Loanwords: Good or Bad?

In many languages, words from other languages are frequently borrowed to supply words for meanings that either don’t already exist or the words that do exist are not sufficient. Other times, they borrow them for convenience or no real reason at all. In this post, I’m going to talk about the place of loanwords in languages.

English speakers, you may not realize it, but English has tons of words borrowed from other languages. The majority of our technical and specialized vocabulary is borrowed from Latin and Greek. Take the word “logic”, from the Greek logos (reason). Or “regal”, related to the Latin regis (king). There are other words that we are less aware of, due to their normalized pronunciations or common use. A common mistake is that loanwords are typically used only in specialized or very proper versions of a language. In English, the word for the meat of a cow, “beef” is from Norman French, bœuf, which was adopted to distinguish it from the animal in Old English, cu (cow). Less obvious borrowings include jungle” from Hindi जंगली (jangli), meaning “forest”, or “algebra”, from the Arabic الجبر (al-jabr), meaning “the reunion of broken parts”.

These words have become very normal for English speakers to say, and we hardly think about it anymore, since the origin of a word almost never has any consequence on social dynamics in English. However, in other languages, loanwords have a very consciously felt function and can be sensitive depending on how they are used.

An easy example that I’ve brought up before is Hindi-Urdu. The two main dialects of this language, Hindi and Urdu, are distinguished primarily by how much people use Perso-Arabic loanwords. Urdu in India is regarded as a poetic form of Hindi, and is heavily associated with Muslims, which can range from being good to bad, depending on the politics and sensibilities of a particular person. Urdu uses a lot of words borrowed from Farsi and Arabic. In Hindi, there are comparatively fewer, and borrows primarily from Sanskrit and English. For example, both Hindi and Urdu speakers will say gāḍi for “car”. (I’m using IAST since the scripts are different for Hindi and Urdu.) However, when saying “welcome”, Hindi speakers will say svāgat, whereas Urdu speakers will say ḥuś āmdīd. The use of Urdu versus Hindi has generated great controversy as to whether they’re different languages and questions over the social dynamic with respect to what kind of Hindi-Urdu they use.

Another dichotomy of loanwords that exists in nearly all subcontinental languages is the use of English loanwords. This usually happens in expat communities, among the children of expats who may not speak the language as well as their parents. As a Kannada speaker who lives in America, I don’t use the proper Kannada words for some thing because I either don’t know them or they’re really long and clunky to use. For example, I’m more likely to say “statistics” in English with an Indian accent (yes very stereotypical I know), but the proper word is ಸಂಖ್ಯಾಸಂಗ್ರಹಣ (sankhyāsangrahaṇa). My grandparents often advocate the use of pure Kannada because they think it’s more important to preserve the language in its original form than “corrupt” it with foreign words. But even Kannada borrows from Farsi and Arabic, so it’s questionable as to why those words are more acceptable than English. In many Indian expat communities, the use of English loanwords can be seen as a mark of not knowing the mother tongue as well (which very well may be true). To be honest, this is usually the opinion of the older generation, especially in India.

It’s unclear whether using loanwords is good or bad, especially when we don’t have words for things. I think that ideally, we should use the pure version of a language, but as is often the case, we don’t know the language that well. It would be better to teach the pure version, but as for practice of the language, we should let it take its course.

I hope you found this article informative and interesting! Please feel free to comment or share this article.

Did You Know? – Perso-Arabic Loans in Kannada

In my research on more advanced words in Kannada, I discovered there is a significant inventory of Perso-Arabic words. These words are primarily used by Muslim Kannada speakers, who are primarily centered in Northern Karnataka, in cities such as in Mysore and Dharwad.

I was kind of surprised to learn that there was effectively a Kannada-based equivalent of Urdu, which is a variety of the Hindi-Urdu continuum of languages that borrows heavily from Arabic and Farsi. Kannada’s “Urdu” has no formal name, as the minority of Muslims who speak Kannada are unlikely to use their particular variety of Kannada in public spaces. Most Muslims in Dharwar and Mysore speak Urdu as their first language, picking up Kannada as a second language. Despite this, Kannada has developed a strategy to write Perso-Arabic words in the Kannada script. Only two such letters are currently accepted in standard orthography: ಕ಼ (qa) and ಫ಼ (fa).

