- Translation is a unique creative skills. Drawing analogy with painting, translation is not drawing from memory but sketching something already placed in front of you. It is reproduction finally taking its own independent ‘original’ form, yet not too distant from The Original.
- There is very little one-to-one correspondence in source and target languages. Do not try to achieve that. Lexicon just serves as a reference knowledge-base. Many readers misconstrue translation as simply finding the right word, but the core skill here is creating a sentence.
- The foremost prerequisite of translation is, therefore, skillful reading to grasp the authorial intent and not letting it damped by the noise. No two translations of the same text will be similar because of varying construction of sentences, and not mere choice of words.
- This is not to undervalue the choice of words. Word is the container of reality. Choices necessarily impart a cultural transformation. If a word or term can be reduced to a cultural equivalent, simply go for that reduction rather than simplistic orthographic transformation.
- However, if there is a precedence for this adoption, then prefer precedence rather than a new choice (or coinage). Two principles here: 1) In reduction vs orthographic rendering, go for the former; 2) but if that rendering has already happened, go with the precedence.
- More on choice of words: whenever there’s a deadlock between being faithful to originally intended meaning vs one of your ‘interpretations’ of the text component, try to choose a word which is probabilistically closer to original intention. Control the urge to damp the original.
- Often there’s a deadlock between accuracy of rendering vs aesthetical pleasure of reading. Always go with the latter. Readers of translations are not likely to pick the original unless they are critics. Expand the original (a little) rather than coming out bland in translation.
- Expansion doesn’t mean transforming the actual flavor. Remember that you are invisible yet visible. Do not take over the text from the author and hand it over to reader as your own. Key is to keep it as ambiguous as the original. Leave the reader with his beloved struggles.
- Take liberty to deviate from literal renderings. After two iterations, just read it without referencing original. Remove jumps, pointed corners. Sentences might break into two from original constructions, but smoothness of reading must not be compromised in target language.
- A usual compliment that the work does not look like translation might not be such a great feedback. It means you are invisible to the extent of becoming extinct. Do not let the author take you over as well. Translation must come like a translation and should be read as such.
If cyber-sphere is modeled as a hyper-plane, social media is essentially the hyper-reality. Our familiar, phenomenally well understood, mentally well characterized real world where we normally interact in variety of complex ways reduces itself to text and images in this hyper-plane. It can be mathematically understood as a unidirectional mapping where inverse transformation is never possible. Once joining the hyper-plane, each one of us is liable to undergo a reduction. Twitter reduces us to tweety, chirpy, usually shrill, spontaneous outburst; we are reduced to 140+ characters. Facebook works differently but still a reduction of sorts; for instance, you have to essentially model your liking as a binary choice; it is not possible to put forth an emotional response between a ‘like’ and a ‘ha ha’. No, you can’t just smile or pose as peeping and finally looking away after reading with approval or disapproval.
Most of our so-called quasi-ideological diatribes in this hyper-real world are merely childish indulgences because we are reduced to little bellicose automata by virtue of our simple presence in this hyper-plane. We froth and fulminate through text and emojis; arm-wrestle with words and phrases; use wordy arms to hug each other, wordy swords to cut through each other’s heart and wordy dark holes to throw each other in the dark depths of no return.
The key is in keep reminding ourselves that this is not the reality but a reduced hyper-plane; an inadvertent technological ploy to give us a semblance of extension, whereas, it is in fact a compromised reduction.
The so-called ‘impolite’, politically incorrect do not undergo much suffering since their ability to bluntly vent out is further enhanced in the hyper-plane, owing to reduced proximity and increased social disengagement with the real world objects of their critique.
Unfortunately, those coming here with their real worldly politically correct, always euphemising, normally-hypocritical otherwise ‘decent’ mannerism suffer more. They seldom loud-think in the real world; always psychologically aware of social bounds, always keeping thought a little inward, usually afraid of state’s tools of oppression against various kinds of dissent, trying hard not to loose their genteel demeanor, generally men and women donning various pretty masks. Hyper-reality forces them to remove their masks, their salesmanship demeanor, their bank manager smile, their one-window problem-solving agent’s to-the-point demand of concreteness, or their judicial or martial authoritativeness.
