Hindi Lessons – Day 4
350 words, three tenses, post positions (not prepositions here), imperatives, possessives, verbs, irregular verbs, singular plurals, pronunciation and writing of the Devanagari script – all in my first four Hindi lessons by Sunil.
Each class is only one and a half hours – with half the time spent learning something new and the other half with me eeking out barely comprehensible sentences at a pace of one word per minute. Intense indeed. My brain twitches and overheats often, my muscles tense and my eyes itch from extreme concentration – but, I am progressing, somewhat. “I sometimes watch Hindi films in India” is becoming natural – “Main kabhi kabhi hindi filmen dekhta hun.” It is the “Your older sister is not cooking food now because she is washing her expensive clothes in the room outside of the house behind the lake” where I begin to have some difficulties.
The classroom is a tiny concrete room in a small, crumbling yellow building on the side of a hill. From the one window I can stare down across the massive valley below all the way to Dharamsala, the scenery dotted with colorful Tibetan houses and prayer flags. It would be an inspiring place to learn, if I could only take a second every now and then to glance out at this magnificent view. Unfortunately, even a millisecond of not focusing on Sunil’s small whiteboard results in a serious interruption of the flow. As time presses on and my brain starts to reach its absolute limit of information intake, my entire body relaxes in one great wave of calm when I finally hear the words, “Bahut accha, Derek. Kal milenge.” – “Very good Derek, see you tomorrow.”
I am then forced to spend several hours decompressing completely, usually by roaming aimlessly around the village and its surroundings with the awareness of a cucumber.
When my brain begins to function yet again, I stroll along the scenic and peaceful mountainside path that loops around the Dalai Lama’s temple. It ends at the entrance to the temple where I join the daily candlelight vigils taking place each evening. Hundreds of local Tibetans and foreigners take an hour to listen to the chants of the monks and offer their prayers of peace for the people inside of Tibet and for all living beings around the world. Twenty-five monks, ranging in age from 12 to 70, on an indefinite hunger strike in order to draw attention to the Tibetan cause, chant quietly in the background.
Upon its conclusion, I follow the procession along the mile-long route back into the village. It is now time for me to go to my favorite Indian restaurant, eat some korma, dal and rice and practice my Hindi.
As I try my best to order a cup of tea (“Ek chai dijiega”) and ask the ten-year old waiter if he plays the guitar (“Kya ap guitar bajate hain?”), Air Supply’s “Making Love Out of Nothing At All” suddenly blasts out from the restaurant’s speakers and I find myself humming to the tune instead, my overworked brain trying desperately to cling to something familiar.
Apka din accha ha (Have a nice day!)
Tags: Hindi, India, McLeod Ganj
dbaron
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