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It makes sense to learn Arabic while we're here

Grammar has never interested me. It's the vocabulary, the meanings of strange, nonpareil words in Finnish or Japanese or German or Arabic that does

Last Wednesday, I received a text from Eton Institute offering a deadly 75 per cent discount off on all courses in 'DXB and AUH'. The deal was only for Thursday, March 9, "up till midnight". Which made me paranoid for 24 hours because I imagined I might've been missing an opportunity to be fluent in a third language.
You see, my idea of 'future self' is - and you may as well hear Dan Gilbert's TED Talk on the psychology of your future self - I'm still a cheapskate, but a cheapskate who's fluent in Arabic. I give myself three points for at least being able to read the script. I feel chuffed that I can read road signs and building names in Arabic - "Hab.toor Geer..and", my brain slowly calls it when I walk past a building called Habtoor Grand. And when women wear jewellery with Arabic calligraphy designs, it's invariably their names etched on the pieces, especially on their necks. So it's nice to surprise them and go, "Er, hi Maha, is it?" See? That's me, feeling chuffed. If you don't pick up on Arabic while in the Middle East, when else are you going to pick it up?
In 2014, I did a beginners course in Arabic in 'Knowledge Village', at Eton, which is how they have my number in the first place. I enjoyed learning new words and thinking it's great to not feel like the dumbest one in class. (That was me, back in the day, when I had enrolled for a summer intensive German course at Max Mueller Bhavan in New Delhi. I would really struggle to comprehend those wretched definite articles for nouns in singular - 'der, die, das', indeed!)
Grammar has never interested me. It's the vocabulary, the meanings of strange, nonpareil words in Finnish or Japanese or German or Arabic or in one of Papua New Guinea's 850 languages that does. The thought that words we've never heard of - and therefore concepts we're alien to - exist, and the possibility that people use these strange, beautiful, grim words in possibly strange, beautiful, grim contexts is a bit overwhelming; much in a makes-you-feel-like-the-ant-in-the-universe kind of way.
I like discovering words. They're everywhere now - on Instagram with retro filters and backdrops of cherry blossom and steaming coffee cups. Like, I loved the Japanese word 'Tsundoku' when I first heard it. 'Buying books and letting them pile up unread'. Such joy in finding an echo in a word that doesn't exist in the languages you speak but you know the feeling! Or 'Yuugen', 'an awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses that are too mysterious and deep for words'.
As a result of the Arabic course, the only words I know offhand are 'dejaj' (chicken) 'mabrook' (congratulations), 'jameelah' and 'mumtaz' (beautiful and wonderful). Okay, and 'sayerrah' (car), which made me connect a dot to the old silver Tata Sierra model that used to ply on roads when I was young (er) and had braces. Stuff like that is lovely about learning a language.
Anyway. I got home on March 9, before midnight, and feeling that I must honour my curiosity and find out about this course, (future self, blah blah), I checked the Eton Institute website. Once again, I'd fallen into the manhole of believing 'upto' 75 per cent off would benefit me in any way. It was only a 25% off. Maybe there's a word in Arabic for the relief felt at not having to lug your way to class for five hours every Saturday morning for not Dh1,550 but now for Dh1,162.50.
-nivriti@khaleejtimes.com