Although hyper-reality is a reduced language game, even if you belong to the latter group, you can play enjoyably by realizing that it is essentially a reduction where lots and lots of textual blocks can help you survive without existential suffering of no one paying heed to your genteel real-world pep talk. This meliorative frill borrowed from the real world becomes hogwash in hyper-plane if not supplied with exact amounts cut from or added into, thereby self-inducing a necessary transformation of your whole communicative self. The key is never to judge your interlocutor too much, too soon, and beyond the necessity of the immediate hyper-real social engagement.
Practically speaking, it is all about cognitive thresholds and skills to control ourselves in not reading too much or writing too obtusely. Both have serious implications in any conversation because interlocutors are not face to face as in the real world, there are no moderators, and there are not always and equally valid discernible points of argument. Discussions go round and round and automatically derail if one immediately calls something ‘uncivilized’ in the midst of an argument because then it is obvious that a definition of civilization is being implied by a belligerently disagreeing psychology speaking supposedly from a higher pedestal. The other equally belligerent automaton-like interlocutor is liable to wonder whether a discussion on verbiage and idiom is being invited. Hence, another derailleur, more cycling, incessant pedaling.
In a nutshell, ideology-laden adjectives or labels, unless supplied with lots of supporting textual chunks, prove too loaded for the hyper-plane.
Therefore, while coming across the psychologically uninitiated in the mannerism of language games, it is basically a service to use more direct, unambiguous, light and off-loaded genteel terms such as ‘ridiculous’, ‘delusional’, or simply ‘nonsense’. The uninitiated would cry ‘foul’, call it unjust, indecent, or over-intellectualizing snobbery without realizing that this is in fact a service to both parties. Everyone cannot participate equally well in potentially infinite language games and after all, hyper-plane does not come with infinite time anyway.
If these men and women with lovely masks are not fanatics, they would know when to disengage and move on to some other useless conversation taking place in cyber-nook somewhere else.
Always remember that here in this hyper-real language game, in this macro-cosmic psychological universe, in this microcosmic egoist cocoon, we are not forced with the liability of real engagement, the agony of actually seeing each other in real, personal spaces.
It is at the time of devastating existential tragedies that the question about the true nature of sympathy and empathy always comes up, and the emotional triggers that evoke responses based on them; the question of national cohesion and societal being, the communal, racial, geographical ‘other’; the question whether national boundaries do or do not overlap the ancient sociological boundaries.
In times such as these, this ‘other’ no more lurks in the timeworn verbal tunnels of sociological vocabularies but personifies itself, stands up and stare in your face.
What is wrong when you realize that the mere knowledge of the loss of two hundred odd lives is not enough to spark off the plumbing apparatus that produces the lachrymal secretions we otherwise call tears in the tradition of our remnant poetic state? Or has the relation between social events and wholesale collective emotive been permanently broken? The collective psychology no more drives the collective biology, or vice versa.
What is the mystery of feeling — or not-feeling — the extreme, heart-breaking pain in the suffering of ‘others’? Is it just another unsolved Darwinian riddle waiting for new anthropological paradigms, the paradigms of pain and suffering which only work in classrooms?
True that images and words, elegies and panegyrics can work wonders with collective emotional states since times immemorial but are these the necessary conditions to experience suffering? Why must we need images of pain and stories of suffering to evoke allegedly empathetic emotional outbursts? Isn’t the perennial discussion about priorities of media already become trite with repeated overuse? Why can’t we just reach out to the nearest person in the street and find a shoulder to cry on; or for that matter offer ours?
Can the difference between true absolute empathy and artificially induced one can be quantified concretely?
Doesn’t weeping just need solitude with oneself in the memory of those distant ones whom one has never met and there is no chance to meet? Isn’t it just enough to see the face of one’s own child and feel the pain of the one in a distant land who has just lost his parent?
