French Diaries

Photo by Matt Duncan on Unsplash

I remember the first time I fell in love with a language. It was fourth grade, and we had to learn a third language in school - after English and Arabic, both of which were compulsory. The options were Hindi, Urdu and French. I didn't know any Hindi or Urdu and my parents really couldn't help me there. The scripts were a little difficult to acclimatize to, and I really wanted to learn French. Urdu was never even really considered an option (I wonder why). The kids who learned Hindi and Urdu actually spoke it as their first language, so I guess that was pretty convenient for them. The teachers for both these languages taught in said language, I would probably have been lost from Day 1, and that would have screwed up my perfect percentages. 

I was eager to learn French - I connected to it as much as I failed to connect with Hindi and Urdu. It helped that Mrs. S was glamorous in a way teachers in that school definitely weren't. She wore her wavy hair in a high ponytail, the kind of ponytail that actually reminds you of a pony. Kitten heels, sharp salwar suits... and a chalkholder. I swear, that is the only time I can remember seeing someone use a chalkholder, and it. was. fascinating. I could actually imagine her smoking that way - with a cigarette holder and a haughty air. She seemed so exotic she might actually have had some connection to France, for all the difference it made to me. In fact, I once heard her on the phone and was convinced she was speaking French. I said as much to my best friend, who looked at me scornfully and scathingly replied that she was speaking Tamil. 

Way to burst my bubble, best friend. 

I yearn for the way that teacher structured our courses - if I could learn that way now, I'd be acing the DELF exams in a go. I'm struggling to bring in the same kind of structure to my self-learning, and it's slow progress. That woman had access to the best textbooks - colourful, and interesting, and filled with cute, relatable characters. After she left, we were subjected to a steady stream of random people - the creepy Algerian guy who hit on a classmate stands out. His - or maybe it was someone else's - accented English remained a source for great hilarity as the entire class participated in English to English translation endeavours. 

Finally, we got Mrs. Y, and order was restored. The curriculum still sucked, and we were all completely unprepared for our CBSE Boards, but Mrs. Y's classes were so much fun. She disdained the overly conservative paranoia and suspicion that abounded among the other teachers in our school, and strove to encourage healthy friendships between the guys and girls in our painfully segregated school. Bitching about the other teachers, and about unreasonable parents soon became the highlight of class. 

In tenth grade, my parents figured that I was woefully unprepared for my Boards, and transferred me to another school. I was furious at the time, but in hindsight, they were absolutely right. It took me the better half of two terms to get up to speed, and I would give anything to remember all the things I learned that year. 

Structure in my language learning - something I continue to need. Perhaps something I can use this blog to record my progress and share all of the nerdy, nerdy things I enjoy about the French language.