In defence of English

A few years ago, when I sat down with Sumanto Chattopdhyay—known and loved by netizens as “The English Nut”, the friendly neighbourhood English language obsessive—I quickly realised that he is no snob in matters linguistic, nor is he an Anglophile. All too often in India, loving English is looked upon as a sin worthy of perdition: You love English and its literature? Well, then you are likely to be sneered at and, through gritted teeth, told that you are a relic the British left behind to look down, as they once had, on those of your fellow Indians who cannot speak English as well as you. Such derision is all the more strident and searing if, instead of belonging to an elite section of Indian society, you happen to be middle class. Because what right, then, have you, or so the logic goes, to be proficient in English or claim to love its literature? Also, as eyes narrow and brows furrow, you are charged with being deracinated—because, surely, you must be cut off from your roots and disdainful of your national and civilisational heritage if you love English, right?

Wrong. As an Indian writer of both fiction and non-fiction in English, I have argued for as long as I can remember that language is largely a vehicle, meant to carry your readers to the destination you wish to transport them to. Just as a car designed and manufactured in Germany or the United States or Japan can bestride Indian roads with aplomb, so too can an authentically Indian tale—or voice—transmute itself into English and spill forth onto the page, to be comprehended as unmistakably Indian, as wholly desi, as the works of many post-colonial Indian authors writing in English, including mine, have been. Lest we forget, this is also a tongue in which we wrested our country back from British thraldom, marshalling English in our crusade against Englishmen and striking back at the Empire in its own language. This was an enterprise helmed by R.C. Dutt, Dinshaw Wacha, and Dadabhai Naoroji in the late nineteenth century, and Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru in the twentieth. We Indians, let us never forget, have long had a penchant to Indianise all things foreign, and this we have done not only with cuisines (such as Chinese, since Indian Chinese is a sizzling breed of its own), but also languages -- in particular English, with Indian English transmogrifying a colonial remnant into a pragmatic and utilitarian tool for effective communication. While I have roundly debunked the notion that English was a gift of an enlightened British despotism in my book An Era of Darkness: The British Empire in India, one cannot overlook some of its positive upshots. Foremost among these are its roles as a conduit for knowledge and a great bridge, interlinking Indians from different regions of our enormous nation and, simultaneously, India with the world at large, allowing us to play many an indispensable role on the international stage.

Sumanto understands this, of course. Back in 2019, when he first slipped on the persona of The English Nut and began making weekly videos—decidedly whimsical and witty—on the nuances of the English language, on vocabular and etymology, grammar and syntax, he was merely channelling an irrepressible curiosity, which had defined him since his earliest days, into a new avenue. Here, he and others like him (and I plead guilty to belonging to their ranks!) could together examine—and exult in—the foibles of English. Over the years, this etymological egghead has entertained, enlightened, educated, and enriched countless Indians, among them many youngsters, with the wonders of this language. Whereas I, as a child, built up my vocabulary by indiscriminate reading -- encountering a new word in different contexts and deducing what it means -- Sumanto (enamoured of the newness of a word hitherto unseen and unheard) would start guessing what it might mean. He would then rush to his parents, demanding to know whether his guesses were accurate. Thus was planted the seedling that would, in time, blossom into The English Nut. Yet, for Sumanto, it was never words for their own sake, or for the sake of constructing a formidable vocabulary. Instead, as he evocatively writes, words became for him “not just carriers of meaning, but tiny time capsules, holding … within themselves … fragments of history, culture, and human ingenuity.”

Words and their origins, language and its numberless uses: these are for Sumanto reminders that language, with which our paths to each other’s minds and hearts are paved, “is a lens through which we view the world, and that lens is constantly being polished, scratched and refashioned.” Therefore, to examine a language and the words and rules—of grammar, syntax, and so on—that mould it is to behold, in whichever age and part of the world you may be, the ceaseless passage of time, the endless turning of the wheel of history.

“Language,” writes Sumanto, “is not static; it breathes, it grows, it adapts.” This is especially true of English, which has long been an ever-flowing stream, washing over the shores of numerous nations—thanks largely to British colonialism, which in time placed it at the heart of globalisation and international diplomacy—and imbibing words, idioms, and expressions from vastly diverse, often disparate, cultures: from Persian to French, Hindi to Latin, Greek to Germany. Today, far from being an arsenal under British control, English is a linguistic potpourri, resonant with the echoes and refrains of every civilisation it has ever come into contact with. But even though it is a kaleidoscopic reflection of an ever-intermingling world, this fact is largely lost on us. Thankfully, Sumanto is here with this delightful volume, Stories of Words and Phrases, to remind us of this.

Writing that words “are windows into the cultural and historical forces that shaped them, and us,” Sumanto beckons us to join him on an exhilarating voyage down the warrens of time and history, where we encounter not only words but entire cultures and civilisations, and where we are whisked across the globe not in aircraft or trains but by that greatest vehicle of all time—language. In doing so, Sumanto brings us face to face with facets of our world we are oblivious to. Far from being a sedate examination of the origins of the words we commonly use—mistakenly believing that they have been part of English all along—this is an exciting and informative chronicle of how some of the most popular and commonplace English words and phrases acquired their meanings. Indeed, as Sumanto leads us to discover, many of them have no relation whatsoever with anything Anglo-Saxon! As this wonderful word guide writes: “What’s fascinating is how these words and phrases, once bound to specific contexts, have transcended their original meaning.”

All in all, Sumanto endeavours to inform us not only of where the words we use—and take for granted—come from, but also of where they lead us. These words, says he, “reveal the shared human experience that underpins the English language, linking us to generations past, present, and future.” In his inimitably curious and companionable way, Sumanto Chattopadhyay reminds us that every word we utter carries echoes of history, culture, and human imagination—of civilisations lost and those yet to be discovered. Thus, Stories of Words and Phrases is not merely a probe into the origins of modern English, but also—and more important—a testament to our shared history and shared stories, to relate and record which we devised language, one word at a time.