So you look up and see a little innocent face who is super excited for the football match that is going to be telecast in a little more than 24 hours, while another leviathan going by the name of ISIS continues to knock the door outside, and would presumably keep doing so for the next decade. You ask yourself whether you are any different than this child and feel unable to gauge the exact degree of your nonchalance with respect to his innocence. Listlessly switching on the television, you scroll through social media in search of images of suffering and solemness, but instead find battlegrounds where factions of society are engaged in self-defeating duels and endless diatribes, labs where the ideals of virtue and justice are transformed into vengeance and nemesis, and markets where sociopolitical hatred is bought and sold as a civic passion.
You look around and ultimately realize that despite all the taxonomic transformations, there is still a hint of sorrow lurking deep inside many of your animal-kind; but then you skeptically revisit and wonder if it is really pain, that is, the heartache, the true primordial grief that binds us in what it means to be human, and at least reduces the distance of ‘this-self’ and the ‘other’, if not diminishes it completely?
You reflect on, go on round after round, and neither the ambivalence, nor the listlessness and nonchalance give the slightest hint to go away. Dreadfully, you ask yourself if you are still human and there is a deafening silence; not as much as a driblet drops inside you.
Reading Borges is a very strange loopy business; loopy in the sense of running over on an Escherian stairwell; over and over again.
The thing is that if you somehow share his dreamer’s soul, his magic would inevitably possess your imagination. Here is how it happens.
You start reading him as any other ordinary reader and your very first experience would be sheer amazement; it is not any ordinary sense of wonder which is usual with mystical, magical realism; it is rather an utterly life-size astonishment, a sense of everything being taken up to another imaginative frame of reference. In other words, right from the onset, he overpowers you by drawing you into an imaginative labyrinth, a maze so to speak.
You immediately realize that he is unlike Gabriel Garcia; in a different league than Julio Cartazar; not like Philip Dick, Neil Gaiman, Paul Auster either; not even Umberto Eco or Ryunosuke Akutagawa. But you can’t stop asking yourself what kind of a writer he is?
Your reader’s proclivity for tagging desperately try to compartmentalize him in various traditions; you ask yourself if he is modern, post-modern, mystic-metaphysical, magical realist, detective classical, satirist and so on, but you miserably fail.
The question arises whether he is a writer at all, that is, writer in the sense of formally communicating authorial intention to a reader’s mind through a written word?
At this point, you have to make an important decision, that is, do you want to find your way through this maze or turn back? The problem is that before even starting, right at the first step into the maze, your reader’s hunch tells you that it is probably a life-long journey. But if you are a constant-reader, you would brush aside this hunch; after all, you have seen many writers, your constant wayfaring has taken you through many other fantastic la la lands.
So you decide to stick with him and because of very short nature of his literary pieces, you would inevitably imbibe him not as a whole lot but in a more or less scattered fashion, just as if you are a cave-trooper or bird-watcher.
A little time passes and you finally realize that you are deep down into the maze; you look at your feet and wonder about that moment in the distant past when you have stopped walking and started running.
You would realize this eerie fact only if you are his soul-mate: all this time you are not reading a Writer, per se; you are, in fact, literally, reading a Reader. Can you ever finish reading a reader?
A reader, unlike a writer, has nothing to do with the so-called authorial landscapes of semiotics; the whole pragmatics are not only turned upside down, it is essentially transformed; or is it disfigured, in the popular literary sense? Not if you are his soul-mate, that is, you are truly a Borgesian reader. And that is what all this maze-running, path-finding, is about: it is all about finding our whether you are a true Borgesian reader, whether you belong to the Borgesian universe.
And herein lies the key question: are you a Borgesian reader? It is not about being ‘true’ Borgesian reader. There is no semblance to being a semi, pseudo or incomplete Borgesian reader. You simply are or you are not.
But what about Borges himself? Who is he in this reader’s universe? Does he really exist or is he — by his own standard of fiction being the ultimately precise description of reality — is a fictional by product of his own imagination? If you are a true Borgesian maze-runner, at some point of time while catching your breath, you are bound to wonder whether he exists at all.
