“You are Marathi?”. Yessir, mee aahe marathi manoos.
I could sell ice to an eskimo, but may find it tough when it comes to convincing people that I am a marathi manoos. I get passed off as a relocated keralaite, a gaothan catholic, or a nice telugu. Or sometimes as an alien.
Reason 1 – My diction. Not really the way Mumbaikars speak nor the way Punekars speak. My accent is a hybrid between the Pune and Nagpur styles. The old worldly style of Pune and the north influenced Nagpuri style combine strategically to ensure that I can never express myself clearly in Marathi.
Reason 2 – My looks. For all to see. I look like an import from some hypothetical fairy land. Deep eyes (yup, sunk into my eye sockets!), my colour (can easily comouflage as a zebra, thanks Dad, Mom for the stripes!), my structure (as regal as the royalty of some food starved country!).
Reason 3 – My name. The biggest drawback is the serious lack of “kar” in my name. With a surname like this, I pass of as an ancient Maori tribesman than a inhabitant of the Deccan Plateau.
But at the core, I am as marathi as I can be. I always refer to Kaalnirnay, I try and read some Diwali “ank“, I sit on the katta with friends when I am in Pune, use words like “chya aila“, I wear a Gandhi topi for Satya Nararayan puja, I say “Deva Ishwara Parameshwara Panduranga” to sigh, I still love Chimnarao, I have been saying Mumbai even when it was Bombay, I love Chitale’s chirote, and the Lonavala chikki. I still call people “bandya” or “balu“. And in this day and age when parents talk to their child only in English, my wife and I always speak to our daughter in Marathi. Like mine, her sanskaar will always be true marathi!
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