Be a grammar monk, not a grammar nazi

Stop being a dick about "you're" vs "your"

Turns out, fluent English in this country makes people assume two things about you:

1. You think you’re better than them.

2. You correct people at parties.

I do neither (usually).

What comes after Tuesday?

Summer, 2012. I’m walking with a boy. Trees are shedding yellow flowers like they’re being paid for it. We’re aimless, unbothered, perfectly unproductive.

He turns to me, suddenly serious, and says, “What comes after Tuesday?”

I blink. “Wednesday?”

He bursts out laughing. “It’s not WED-nes-day, you idiot. It’s WENESDAY.”

I stare. “That’s literally what I said.”

He frowns. “Oh. Right. Most people say it wrong, though. But of course, you wouldn’t. Grammar nazi and all.”

He smiles like he’s giving me a medal. I did not want it.

Yes, I’m a writer. No, I’m not judging your grammar

At some point in every English-speaking desi writer’s life, someone turns to you mid-conversation and says, “Oh, you must be such a grammar nazi.”

It’s never a question. It’s a weird little accusation disguised as a compliment. Like calling someone “type A” when all they did was colour-code a spreadsheet.

I’ve heard it from colleagues, friends, dates.

“You’re a writer,” they say. “You probably can’t stand when people mix up your and you’re.”

But the truth is: I don’t care. Or rather, I care when it matters.

Language is not a moral compass

I work with language all day. I write essays and fiction, I edit finance articles for clarity and tone, I fix misplaced commas, and gently tell new writers to stop capitalising every noun for emphasis.

But none of that makes me a better person. And it certainly doesn’t give me the right to ridicule someone for how they speak.

The people who proudly call themselves “grammar nazis” usually don’t work with language for a living. They’re not translators or editors or poets. They’re people who learned the difference between “their” and “they’re” in eighth grade and decided that made them superior forever.

When someone says “aks” instead of “ask” or writes misuses a preposition and your first instinct is to correct them…maybe the issue isn’t grammar. Maybe it’s power.

Language has always been about access. About who gets to be heard and who gets shut down. About who is allowed to take up space in a meeting, in a group chat, in a room.

English ≠ intelligence (and speaking it well doesn’t make you a snob)

There’s this strange thing that happens when you’re an Indian who speaks English fluently—not just functionally, but effortlessly. People assume you think you’re better than them.

I’ve been on the receiving end of that projection so many times. In school. In house parties. Sometimes even at work. The undercurrent is always the same: she thinks she’s too good for us.

But I never did.

It wasn’t superiority. It was just comfort. English is the language I grew up thinking, reading, writing, and dreaming in. I didn’t choose it to make a point—I just slipped into it because it felt like home. Because it’s what allows me to best articulate myself.

Still, I can always sense the eye-rolls. The “oh she thinks she’s all that.” And the irony? The same people who’d accuse me of “acting superior” were often the ones who laughed the loudest when someone else made a language slip.

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I once dated a boy who told me—very earnestly—that his mother didn’t speak English. Then quickly added, “But she’s educated! In Malayalam. She’s really smart.”

And my heart cracked a little.

Because clearly, he had to say that.
Because someone, somewhere, had made him feel like he had to defend his mother’s intelligence.

That’s how deep this rot goes. Where not speaking English fluently becomes something people feel ashamed of, even when they’re brilliant.

We forget that intelligence isn’t monolingual. That wisdom doesn’t only exist in English.

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I’ve learned that both ends of this spectrum—mocking people for bad English AND resenting people for good English—come from the same place. Insecurity. Internalised hierarchy. That deep colonial hangover we’re all still trying to shake off.

But blaming the speaker doesn’t fix the system.

Because here’s what’s actually true:

• English is not intelligence.

• Fluency is not superiority.

• And your value as a person does not hinge on how many idioms you know or how well you pronounce “Wednesday.”

Let people speak how they speak. Correct with consent. Assume kindness. And maybe, just maybe, let go of the idea that language is a ladder to be climbed when it could be a place to meet.

Abhishek Singh

wrote a very interesting essay on his relationship with English and how it’s evolved over the years. Do give that a read

The only time I correct people

At work. Because I’m paid to. Because I want our blogs and campaigns to look like they were written by people who know what they’re doing. Because sometimes a single typo changes tone. Because sometimes commas are political.

Outside of work? I don’t really bother. Unless it’s a close friend and I know they’d appreciate it. And even then, it’s with context and care.

If someone says, “I’m trying to cope up with everything,” I’m not jumping down their throat.

I’ll respond to what they’re saying. Hold the emotion. Let the conversation flow.
Then maybe, if there’s space, I’ll say, “Hey, by the way—it’s actually just ‘cope with’. No up. I used to get that wrong too.”

That’s it. No superiority. No turning it into a TED Talk.

And honestly, even this is ONLY if they have previously asked me to help them and point such things out.

That said...

If I see a typo in a restaurant menu, or on a scammy website trying to sell “herbel enlargment,” do I notice?

Absolutely.

Do I laugh, gasp, sometimes screenshot and send it to a friend with ten exclamation marks? Also yes. Come on, I’m not dead inside (yet).

But I don’t shame people.

There’s a difference between noticing and mocking. Between observation and condescension. And the line is usually empathy.

Language is evolving. So should we.

New words show up all the time.

Ghosting, adulting, finfluencer.

Meanings shift. Syntax changes. What sounded awkward ten years ago is cool now. What was “incorrect” then is considered inclusive now.

George Bernard Shaw, the Nobel Prize-winning playwright, hated apostrophes. Thought they were ugly. Expensive to print. Said “Ill” instead of “I’ll,” “cant” instead of “can’t,” and no one noticed. No one misunderstood.

If the meaning comes through, the grammar police can surely take a day off (or just retire entirely).

Grammar monk > grammar nazi

Years ago, I read someone describe themselves as a “grammar monk” instead of a grammar nazi—and I’ve never looked back (I believe this was on LinkedIn).

A grammar monk works with language but doesn’t weaponise it. They value precision, but not at the cost of compassion. They know when to fix grammar and when to let it go.

So no, I’m not a grammar nazi. I don’t think it’s cute or clever or a badge of honour. I think it’s lazy shorthand for being petty.

Communication is more than correctness. It’s about listening. It’s about clarity.
And most of all—it’s about not being a dick.

And I know, most of us, at some point, have been that person. Maybe only for a moment. Maybe without realising it. What matters is noticing it…and growing out of it.

So tell me: Have you ever felt judged for how you speak or caught yourself judging someone else? What did that moment teach you (if anything at all)?