He is a magician who sees through his blindness and makes immortality as reasonable a fact as the very next moment after this one. Running hours and hours through his fictional labyrinths, you would later pass your days and nights carrying his non-fictional maps through these labyrinths. Read his fiction and you would desperately want to know the man, the illusionist supplying this sublime experience, you would wonder about the method behind this madness. Read his non-fiction and you would still want to know him; or you would ask if there is a method at all? After all, the question of method presumes an organisation, a concrete elaboration, a layout, innit?
You would wonder about this unique literary philosophy of taking innumerable metaphysical perplexities and just ordering them physically into tangible, readable, almost touchable words. Is there a name for it?
His short non-fictional pieces, like everything else he has written, are glimpses of his inner dialogues. At times, the reader is forced to ask himself if these are monologues, mere soliloquies! But then one ultimately realizes that here is a definitive reader who is trying to speak during the gaps between his silent readings, a reader trying to write through his way into the wonderful universe of readings.
In the process, Borges would teach you a lot, and guide you towards many unknown places; places where he is almost sure that you would get lost. But then you realize that his ultimate aim is to let yourself loose into the darkness of mind and psyche, where the only illuminating lamps are those of myths.
Often he would make a subtle point by blending the world of here and now, and the world of there and then to such an extent that the blend is just enough; enough in a sense that he must not let you agree or disagree with him. At other times, you can agree or disagree but then when you are through with your own introspection, you are bound to come back to him and whisper very close to his ever-listening ear that you have finally realized; you have realized that agreements and disagreements do not matter for wayfarers of these mysterious worlds.
To pinpoint his philosophy is to try to delimit him into the same archetypal compartments which are reserved for Writers; but if it is still necessary, the only possible characterization of him would be a metaphysical trickster. His metaphysical tricks are too diverse and complex to be understood in their totality; he refutes time, apply classical paradoxes of motion and space in amazing new ways, creates geometric and numeral puzzles, and supplies fresh perspectives to ways of questioning the objective reality. We can call him a prankster who likes to play practical jokes with the world around and within us, our spatio-temporal and atomistic conceptions of it, and finally our notions of destiny, life and death. Not a philosopher in any academic sense of the world, he seems like an idealist who finally decides to create a whole new world to play the biggest practical joke on nominalism in the history of philosophy.
All the usual border-lines belonging to our conceptual worlds eventually blur in his universe; he merges dream and reality; he merges life and death; he merges the microcosm and macrocosm; and in the process his fiction and nonfiction.
Running through the maze, you finally reckon that the terminus is finally approaching. You almost completely finish his fictional, poetical and non fictional works, a sip at a time, not big gulps; you may take three to five years if you remain true to your wanderer’s self, belonging to many diverse textual universes at the same time. In these years, you would come across many keys to his labyrinths, his peculiar logico-mathematical indulgences, his diverse and at times, archaic sources, foreign unknown mythologies, words and terminologies whose meanings are not even turned up through wikipedia and google searches, Borgesian dictionaries patched up enthusiasts and much more. You would go through scores of movie reviews and prologues he has written, small fragments, interviews, conversations, lectures and even pick up and smell his posthumously translated course on English literature. If you are a translator, you would certainly feel compelled to translate him into your own local color and listen yourself loudly reading him in your own language.
But where do you end up after all this? Is there a way to get out of the maze with the intention of never looking back? To finally claim that you have finished reading Borges? The way you probably claim that you have read Kafka, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy or scores of any other life-size writers for that matter!
No, you simply cannot. You must remember that this figure of language is only reserved for the writers. You can not just part with the only writing-reader in the whole world of textual adventure; you can’t just get of the maze which has pretty much become a part of you in all those years or incessant running.
You must remember that there is a reader’s universe, and there is a writer’s universe and then there is a hybrid, complexly intertwined, loopy universe where boundaries between reader and the writer blur, and finally diminish.
You must realize that all this time, you were not just running through the maze, you were, in fact, taking part in creating, procreating, extending it inwards as well as outwards.
You must realize that if you are a Borgesian reader (and there are not many), you would certainly reread, and reread, and keep on reading Borges in an infinite regression-progression; and hence, this Escherian loopy business. Remember that if you finally discover yourself as a Borgesian reader, rereading Borges is your ultimate yoga if you want to be immortal.
