Kannada Gothilla: The Auto With a Lesson Plan

Kabir’s Kannada notebook had reached page three, a milestone he celebrated by attempting to negotiate an auto ride entirely without Kiran.

Unfortunately, Kiran was standing beside him and had opinions.

“Anna, Indiranagar?” Kabir asked the driver.

The driver, Manju, nodded. They confirmed the exact destination and agreed on the fare. Kabir waited until the auto had stopped properly beside a suitable pickup spot before climbing in. Kiran followed, carrying a shopping bag and no intention of allowing his friend an unobserved performance.

Manju said something. Kabir smiled and nodded.

“Your bag is sticking out,” Kiran translated.

Kabir pulled it inside.

“Excellent start, maga.”

As they set off, Kabir explained that he was learning Kannada. Manju said that was good. Kabir demonstrated three words, two of which belonged together only in a very experimental poem.

“What did I say?” he asked.

“Many possibilities,” Manju replied.

Kiran laughed into his shopping bag.

At a red light, Kabir attempted the sentence he had practised that morning. “Anna, swalpa nidhaanavaagi maatadi.” Please speak a little slowly.

Manju nodded. “Sari.”

Kabir brightened. “Okay! I know sari.”

“Good,” Manju said. “Now don’t say it for everything.”

Kabir nodded automatically.

“Sari.”

Kiran put one hand over his face. “The software has only one button.”

They agreed to keep the lessons for suitable pauses, letting Manju concentrate while moving. Kabir would rehearse quietly in the back. Kiran could provide corrections at any time, which he accepted as a position of considerable influence.

Kabir tried another sentence too softly. Kiran asked him to repeat it. He repeated it louder. An elderly pedestrian outside glanced towards them. Kabir reduced the volume immediately. Language learning, he discovered, did not require a public-address system.

At the next stop, he asked Manju how long it would take him to become comfortable speaking.

“Depends,” Manju said.

“On pronunciation?”

“On whether you practise or only announce.”

Kiran leaned back. “Guru, that applies to his gym also.”

Kabir looked at his oldest friend with the disappointment normally reserved for witnesses changing sides during a trial.

A driver behind them sounded his horn repeatedly, despite the stationary queue ahead. Manju waited without joining in. Kabir looked behind, then forward, trying to identify the space the driver expected them to occupy.

“Where should we go?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Manju said.

Kiran pointed at the notebook. “Write that one. Universal conversation.”

The road began moving. They continued calmly. Kabir put the notebook away and watched the neighbourhood change around them: flower sellers, cafés, a man carrying an enormous empty picture frame. The frame briefly contained the entire auto, making their language class look like an unusually affordable painting.

At another pause, Kiran asked whether the lesson included a final exam. Manju said it did not. Kabir looked relieved until his friend explained that ordinary conversation would keep providing surprise tests anyway. He decided this was unfair, but also a reasonably accurate description of becoming comfortable in a new city.

Near the destination, Kabir tried “Illi nillisi, anna,” asking Manju to stop here. He indicated a sensible place clear of the entrance. Manju stopped safely and smiled.

“That was clear.”

Kabir felt a small, genuine satisfaction. No speech. No performance. He had wanted something simple and managed to communicate it.

He paid, thanked Manju, and stepped onto the pavement. Kiran followed. They began walking towards the shop when Manju called out.

Kabir turned, smiled, and almost nodded.

Then he stopped himself. “Sorry, anna. What did you say?”

Manju held up the notebook.

“Your Kannada.”

Kabir returned to collect it. Kiran was laughing too hard to assist.

On page four, Kabir wrote a new reminder: UNDERSTAND FIRST. NOD SECOND.

Beneath it, Kiran added: BAG THIRD.

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.