French Immersion in Brussels..

Knowing French and speaking French is not the same. I noticed this when I came to live in Brussels, a very francophone city.

French was my second language all throughout schooling. I was proud of knowing another foreign language after learning French for about six years. I was in for a shock when I came to Brussels.

I realized painfully that I could not catch the flow of the spoken language. I could read and understand French but always heard only the first and the last words of the spoken word. The message in between was a blur.

I wanted to go for French classes ever since I came to Brussels to remedy my unfortunate condition.

I have always admired the French language. I believe it to be beautiful, romantic and passionate - almost like a language of love. I wanted to speak the language so badly. I was searching for a good language school in Brussels.

There was always some hindrance when I searched for language classes. Sometimes the timings didn't match or the school was too far. My quest for language fluency came to a stand-still for a while.

I was again searching for some intensive courses in French this summer. My internet search led me to a very reputed, government recognized language school in Brussels. I decided to give it a try.

I got on the bus to the institute after giving them a call to ask about the admissions. A very cheerful lady met me at their secretariat and explained the nature of the course to me. I was not yet convinced.

I met with Dominique next, the French professor, and asked permission to sit in class for an hour before deciding whether to join or not.

I was so impressed by her classes. It was perfect for my needs. The course was intensive but it was easy for me to follow. I had years of french lessons, the required vocabulary and grammer. The emphasis was on spoken language (oral) and this was what I had hoped for.

I stayed on for the entire day after informing Dominique that I was enrolling in her class. I also signed up for the entire course (50 hours in two weeks).

After a week of classes, I am so relieved to have gained the confidence to speak in French. I spoke in French to the police lady who came for a verification survey yesterday. My slightly bewildered husband looked on as I conversed with her. I felt so proud after the incident.

I understood the conversations around me for the first time after coming to Brussels. The announcements in the supermarket, the instructions at the shop counters, conversations in the bus and the random ramblings on the street all make sense to me now. It is all about picking up the flow of the language.

I was so excited after my first 25 hours of the course that I picked up French dictionary and newspapers for me to read from a shop near my institute.
There are 5 students in class besides me in my French class. We are allowed to speak only in French in the institute and the classes are held in only French (not a word of English).

Dominique, our instructor, has an interesting way of presenting the language. She is very enthusiastic and explains new French words using the French words we already know. If she can't get through to us, she uses actions (but never a word of English). She takes us to the video and computer labs (language labs) to help us understand the accents, tones and situations in French.

I made quite a few friends in my French class. Two of the lovely ladies in class are from Latvia. They work for the European Commission in Brussels. I go out for lunch with these two beautiful damsels to nearby eateries.

Inara, one of the Latvian ladies, is a tall and graceful female. I admire her maturity and her knowledge of world cultures and customs. She gave me a book called Monsoon Diary written by a South Indian about her Indian heritage. Isn't it so strange to get a book on Indian culture from a European?

Ivetta, the other Latvian, is vivacious, pretty and elegant. She has curly blond hair and takes great care to apply and reapply her make-up. I am not a fan of bright, violet lipstick but somehow, I love the contrast of her violet lips and clear, white skin.

Post lunch, we take a stroll on the crowded street below and visit a few shops. I gleefully notice few heads turning at the sight of a brown, Indian lady flanked by tall and fair-skinned European beauties.

Brigette, another one of the students, is a German expert in international relations for the European Commission. I look at her in awe during the coffee break as she explains her work and her trips to conflict zones such as Iraq, Afganistan and Kosovo.

Seyonara is a brazilian student who is here in Brussels to learn fashion. True to her interests, she stands out due to her stylish boots and chic outfits.
I can't leave out Claudio, a young Romanian, who boasted happily that he has a girl-friend in ever country he visits (how truly romantic).
I have the next 25 hours to finish up next week and we will sink into a more advanced
level of French.

There are downsides to this entire episode. I feel so tired after each day because the session is so intensive (continous thinking and training the brain to accept a foreign language). I go to bed early but need a crane to lift me up in the morning (Thank you Frank).

