In Pakistani culture, English is now viewed as the sine qua non of upward social mobility. It is considered the gateway to knowledge and the passport not only to getting better grades in schools, colleges and universities, but also to career advancement.
While knowing English is a big asset in today’s world, it should not come at the expense of Urdu, which is the national language of Pakistan. It’s the mother tongue of nearly 25 million people and it is understood by most of the 250 million people who live there. Most Pakistanis are schooled in Urdu and attend Urdu-medium schools.
Urdu is a language with a rich literary history. In fact, it began to gain increasing cultural prestige and courtly patronage when undivided India was ruled by the Mughal emperors.
Urdu’s lexicon is a rich mixture of words drawn from Arabic, Persian, Turkish and Sanskrit. Conversationally, it overlaps heavily with Hindi and most Urdu speakers understand most of Hindi and vice versa. But Urdu is written in the Persian script, which itself is derived from the Arabic script, while Hindi is written in the Devanagari script.
Sadly, Urdu is becoming marginalised in the very country in which it has the status of the national language. This process began insidiously decades ago. I first noticed it in the early seventies.
The diplomas of my bachelor’s and master’s degrees, which were awarded in 1973, featured two columns, one in English and one in Urdu. On the top of the first column, “University of Karachi” was written in English. On top of the second column, the same exact words were written but in Urdu script. Was there no word for university in Urdu? There was, and further down the second column the word jamia was written for University, indicating that whoever designed the diploma knew that such a word existed.
Interestingly, the people who are indulging in the Anglicisation of Urdu are not just those who studied in English medium schools but also those who studied in Urdu medium schools
In the 1980s, I recall seeing the words “Meat Market” written in Urdu at the entrance to the “Gosht ka Bazaar.”
It seems that a new English word creeps into modern Urdu usage every week. Interestingly, the people who are indulging in the Anglicisation of Urdu are not just those who studied in English medium schools but also those who studied in Urdu medium schools.
The fact that there are foreign words in Urdu is by itself not a cause for concern. Every language including English has some foreign words in it. Even the name Urdu, which emerged in the 17th-18th century, is derived from the Turkic word ordu (which is also the root of the English word ‘horde’). It served as a bridge across Arabs, Persians and Turks who constituted the Muslim armies of the Mughals. It was formerly known as Zaban-e-Urdu-e-Mualla (‘language of the exalted camp’) or Lashkari Zaban (‘language of the army’).
There are of course several English words for which ready Urdu substitutes do not exist and that enrich Urdu by their introduction. Examples include technical words such as dynamo, machine, hospital and surgeon. Other examples can be found in sports such as cricket which was introduced to India during the British Raj.
A much more serious problem arises when common English words displace Urdu words. This phenomenon occurs in several classes of words having to do with education (e.g., blackboard, chalk, class, college, lecture, school, test, time and university), cooking (burger, butter chicken, chicken tikka masala, fish, lamb, meat, mutton, restaurant), entertainment (club, film, hero, hotel, movies, shows, TV), interjections (bye, hello, hi, OK, please, thank you) and other uses (bus, car, company, market, MNA, plane, politics, president, ship, train). These English words have displaced Urdu words in everyday conversation. They are also to be found on billboards, degree certificates, and menus where they are written incongruously in Urdu script.
A paper written by three researchers and published in September 2020 in Pakistan Social Sciences Review reviewed the use of English in Urdu advertisements. It came to this conclusion: “[T]he use of English words is considered to be modern and [a] symbol of honour which raises their social status […] Urdu language is [considered to be] the expression of emotions while English language represents logical ideas, therefore, people use Urdu-English mix language to attract consumers.” Examples cited in the paper include Iftekhar Mechanic, Sialkot Sweets, Paan Shop, Aisha Fabrics, Biryani House.
Coming to the situation that prevails today, the Pakistan Idol is a popular music program patterned after the American idol. Contestants compete for the top position by singing a favourite song of theirs either in Urdu or Punjabi on a beautifully decorated stage. The songs are usually quite well known and have earlier been performed by famous singers such as Nur Jehan and Mehdi Hasan. The songs are accompanied by live music being performed by several people using a variety of instruments. A panel of judges observe the performance and comment after the participant is done.
The irony is that the judges often make their comments in heavily anglicised Urdu, which calls into question their appointment as a judge. It is not just a case of inserting a word here and there in an Urdu sentence. Often, entire sentences and even paragraphs are spoken completely in English:
“Your performance was excellent.”
“I look forward to hearing you sing on the radio or on TV from now on.”
And, in a linguistic echo, the participant switches to English and says: “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“I really appreciate it.”
Someone not familiar with Pakistani culture might conclude that English is the country’s primary language and Urdu is a secondary language.
Even on Urdu Talk Shows, the conversation between two people which begins in Urdu drifts into English. As discussed in a recent paper, Urdu advertisements written in the Persian script are loaded with English words, even when the words exist in Urdu.
The same phenomenon can also be observed in how numbers are being used. Instead of being written in the Eastern Arabic script, which is widely used in the Subcontinent, they are being written in the Western Arabic script seen in the western world.
The same phenomenon is observed in day-to-day conversations with friends and relatives. People who visit me from Pakistan can’t stop mixing English with Urdu. A couple of years ago, I had a long lunch with a visitor from Karachi. He spoke in English the entire time, oblivious to the fact that I was speaking to him in Urdu the entire time.
A visitor from Lahore was speaking to me in Urdu and suddenly inserted an English sentence. I asked her why? She said, with a smile, “I was showing off.” At least she was being honest.
At a Pakistani dinner gathering in the US, I heard two individuals who had not only been born and raised in Pakistan and done most of their education there, but who came from families whose mother tongue was Urdu. They were talking to each other in English. I asked, “Why are you speaking in English?” They said we talk in English when we are discussing a serious topic. I was stunned. Surely, one can discuss serious topics in Urdu.
This is yet more proof, if proof was needed, that English has become a status symbol in Pakistan, a colonial legacy from the English Raj.
Does this phenomenon spell the death of Urdu? Much has been written about why languages die. I continue to hope that we are not witnessing the death of Urdu and that Pakistan’s intellectuals and other leaders will make a serious effort to de-Anglicise Urdu. When they are talking in Urdu, they should do their best to only use words from the Urdu lexicon.
When they are talking in English, they should use words from the English lexicon. I have heard Pakistanis talking in English in the US to an American audience who suddenly start using words such as lakhs, crores and arabs instead of millions, billions and trillions. That leaves their audiences stunned.
It does not make any sense to talk in two languages at the same time. It ingrates the ears and is incongruous to a fault. Hybridisation is never a good idea, especially when it has overtones of linguistic apartheid. Unfortunately, unless the intellectuals and the elites in Pakistan come to this realisation, we will continue to observe the dilution of Urdu with English words. If the trend continues unabated, in a few decades hardly anyone will speak Urdu in Pakistan. Instead, they will speak a substandard English that is not spoken anywhere else in the world.
Being bilingual is an asset. I studied in English medium schools in Pakistan and that helped me in my higher studies career in Pakistan and in the US. But mixing Urdu and English together in the same sentence is incongruous. It grates upon the ears. If the trend continues, Urdu, instead of being the mother tongue will become a mongrel tongue.