“Betty, you are wanted at the Principal’s office” said one of my friends coming off the phone in our Department. Now before you start rolling your eyes and conjuring up the wrong picture, I hasten to burst that bubble by saying, I was invariably called in for some task that I joyfully undertook, a committee meeting or an ad hoc discussion on some important matter. And this, I am sure, was the same for many of us. So off I went, jauntily flying down that lovely road from Newton Block via our beautiful Wilcox Chapel, the heart of the campus, to the office, expecting the usual. But gosh, was I in for the shock of my life!  Dr.Nirmala Jeyaraj, my then Principal, an amazing administrator, a wonderful woman of God, and a lady of few words, sat me down as she usually does anyone who enters the Principal’s room, and dropped the bombshell as gently as she could, her voice calm and concerned. “I just received a GO” that states those who hadn’t studied Tamil as a language (in school) and are working in government institutions have to clear the language component of the TNPSC exam, … or forfeit their job. To say that my heart stopped beating for a few moments is no exaggeration, for I am certain anyone in my place would’ve experienced such an instantaneous logjam in their mind and heart too.

I hail from Bitragunta in Nellore district of the then Andhra Pradesh. Dad’s a Malayalee and Mum’s Anglo Indian. Through school and college, I studied Hindi, Telugu, and French, and of course the lingua franca – English – is literally my mother tongue. Holidays spent with my cousins in our ancestral home in Kerala taught me a spattering of Malayalam as well. I could manage broken spoken Tamil since our circle of friends comprised of a marvelous mix from different backgrounds. And now, here I was, living out my Calling in this incredible institution, Lady Doak College, in Madurai, Tamil Nadu. Make no mistake, the lovely people around were able to understand my spoken Tamil, anglicized accent notwithstanding.

In all fairness, every state expects those working there to be fairly fluent in the language of the state. But my mind, in all its naivety, failed to see any logic in a teacher of English having to clear the state level language exam! Nevertheless, this was my reality. My dear, dear Principal was very supportive and encouraging. She advised me to take it as a challenge that could change my destiny. And, thanks to her, that’s exactly what I did … was forced to do. I had to pass the TNPSC exam, and that meant having to start from scratch – from the letters of the Tamil alphabet! My nightmare had begun, except that it wasn’t relegated only to my nights. Ms.Gandhi Mary, a doyen of our Tamil Department stepped in to help me with the basics, but when I went to take the exam, everything in the question paper looked like Greek and Latin to my eyes swimming in tears of shame and consternation. Well, need I spell out in black and white, my dear reader friends, that my first attempt was a disaster from the word go!

The ever-hopeful that I am (despite the worry that seemed to engulf me), plodded along in the hope of being ‘second time lucky’. Still swirling in a whirlpool of confusion and chaos as to what to study and ‘how’ to prepare and pass this existential exam, I experienced a taste of the Sword of Damocles. Despite mounting responsibilities on the personal (I had my two little boys by then) and professional front that I gave my all to, clearing this exam became top priority. I burned the midnight oil after putting my children to sleep, class preparations for the next day done, and any other work-related duties that needed to be completed. To say that it was one of the toughest periods of my life, is to say the least! I was overwrought and distraught. I cried more than I prayed. Yes, I did manage to learn and remember more, but what foxed me most were the ‘r’, ‘l’, ‘na’ variations! I devised my own method to internalize these letters – ‘box r’ and ‘box l’, ‘curly r’ and ‘curly l’ ‘two-belly na’ and ‘three-belly na’ and yes, ‘box na’! Necessity is sure the mother of invention.

It was time for Attempt No.2, and off I went …, once again …  but down the drain!  

There’s never a second without a third, and never one to give up, I decided to give the exam a shot again. The main difference this time was that I prepared and prayed much more than I felt sorry for myself and others, who like me, were in the throes of the “down in the doldrums” moment. My best friend did all he could to bolster my drooping spirit. My dear friend, Rachel, who succeeded in her first attempt, lovingly gave me the book of handwritten essays that her late father-in-law had helped her with. Having internalized those essays, acquired quite a vast vocabulary, and my God-given faith, I cleared the Written segment. The next step was the Oral exam. If one failed this part, they’d have to start all over again…with the written component! You can well imagine my plight and pain at this point, right?

Mr. Murugan, my husband’s friend helped me with short paragraphs about my husband, his job, our children, myself and what I was doing – in case such questions cropped up. I studied hard and stormed Heaven even as I continued to do all my duties to the best of my ability. When the day of the oral exam dawned, my best friend and I went to the Collectorate, the venue. Seated there were two others too. Soon, three gentlemen walked past us on the corridor, one of them looked rather intimidating to my tear-flooded my eyes. When my name was called, I felt light-headed; but my husband’s gentle, reassuring hand on mine told me that my God was going in with me. Draped in a simple cotton sari, and braided hair, all in the hope of looking very much like a Tamil ‘ponnu’, I greeted the panel with an almost confident namaste (or so I thought), even though my legs were telling a different story. They asked me to sit. Then one of the three panelists handed me a piece of paper and a pen and told me to write what he would dictate. 

I am giving transliteration a shot here, so please bear with me dears. “Yen peiyar” and he told me to write my name in full. I wrote it in a jiffy. He then went on, “naan (had to write the name of my college) Doak Perumaati Kalluriyil, aangila thurayil, virivuraiyaalaraa pani purikirein.” I completed writing just as he finished his dictation. And when they saw what I had written, one of them mentioned that I hadn’t made even a “pulli” mistake. You bet I understood that. I was then asked to read and explain a photocopy of a leave letter which I managed to do to some extent. 

The first question asked was, “vungo appa yenna velai paatharu?” Goodness gracious, here I was ready with everything concerning my husband, our children and myself; but no, they had to ask what my father did! Well, Daddy dearest was a Guard on Railway, but how do I put it across in Tamil! What I did next still brings comic relief to anyone listening to my story. I simply rolled the ‘r’ in guard and emphasized the ‘ai’ in railway, hoping that that would make the words sound as close to the Tamil pronunciation as possible. Believe it or not, dear friends, the stern looking gentleman looked at me, smiled and said that these English words were also being used in Tamil as well. Talk about the flood of relief that coursed through my veins, short-lived though it was! Quick on its heels came another question about how I buy vegetables, to which I smiled my best smile and told them the truth: “Yen veetukaaran yella kaaykari, saayindhram veetiku varumbodhu, vaangitu varuvaango.” To a question about how I would speak with my students, I said, I tell them, “naan vungo bhaasha kaththikirein, vungalakku yen bhaasha sollikudukirein” at which the three panelists burst out laughing. I guess they had had enough of my Tamil and told me that that I could leave. I shot up ramrod straight, folded my hands in a namaste, smiled and said, “nandri” and walked out in as dignified a manner as I could muster up. Long story short, I cleared my Tamil exam, and though I still read Tamil like a kid, I can speak the language fairly well, or so I think. My Tryst with Tamil reiterates (to me) that all things are possible – with effort and with God; and that it definitely “takes a village” to bring someone up.