Some of the most opinionated and self-righteous people on both sides of the spectrum have decided to pronounce harsh criticism instead of calm serenity, engulfing darkness instead of enshrouding light and hate that divides instead of love that gathers; all of that at a moment of tragedy that took away, among many others, a cultural icon whom all of us loved at one point of our lives or the other and only few of us ended up hating.
One wonders what is more harmful to the society in a broader perspective: self-righteous loudness of the puritans or the self-righteous grossness of their detractors?
Will JJ be remembered for being a musical icon who spread love with his beautiful melodies, a man who followed his heart in brave transformation into a preacher who used all his talents and energies to call humanity to what he considered to be truth, and expressed his love with melodious tunes praising God and Prophet? Or will he be remembered for his solitary, at times confused, at times deluded opinions which he visibly misinterpreted as religious injunctions?
Isn’t it too obvious what should be a more reasonable choice regarding what we should retain in our collective memories and what we should disregard as transient, unwanted noise?
Later nasheeds or earlier classic pop hits; its time to sing the legacy of JJ. As for the party-poopers, we can just quote Jesus: let him who has never sinned cast the first stone.
I criticized many of his opinions at the time they were proffered. But now when he met a tragic accident, it is very interesting to see some of the references to JJ’s alleged ‘bigotry’ and ‘misogyny’ as if there are some platonic supra-rational behavioristic ideals out there, and those mourning and remembering good things about him are somehow idolizing, or at least, condoning those not-so-bright peripheries of his public persona too.
Many of us might be indifferent but what is interesting here is the mysterious well intended inner trigger that provokes some to come out among the mourners and say that they are simply indifferent, as if keeping your indifference to yourself might be an ethical hypocrisy. It makes it more interestingly mysterious that it seems well intended.
But we must realize that in his death, we can be indifferent to his musically ethereal and spiritually enlightening memories or we can be indifferent to his delusions, (mis)interpretations, (mis)representations, and therefore the so-called bigotry or misogyny. Choice is pretty much binary. Do the cost-benefit analysis.
Coming back, what can be the name of this psychological attitude? Is it another form of puritanical zeal which is ambiguous enough to cause an inadvertent emotive outburst? Is it general misanthropy towards a cultural milieu, a sense of false belonging to somewhere else, a Utopian Weltanschauung out there in the depths of mind?
On a slightly different note, we criticize endlessly the world-views and opinions that we abhor for one reason or the other but ultimately it matters what we remember of each other, especially those of us who are gifted to create.
Is it too difficult to know ourselves?
All of us are empty at times, all of us struggle, find out ways to fill our inner voids; some of us write, some of us compose, some of us draw, and some of us choose to preach good; at times we fill ourselves with hate, at times with love, at times we are brimming with hope and at times there is nothing inside; not even dreams. We can be charming, reasonable, manic-depressive, irrational imbecile, intuitively incapacitated, superstitious and celestially enlightened at the same time.
Everyone of us have a dark side only visible from a bystander’s standpoint, and we are pathological rationalizers of our inners fantasms. But in the end, only the bits and pieces of memories we leave to the world matter.
What do we remember of John Lennon? His music or his abuse towards his wife and child? Now that he is a nanogenarian, what will be the ultimate legacy of Jerry Lewis? His comic creativity and the pleasure that he gave to generations of admirers or his occasional muscular spasms and pratfalls mocking people with disabilities? What do our memories pronounce of Frank Sinatra? His music, his acting or his frivolities and sideshow bagatelles?
Do we remember Aristotle, Darwin, Schopenhauer, Heidegger, Rousseau and hundreds of others for their respective creative legacies or their alleged dark sides from our particular spatio-temporal and socio-psychological standpoints of antisemitism, anti-feminism, misogyny of sorts and what not in the contemporary lingua franca of how-to-be-a-rational-critical-humanoid?
Go get a life guys. Lets not invoke a judgmental meta-rationality that is never there and will never be. Let it go. Have a deep breath and exhale your partially ethico-elitist, partially pharisaic inflated egos outside. Its still possible, its always possible, until one step away from the terminus.
