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Selling English to the "natives"

Hasan Suroor

Beware the hype over what is "new" in the latest dictionary at the neighbourhood bookshop.

LAST WEEK, a young anchor on a leading Indian TV channel, seen in Britain, breathlessly informed his viewers that more Indian words had been included in a new edition of a prestigious English language dictionary. It was a case of the "empire striking back," he said, and concluded with a touch of triumph that "Hinglish" was starting to give English a "run for its money."

Really? Empire striking back? Giving English a run for its money? I do not blame the young man. People whose native language is not English do get excited when words from their own language or a "desi" English coinage are mentioned in a major English dictionary, especially if it happens to be from the Oxford University Press stable, a world leader in dictionaries. They feel flattered that their contribution to English has been recognised by the keepers of whatever remains of the Queen's English.

The truth is that the mere inclusion of a foreign word in an English-language dictionary means nothing in real terms. At best it is a guide to — and acceptance of — the many ways in which English is spoken around the world, and an advertisement for its "resilience." But crucially it is about marketing.

Privately, those in the business of publishing and selling dictionaries acknowledge this. The market for dictionaries in the West has reached a saturation point and things have become more difficult now that people can access "word knowledge" free thanks to the Internet. Increasingly, the future for dictionaries is seen to lie in the emerging or untapped markets of former British colonies. It is all about wooing the "natives." And that is where "new" words come in.

Every time a new foreign word or an example of, say, Indian-English, Australian-English or Maori-English (soon we will have Chinese-English) makes it to a dictionary it inevitably generates interest among the local people, which helps publishers shift extra copies. And a bit of media hype that invariably accompanies the launch of such dictionaries can do wonders for marketing. Hence the frequent "new" editions with ever "newer" foreign words.

Common fallacy

There is a fallacy that a dictionary entry somehow "Englishifies" a word or usage. It does not. The proof of the pudding lies in the eating and this pudding, alas, is not for eating. Try using a dictionary-approved form of "Hinglish" in a British exam paper and you will not get any marks. Nor is it likely to be understood in everyday conversation. Tell a clerk in a High Street bank in London that you are an "NRI," which apparently features in the dictionary the TV channel was plugging last week, and, most likely, you will get a blank stare. If a word such as "chota peg" is understood by a certain generation of Brits it is not because it is in the dictionary but because it is a colonial hangover.

American-English is the only foreign form of English that is widely understood and accepted in Britain. "Hinglish" is yet to get there. Indeed, at present, even the term "Hinglish" is not recognised by Concise Oxford English Dictionary whereas the less widely spoken "Singlish" is — defined as "n. 1. a variety of English spoken in Singapore, with elements from other local languages. 2. a variety of English spoken in Sri Lanka, incorporating elements of Sinhala."

Yet, nobody can accuse English of insularity. It has demonstrated a capacity to acknowledge, if not wholly absorb, outside influences which no other language has. Whereas older and richer languages have either withered away or are in decline because of their obsession with "purity", English has been able to spread its wings and emerge as the only truly global language by keeping the "purists" at bay.

While the French are always worrying and moaning about the threat to their language from external influences, the British are rather amused by the diversity that other cultures bring to the English language. In private, they may snigger at the way English is spoken in some parts of the world (jokes about Indian and Chinese English are aplenty) but they also recognise that it is a sign of a living and thriving language.

There is of course the danger — and a very real one — that beyond a point an open-door policy could lead to a situation which may be precisely the opposite of what it is meant to achieve.

Permitting everyone to have their "own" English could, ultimately, subvert the very idea of the world communicating through a common global language. With people of different countries speaking and writing their own brand of English a stage might come when they are simply not able to understand each other's "English." "Hinglish" and "Singlish" may become two very different languages rather than branches of a common language!

Too much of "chutney-fication" — a word coined by Salman Rushdie — is good neither for English nor for the lovers of this very important language. And, meanwhile, beware the hype over what is "new" in the latest dictionary at the neighbourhood bookshop.

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