I grew up in the 1970s and ’80s across three Indian cities — Mumbai, Kolkata, and Chennai. I speak Marathi and Tamil and can comprehend Bengali. In Class VIII, I chose French as a third language. We were, I remember vaguely, lured by the promise of a “high-scoring subject” and a language in which you rolled your Rs and pouted in a satisfyingly sophisticated manner. After struggling with vyakran and kaarak, French grammar (the bane of Enid Blyton’s oh-so-English girls) was a breeze. Our textbook, a 1930s relic we called the Mauger Bleu, depicted the Vincent family in fascinating detail: M Vincent, always with a lighted cigarette and sometimes clutching an important-looking briefcase, Mme. Vincent, perfectly coiffed, endlessly shopping for groceries or hosting lavish French meals, the children Pierre and Hélène, whose clothes, body parts, school satchels, and classrooms all provided us with long lists of French words to learn, apart from a tantalising glimpse into French life.AdvertisementMy love affair with languages had just begun, though, because in high school, I started amassing French proficiency certificates at Alliance Française, and in college, I began frequenting Max Mueller Bhavan, signing up for German. By the time I had joined my master’s programme — MA French at JNU — my philological hunger only grew, and I joined a language course at the Italian Cultural Centre, a passion that gave me a second master’s degree, a Master of Philosophy, and a lifelong weakness for Italian food.Those halcyon years were punctuated by a slew of social and cultural experiences. From theatre to cinema, from cuisine to politics, from business to tourism, I discovered worlds through the lens of language. When I met native speakers, it wasn’t just me practising my fluency; I was called upon to explain or show “Indian things”: The bindi, Bollywood dancing, Indian food, the caste system, our religions, our sartorial choices. I was asked to speak “Indian”, and saw bemusement turn into delighted amazement when I whipped out an Indian currency note that showed the dizzying variety of scripts and languages.Strangers on buses, on the metro, or on the street, hearing me speak their tongue, would approach me to ask frank questions about India. Women would accost me to check if I could draw a henna pattern (alas, no!) or show them how a sari was draped (phew, yes!). I had unwittingly turned into a cultural ambassador. Anxious to inform, not misinform, I began to ask about and read up on what constituted India and Indianness.AdvertisementAlso Read | In Trump’s ceasefire extension, there could be off-ramps for both sidesInterestingly, my understanding and vocabulary of Indian languages also expanded. In Europe, we Indian (or even South Asian) students would break into Hindustani, Bangla, Tamil, enjoying a private joke or a comment about the cute guy across the street. We would sometimes struggle to speak in a linguistically “shuddh” way, but soon recalled snatches of phrases from some movie, or our lives, to keep our people-watching-commentary strictly amongst us. When our tongues didn’t match, we would converse in the European language, to the intense amusement of the natives, who would demand why we weren’t speaking Indian (back to the currency note).By virtue of being trained in not just a foreign language but also its phonetics, sociolinguistic aspects, and syntax, we found ourselves taking notes, making comparisons, and introspecting about our own languages. When presented with otherness, we can appreciate what is us and ours. Presenting my world through a foreign language opened my eyes to its beauty, while fostering friendships for life.I taught French and Italian for decades. I learned that the cognitive process of learning a language activates several synapses in the brain. Language learning has been linked to the slowing down of neurodegenerative conditions such as Alzheimer’s and dementia. Thus, learning a foreign language also, quite literally, opens up one’s brain.you may likeIn an increasingly AI-dominated world, we may no longer need translators, for there are apps now to do the job. There are language-learning apps, too (to each their own). The thing is, apps and AI can teach grammar, vocabulary, and sentence structure. But they cannot teach humans to engage and connect with other humans. Whether our first view of a different culture is through a language period in middle school, or a course in an institute, I can say with confidence — and 30 years of experience — that exposure to foreign cultures through their language(s) makes us more tolerant, more understanding, better global citizens.Our world is increasingly interdependent while being marred by geopolitical strife. There is no better way to build bridges than through intercultural exchange. And there is no intercultural communication as smile-inducing, as precious, and as durable as that which embraces the sounds of the other and makes it one’s own.The writer is a quizmaster, author, and pedagogue. She has taught four languages over a career spanning 35 years