Literally squeezing last drops of socio-political, historical, scientific and literary analysis coming out of global cyber industry since last decade now, I am pushed to share one humble bit of my personal lay-reader’s critical viewpoint on US Elections 2016.
Liberals in the USA, who are weeping as if a valuable ideal has lost, always have a way of rationalizing blood on their beloved African-American, or in fact any president’s hands; these are interesting times when we have even movies coming out of Hollywood rationalizing or at least problematizing the paradox of a drone operator’s choice; alien immigrants, who are in the long queues of naturalization and now chest-thumping for an allegedly lost compassionate ideal, have a way of forgetting how they support puritans, religious bigots and radical xenophobes back home; in short, all of us, somehow, ultimately end up settling over a subjective resolution of choice-paradox staring at our face.
There may be more humanistic exceptions but a closer inspection would certainly reveal deep crevices.
We must, at least, accept this double-standard as an apriori fact but unfortunately, it won’t happen since it has never happened in the past. It is what you call an outlier habit of mind, not even closer to the mean value, not within any standard deviation. Its fragments are scattered all over the pages of history of ideas.
Now, when the fun part seems finally over, Pakistani conservatives would start selling the same bull-crap aimed at rationalizing totalitarianism, secular or religious nationalism verging on the boundaries of soft-fascism, or at least, selectively biased populism. Understandably so, since Conservative right-wingers don’t need to be original; after all, they derive their lifeblood from an age-old xenophobic impulse with diverse manifestations. Social, religious or philosophical theories merely presume this impulse as a fact and try to channelize it.
Pakistani liberals will have nothing original to say as always. They are merely a manifestation of phantasmagorical reactive attitude that sparks off in response to an equally phantasmagorical conservative psychology rooted in the above mentioned fundamental impulse. There is no original Pakistani liberalism, as such, which really belongs to its own milieu. There are fragments of it but now they are considered a shade of conservatism since the liberal mean is shifted ahead, and will soon be completely lost with the coming generation.
So where do we go from here?
In fact, history has a way of reminding us incessantly that there is a lot of randomness that cannot be predicted in historical process. By lot of randomness, I mean so much that is beyond any rational models yet developed by human beings.
We must realize that ultimately, human beings are doomed to choose with every reconfiguration of a spatio-temporal continuum, and all such choices are justified as logically ‘reasonable’. As Camus said, it is always easy to be logical but it is almost impossible to be logical to the bitter end. I think he was too gracious to put that qualifier ‘almost’. It is perhaps simply impossible.
All the dialectics that arrive after the forced moment of choice just aim to pronounce one rationalization or the other. All religious, philosophical, or political views against an absolute justification of necessary relativisation of all values are merely an ameliorated bull-crap. The smell coming out of the rot underneath ideological paradigms of reason is too much to miss. Let us not fool ourselves with short bursts of one ideology or the other.
In a nutshell, our best analyses must aim to describe, again describe and continue completing the sketch, while always stopping just short of prediction. Prediction gives a false illusion of control. Prediction gives us more hope than is necessary. Hope is a drug that should be imbibed in infinitesimally small doses. Too much hope has a way of transforming itself into ideology.
All of us do have our socio-political sensibilities, religious or quasi-religious notions of morality, and plans to arrive in time at our Utopian destinations. We are doomed to travel toward the idealized terminus. But while doing so, we must not forget that we are collectively adrift within a chaotic flow of history, and there is no way to know whether this chaotic flow looks deterministic from some higher plane or not. As I said, any notion of control is merely an illusion.
If there is any least common idealistic denominator, it is flowing as close together as possible. Applying any conditions on this ideal of spatial close proximity would ultimately negate that ideal from within. This ideal seems necessary since we have an impulse to live and not kill ourselves.
But all of it, that is, realization of the flow, this strange presence we call life, is nevertheless very interesting; its so sedative and at the same time so tragicomic. As Vonnegut put it so bravely, life is no way to treat an animal.
Once looking back from somewhere ahead on the flow, all of it, the complexity of the process, the multitude of variable space seems so mesmerizing. Its sheer grandeur, beauty or nefariousness cannot be missed. Just like when you this 1987 flashback of Donald Trump interviewed by Larry King.
