The same excitement followed when I was admitted to an English medium school. Like every ambitious Maharashtrian parent of that time, the belief was simple: “English medium madhe gela ki mulga set.” The expectation was clear — my child will read English, write English, and speak English. Reading and writing? Done. Speaking? Ah. That’s where the rooster survived.
If I enter any classroom and ask, “How many alphabets are there in English?” the answer comes like a slogan: “TWENTY-SIX!” Full confidence. Full volume. But when I ask, “How many sounds are there in English?” there is silence. Some look at the ceiling. Some look at the bench. Some look at me. And that’s where the gap begins. We were taught letters. We were not trained in sounds. We were trained to pass. We were not trained to express.
Let me be clear. The issue is not intelligence. The issue is not capability. The issue is not “Marathi background.” The issue is practice. For years, English remained a subject, a written exam, a grammar notebook, a guidebook with important questions. It was never a conversation, a debate, a presentation, or a personality. So when our students compete with students from other states — especially those who grew up speaking English casually at home — we do fall short. Not in knowledge, but in fluency and comfort.
Let me explain this differently. Ask any girl how difficult it is to wear a saree for the first time. Pins everywhere. Pallu slipping. Safety pin emergency. Walking like there is a geometry problem happening under the pleats. But ask the same girl the hundredth time she wears a saree. She doesn’t walk. She glides. She doesn’t adjust the pallu. She flaunts it. That is practice.
Communication works the same way. If you ignore speaking and suddenly decide, “Now placements are coming. Let me start,” brother… you are wearing the saree for the first time. The interview panel will not wait while you adjust your pleats.

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