While conversing with an out-of-Bombay associate, one mentioned an oft-used Parsi Gujarati phrase. Instead of the usual comeback there was silence and a look of puzzlement. The person was not that conversant with Gujarati, having grown up in an environment where English, Hindi and Urdu are more frequently spoken.
Not all Parsis are so privileged to have knowledge of Gujarati. While earlier generations often conversed in the vernacular, today friends, colleagues, school, college and professional mates are more relaxed chatting in a mix of languages comprising mainly English and a smattering of Hindi. The use of Parsi Gujarati is often restricted to one’s family and close friends (see "The languishing language,” pg 46). Over the years, as Bombay state was bifurcated into Gujarat and Maharashtra, and Bombay city was incorporated in the latter, Gujarati, and especially Parsi Gujarati, was relegated to a secondary position. The dialect was viewed as a poor relative of shuddh (pure) Gujarati, more likened to cockney English, spoken by those whose command of the language was inadequate or lacking in sophistication.
And yet as explains English-Gujarati translator and linguist Aban Mukherji in her article (see "A distinct dialect,” pg 38), quoting scholar Dr Urmi Desai, "Parsi Gujarati should not be defined as an inferior variety of Gujarati. It was a language/dialect with its own rules, a grammar and syntax and its own vocabulary too — drawing heavily on Farsi and to some extent Arabic words.”
Having acknowledged the language’s cultural stature how do we go about preserving such an intangible but valuable asset? Unlike an artifact or manuscript we cannot preserve it by placing it under a display case or treating the substrata chemically to lengthen its life. But we can record and digitize the language and its usage. In many teaching centers, students are made to listen to recordings of a language so they grasp and learn the proper pronunciations and inflections.
Classes for learning Avesta and Pahlavi have drawn an enthusiastic response from community members wanting to be informed of their religious linguistic heritage. Iranians are teaching their brethren Farsi and Dari.
Language is more than just words. Up to 90% can be nonverbal. One has to know which words to emphasize. An exasperated parent snapping at a child "Bè minute moogie rèhsé (will you be quiet for two minutes)?” carries an impact if accompanied by appropriate tone and body language.
Today we have the tools to preserve oral traditions and language. The question is: how much time, money and effort should we devote to preserving one aspect of our heritage over another? This is an academic question. No one debated whether we should divert our resources to publish a book on the Delhi Parsis or restore and make relevant the F. D. Alpaiwalla Museum. There was no question of either/or. Funds were raised for both projects independent of each other; knowledgeable people came forward and lent their expertise and time.
All these ventures were undertaken by independent organizations, individuals, families and institutions. They may or may not have involved money from charitable trusts (the Alpaiwalla Museum was restored through substantial funding by the Government of India especially earmarked for creating and preserving community museums).
If some organizations or individuals venture to preserve Parsi Gujarati, many would come forward to support such a worthwhile and culturally enriching cause, not least being the state government and universities. Parsi anjumans and punchayets would lend their mite. The Gujarat anjumans always bemoan the fall from grace of the language amongst community members. But they and others have done precious little to institutionalize or perpetuate Parsi Gujarati. The Gujarat anjumans have the financial muscle, the academic backing and a sound knowledge of the subject to preserve this cherished heritage. Unfortunately The Federation of the Parsi Zoroastrian Anjumans of India (FPZAI) is no longer functioning to lend moral and all-India support, being mired in governmental bureaucratic compliances like the filing of change reports that strangle many nongovernmental organizations. But there is nothing to prevent interested anjumans from taking the initiative and forging ahead on projects.
Language is a potent and emotive issue. Wars have been fought over which language is to be spoken and where. Political parties have built their power base on linguistic lines. In a cosmopolitan city like Bombay one reads about shopkeepers, taxi drivers or watchmen being beaten up because they spoke a language with which they were more conversant versus one in which they were not.
One can still remember litterateur Dr Ratan Marshall enthralling the audience gathered for the FPZAI meets organized by the Surat Parsi Panchayat in the 1970s. His oratory had the audience spellbound. One bonus when attending the FPZAI meets in Gujarat was to hear the language spoken by purists like Marshall and Ahmedabad Parsi Panchayat (APP) trustee Dr Armaity Davar. Out-of-towners were always self-conscious when speaking in Gujarati in case they used an inappropriate phrase, tense, or pronounced the words incorrectly.
At a gahanbar in Bilimora, a trustee asked the Parsiana representative whether he had eaten. When the reply "Khadhoo (eaten)” was enunciated, the gathering around the trustee guffawed. Though the answer was technically correct (as affirmed by our late in-house linguist Farrokh Jijina) the usage in that locale apparently was not. Of course as journalists we are too thick-skinned by training to let an incident like this deter us from articulating in the vernacular; even so, it was a discomfiting experience.
Preserving one’s linguistic culture comes at a cost. If you try and inculcate knowledge and love of the language from childhood, school admission may prove troublesome if the interviews are conducted in English. The vernacular upbringing is then sacrificed at the altar of gaining admission. Somewhere between convenience and custom one must strike a balance.