I have never been rooted to the ground. I feel that I have always been airy, flitting through the clouds, not too concerned about earthy matters. Never weighted down by these, I never did search for my roots- still haven’t, though maybe it is time to begin. I know I am of a certain caste, class and creed. And it never stuck me to observe those around me, and look at how they differed from me. Not in a negative way- positive tones only.
So, when a friend asked me about my culture, I was a little clueless (still am), and I started thinking about it. Why is it that I have never bothered to try to find it? - To look for my past, present and future in relation to contexts around me? I follow customs and traditions that are practiced in my house. But that isn’t all there is to culture.
Why do I not know my language? I only started asking this question to myself recently… in the past few months, that is. Why is it that I am more comfortable expressing myself in English than in my mother tongue? Is my language dying out in me? It is only in the near past that I have begun to feel that my language is unique, and special. There are some words that I would never want to replace, nor ever could, because only my language offers me those words and the impulse that throbs behind those words.
In fact, a simple word, like ‘rattam’ (“blood”), can mean so much more. It is not only blood, but passions and angers. It goes way beyond what ‘blood’ means. I do know that English offers this too. Obviously. However, it is only around now that I realise that I took my language, and my roots for granted.
It is time I get grounded. It is time I waft back down to reality, and to what I have to claim as inherently mine.