[ad_1]
Saima Mir (My children don’t speak my mother tongue – as a second-generation migrant, it fills me with sadness, 21 February) elegantly highlights the predicament of many parents across the UK, particularly in extended families, where grandparents might as well not be living with family, such is the communication divide. As someone who was lucky enough to learn Urdu in the 1980s, it saddens me also that my children will never be able to understand the language and have no interest in doing so.
As a nation, we are not very advanced when it comes to learning other languages. Yet there is a sense of achievement, even of freedom, that comes with knowing, understanding and appreciating the text of another language, especially when as different as English and Urdu are.
Shakeel Suleman
Birmingham
Saima Mir’s article resonated with me as I too am the child of immigrants, born in London. My children struggle with my mother tongue of Sylheti and have difficulty communicating with their grandparents.
I also want to highlight the historical context for naming 21 February as international mother language day. While Bangladesh was still known as East Pakistan, in 1952 the government wanted to impose Urdu as the official language, which the Bengali-speaking people of East Pakistan opposed. A group of students protesting against this were shot dead, which lead to further protests. Since then, this day has been commemorated every year in Bangladesh.
I grew up hearing the stories and singing the song that was written about that day, but I did not understand why it was so important. I now have a better understanding as I see the disconnect of my children from their culture.
Jamila Begum
London
My son-in-law was born in England to Urdu-speaking parents. His mother made sure he could not only speak Urdu but read and write it too. When my first grandchild was born, I begged my son-in-law to speak Urdu with her, but sadly this was not practical. Talking to other people I find that this is typical – a language gets lost after two generations. What survives to be passed down through the generations seems to be cookery. My daughter has learned how to cook her mother-in-law’s dishes and is teaching her children.
Incidentally, my daughter and I are learning Urdu and I hope that my grandchildren will follow suit in time. My Urdu class is full of young people of Indian and Pakistani heritage determined to learn the language of their foremothers.
Penny Salter
Berlin, Germany
My wife is Japanese and I’m British, and we took the conscious decision to each speak our native language to our son from the day he was born. We believed it would help him connect with both sides of his heritage and family.
He started speaking both languages earlier than other infants could speak one. He’s now 15 and can easily flip between the two, English is one of his strongest subjects at school, and he’s decided to take Japanese GCSE. He can also speak with Japanese relatives whenever he wants.
I can’t think of any downsides and I’d encourage any parents in mixed families to do this.
Richard Lamsdale
Marlow, Buckinghamshire
[ad_2]
Source link
