I’ve been living in Gujarat for about seven months now. New city, new rhythm, new everything. The only thing that hasn’t quite caught up with the change is my Hindi.
I know a few words. Very, very few.
Enough to survive. Not enough to understand panic.
The Evening at the Play Area
One evening, I took my daughter down to the play area in our apartment. The usual scene—kids running around, laughter echoing, parents standing in small groups, half-watching, half-unwinding.
I was standing right in the middle of the play area, keeping an eye on my daughter, when one little boy suddenly started running towards me.
As he ran, he kept shouting: “Aunty, woh mujhe maar raha hai!”
He ran past me. Came back again. And again.
Every single time, the same line: “Aunty, woh mujhe maar raha hai!”
Me vs My Very Limited Hindi
Now, with my limited Hindi knowledge, my brain immediately translated this into something like: Aunty, move… you’re blocking us…
So I did what any polite, slightly confused adult would do.
I moved.
I stepped aside to give him space.
But wherever I went, he followed—still running, still pointing, still shouting: “Aunty, woh mujhe maar raha hai!”
Slowly, I kept moving… until there was nowhere left to go.
I was finally stuck in a corner, leaning against the wall.
And yes—he still came running. Still shouting.
At that point, my thoughts were racing:
Where exactly am I supposed to move now? Should I disappear?
Calling the Language Expert
Totally confused, I turned to the most reliable translator I had with me—my daughter.
I gently asked her what the boy was saying. She said in Tamil: “Adikiranganu soluran ma.”
(They are hitting me)
The Realisation
And just like that, everything made sense.
The boy wasn’t asking me to move. He wasn’t blaming me. He wasn’t even talking to me.
He was asking a question.
About someone else.
I burst out laughing right there in the play area—at myself, at the situation, and at how confidently wrong I had been.
Seven Months In
That moment perfectly summed up my language journey so far.
Seven months in a new state. A handful of words learned. Endless situations misunderstood.
But also—moments like these that make the transition lighter, funnier, and oddly memorable.
Maybe fluency will come slowly. Maybe embarrassment will come first.
Either way, I’m learning—one confused sentence at a time.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t trade these stories for perfect Hindi.
Have you ever misunderstood a language so badly that it turned into a story you’ll never forget?
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