Can you speak Gujarati?

Would you try to act as an interpreter without knowing anything about the issues being discussed?  

 

I did, and I was only ten years old.

A good friend sent me a test which would decide whether I could speak good Gujarati. I promised that I will take that test.

 

When in Kampala, in the mid 1960’s I used to accompany the neighbouring massi (an elderly aunt) and her newly arrived bahu (i.e. daughter-in-law) who had arrived from India, to the Missionary run Mengo Hospital in Kampala. The bahu had some women’s problems. Now both massi and bahu could not speak to the English doctors. I was recruited on my mum’s expert recommendation and at the hospital I managed to ask all of the doctor’s questions in Gujarati and then relay the answers to the doctor in English, not for a moment understanding the connections with the daughter-in-law’s acute sensitivities or even getting embarrassed myself. I was only 10 years old and did not know anything about the “issues” involved! I did all the interpreting so well that even the doctor smiled at me. They say that ignorance is bliss but in this case ignorance was exploited.

 

Consider this. The doctor asked the poor girl to go into the private examination area, which was basically a high level mattress stuck in a wooden tray, in the corner of the room, surrounded by two long curtains. The girl did not move. The doctor politely waved his hand slowly and stopped at the opening of the curtain. ‘Please step inside, I would like to examine you’, he told her. The bahu could barely speak and looked at me. I also waved my hand skillfully and added that she was to be seen by the doctor. She asked where I was going to stand. I stood still outside the curtain. She then looked pleadingly at the mother-in-law who said with informed authority, “Jao beta, jao” and the young girl slowly walked into the area behind the curtain.

 

The massi and I stood outside, expectantly looking at each other and then at the curtain.  I do not what the massi was thinking but I was quite ready for another question from the doctor. Instead massi and I heard a few deep hums, with hushed words from the girl. “Ba! Aa boley chey ke sarlo utaru”. Massi, always quick on the uptake said, “ Koi baat nahin, beta…utari dewo”. Just as I realised that I had been left out of the loop, I asked Massi “Sarlo kiya hota?” The massi ignored my question and looked away. When she looked at me again she realised that I was waiting patiently for an answer. She explained that it was an undergarment by showing me a tiny bit of her own; it was basically a large underskirt.  The doctor completed his examination and came out from behind the curtain just as the massi’s sarlo was being hidden away. I will not discuss the bahu’s confidential medical case here…

 

It only occurred to me a few years ago that I would have been dropped from that role if I had been a smarter child. In today’s culture, exposing a child to questions relating to a woman’s body cycles, anatomy and her mental health would be labeled as ‘abuse’. So any talk of speaking Gujarati sends my mind into a spin!