The Gift of Language
I’ve always been independent. I learn, discover, and challenge whatever life throws my way. I can also spend a copious amount of time on my own without becoming bored. In fact, I sometimes spend weekends fully enthralled in my art, writing, or music. I savor these moments because they are a quiet time with myself — untethered and uninfluenced. They allow me to reflect, create, and pivot to what is most important to me.
As much as I enjoy solitude, one of the things I’ve come to delight in is Saturday morning teatime with my mother, or Ma as I like to call her. Ma’s a first-generation, now retiree, who has worked hard all her life — not just professionally, but also as a wife and a mother. And as we began this weekend routine, it afforded me a chance to see her, not just as someone who loved and raised me, but now, as her own individual person. This was sparked not by tea, of course, but rather by open and deep conversation. When I reflect on the stories of her childhood triumphs and defeats, which gave way to her strengths and vulnerabilities that I had only witnessed in brief glimpses over the years, I began to feel a deeper connection with my mother in a way unlike ever before. And I owe that to one of the gifts and investments she made in me decades ago. When I was only a child, she gave me the gift of language — teaching me not only English, but also Gujarati as well as Hindi. Being able to fluently converse in Gujarati now, I am able to connect with my mother on a much deeper level.
I was born in the small village of Umalla, located in Gujarat, India. Growing up, I went to an ordinary school, with scarce resources and a very basic curriculum. The main, and only offered language, was Gujarati. At home, however, my mother taught me the English alphabet and a few elementary words which I mastered by the age of six. So, when my dad told the family we were moving to America, I was ecstatic!
I was placed in the second grade when I began school in the United States. I couldn’t speak a coherent sentence in English and often had trouble communicating. I had no friends and the other students made fun of me. What made things worse was that the once perfect-attendance student who received the best grades, failed her second-grade class. I was angry and scared. And most of all, I hated being in my new school.
Two remarkable things transpired over the summer that year. The first thing was that my uncle, who was an academic and fluent in English, at the behest of my mom, made an investment into my learning. Each day, he sat me down and handed me the local paper. My task was to look up every word that I did not know or recognize. It was arduous. On most days, I barely got through a paragraph. By the end of the summer, however, he had taught me how to read and write in English. And when September rolled around, I knew I was ready.
When I walked into my second-grade class again, my teacher, Mrs. Gologorsky, began the class with a game. She divided us into two teams, lined us up behind the starting line of a row of chairs, and blew her whistle. She would say a word, and the first student from each team would race to the chalkboard to write out the word. The student who spelt the word correctly the fastest, earned a point for their team. When I reached the front of the line and the word was announced, I ran up to the board, grabbed the chalk, and without any hesitation, spelled the word and placed the chalk down first. And this didn’t just happen once, it kept happening the entire game! I was super-fast! When we got to the final round and I walked back from the chalkboard for the last time, I found myself standing next to the only student who had matched my time — a student who became my best friend, and still is today, twenty-something years later. The ABC’s of the language that my mother taught me years ago, not only sparked my love of academia, writing, and reading that I enjoyed then and now, but it gave me the opportunity to discover and foster a beautiful relationship that I still hold dear today.
The second remarkable thing that transpired that summer was an hour-long ride in a packed Toyota Camry every Sunday, to the BAPS Swaminarayan Mandir in Edison, New Jersey. There I was introduced to other young Indian children, who were also struggling to find the balance of new languages and cultures. I recall, I was very quiet and shy at first, but eventually made some new friends. My mom placed me in a Gujarati class that was being offered at the mandir.
Born into a Gujarati household, I already spoke and understood the language, but I had never formally learned how to read or write. But with the kids whom I had bonded with, I began attending these classes every weekend, and gradually learned how to do so. Even today, I can read and write fluently in Gujarati. Sure, this can perhaps be seen as an academic accomplishment, but I find that its benefits are actually quite extensive. For one, it has kept me tethered and connected to my cultural and spiritual roots. I can pick up scriptural texts, listen to traditional or devotional songs, and understand the precise meaning and sentiment of the word instead of just a literal translation. This has opened me up to new insights and perspectives — through unexplored books, lectures, music, and dialogue. This gift of language has shaped, in its most fundamental, and in perhaps the most obvious way, my identity.
When I think about my identity, I am thankful for the seeds of language, curiosity, and an insatiable desire to learn that my mother planted in me years ago. These seeds have sprouted into the successes I experience today, not just in my professional career, but also in the personal, social, and spiritual aspects of my life. Because it is language that allows us to convey our thoughts, ideas, and emotions. It is how we express ourselves, understand others, and share knowledge. It is a fundamental aspect of human culture and society. It also creates connection — social, emotional, or intellectual bonds between individuals. It helps us to bridge gaps, find common ground, and creates a sense of belonging. It plays a crucial role in shaping our thoughts, perceptions, and worldviews. It influences how we interpret and understand the world around us, and it reflects our cultural and social experiences and interactions.
So, as I sip tea together with Ma on this Saturday morning with the laptop by my side, I find how I’ve come full circle — learning about the woman who has so profoundly impacted my life and the tools she’s equipped me with to become the best and most beautiful version of the person I wish to still become.
Bhavisha Doshi, North Bergen, New Jersey
Civil Engineer
