Being a Parsi in this generation means dealing with a legacy that seems just out of reach ("The languishing language,” Parsiana, August 7-20, 2025). We grew up hearing our grandparents and elders speaking Gujarati at home. We pick up the meanings, the tone, the emotion -- but when it is time to respond we answer in English. Bit by bit, there is a growing disconnect with our legacy.
The phrase "I can understand but I can’t speak” has become a collective confession. It slips out with a shrug, half-apologetic, half-resigned. It’s what we say at weddings when elders switch to Gujarati mid-conversation. It’s what we mutter at navjote ceremonies, during Parsi nataks, or when someone cracks a joke we half-get but can’t quite follow. There is a unique kind of loneliness in being surrounded by a language that we recognize, one which is supposed to be ours, but one that we can’t speak.
This manifests sometimes as just a flicker of awareness. It’s the slight hesitation when our grandparents speak, that split-second delay before we nod, trying to piece together the meaning from the rhythm and tone. We’re part of it, but not quite in sync. And then it dawns on us: it is not only about language. It is all about identity. There is something inside us waiting to be discovered, waiting for the chance to come alive. For Parsis, losing Gujarati means the loss of access to our own stories and history passed down through generations; stories that come alive through idioms, inflection and tone.
Without a voice we are detached from our culture. The terms of endearment, the jokes that go over our heads, the blessings and scoldings not sounding quite the same in translation.
It’s a step closer to silence. For when a culture stops speaking its language, it begins to disappear.
We are the generation that grew up in a globalized environment, with our schooling in English, living in the digital world that did not require knowledge of Gujarati. Even our jobs and daily interactions made us often think that Gujarati was optional. We began to regard it as an accessory rather than the anchor it should be.
Maybe it’s the first step -- recognizing that something is missing. Maybe we need to stop saying "I can’t speak,” to sit with our grandparents and ask them to speak slowly, to repeat, not switch to English when we hesitate. Because language isn’t just about words. It’s about preserving our culture and heritage.