A screenshot from the author's YouTube video of his grandmother. This story is based on a talk given by the author on July 15, 2017 at the TEDx Youth@AmaatraAcademy in Bangalore, India. It was during the winter of 2014. I was at home, researching the storytelling patterns of my community. I spent days trying to persuade my grandma to tell me some of the stories from her time. But she’s always been moody, and she wouldn’t comply. Then one morning, out of the blue, she started telling me stories. After the first one, I had this gut feeling that I had to record it, even though I didn’t know how I would use it. So I covertly took out my camera and started shooting. My grandma didn’t just narrate the stories—she made herself part of them. Relating a sad episode that the characters were going through would make her shed tears. And she would burst into laughter at a happy ending. She also sang me a few songs, songs that brides used to sing after their weddings as they left their parents’ homes to go and live with their in-laws. These were songs about separation, originally filled with sorrow. But slowly it became a social phenomenon. People started creating literature around it, adding humour and sarcasm. And because not everyone is good at crying, the whole thing would be rehearsed beforehand, and women like my grandma played a great role as master trainers. I had a great time recording these unique songs and stories of my community. I uploaded them and made them available publicly online. But I didn't understand how valuable those recordings were until I met Daniel Bogre Udell, who told me about a project he and his friend Freddie Andrade were building called Wikitongues. They were collaborating with volunteers around the world to record videos of people narrating a story or incident in their native languages. I loved the idea. Videos on Wikitongues helped me learn about many beautiful stories from all over the world that would have been totally hidden otherwise. They also inspired me to add subtitles and more information to my recordings. Unfortunately, many languages are dying, and quite rapidly. UNESCO estimated that almost half of the 6,909 living languages in the world might have vanished entirely within the next century. We lose at least one language every two weeks. 220 Indian languages have died in the last 50 years. 197 Indian languages identified by UNESCO as endangered are at risk of dying soon. We’re becoming increasingly monolingual. And as linguist Steven Bird has pointed out, research has shown that the brains of monolingual people deteriorate faster. How languages die Languages are influenced by contact with other languages. Sometimes the change is irreversible. The fate of our languages is also decided by socio-politics. For instance, public policies determine that certain languages become the standard in education, scientific research, and governance, while others are left to die a slow death. Because it's not obviously profitable to create media in “minority” languages, the growth and enrichment of those languages suffer, and many remain entirely undocumented. Just a few hundred years ago, the Latin alphabet was largely unknown on the continents of Africa, the Americas and Asia. But thanks to the colonialism, the Latin alphabet is now the norm in many countries. Much less is known about the original scripts of the languages of these parts of the world. Fortunately, scholars have studied and documented some of these languages and writing systems, and their work allows us today to discover many fascinating stories from those cultures. While it is interesting and advantageous to know more than one language, our native language is particularly important, as it is the tool in which we most easily encode and decode our emotions, our stories, and our secrets. If we don’t start documenting languages digitally—especially the endangered ones—we may lose the colourful diversity of human civilisation. Languages are a gateway to new worlds. And not everything is translatable. Languages can also be important repositories for indigenous knowledge—knowledge that is relevant to modern society. It’s up to us, as speakers of minority languages, to decide how long we want to keep our languages alive. Languages can unite people! Some time ago, I was interviewing a Karbi language speaker. Karbi is an endangered language spoken by about 41,900 people in the Indian state of Assam in northeastern India. My interviewee told me about a festival called Cho Mang Kan that memorialised dead ancestors. The festival involves lots of dancing, feasting, and drinking of locally-brewed spirits, and it's also a place for young people to find their future spouses.