So, good."
And it went on much like this for both breakfast and lunch visits to their house. In the process, we learned that Anil and his wife are 38 and 34 respectively, they want one more child and then they're done, their families live nearby although both of their parents are dead, and that they believe that my baldness is caused by thinking too much which caused my brain to get too hot and killed off the hair on top of my head.
Getting this information was a lot like playing Pictionary or Charades.
Since leaving Istanbul and Region 1, we have had many conversations like this. Some are fun, others frustrating. In a good many cases, there's either the over-exaggerated agreement and appreciation, or the nodding along and agreeing to be polite.
In this case, even though we were paying a fair amount for the tour and meals, it felt more like Anil and his wife were our hosts. We wanted to be grateful for their graciousness and to respect their home, customs and worldview. This involved a lot of dramatized appreciation. But it did the trick.
The worst is when we can't understand someone. This happened with Anil several times over. It also happened a lot in Mumbai where people's English was sometimes fine, but their accents and word choices were difficult to interpret.
A few days ago, in a Mumbai taxi we had a young taxi driver who was uncomfortable with speaking English – but who had clearly studied it in school. He wanted to use it with us, and we wanted to support that. But the conversation eventually had us saying, "So much traffic!" and "Mumbai, so many cars," a lot as he kept talking about what a busy city Mumbai is and how hard it is to get around.
"America! Obama! Obama good! Bush."
"You like Bush or no like Bush?" Emily asked.
"No like Bush. Many wars. Afghanistan. Obama good…. Cricket. You watch?"
"No – America doesn't play cricket," I responded.
"Oh… so many cars in Mumbai," he said for the fifth time in three minutes.
"Too many cars," Emily said.
And so it went….
However, while conversations like these can sometimes wear on us, or other times cause us to repress some laughter – we learn a lot. After all, the gaps aren't solely linguistic. They are cultural, educational, and worldview related. In the process of struggling through, smiling and nodding a lot – we sometimes get a good exchange.
In yesterday's adventure with Anil, we learned about village life and food. We were given good advice on how to make good masala chai and enlightened on the virtues of homemade coconut beer.
We came to understand that the simplicity of the conversation was not solely linguistic. Anil and family lead simple lives. While they are smart and capable people – who work very hard. Their view of life is not particularly complicated.
The differences between Malayalam and English weren't a barrier between us – in fact, I think we transcended them well. The difference is life on the backwaters versus having the heat from your brain zap your hair.
