Multilingualism isn’t just a skill. For some, it’s a calling — a quiet obsession that grows from childhood curiosities into a compass guiding our lives. I’m one of those people. I’m a project manager now, but at the heart of what I do is still that kid who wants to help people understand one another. That’s why I joined OLI — a space where language, compassion, and action meet, and I feel I’m where I’m meant to be.

Visiting India

When I go to India and try the little I know to communicate with a chai seller at a roadside stall — to greet him, say thank you, and share how much I love the taste in his language — the raw happiness I see makes it all worth it. During a road trip across North India with my parents, we travelled over 2,400 kilometres with a driver who didn’t speak much English. But with my basic Hindi and his English and the help of a translation app, we had full conversations about local life, food, religions and history. I’d translate his stories to my parents, and they’d join in. He shared his favourite snacks with us, looked after my parents like his own, shared his favourite music with us and even gave us his mother’s homemade sweets on the last day.

Language Opens Doors

When I get to airport immigration and speak to officers in their native languages, despite not being fluent, things somehow become easier. Or when I go to the North of my country, where we were once on opposite sides of a war, and greet someone with a warm ‘hello brother’ in their language instead of mine, I see how at ease they feel.

Sinhala-Tamil Fights

I was born during Sri Lanka’s civil war, the root causes of which were deeply tied to a language-related issue. The North and South of this tiny island were divided. I grew up in a village where almost everyone spoke Sinhala, but the nearest town had a mix of Sinhala and Tamil speakers. Most Tamil speakers were fluent in Sinhala, but we weren’t expected to return the effort. I didn’t understand why they had to learn our language when most of us didn’t try to learn theirs. Similarly, in the North, most people didn’t speak Sinhala. Some villagers often said, ‘Don’t go to that shop — buy from one of your own people.’ The media and politics constantly referred to ‘Sinhala-Tamil fights’, and our schools didn’t teach both languages back then. But I was so drawn to other language speakers that I even befriended two who didn’t speak my language — and I didn’t speak theirs. When we met, we’d smile at each other and say ‘Hi’ or ‘Good morning’ — one of the few English phrases I dared to use. A few years later, both of them had become my close friends.

What Matters

Just last month in Kandy, at an annual event where Buddhists queue for days to honour the sacred tooth relic of Lord Buddha, Muslim mosques provided food, water, and places to rest. Christian churches also joined in. Most Muslims speak Tamil, and most Buddhists speak Sinhala—but in those moments, none of that matters. 

So I still don’t understand why language sometimes has to become a cause of division, when it could be a bridge.

Multilingualism is not just about communication; it is a bridge of empathy that creates a sanctuary of understanding, where kindness flows freely, and comfort and acceptance are shared beyond words.

Love this story? Read on in Chinthi’s part 2 to her introduction: From My Grandfather’s Desk to a World of Words