Today, on the drive to pre-school with Minal, we talk with each other in Urdu–as we often do when we are alone with each other. Generally, I have to dictate to her, and then she gets into the stream of the language.
As we go under the railroad track on the feeder, she throws out on her own: “Nana ko Urdu pasand hay.”
I smile. It’s nice to know that the language is sticking. “Yes, your Nana does like Urdu.”
She laughs and then gives me a list of all the people in her world who like Urdu: “Nani, Beena Khala, Maha.” She stops.
“How about Tammi and Carol at school?” I ask.
“No,” Minal says. “They’re teachers. They don’t know Urdu.”