Everytime I get a phone call from home, I usually end up freaking out a friend/bystander, because I'm speaking a strange language, which sounds like it came from beyond the Himalayas. Which usually leads to the following inquisition.
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Q: What was that??
A: That was the Konkani language. I'm a Konkani.
Q: You're a what?
A: A Konkani. That means that I speak the language, and that I am a part of a very exclusive group. Hah! Bet you didn't know Deepika Padukone was one of us. Or Vijay Mallya.
Q: You have a separate language for yourself?
A: Yes, we do. And unless you are one of us, I don't think you'll understand a word of it. If you know Marathi, you might understand some of the words, and this works both ways. I can understand some Marathi.
Q: So say something in your language.
A: No! Besides, you'd either squawk or keel over laughing. You're not ready yet.
Q: Ah. So how did you learn it?
A: The same way you learnt your Hindi/Malayalam/Tamil. I learnt it from everyone at home speaking it.
Q: Waitaminnit. So you don't speak Malayalam at home?
A: No. I'm not a Malayali.
Q: How does that work? Aren't you from Kerala?
A: No, I'm not a Malayali, if that's what you mean.
Q: So where are you from?
A: Sigh. I'm from Kerala, but I'm not a Malayali.
Q: Er.......
A: It could be, and I'm just taking a wild stab in the dark here, that my ancestors settled down in Kerala?
Q: Ohhhh. So where are you really from?
A: Goa. All Konkanis are originally from Goa. But they spread out across the coast, primarily to avoid persecution at the hands of the Portuguese invaders. Yeah, those times. That's how far away my Goan connection is.
Q: Whoa, so you are, in a way, Goan.
A: Not really, I probably wouldn't understand a word in Goan Konkani.
Q: There are types?
A: Yeah. We are spread out across the Konkan Coast. Starting from Goa, we settled down in Maharashtra, Karnataka and pockets in Kerala. I am from the small group that reached Cochin.
Q: So how are all of them different?
A: Well, each of these regions had an influence on our way of speaking. You will see a pronounced difference in the way a Mangalorean and a Kochikkar speak, even though they are speaking the same language. The words are mostly the same, but somewhere in between, a word with heavy local influence will pop up and confusion will reign.
For example, "sugar". Kochi Konkanis call it "paindhaar", obvious influence of the Mallu word for sugar "panjasaara". The Mangaloreans call it "sakkar", which is more of a Marathi influence, I guess. So when a Mangalorean asks a Kochikkar if he wants "sakkar" in his coffee, the other will probably say no, "paindhaar" is fine.
Q: Whew. Complicated language.
A: Don't you guys have dialects? Do you understand every version of Hindi/Malayalam/Tamil? It's the same thing.
Q: So your Mom and Dad are both Konkanis?
A: Yes. My dad is from Kochi and, mom from Mangalore.
Q: Tell me something in Konkani?
A: Like what? Do NOT say "My name is ........."
Q: Dammit. Ok, how do you say "I want something to eat."?
A: Are you sure you're ready for this?
Q: Yeah. Absolutely. Bring it on.
A: Now, when I say it you do NOT keel over laughing.
Q: Oh. Ok?
A: "Makka ittheyi khanvchaak jaai."
Q: Wha?! What IS that?
A: Yes, that is how we speak.
Q: Explain the words in that.
A: Makka - "For me"
ittheyi - spoken with a nasal tone - means "anything"/"something"
khanvchaak - again, the n denotes a nasal tone - means "to eat"
jaayi - "want".
Q: Whoa.
A: Yeah, whoa.
Q: So you guys are like this totally different culture and everything?
A: Well again, a lot of regional influence, but yeah we have our own temples, our own customs and traditions, our own diet, our own way of talking.
Q: What kinda diet?
A: Konkani dishes are, well, different. For example, any Kochi Konkani worth his "meett" (salt) must have tried the Pathrodo, atleast once in his life. So what is it? It's a kind of roll, made out of Colocasia leaves. I'm pretty sure that no-one had any idea you could actually eat that stuff till we turned up, and tadaaa.
Q: Ah. Interesting. So about your name, "Bhat". Is that a common Konkani name?
A: Yes. "Shenoy", "Pai", "Kamath", "Prabhu" are some of the others. A "Bhat" is usually a priest. As was was my great-grandfather. My grandfather was the first in my family to pursue a career outside of priesthood. These surnames were usually indicative of the person's trade in the "days of yore". Like a "bhat" being a priest, a "Prabhu" was usually a landlord, "Pai"s were businessmen (yeah, we are genetically inclined towards it), and the "Mallan"s/"Mallya"s were , well, bodybuilders.
Q: So you could be a priest?
A: Technically, yes.
Q: Do you know all the rituals and everything?
A: No, which is why I'm not one. But after my upanayanam, I used to do the morning pooja at my house.
Q: Upanayanam? What is that?
A: That is the Thread Ceremony. It signifies that the person is now truly a Brahmin.
Q: You're a Brahmin? Then how come you eat meat?
A: Er, why not? I believe, "faith" should be in the mind, not the stomach.
Q: Ah. Wow, interesting.
A: Aren't we all?
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Secretly, I love freaking people out like that. It's fun to see the double-takes, and faces with that "/:S" expression when they hear me speak. Like Ashan says "the language from before God's existence".
But undoubtedly, the funniest came last Republic Day Celebrations at the hospital where my dad works. My sister and I were watching the proceedings from the back, and talking to each other in Konkani. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guard trying to make sense, and miserably failing to do so. Finally, he decided he couldn't take any more, and leaned over to ask, in patchy Hindi, "Kidhar ka aadmi hai?" ("Where are you from?"), Mallu accent and all. "Ivide okke thanne ullatha, chettaa" ("I'm from around these parts."), I replied, in perfect Malayalam. The double-take and the sheepish laugh? Priceless.