When I write in Kannada, I use the two dots to mark Perso-Arabic sounds that are not a part of the standard system. This means ಜ with two dots underneath would be pronounced “za” and ಖ with two dots would be “ḥa”. Interestingly, there is actually a protocol of how specific Nastaliq letters are converted into Kannada, and then pronounced in Muslim Kannada and Common (or Standard) Kannada:

Nastaliq [IPA] -> Muslim Kannada [IPA] (two dots) -> Common Kannada [IPA] (no dots)

ف [f] -> ಫ಼ [f] -> ಪ/ಫ [p/pʰ]

ص [ṣ] -> ಷ [ṣ] -> ಷ [ʂ]

ق [q] -> ಕ಼ [q] -> ಕ [k]

ز [z] -> ಜ [z] -> ಜ [j]

ث [θ] -> ಥ [θ] -> ಥ [tʰ]

و [w] -> ವ [w] -> ವ [v]

خ [χ] -> ಖ [χ] -> ಖ [kʰ]

غ [ɣ] -> ಘ [ɣ] -> ಘ [gʰ]

ذ [ð] -> ಧ [ð] -> ಧ [dʰ]

آ [ɒ] -> ಔ [ɒ] -> ಔ [au]

ه [h] -> ಃ [h] -> ಃ [ø]

To give an example, let’s take the following sentence: “I write the information with a pen.”

Muslim Kannada: ನಾನು ಈ ಇಜಾಫ಼ೆಯನ್ನ ಕ಼ಲಮುವಿನ್ದ ಬರೆಯುತ್ತೇನೆ. – Nānu ī ijāfeyanna qalamuvinda bareyuttēne.

Common Kannada: ನಾನು ಈ ಮಾಹಿತಿಯನ್ನ ಲೇಖನಿಯಿಂದ ಬರೆಯುತ್ತೇನೆ. – Nānu ī māhitiyanna lēkhaniyinda bareyuttēne.

Common Kannada (pronouncing Muslim Kannada): ನಾನು ಈ ಇಜಾಫೆಯನ್ನ ಕಲಮುವಿಂದ ಬರೆಯುತ್ತೇನೆ. – Nānu ī ijāpheyanna kalamuvinda bareyuttēne.

As you might be able to tell, the words for “information” and “pen” are very different, and come from different sources. It is also very clear that a Common Kannada reading of the Muslim Kannada sentence will sound stilted (though it assumes that the speaker is operating strictly within the sound inventory of Common Kannada). Not to mention that Spoken Kannada would sound completely different, no matter who’s talking.

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The Impact on Language by the Syrian Refugee Crisis

With the massive influx of Syrian migrants fleeing the violence in their homeland, Europe is presented a not so uncommon problem. A good portion of the migrants do not speak any of the multiple local languages of European countries. An article from The Guardian reports that volunteers are helping the refugees by teaching them the local language (read it here), which will help them better function in the new society. I’m guessing that it will be unlikely that Syrian refugees are going to be able to return to Syria any time in the next five years or so, possibly more. As such, this is a situation where I believe one needs to learn the language of a country they migrate to, simply as a matter of being pragmatic. However, I don’t support assimilation, and am not suggesting that Syrians completely abandon their homeland and their culture as a result of their situation in the countries of Europe. They have a right to that, wherever life may take them.

On the other end of the relationship, the refugee crisis brings up an interesting array of possible effects on the political-linguistic environment of Europe. European nationals teach the refugees their language, but at the same time, there will most likely be demand and need to learn their language, Syrian Arabic, as well. Syrian Arabic is a dialect of Levantine Arabic, which itself is a version of the Arabic language. Arabic’s standard form, also known as Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), is mostly used in official documents and news to the entire Arabic-speaking world. While most, if not all, Arabic speakers understand MSA, it is not spoken widely outside of official situations and news stations, where, even then, the local variety may predominate. The influx of Syrian refugees into Europe will give reason for the countries of Europe to make Levantine, if not specifically Syrian, Arabic an official minority language that it uses to communicate with the refugee communities, while the local language is still not fully integrated into their societies. However, given the strong linguistic identities already within European countries, such as those of Catalan, Occitan, Romansh, and other minority languages may conflict with the pragmatic need to establish a medium of communication with the Syrian community. The increased

If the conflict in Syria escalates or is otherwise perpetuated, these refugee communities may become permanent in Europe, which sets the stage for linguistic changes. For example, extended contact with Syrian Arabic may result in loan words being borrowed by local languages, which is not entirely out of the question. Spanish, due to the Moorish occupation, adopted a whole slew of words from Arabic, such as ajedrez (chess), arroz (rice), and ojalá (God permit/willing…). Another a possibility is the creation of a Romance-Arabic creole in the Syrian refugee communities. I’m not sure what the long-term significance of this would be, but it is still entirely possible. Contact with Syrian Arabic may also induce sound changes, though that is difficult to predict, especially considering the relatively small scale at which the local languages may come into contact with the language.

I hope this piece makes you think a little bit about the long-term effects of the Syrian refugee crisis, and please don’t forget to share this on Facebook and Tumblr!