Speech is near the heart

I know this blog is not even about my personal life and I try hard to sound academic when I write. I am not intending to do that today. It's not appropriate to my topic.

Where do I start? Fourth grade, where Richard told me on the playground that despite being born and raised in these United States, I "talked like an Englishman" and so I got angry at him and told him he farted too much?

Or when I moved later that year and Niki and the other mean girls would tease me by telling me to say "New York" and surrounded me with cruel laughter since I couldn't pronounce the letter R when it followed a vowel?

Or the one day I went to the school speech therapist, then folded the practice paper up as tiny as I could and hid it so my parents wouldn't find it and realized I'd had to go to special ed? I had taught myself to read when I was two. People considered me smart. Mom and Dad would get angry at me for not being smart anymore, or so my eleven-year-old mind thought. I was ashamed of myself, of my nonexistent R.

On that paper was the trick I'd searched dictionaries to learn but never found. You touch the tip of your tongue to your hard palate. Once I realized it, the problem disappeared. It's easy to fix this stuff when you're motivated. And eleven.

It's a lot harder later on, even if you're motivated.

My job in India was creating training materials for accent neutralization. I went back to the source, to these simple mechanical tricks that I had myself used to sound "more American" as a child. Tongue goes here. Lips do this. Smile a bit more. No, not that much. When testing these new techniques, I could see the same frustration in the eyes of my trainees that was in my own back in the day. Some nailed it. Others struggled. I realized that now we needed a lot more than mechanics. My training had to be coupled with massive amounts of encouragement and positive reinforcement, as it's hard to be told "you need to speak like this to be understood better." It's hard to hear. Because the way we speak is who we are.

I grew up in an environment where certain patterns of speech were considered "uneducated" and it was not okay to talk like that, and despite Texas, grew up sounding more like NPR than country music. I had a Canadian neighbor I idolized as a child and hearing my voice today, I know some Vancouver crept its way into my voice. Upon returning from India, I was asked on multiple occasions "where I came from" because of my "beautiful accent." I have even been accused of "code-switching" into an Indian accent around second-generation Indians even when I was using what was my regular everyday I'm-not-thinking-about-how-I'm-talking voice. Who knows -- maybe because I am so isolated here and the main person I talk to is my husband, I'm beginning to pick up his speech patterns? I think I pick things up fairly quickly and unconsciously --unless I am told not to-- but my accent has never been Canadian, or Indian, or even pure GenAm. I don't know what it is, but I've made peace with it in the years between self-conscious preteen and now.

Well, at least I think I have, but I am certain that it is one of the things that is holding me back from expressing myself fluently in Bengali. I remember the giggles of my classmates, my own horror at hearing older girls in my French classes in college speak French with American accents, and of course the hesitation and terror of a former "gifted kid" - I can't mess this up. I can't get this wrong or else it proves I'm really not that smart. So my mind stops; I freeze, and I say nothing.

I know a lot about Bengali. I can read and write with little problem. I'm still expanding my vocabulary and trying to solidify grammar, but I'd say I'm at an advanced beginner or beginning-intermediate level. I can wax poetic about the order of the alphabet and how it all makes sense and conjugate verbs and put together simple, grammatically correct sentences if I have the time to write them out. But when it comes to practical usage, I slip back down into the novice level. I tell people I talk like a toddler but I know toddlers who speak better than me.

It feels like math class; I know the equations. I can plug numbers in and get the right answers. But I'm not entirely sure of how those equations are derived, if that matters at all, and you certainly don't want to get in a rocket that I built using those equations.

So I am trying to break through this impasse. I am doing this by trying to speak daily, then recording myself and actually listening to what I recorded. I'm not up to extemporaneous speaking yet, but at least reading from a book and getting the sounds in my ears and mouth seems to be helping. And since I either have no more shame or just a lot of bravado (not sure which), I will share a couple of recordings with you.

This is the last recording from the first book of Sahaj Path, Lesson 1, after a week of recording and listening back.

This is the first recording from Lesson 2. 

You can tell the difference a week of practice makes. (I got frustrated and deleted the first recording of Lesson 1, which is why I didn't post it.) In Lesson 2, I read the story ahead of time so I could understand its meaning, but I didn't with the poem. This recording is the first time I have encountered the poem, and I'm reading the Bengali script.

This is my life, my study, my fears. You should do one thing every day that scares you, they say. So I speak. Maybe one day that won't be scary and I'll have to do something else.

Teach our children well

I think we all have seen this image floating around on Facebook:

I agree with this. It is excellent advice for today's world. I also think we can switch the gender nouns and pronouns on many of them and apply it to our sons. Not all, since we do not live in a world where the genders are completely equal in terms of power. I might, however, put it like this:

We need to teach our sons to distinguish between:
A woman who flatters him and a woman who compliments him,
A woman who expects him to spend money and a woman who expects him to spend time,
A woman who wishes to be property and a woman who wishes to be equal,
A woman who lusts after him and a woman who loves him,
A woman who believes she's a gift to men and a woman who believes he's a gift to her,
And to teach our daughters to be that kind of woman.