Certainly, there are more surprises awaiting the pundits still bent on predicting eventualities, one way or the other.
Dear Sir, assalamu alay’kum
It has been a while since I wanted to engage with you regarding an extremely important issue of both immediate as well as long-term importance. In fact, I carried fragments of this concern since I admitted my eldest children in your school a little more than eight years ago; however, I somehow kept procrastinating to indulge with you formally. This reasonably long period and my continuing diverse academic indulgences in philosophy, literature, social sciences and engineering gave me enough time to reflect incessantly and frame this problem in a somewhat befitting manner.
The issue at hand is complete disregard of pedagogical significance of Urdu language by your esteemed institution, and how it not only reduces functional capacity of a child’s imagination but also endangers its creative capacity to model complex spatio-temporal problems related to science and engineering, as well as humanities.
Guided by my experiences as an academician and a social critic of sorts, I have reasons to believe that in all good faith, you tend to fall prey to various post-colonial pedagogical sensibilities where not realizing the subtle distinctions between “learning a language” and “learning in a language” have already reduced the whole industry of education to a grim duality, that is, English medium vs Urdu medium. I do not wish to digress towards the adverse social effects of ascribing to such dualities in this space, however, you would perhaps agree that by promoting (read ‘enforcing’) English in school premises in such a manner that children and teachers are administratively discouraged to communicate in vernacular, negatively transforms young psychologies to consciously or subconsciously reduce Urdu to a so-called subaltern language in an otherwise supposedly anglicized atmosphere. However, this largely artificial Anglicization in a school which imparts education to predominantly middle-class strata of society cannot promise much except a generation feigning false elitist appearances with stilted pronunciations.
But I apologize for digressing into some unwarranted social criticism—since I understand the competitive marketing concerns for the contemporary private-sector education market which promises a constant supply of the so-called quality human resource to the modern world—in order to supply additional grounds for a point I am about to make. My primary concern is with the pedagogical and didactic compromises which need to be made in order to achieve objectives which are rooted in above mentioned sensibilities.
That language is the key in elementary school class room scene is a fact far better known to you than me, since I am faced with a comparatively less difficult pedagogical challenge of teaching graduate and post-graduate students. Language, being the only mental tool to shape pointers for conceptualizing both abstract and concrete aspects of reality, is always firmly rooted in a complex and intricately rich milieu, the so-called Weltanschauung. It is certainly possible (and desirable) to acquire a foreign language, rather as many languages for utilitarian as well as aesthetical concerns, but it is impossible to train a mind to transform its mental habits according to a totally different milieu; and younger the mind, greater the degree of this impossibility. In fact, there is a plethora of research supporting this claim, but since I do not intend to present my views as a technical paper, only drawing your attention to one of the recommendations (quoted here) of a British Council study titled, ‘Language in Education in Pakistan: Recommendations for Policy and Practice’ coauthored Hywel Coleman and Tony Capstick in 2010 should suffice:
“Early years’ education must be provided in a child’s home language. The dangers of not doing so include high dropout levels … poor educational achievement, poor acquisition of foreign languages (such as English), the long-term decline and death of indigenous languages, and ethnic marginalization leading to the growth of resentment among ethnic minorities.’’
Since my submittal may be construed as drawing you needlessly to a broad-spectrum ongoing debate in Pakistan in the wake of recent Supreme Court decision in favor of Urdu, I would like to clarify that I have no such intention to make a case for a sweeping shift to Urdu since it is your institutional prerogative as a private entity and I respect your right and judgment. Moreover, I fully understand that not all children in your school are native Urdu speakers belonging to various regional communities; in any case, it is not unreasonable to assume that a native young speaker of Pushto or Punjabi is still far more mentally accustomed to Urdu as compared to English.
This private engagement, therefore, is not from the perspective of an Urdu promoter or a literary enthusiast, but simply as a concerned parent and an academician. Take for instance, an extremely simple example from a 6th grade Mathematics textbook (Oxford D-1), I was just discussing the other evening with my son.
