I cannot afford to dislike English, and I would be an ingrate if I were to do that. As an editor, a writer and an academic, I have used the language to fill my stomach for three and a half decades. That stomach turns, though, if figuratively, when English words are gratuitously introduced into Hindustani speech even when perfectly adequate and sometimes better Hindustani words are to be had.

Money makes the world go round. In our daily lives, we speak of it constantly. Few grocers in Delhi conduct their business in English: Punjabi is used, as well as Tamil and Bangla and so on in pockets, but Hindustani is the most common currency. When, after having completed my purchases of fruit juice and safety matches and such things entirely in Hindustani, I ask how much I must pay, English jumps up like a Jack-in-the-box. “Seventy-two rupees” is the answer rather than “bahattar rupaiya.” Similarly, when I ask a pretty young thing, in Hindustani, about her pretty garment, she will say “Four hundred rupees” rather than “char sau rupaiy.” Seldom is anything other than price mentioned, but that fact has nothing to do with language.

A child in a shopping area who feels like putting away a soft drink will say to his mother, “Mamma, please ten rupees dena. “Money is never, never spoken of without the application of the anglicised-globalised name of our legal tender.

We live on food. It is only to be expected that Mrs Khanna will say to Mrs Tiwari, “Behenji, paneer bahut tasty bana hai,” throwing on to the heap of onion skins words like ‘svadishta’ and ‘lazeez’. To Mrs Khurana, she might amplify with “vadda fine flavour hai ji.”

... contd.