My Moscow Is Multilingual: A Walk Through the City in Four Voices
The first sound I hear every morning in Moscow is not Russian, English, or Spanish. It is the gentle chime of my phone, followed by a flood of Urdu messages from home. My mother, still awake in Karachi’s warm night, sends me reminders to eat properly and sleep on time. My siblings send jokes. And suddenly, before I even open my eyes, I am already in two worlds, Pakistan and Russia connected by a language that feels like home wrapped in sound.
As I step out of my dorm into Moscow’s wide, grey-blue morning, the first transformation happens. Urdu slips quietly into my coat pocket, resting there like a warm secret. English, sharper and more structured, rises to the surface the language I use at HSE.
English as My Academic Identity at HSE
My academic identity wears English like a professional suit. In discussions, seminars, research workshops, and presentations, English is my steady anchor. Yet the moment I walk onto the street, even that suit feels too polished for the raw rhythm of Moscow.
Because the city speaks differently, it speaks in movement, expressions, quick exchanges, and brief conversations that require a different part of me. This is where Russian emerges.
Learning to Live in Russian: The Language of Daily Survival
Near the metro entrance, the cold air presses against my face as I prepare myself to communicate in Russian, a language I am still learning to catch, as if it rushes past me like the wind. My Russian is simple, full of hesitations and tiny mistakes, but it is also my key to daily life.
Ordering food. Recharging my Troika card. Asking for directions.
Every task begins with courage and ends with either success or a funny misunderstanding.
Once, I replied “sí” when the cashier asked “pachet nuzhen?” Another time, I said “niyet” when “da” was expected, making the woman behind me laugh softly and correct me. These moments don’t embarrass me; they remind me that mistakes are not obstacles — they’re bridges.
The Comedy of Mixing Languages: Sí, Da, Haan… Niyét!
Sometimes, my brain mixes the languages like a blender set too fast:
“sí, da, haan — I mean yes!”
Classmates laugh, I laugh, and Moscow itself feels like a shared multilingual joke. These small slips create warmth — something precious in a foreign city.
Spanish Class: A New Voice, A New Self
Then comes one of my favorite transitions: “Spanish class”
Choosing Spanish for the first time in my life opened a completely different emotional space inside me. The language feels bright, colorful, and musical — even on the darkest winter days. When my teacher enters and says, “¡Buenos días, chicos!”, a spark lights inside me.
Learning Spanish in Russia, while thinking in English, and coming from an Urdu-speaking home creates a beautiful chaos. But it also creates connection. We laugh at mistakes, celebrate attempts, and encourage each other.
My teacher often says, “It’s all part of the journey,” and I believe him.
Walking Through Moscow’s Multilingual Soundscape
After class, I walk through the city — a landscape of footsteps, metro announcements, conversations, and winter wind. Moscow does not speak one language; it murmurs, sings, argues, jokes, and whispers in many.
On the metro, I often observe people: an elderly woman knitting, a student reading Bulgakov, children teasing each other. Sometimes people ask me where I’m from. When I say “Pakistan,” their eyes brighten with curiosity. Many have never met a Pakistani student, and they ask about Karachi, my studies, the weather, and how Russian feels to me.
Their kindness makes the city feel more familiar.
Conversations on the Metro and the Meaning of Belonging
These small interactions remind me that belonging is not built by perfect grammar but by honest communication. Even in Russian, with my beginner’s accent, I feel connected when someone smiles in understanding.
Four Languages, Four Selves: What Each One Gives Me
When I return to my dorm in the evening, I sit at my desk surrounded by notebooks in four languages. I reflect on how each one shapes me differently:
- “Urdu” is my heart — warmth, memory, family.
- “English” is my mind — structure, study, ambition.
- “Russian” is my bridge — daily life, connection.
- “Spanish” is my adventure — discovery, creativity.
Living in Moscow has taught me that language is not merely communication; it is identity, emotion, and perspective. Each language adds a new layer to who I am.
Moments of Silence: Where Languages Pause and Understanding Begins
There are also quiet moments in Moscow — the spaces between conversations — where no language dominates. Like the soft pause before a metro train arrives, or the hush inside a snowy courtyard at HSE. In these moments, I sense all my languages resting inside me, not competing, but coexisting. Silence becomes its own kind of communication, teaching me that understanding is not always spoken. Sometimes it is in a shared glance with a stranger who helps me find the right platform, or the gentle nod of a classmate when we both finally understand a difficult Spanish verb. These small, wordless exchanges remind me that even beyond Urdu, English, Russian, and Spanish, there is a universal human language — kindness. And it is often in silence that it speaks the loudest.
My Multilingual Home in Moscow
Now, when I walk through this city, each language inside me speaks its own truth. Urdu hums in my thoughts. English organizes my ideas. Russian shapes my daily life. Spanish dances lightly on my tongue, reminding me that learning is a lifelong gift.s
My Moscow is multilingual.
And because of that, it feels like home — not one home, but many.
Shared by
Alizah Zaidi
