-By Rudrangshi Saha
Language is often seen as a neutral medium of communication, a tool we use to express thoughts already formed. But what if language itself is the very architect of those thoughts? A system that subtly teaches us how to think, forming the foundation of our worldviews, our identities, and our understanding of complex concepts like gender. This invites us to rethink the quintessence of language—what is it, after all? Just a sequence of vowels and consonants? A set of arbitrary sounds? Or a reflection of a culture's deepest values, experiences, and outlook?
Consider this: in Tamil or Hindi, there’s no native word for "kangaroo"—instead, they use "Kangaaru" or "Kankarau." Why? Simply because these animals don’t naturally exist in the regions where these languages are widely spoken. Hence, the need to develop a word never arose. Concepts alien to a culture are not named but transliterated. Isn't it remarkable then, that our lexicon is shaped by the world we know, that the boundaries of our reality are drawn by the language we speak? So, how free are we in our thoughts when the very vocabulary we use is bound by our cultural context?
Let’s take the Himba tribe in Namibia, for instance. Their language does not distinguish between blue and green. This lack of linguistic distinction leads them to struggle to differentiate between these colours visually. Yet, they have a name for a specific shade of green that is virtually invisible to speakers of other languages. This raises an unsettling question: is it the world that shapes our language, or is it our language that shapes how we perceive the world?
While we could dive deep into the linguistic impact on cognition, let’s hone in on one fascinating and universally relevant aspect: gender. Some might think, what's so special about it? Isn’t gender just male and female? Actually, it’s far more complex.
The Difference Between Sex and Gender
Let’s clear one common misconception: sex and gender are not the same. Sex is biological, determined by chromosomes—XX for females, XY for males. The chromosomes that differentiate male and female are universal, but gender is a sociological concept that changes with time and culture. It’s about how we express ourselves, what roles we assume, and who we’re attracted to. For instance, pink was once masculine, while blue was feminine—only after World War II did this cultural narrative flip. So, how deeply does language influence these distinctions?
Grammatical Gender: A Subtle Force
In 2012, a study involving Spanish and German speakers asked them to describe a bridge. The Spanish, whose word for bridge ("el puente") is masculine, described it with adjectives like "strong" and "big." The Germans, whose word for bridge ("die Brücke") is feminine, described it as "elegant" and "beautiful." The object—a bridge—remained the same. So why did two cultures perceive it differently?
This isn't just prevalent in Spanish or German. Take Hindi, which like many gendered languages, classifies mountains as masculine and rivers as feminine. But why? Is a river any less robust than a mountain? The answer lies not in logic but in cultural perception. Gender in language, a phenomenon called grammatical gender, is not a universal truth but a subjective cultural lens. We assign gender to even inanimate objects not because of any chromosomal logic, but because language forces us to.
The Aryan vs. Dravidian Approach
Languages from the Aryan family—like Hindi, Gujarati, and Marathi—often attribute gender to objects arbitrarily. So, even unfeeling objects like chairs and books must pick sides. But Dravidian languages—like Tamil, Telugu, and Kannada—take a more rational approach. Tamil divides nouns into categories based on animacy (whether something has consciousness). For instance, gods and adult humans fall into a category that recognizes gender, while non-living things and children fall into a neutral category. Compare this to Marathi, where even a mango can be masculine, or Gujarati, where the same mango can be feminine.
In Telugu, we encounter one of the most intriguing gender classifications—masculine and non-masculine. The latter encompasses both feminine and neuter nouns, grouping them together.
Meanwhile, in Malayalam, gender doesn’t even exist, except in personal pronouns. No noun or verb carries gender markers, making the language more egalitarian in its structure. Assam’s Axomiya language is similar, with gender-neutral nouns but gendered pronouns.
But the true rebels of gender in language are Bangla and Odia. In these languages, gender isn’t even a concept. Nouns, pronouns, and adjectives are all gender-neutral, making the very idea of grammatical gender foreign. Imagine growing up in such a linguistic environment and then confronting the rigid gender rules of Hindi—it’s no surprise that confusion arises.
But, why does such vast variance exist even within Indian languages? What if, language fluidity reflects more progressive thinking in certain cultures, perhaps leading to a less rigid view of societal roles? This sheer randomness in gender assignment shows how culturally subjective the concept of gender is.
Language and Politics: A Hidden Connection?
This brings us to an intriguing hypothesis: could the structure of a language shape a society’s political ideologies? Linguistic conservatism might correlate with political conservatism, just as linguistic fluidity may parallel progressive views. The more rigid the gender categories in a language, the more traditional its societal norms may be. The more fluid the language, the more open a society might be to ideas like gender equality and LGBTQ+ rights. Notice how traditionally conservative regions, where gendered languages like Hindi and Gujarati dominate, often align with right-wing ideologies, while more linguistically fluid regions lean left?
So, what happens when language becomes a tool for political control? Consider British colonization in India. The British projected their Victorian notions of gender onto Indian society, baffled by practices like the cultural androgyny of Bengal, where men expressed devotion by becoming Radha or Krishna, blurring traditional gender lines. This confusion led the British to label Bengali men as "effeminate," not recognizing that Bengal valued buddhibal (intellect)—over bahubal (physical prowess). The idea of masculinity became a political tool, a colonial weapon wielded to divide and conquer.
Even Indian thinkers like Swami Vivekananda, inspired by British ideals, urged men to "become masculine," equating strength with virtue. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose sought to prove that Bengali men were just as capable, if not more so, than their counterparts from "martial races" like the Rajputs and Marathas. The British obsession with gender norms had far-reaching effects on India’s cultural psyche, reinforcing rigid gender roles that persist even today.
The Fluidity of Gender Norms
Let’s zoom out and consider the metaphysical balance between masculine and feminine energies, seen across cultures. In Hindu philosophy, masculine and feminine are inseparable—Shiva and Shakti, the cosmic duo, represent creation’s balance. In Chinese thought, it’s yin and yang, chaos and order, forever intertwined. When a culture’s feminine energy is suppressed, it collapses under its own weight, losing its vitality. When masculine energy weakens, corruption reigns, and lawlessness follows. Gender fluidity isn’t just a modern buzzword—it’s ancient wisdom, guiding cultures to balance and harmony.
Gender norms are not inherent; they’re learned, shaped, and reinforced by the very languages we speak. And when a society dictates rigid gender roles, it often does so as a tool of control.
From the British imposition of masculinity in India to modern-day political debates around gender identity, we see the power dynamics behind gender norms. But what if we saw gender not as a rigid framework but as an ever-evolving construct? One that varies from place to place, from language to language?
A Final Thought: The Power of Words
But here’s the real question: in a society that places so much value on conforming to gender norms, who decides what’s masculine or feminine? Is it biology, or is it culture, guided by the language we speak? And if language shapes thought, could rethinking our linguistic structures lead us to rethink our gender norms?
Perhaps the most vital takeaway from all of this is that gender, like language, is fluid. Just as languages evolve, adopting new words and discarding old ones, so too can our understanding of gender evolve. The categories we once thought were fixed may, in fact, be far more flexible than we ever imagined.
So, here’s a final thought: If language is the lens through which we see the world, what happens when we change the language? And, could changing how we speak about gender, how we assign it in language- reshape how we think about it in life?
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