(Reader's Restriction: The humour below is intended only for a mature audience, as it contains suggestive language. The writing does not propagate or blame any language or culture—it merely laughs at the beautiful mess of cross-linguistic accidents.)
I was born into the complicated world of The and Long. Much as I have equipped myself with these phonetics over the years, I still find them devilishly difficult to pronounce. And sometimes I wonder: why on earth do these two words—sounding so painfully similar—have such wildly different meanings depending on which language you're standing in?
The and Long can contort faces. They can strike fear into the hearts of a certain group of people in Bhutan—especially us Sharchokpas. Whenever I have to use these innocent English words, I deploy them with the caution of a bomb disposal expert. A peculiar American the (with that soft, rolling thhhh) sounds very close to our brother's slang for a certain part of the male anatomy. And don't get me wrong—I love a distinct American accent. But before I utter these English words, I glance around nervously. Left. Right. Behind. If there are rowdies nearby, I swallow the word whole. Otherwise, we might end up in a long, uncomfortable "guff" talk about nothing in particular—using nothing but these accidental slangs.
I have developed some uneasy, neurotic hunches about using these two Bhutanese slangs in front of my students—especially my Sharchokpa students. (Though let's be honest: everyone knows these slangs now. Ngalops, Lhotsampas, the person next door—all of them.) The worst part? These hesitant, dangerous words often slip out unnoticed, aimed at the wrong people. But I teach in an English-speaking classroom. Surely I shouldn't be blamed for speaking English. Right? Right?
In one of my classes, the students had grown bored after a series of dull lectures. They asked me about my free time. "We have a long class, sir," they said. "We want to enjoy long now."
I froze. Were my students making fun of the word long? Or was this mockery directed at me for using it so often? "To enjoy the long?" I flashed a small, nervous smile and continued. "Thus, we will have a long break then."
"Yes, thus, thus," some naughty students chimed in. Then they twisted their mouths weirdly and pronounced the word thus as t(h)ues—at which point the girls buried their faces in their desks for an uncomfortably long time.
No problem. I was gently forced out of the classroom after exchanging some quick, guilty laughter with the mischievous boys.
For those who have not yet had the pleasure of this cultural revelation:
· Long and The (when spoken in a certain Sharchokpa-accented way) are highly derogatory terms for the male organ. Yes, that one.
· And thus—if mispronounced with a slight lisp or a misplaced tongue—can refer to the female organ.
So there I was, a geography teacher, accidentally turning a grammar lesson into an anatomy lesson. I don't recall that being in my job description.
These days, I try to substitute the word long with any number of synonyms: lengthy, extensive, elongated, prolonged, stretched-out-like-a-rubber-band. You name it, I've tried it. But for small children in school, long must remain long—just long. And the must remain the. Innocent. Pure. Uncontaminated. Like a freshly washed whiteboard.
But here's the tragedy: these two words are also among the most offensive utterances one can make in Bhutan when angry or utterly hopeless. So the same sound that a toddler uses to describe a snake can also start a fistfight. The same sound that a grandmother uses to say "the house" can also get you expelled from a family gathering.
The and long are among the most commonly used words in the English language. And I must use them every single day. God help me. God help my students. God help the poor soul who has to sit next to me during open mic night.
Take care, and… THE LONG goodbye. See you next time—preferably without any accidental slangs.
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