Mind your language

For a three-year-old, Harsheet Srinivasan has strong likes and dislikes. He grabs the remote and switches channels only to hit one with static. His father Manohar, 32, asks him what he wants in Telugu, their mother-tongue. “Chhota Bheem lagao,” lisps Harsheet with a grin.

“He replies in Hindi even to what we ask in Telugu, often using big words that surprise my wife and me,” says Manohar, ruffling his son's hair. “Iss waqt mujhe pareshan mat karo,” protests Harsheet, pushing his hand away. He can’t be disturbed while watching his “favalit” show on the laddoo-chomping Bheem.

A few kilometres away, in Malad, a crisis is unfolding at the Sequeira family home. The cable is off and Danielle, the youngest member of the family, is checking every few minutes if it has returned. Her mother's entreaties to lie down fall on deaf ears. “What if Doraemon comes on when I sleep?” Danielle wants to know.

Not only the family, but neighbours in this almost entirely Catholic enclave are amused by the six-year-old’s prowess over Hindi. “We speak English all the time. It not like we have Hindi speaking neighbours or that she has friends in school who talk Hindi. Even if they do, it's toota-foota. So we were surprised with the way she speaks,” says Danielle's mother Andrea.

The little girl has picked up most of her Hindi from her daily-fix, Doraemon. The show, a huge hit with kids, follows the (mis)adventures of a school kid Nobita and his blue robotic cat from the 22nd century.

Incidentally, Danielle’s older sister Dione, 14, struggles with her Hindi. “I grew up on Tom & Jerry, which is just music, while Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck spoke English. My later favourites like Hannah Montana were in English so I never got as comfortable with Hindi,” says Dione. Feeling left out, Danielle butts in saying, “Hannah Montana is my favourite too.” Shooed into silence, she reacts saying: “Aisa hamesha mere saath hi kyon hota hai”, a common refrain in Doraemon.