I was 26 when my father introduced me to a potential match for marriage. It had been two years since a heartbreak, and I was enjoying my independence, not particularly eager to settle down. Over time, I met a few of the 'candidates' he arranged. One meeting, however, stayed with me.

As usual, I asked my father to schedule the meeting after work, around 6:00 PM. The man, a doctor, arrived on time. Our conversation began casually, with us introducing ourselves. But somewhere during the conversation, he said, 'I don't speak English like you do.'

His comment stopped me in my tracks. Why would someone feel the need to say that? When I asked, he explained, 'I studied in a government school, and I am not very confident in English. Since you speak fluently and communicate so well, I thought you wouldn't be comfortable with someone like me.'

Here was a man who had worked incredibly hard, coming from a humble background, earning scholarships, pursuing medicine in Belgium and now working at one of the country's top hospitals. Yet, despite all that, he felt that his fluency in English (or lack thereof) would define how I saw him.

Why would someone so accomplished feel the need to even mention it? I felt awful. Was a person with just a year's experience as a junior officer in an IT office intimidating to someone so accomplished – someone who had made it big in life without any support – just because this officer could speak a few words in English with a wannabe-accent?

I reassured him that my decision to marry (or not marry) wouldn't be based on how fluent he was in English. I told him how much I admired his hard work and achievements, and that (the little) fluency I had came solely from the privilege of studying in a private school, funded entirely by my parents.

But I realised how unfair this mindset was then and is even now. Our society equates the ability to speak English with intelligence, success and sophistication, completely ignoring the hard work, knowledge and originality of thoughts.

But why is not knowing English so humiliating? Not knowing English gives away your class and your background. Along with the fear of forgetting a word or freezing, it's the fear of judgment, of being exposed, of showing your imperfections. It is the fear of being ridiculed, misunderstood, corrected or worse, dismissed.

And here's the irony: when someone – often with good intentions – says, 'If you don't know English, please speak in your language,' the person struggling with English is left with just two options. They either feel humiliated, become defensive and disengage from the conversation, or they overcompensate by forcing themselves to speak in broken English, making communication even harder.

When language hijacks sharing and learning in the workplace, it sabotages learning with linguistic elitism. When English is the default gatekeeper, the medium often drowns out the message. The real crime? Watching brilliant minds shrink into silence, not because they lack ideas, but because they fear using the wrong word.

So, what actually helps? Reading the room. If Nepali flows easier for the person you are talking to, pivot without fanfare, no awkward permissions asked, no condescending 'You can speak Nepali if you're struggling.' Follow the speaker's cues. If someone stumbles in English, don't 'help' by spotlighting their struggle ('Need a translator?'). Don't patronise ('It's okay if you can't'). Just meet them where they are, silently, seamlessly. Avoid performing linguistic charity. Instead, focus on hearing what's being said.

Fluent Nepali speakers speak Nepali unapologetically, not as a concession, but as a choice. That's how mother tongues deserve to be treated, with respect, not rescue.

And, let's address the special species 'the language bullies', who mock people's pronunciation and reduce a person's entire intelligence to their English fluency, to silence voices. If you're one of them, stop. If you've faced them, stand your ground. It's time we move beyond this outdated obsession with the so-called supremacy of the English language.

I won't deny that knowing English helps. It lets you access global knowledge, resources and opportunities. Especially for us Nepalis, as much of the research and advanced knowledge is published in English, fluency can provide a competitive edge. But this utility should not overshadow the fact that it is a tool. Additionally, we need to critically reflect on the way English is taught.

I remember being taught Western classics like The Merchant of Venice, Julius Caesarand Great Expectations. But must we begin there? Why can't we start with the Mahabharat, the Ramayan, or folk tales passed down through generations in our own homes?

In dissecting Krishna's diplomacy in the Mahabharatduring English class instead of Caesar's wars, wouldn't grammar feel more familiar – more like home? These stories, rooted in our culture, would engage children better because they're familiar and relatable. Children are more likely to ask their parents, even grandparents for help, and transition to global literature with a strong foundation. This shift would make learning English more accessible and inclusive.

So, here's my plea: let's stop treating English as a litmus test for a person's worth. Judge people by their ideas, not by their accents. And above all, let's stop shrinking ourselves to fit into someone else's idea of intelligence.

My final note: To that doctor, I hope you're married now and doing great things. I hope you know I have deep respect for you and your journey. I hope you've found someone who truly sees your worth. And maybe, just like me, you've got a 2-3-year-old running around, reminding you every day that intelligence speaks in many languages.