India’s language policy failed Hindi, not Stalin or Thackeray brothers

Illustration by Ramandeep Kaur | ThePrint

Indian intellectuals—especially Hindus—seem perpetually engrossed in a quarrel over various issues, without a care for resolving them. On many issues, the same arguments have been heard for decades, while the situation remains stagnant or even deteriorates. The language policy is a case in point.

At present, most debates are centered around criticism of the Thackeray brothers. A few weeks ago, the target was Tamil Nadu Chief Minister, MK Stalin. Meanwhile, there has been a blissful indifference toward examining India’s language policy over the decades. What it aimed to achieve and what it actually did.                         

The Thackerays are young leaders on the political scene and hold influence in just one state. But what about the period before them? Right from the start, the language policy of independent India has been like a rudderless boat. There has been little correlation between avowed objectives and actual outcomes. Formally, Hindi is the ‘official language’ (Raj-bhasha), yet in practice, English has steadily expanded its dominance in all spheres. This happened not due to any non-Hindi leaders, but due to half-baked policies followed since Independence.

Blame the policymakers

In any case, the gradual displacement of all Indian languages, including Hindi, by English is not the handiwork of Tamil or Marathi politics. Few of us focus on this fundamental fact. Since the Constitution was drafted, all decisions in this domain have been made under the guidance of primarily Hindi-speaking leaders. They squarely failed to devise a policy to achieve what they wanted. Yet, the policies they framed were never scrutinised to assess their objectives and actual results.

Curiously, Indian languages—including Hindi— flourished during the British rule. Many renowned poets, writers, scholars, thinkers, and scientists emerged during that period, sharing their work in different languages of the country. After Independence, this momentum first stalled and then reversed. All available data affirm this. The decline stems from the language policies of independent India. From the outset, these policies have been muddled and confusing. Blaming any one Indian leader or party is futile. The entire political and intellectual class has both caused—and, in turn, fallen victim to—this confusion. Worse, they’ve shown neither the ability nor the will to resolve it.

Just as the proof of the pudding is in the eating, the test of policy lies in its outcome. Today, even in the smallest Indian towns, English is the language of upward mobility—of modern education, better employment, and commerce. Those who do not know English can still function as employees or administrators, but only up to a point. Anyone aspiring to develop his/her intellectual or creative capabilities—a basic human desire—hits a wall without it. Meanwhile, someone fluent in English and unable to write even a sentence in any Indian language faces no barrier to career advancement. Such a scenario, where native language proficiency is irrelevant to success, does not exist in any developed country in the world.

Clearly, English is the real official language in India. Calling Hindi the Raj-bhasha has been more for political reasons, and an expensive farce. This very (useless) honour to Hindi is what draws the ire from Tamil, Marathi, and other leaders against Hindi imposition. Thus, Hindi suffers an unjust dual humiliation. 

In comparison, the British Raj followed a transparent and practical language policy. English was the language of governance—and only for the rulers, to serve their administrative needs. The large spheres of education and culture were left autonomous, with, by and large, no government interference. Subject experts in each Indian language designed curricula and study materials for their regions. The British never created or imposed any central ‘education policy’ or even uniform syllabi or textbooks. (Critics endlessly cite Macaulay’s 1835 Minute, yet forget it was just a note of dissent, not a formal policy. Why does no one mention the 112 years that followed?)

Apparently, broader educational, literary, and cultural activities remained in the hands of society. Social initiatives in education and culture had more free space. That is why, during colonial rule, Indian languages flourished in literature and cultural activity — because it was genuinely a domain of society, not the state. 

However, post-Independence, this began to unravel. The ‘socialistic’ government gradually annexed many social spheres to its domain. 

As a result of the policies formed after 1947, Hindi became a neglected patarani (Queen Consort)—ignored even by the king. Yet resented, mocked, and cursed daily by the other queens. Poor patarani has no choice but to suffer helplessly. Would it not be better to free her from the fake title of chief queen and make her an equal among other queens? At least then, she might receive their sisterly affection.

Therefore, it would be both honest and beneficial to relieve Hindi of its false royal (‘Raj-bhasha’) ornament. Over time, she would find her true place. She would no longer be unfairly targeted by non-Hindi leaders and intellectuals. And she might regain the goodwill she once enjoyed during the British era. 

The English and Hindi gap

It’s worth recalling that, during the colonial era, efforts to make Hindi a national working language were made mostly by non-Hindi leaders and intellectuals, such as MK Gandhi, C Rajagopalachari, KM Munshi, Rabindranath Tagore, and others. They recognised Hindi’s potential and worth. But that was the situation when Hindi was just one Indian language among many, like Tamil or Kannada. English alone was the language of governance. It would be more in tune with reality if Hindi were restored to the same equal status among all Indian languages.

Such a move would be both pragmatic and constructive. English continues to dominate unhindered in administration, education, and industry. It reflects, willy-nilly, in official pronouncements also. Just compare the Official Language Acts and Rules of 1963 and 1976 and the subsequent amendments in 1986, 2007, and 2011. They all reveal that no progress has been made in making the declared Raj-bhasha into an actual language of governance. Over the seven decades, the gap between English and Hindi has consistently widened. 

Making Hindi an equal among all Indian languages would save the enormous cost, time, and energy wasted in maintaining the illusion of an ornamental Raj-bhasha. Every competent employee or student knows that to truly understand any document, rules, communique, or textbook, it’s best to consult the original English version. The Hindi translations are often so confusing or faulty that they only add to the muddle. They’re done carelessly, precisely because they don’t really matter—just ritual performances. (Which is ironic, considering that across the world, excellent translations are routinely produced in countless other languages)

While academic work, serious publications, and quality reading materials across subjects, are all available only in English, not a single literary Hindi magazine with nationwide recognition has survived today. During the British rule and for a decade or two after Independence, several Hindi magazines held national presence and influence. Now, all of them are gone — even as the Hindi-speaking population, their education levels, and income have significantly grown. This proves a simple principle: when the demand for something dies or declines, so does its production and commerce. In the sphere of education, thought, and culture, it cannot happen without a supportive state policy.

Therefore, it is better to revise the central language policy from ‘also English’  to ‘English only’. It would be more truthful and stately. While the states should be vigorously encouraged to conduct all affairs in their respective state languages. Inter-state and centre-state communication must be in a language mutually agreed upon, based on mutual convenience, not through any central policy.

Implementing such a policy would be no more painful than a necessary surgical operation on a wound. The patient suffers briefly but ultimately becomes healthy. Similarly, if there is genuine concern for Indian languages, every state must resolve to conduct all its work, including entire education (as even tiny European countries like Iceland do) in its own language. This will not only hugely benefit all talented students but also end the anti-Hindi politics and bitterness surrounding the language. Then, a spirit of equal belonging toward all Indian languages will naturally grow among all citizens. That will strengthen both our unity and ensure genuine federalism.

Shankar Sharan is a columnist and professor of political science. He tweets @hesivh. Views are personal.

(Edited by Ratan Priya)