I constantly rush to the bus stop only to miss my bus by a whisker (how annoying). Then it is a harrowing 20 minutes wait at the bus stop followed by a sleepy 40 minutes bus ride.

The benefits of the course far outweigh the cons. I love the feel of the language around me during the classes. I try to extract the maximum out of the language classes with a zeal and persistence that amazes even myself.

It is one more trying week of intensive language lessons for me. I am going to make the most out of the experience.

As for now, Au revoir from Brussels!

Memoirs - My Hostel Days

I left that campus bordering the Yamuna river almost five years ago. I can still feel the pulse of that North Indian city at the confluence of the three holy rivers. It was my home for four long years. It was from an institution located close to this city that I completed my undergraduate education.

It was an unconventional place in many ways. The campus was almost cut off from the city because of the river. The Yamuna bridge, the only connection to the city, was always crowded and congested. The vehicles on the lower tier of the bridge trembled as the trains roared above them. The pollution was unbearable. The occasional breeze carried with it the stench of a city bursting at its seams.

A few minutes walk from this chaos led to the vast expanse that was my campus and home for a long time. The campus looked like was planted there from elsewhere. It was a complete contrast to what the city was. It was green with red brick buildings. Flowers bloomed at all times. The landscaping was perfect. One of my favourite past-times was sitting under the arches in the Administration Block and staring at all that life around me.

Despite the beautiful surroundings, the institution was a tough place. Most students believed that surving the Institute took a lot of effort and prayers. The climate was extreme. It was an alternation between freezing winters and sultry summers. The summers were especially rough with hot, gusty winds. The hostels did not have heaters or coolers. The drinking water had a hard, metallic taste. The food lacked variety and was bland. A third of the first year students got either malaria, jaundice, typhoid or a combination of these.

I went through a period of shock during my first months there. Then, there was a period of denial during which my subconsious failed to register that I was away from home. The final relief came while bonding with peers in the hostel and classes. There were students from all the states of India and from countries such as Bangladesh, Kenya, Rwanda and Burma. There was so much of variety of people in the Institute. We celebrated together all the festivals of the representative Indian states and countries.

There were three men's hostels, one international hostel and a women's hostel. The women's hostel had about three hundred girls. This was the most curious place in the Institute. This hostel had its own mini campus. There was a high wall around it with many security guards posted around the structure. The women's hostel resembled a fortress designed to keep the species of the opposite sex at bay (or to contain the female species).

It was a totally different regime inside the women's hostel. Believe it or not, this was an incredibly hard place to live in especially for the newcomers. The newcomers were paraded for many months and methodically scoffed at.

The warden was a coward who ignored the atrocities. I remember her asking me if I was facing any troubles during my first week in the hostel. Considering that I was dressed like a clown with oil dripping down my head, I was sure that she could infer something. Ofcourse, I said I was fine and had no complaints. She smiled dutifully at my deranged appearance.

The first year is the longest and the most painful. I must have shed enough tears for a life time during my first year. The following years were full of activity. The friends circle enlarged and there was always some festival going on in the campus. I learned to decieve and lie to suit any circumstances. My survival instincts sharpened and my confidence increased.

By the time I finished my course, I was a changed person. I went in to the Institute as a naive teenager. I came out as a cunning young lady. From my experiences in the Institute, I learned to cleverly mask my mischiefs. I went through the joys and troubles of independance. I learned to manage myself mostly through trial and error.

My time in the Institue was full of ups and downs. I remember my circle of friends and the events we organized together in the Institute. I have such fond memories of the late-night hostel events. It was something close to a bunch of females going insane throughout the night and into the wee hours. I remember travelling to waterfalls, picnic spots, field and industrial sites in our yellow Institute bus. I remember vividly the many fights in the hostel with rival student factions and especially with seniors. There was a lot of bottled-up rage and frustration in all of us.

My years in the Institute was a time of mixed emotions and experiences. I consider it to be both the best of times and worst of times. When I look back, living there for four years is something I cannot even imagine repeating. That life seems so mythical and unbelievable to me now just like that ancient city.