David was trying to sleep one night but there was too much noise around him. His clock ticked every 5 seconds; a tap was dripping every 7 seconds and his pet dog snored every 12 seconds. He noticed on his clock that all three things happened together on the stroke of midnight.
After how many seconds would all three things happen together again?
How many times would all three things happen together again between midnight and one o’clock?
I want to put a disclaimer that this problem is deliberately picked as the one with least degree of linguistic complexity in the problem narrative. The aim is to show how an ostensibly simplest narrative like this one carries various challenges for the student as well as teacher in the class room environment which is not conducive for a bilingual (or trilingual) interaction, rather forced against the native vernacular of speakers. I assume that the point being consistently ignored here while informing your decisions of enforcing English as instructional language is the whole image-creating nature of language in the mind of the young student who is trying to map an abstract concept—Least Common Multiple in this case—to a concrete problem situated in real world. A simple and direct utterance by a teacher in class room that,
ایک رات ڈیوڈ سو نے کی کوشش کر رہا تھا لیکن اس کے آس پاس بہت شور تھا۔ اس کی گھڑی ہر پانچ سیکنڈ بعد ٹک ٹک کرتی تھی، پانی کا نلکا سات سیکنڈ بعد ٹپ ٹپ کرتا تھا اوراس کا کتا بارہ سیکنڈ بعد خراٹے لیتا تھا۔ اس نے اپنی گھڑی پر دیکھا کہ رات کے ٹھیک بارہ بجے شور کی یہ تینوں آوازیں اکٹھی آئیں۔ اب دوبارہ یہ تینوں آوازیں کب ایک ساتھ آئیں گی؟ اور بارہ سے ایک کے درمیان یعنی اگلے ایک گھنٹے میں ایسا کتنی بار اکٹھے ہو گا؟
considerably reduces the burden of mind’s effort to make a mental picture corresponding to the problem at hand. Regardless of the question whether all the children in classroom are perfectly at ease with pictures of a ‘dripping tap’, ‘snoring dog’ and ‘ticking clock’, the real challenge faced by the teacher is linking the problem statement to the particular mathematical concept. Here the teacher is faced with the challenge of pushing students to discover that using the concept of Least Common Multiple solves an otherwise laborious real problem. As I see it, restricting the class room interaction to English language hampers the whole instructive process in two ways: one, it adds a completely needless extra layer in creating an adequate mental picture of the problem and two, it forces teacher to somehow resort to instructive approach—as far as imparting knowledge of a particular mathematical concept is concerned—rather than working with the young minds to discover the concepts themselves. The latter impediment to learning is simply introduced by unavoidably linking phrases such as ‘together again’ to the concept of Least Common Multiple. We must understand that making these linkages are indeed widely accepted as an admissible pedagogical tool, but one that works differently for native speakers of a language than those who are already studying a text book in a foreign language that is English in this case. Even in case of native speakers these verbal-conceptual linkages work in collaboration with experimental or pictorial approaches, and employed diversely by teachers who are far well trained in advanced countries as compared to developing third world.
Concluding this missive, I would just reiterate that mandating the use of English as instructive and interactive language in class room for scientific subjects such as Mathematics or Physics is obviously at the cost of one additional layer of translation. Moreover a decision like this, motivated from some unfathomable slanted considerations, completely disregards the nature of language as a tool for learning, thereby rendering the whole instructive activity counter-productive. Lastly it adds complex, unpredictable and unique distortions in the whole instructive process since neither all the teachers, nor all the students share the same cognitive models when it comes to medium of class room communication. One can easily imagine the difficulty by reconstructing the famous TV show “Mind Your Language” in a class room for elementary mathematics, as a theoretical experiment.
I wish and pray that you take this criticism in positive spirit and can only hope that you end up agreeing with me after due reflection. I assure you that it would immensely improve the standard of comprehension as far as scientific subjects involving abstract thinking is concerned. By leaving the instructive atmosphere of the class room to the ease of students as well as teachers by not mandating the use of English language, you would not only help shedding the needlessly accrued mental burden but also gain benefits of a rich bilingual atmosphere, where both languages would augment the limitations of each other.
Aasem D. Bakhshi