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A FEW weeks ago, Shafiq, the amiable night security guard at New
Scientist’s London office, asked me a simple science question, but one
which left me struggling.

Shafiq is a first-generation Pakistani settler in Britain. English is not his
first language and we often exchange pleasantries in Urdu. Only this time, he
sounded earnest.

“Ehsan,” he said. “What is this GM?” As he spoke, he pointed to an article in
one of the morning’s tabloid newspapers, which had the words “GM” and “scare” in
large, bold text. “You don’t want to be reading that,” I said somewhat
dismissively. “You should read our special issue on the genome.”

Shafiq understandably felt that I wasn’t trying hard enough. He promptly
pulled out a cornflake box from under his desk, which had the words “GM free” on
the front and back. “Ehsan,” he said again, “tell me, what is GM?”

I was cornered. Why? Well, Urdu may be my mother tongue, but my colloquial
ability in the language is limited to polite conversations with relatives and
not-so-polite exchanges with Karachi’s taxi drivers. My O-level in the subject
didn’t quite prepare me for discussions on biotechnology. But there was no
escape. Shafiq was quietly tapping his fingers on the desk, waiting for my words
of wisdom.

Only they didn’t come. I started by explaining that genes are the building
blocks of life. But this approach didn’t get very far because I didn’t know the
Urdu word for “gene”. I then tried explaining genetic modification in terms of
conventional agriculture and cross-breeding. But this strategy, too, quickly
came unstuck, as I couldn’t get across the difference between conventional seeds
and GM ones. It wasn’t long before I wearily admitted defeat.

The experience got me thinking. How do you discuss the latest science with
people who are playing little part in its development? They could be the urban
and rural poor of the developed world. Or they could be those, like Shafiq, who
don’t have a lot in common with the culture of countries where most scientific
research is taking place. Yet they all want to share the wonder of science and
have their say in its development.

The British Council, together with the Department for International
Development and UNESCO, are working on this. Two weeks ago, they held a workshop
in London on communicating science. A similar event was held last year in
Islamabad by the seven South Asian countries that form the South Asian
Association for Regional Cooperation.

Help is also at hand at the World Service of the BBC, where they’ve been
broadcasting science programmes in 43 languages for more than 50 years. I
learned from staff in the Urdu section that there is an Urdu word for “gene”.
It’s pronounced “geneiyat”, and most listeners know what it means. Similarly
“geneiyati engineering” means exactly what it sounds like. Listeners are equally
at home with words such as “transplant”, as in kidney transplant; its Urdu
equivalent, pronounced “pevankari”, is also well established.

Understandably, newer words from science are not so well known and need a
phrase or two when translated. Global warming is “an increase in the world’s
temperature”. And “genome” is translated as “a comprehensive survey of human
genetic characteristics”.

I’m dreading the evening that Shafiq asks me to explain the workings of a
microwave oven. I’m told that the phrase is translated as “a special cooker that
uses electrical energy to speed up the preparation of meals”.