Only the second and third reflect our unequal power structures that remain in society today - commonly known as the patriarchy. And patriarchy is not the small-minded idea of a World of Evil Men; it is simply a society that values men over women, and both men and women take part in reinforcing it. (Note that patriarchy hurts men as well as women, commodifying them and confining them to narrow definitions and forcing them into 'traditionally masculine' roles instead of allowing them choices.)

Avicenna recently blogged about this next image that has been making the rounds (click to enlarge):

As you can see, it is a response to the first image that comes out of hurt and mistrust - common themes of the Men's Rights Activist (MRA) movement. They operate on the assumption that there is a war between the sexes and it is a zero-sum game, and that feminists are their enemies, not their allies. 

Here is my response to this response (edited slightly from what I wrote in Avicenna's comment section):

I am really actually quite okay with all the “and a woman who…” statements except for the first one, which could be worded in a less snarky manner.

Teaching our daughters to be good communicators? Teaching them responsibility? Empathy? Loving someone for their character? I’m down for that. We should teach our sons the same things.

I have a huge problem with the first part of every single one of those statements though, because each one is a consequence of patriarchy, the same system that MRAs say does not exist outside of Women's Studies 101 classrooms.

Why do some women expect men will pay for them? Because in the past, it was their responsibility to, since women were financially dependent on men. Feminism has made it possible for women to earn their own money and go dutch on dates. Yet MRAs hate feminism.

Why do women hint, to the point of deception sometimes? Because in the past, they would be disregarded if they stated their wants, needs and opinions at best, and beaten at worst. Feminism has made it acceptable for women to have opinions without fear of retribution. Yet MRAs hate feminism.

Why do women regret sex? Because a woman who enjoys sex or a one-night stand is seen badly in the eyes of society. Why do some of them “claim date rape”? Because either 1) they were date raped, or 2) it is better in society’s eyes for them to be a victim than a slut. Feminism is WORKING on this one; we are trying to convince society that women are more valuable than their hymens. Yet MRAs hate feminism.

Why would a woman expect a man to “man up” ? Because she, too, has internalized the gender roles that show a ‘man’ to be very certain and specific things in today’s society. (I am unsure how this has to do with agreeing with her all the time, unless of course, this is an unspoken fear that women will do to men what men have done to women for centuries.) Feminism is dead set on questioning these gender roles that say men must do or be certain things to fit a standard of masculinity, and women must do or be certain things to fit a standard of femininity. Yet MRAs hate feminism.

Why would a woman love a man for what he can give her? Because she has internalized the patriarchal myth that she is nothing without a man, and that her value is based on the things he provides for her. Feminism encourages women to find worth in their own selves and provide for themselves, that they may meet men as equals and not as dispensers of financial security. Yet MRAs hate feminism.

Feminists and men's rights activists should be each other's best friends, working in solidarity for a better world where people see each other as humans, and where all people can make choices that best suit them and be free from fear and abuse. Unfortunately, the few times I have made this suggestion to MRAs, I just hear the same old talk about how feminism is the problem, and I have stopped trying. 

Men are not the problem.  The system is the problem.

This is not a zero-sum game. 

If a woman gains a right, it does not mean that a man is having one taken away.

Let us teach our children how to live in a respectful, just, and equal society.

Translation: Eka by Lakkhichhara

I have written about this song before (in yet-to-be-published-if-ever vignettes), but now I am translating it to share with you. The guitar tells you everything you need to know though; the translation is simply a bonus.

Thanks to Rakesh S. Tova E., and Supriyo S. for insights :)

Lyrics and Translation:

একা - লক্ষীছাড়া

Eka - Lakkhichhara

Alone

Eka eka hoyto gopone

Chupishare boroi anmone

Shunyo haate bhari ondhokar

Alone; perhaps in secret

Noiselessly; indeed unconsciously

With empty hands full of darkness

Charidhare jhapsa mukh koto

Chena kichu ochena hoyto

Eki kotha bole barongbar

So many blurred faces surrounding

Some recognizable, perhaps some unknown

Repeating only one thing, over and over

Bujhina je tar maane

Raat jaane, 'raat jaane'

Kothay, kobe, konkhane? 

I don't know what it means

The night knows

Where, at what time, in what place?

Keno mishe jachche bortoman 

Neme ase somoyer shopan

Shob kichu lagche bemanan

Why is Now becoming dark

As it descends the steps of time

Nothing seems as if it fits

Deke othe raat-jaaga pakhi

Kome ase jiboner goti

E du'haate mukh dheke rakhi.....

The nocturnal bird calls out

As life's pace winds down

I cover my face with these two hands

Amar e dike cheye

E akashe utheche chand

Bonnay aalor bhengechhe baand

In this sky the rising moon shines upon me

And the flood of light breaks through

Chole jae majh raati re

Shanto nodir tire

Hajaro bochor aager 

Sriti ase phire

Midnight retreats to the bank of the peaceful river

Memories of the distant past return