As I walked out of the UN building yesterday, a man came up beside me and asked, “Are you observing?” I was taken aback by his sudden presence beside me, and even more surprised by the question. “What?” He repeated the question, which made no more sense the second time than the first. Perhaps I laughed a little, and then began to speak to him in Bengali. The conversation continued in English and Bengali, despite my attempts to continue on my way to my meeting.
“What is your country?” This is a very usual question. “What province are you from?” Ok, ok, Georgia, no, it’s not California or near to California. “What are you doing here in Bangladesh?” I gave my standard answer, in Bangla. And very quickly I had a prickly, defensive Bangladeshi man yelling at me about my incorrect pronunciation. I might have laughed again. Next, he told me that, as the British are the only ones who know how to pronounce English correctly, the Bengalis know how to correctly speak Bengali.
Yes, he was right. I pronounced a “gaw” like “go”. I do this sometimes, but not too often for it to be a pattern. But I was offended. Very offended, and angry. Angry that this strange man had accosted me on my way to an important meeting, angry that he had pointed out a flaw, angry that this awful, gendered situation had happened to me far too often.
I think, in fact, he was as offended by me as I was by him. That’s what my over-analysis has decided. I had laughed at him, and he was getting his vengeance. And it hurt. My Bangla’s not perfect, but I pride myself in my pronunciation and accent. Even if it was the incorrect pronunciation, there was no reason to scream in my face about it. That was just rude.
And we don’t have provinces, jerk, we have states.
