Indian English

One thing about being in a foreign country, even one where they speak English, and meeting people from all over the world, you find you speak differently than you would at home. Sometimes it's the way that I phrase things and sometimes it's almost like I'm trying to mimic their accent, whoever it is I happen to be talking to - an Indian, a Malaysian, an Aussie... I suppose this is not a groundbreaking discovery but it still surprises me sometimes and makes me laugh.

Yesterday, I caught myself saying to my Finnish friend, "why don't you phone me tomorrow and we can discuss," instead of what I would say to my American friend, "call me tomorrow." Sometimes it's just that I use more words and sometimes it's the choice of words. In the beginning, I was much more conscious of what I said and how I said it because I had to. Vivian or Chandan (or whoever) would look at me like she/he had no idea what I was saying and I would have to come up with another way to say what I wanted. It feels like a more formal way of speaking that catches me off guard sometimes and makes me laugh, like when you catch yourself in the mirror and you think "is that what I look like?"I think when I am mimicking their accents, it's because I'm afraid they won't understand otherwise. When I hear myself doing it, I feel like I'm pretending to be something I'm not. I really don't want to be one of those people who picks up a fake accent but I think I'm becoming less and less conscious that I'm doing it.

Yesterday at lunch we were laughing about some of the Indian phrases we've picked up. A couple of my favorites: "tell me" - which you can say when you pick up the phone, "yes, tell me." Or if you need help in a store and you approach the salesperson they'll say, "tell me." It sounds a little abrupt at first but why beat around the bush, tell me. George says they use the phrase, "pre-pone" at work to indicate that a meeting has been moved. Or, if a company splits up, they'll call it a de-merger instead of divestiture. They also always ask you to do things kindly. Kindly make your payment, kindly leave your shoes at the door, kindly use the other door. In restaurants, when you ask for a bottle of water you are given two choices, room temperature or chilled. If you reply, "cold," they look at you blankly. They'll start listing off brand names of water (Evian? Himalaya? Aquafina?) or just start listing other beverages. Only until you ask for chilled water, will you get a cold bottle. They will give you a similar blank look if you ask them to wrap up your leftovers. Not until you ask them to parcel your food, will you get a doggie bag. And sometimes, like on Wednesday when we tried a new restaurant, Giancarlo's, they'll refuse to parcel your food for you.

Legend has it, Gian Carlo was a flare bartender, like Tom Cruise in Cocktail. He was hired by one of the luxury hotel chains in Bangalore and recently decided to go out on his own and start a restaurant. We had heard that he had a brick oven to cook pizzas which was enough to entice me. Apparently you can take the man out of the luxury hotel restaurant but you can take the luxury out of the man. There were three eager employees at the door to let us in, all dress in black pinstripe pants and matching pinstriped shirts with the Giancarlo logo on the breast pocket. There was another employee two feet away at the elevator to press the button for us. When we got to the third floor I went right and almost walked into the dimly lit but cozy looking cigar room. To the left was the restaurant that was nicely laid out with some rod iron tables and chairs, some couches and some benches but totally empty. The heavily made up hostess wearing a shirt with a plunging neckline asked us if we had a reservation. It was 7pm on a Wednesday so we did not make a reservation. She gave us an "oh geez" look, curling her ruby red lips into a frown and said, "um, ok." She then consulted her book in front of her (that was blocked by a narrow shelf) and looked at her watch. Let me repeat, the restaurant was completely empty (and Indians don't eat until at least 8:30). Where could she possibly seat us, the rebellious, reservationless expats? She then consulted with another hostess and finally asked if we'd prefer the terrace. We said fine and headed up one more flight of stairs. The terrace was lovely with soft lighting, two bars facing one another with table in between and more tables at either end of the bars. Behind one of the bars was the brick oven.

Our waiter pointed out Gian Carlo decked out in jeans, black loafers, a white button down and slick hair. His name was tattooed on everything from the napkins, to the place mats, to the plates themselves. The pizzas were delicious and I've declared them the best in Bangalore. The bruschetta was perfectly seasoned with warm tomatoes and fresh bread and they had cans of Guinness. The portions were generous so we each had a few slices left over. We asked our waiter to parcel them and he said flatly but with a smile, "no." Apparently Gian Carlo will allow no such thing. His pizzas are meant to be consumed on the premises. Because they are cooked in the brick oven at the exact right temperature, if you tried to reheat the masterpiece, you would be doing an injustice to his "art." Obviously microwaved pizza is no match for brick oven pizza. We understand the brick oven works magic as evidenced from all the pieces we did eat. But we paid for a whole pizza and we wanted to eat a whole pizza. Our waiter claimed there was nothing to package our pizzas in but he'd see what he could do. He came back about 10 minutes later with two aluminum foil packages. We thanked him and tried to reiterate that we wanted to bring it home because it was so good. Gian Carlo should take this as a complement, not an insult. I put our packages on the table next to me and the waiter looked like he was about to reach over me and grab them again. "Please ma'am, put them in your bag. If Gian Carlo finds out, I'll be in trouble." I'm glad Gian Carlo takes his craft seriously but buddy, come on, it's pizza. (Oh, and when we left, there were still plenty of empty tables just waiting for customers.)

The drivers of trucks and taxis are striking again. It starts tonight at midnight so Chandan will have to go back to the white plates. He mentioned it earlier this week but didn't seem too concerned about it. But today Karen asked me how we were getting to the airport tomorrow. When I replied, "Chandan," she gave me an over-exaggerated look of surprise. I told her he has white plates so he can still drive us and she said, "oh, well, Javid (her driver) also has white plates but he's really paranoid about this strike. He said we should just stay close to the house this weekend." Considering the last two strikes last all of two days, I said that I didn't think it would last that long. Well, she and Javid aren't so sure and were going to stock up on some supplies today anyway. Sounds like a good weekend to go to a beach resort. We'll be back Tuesday.