Members of Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, a regionalist organisation, demonstrate to counter a protest staged earlier by traders after a food stall owner was slapped for not speaking Marathi.
Credit: PTI photo
The recent assault on a food stall owner in Thane by members of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) for refusing to speak in Marathi has flared up a dangerous wound of linguistic division. Maharashtra, home to migrant hubs such as Mumbai and Pune, has been at the forefront of regionalist jingoism. The recurring rhetoric of ‘sons of the soil,’ with language as its primary indicator, undermines the core of multilingualism and our constitutional values.
Language has been a point of contention in India, predating our independence and continuing through the linguistic reorganisation of states in the post-independence era, and persisting ever since.
While Article 343 designates Hindi and English as the official languages of the Union, the Constitution also recognises 22 languages such as Kannada, Tamil, Malayalam and Odia in the Eighth Schedule, making it clear that no single language holds cultural or constitutional supremacy in India.
Each state has the discretion to decide its own official language for administrative purposes. Beyond these 22 languages, there are many more spoken languages across the country, with diverse dialects and oral traditions.
The imposition of Hindi on non-Hindi speaking majority states is not a new phenomenon, though it has intensified in recent decades to pave the way for a monocultural vision for India.
The southern states have a long history of fighting against the imposition to preserve their own languages. Following the introduction of the National Education Policy (NEP), these tensions between certain states and the union government have intensified.
The DMK-led government in Tamil Nadu has been ferociously pushing back against the three-language policy introduced in the NEP, fearing that this is a move that could reduce the significance of Tamil. The Union government needs to understand that the more aggressively Hindi is imposed from the North, the more fiercely state governments
retaliate.
However, amidst the rightful resistance, a disturbing pattern of migrants being targeted is emerging. Daily-wage labourers, delivery riders, construction workers, whose labour makes the backbone of the cities we live in, bear the brunt of the backlash against Hindi imposition.
Take any of our metro cities as examples to see just how integral migrants are. As per the 2011 census, Mumbai’s towering skyline and bustling local trains are fuelled by around 46 lakh interstate migrants, which makes up close to 20% of the city’s population. Similarly, 44.5% of Bengaluru’s population speaks Kannada.
Even a city like Chennai, which is considered relatively homogenous linguistically, had over 23% of resident non-Tamil speakers, according to the 2011 census, a figure that has likely increased, given the city’s economic growth and expanding demand for labour.
If urbanisation leads to double-digit economic growth for India, then it requires moving people from rural to urban areas. India is on the move. The smart city mission supports this, and its success depends on respecting the sentiment of migrants and their language.
The contribution of migrant workers in building cities is undeniable. Their hard work and sweat built the very cities that are now excluding them.
Migration is not only a result of economic disparity between the rural and the urban, but is also crucial to address the unbalanced demographic dividend in the country. India’s working-age population is unevenly distributed across its demographic dividend.
While states like Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, and Jharkhand have surplus labour, million-plus cities like Mumbai, Bengaluru, Chennai and Delhi generate the bulk of employment opportunities. It is a symbiotic relationship — with cities needing migrants just as much as migrants need cities.
It is crucial that the state governments that host interstate migrants recognise this. In a globalised world where mobility across international borders has improved, undermining internal migration and migrants is short-sighted and self-defeating. Unfortunately, prejudice is now cloaked as linguistic preservation and is fuelling unnecessary competition between languages.
The competition heightens during regional disputes. During the Cauvery water dispute, linguistic chauvinism between Tamil Nadu and Karnataka was repeatedly triggered, and led to violent incidents from both sides. Politicians, public figures, and policymakers must be especially mindful not to add fuel to the fire and stoke animosity in the name of pride.
However, they often end up doing so. Take the recent remarks by actor-politician Kamal Haasan, who described Kannada as the “daughter of Tamil.” This particular statement quickly sparked outrage in Karnataka, leading to a ban on his recent film.
Even though the directive came from the Karnataka High Court, Haasan stood his ground and refused to apologise. The Supreme Court later criticised the High Court for directing Kamal Haasan to apologise.
Whether Kannada, Malayalam or any other language is the “daughter” or “sister” of Tamil is beside the point. Languages evolve through time, borrowing from one another; it is neither static nor sacrosanct. While preserving one’s language is essential, we must treat other languages with mutual respect. When linguistic pride turns into vigilante action, it becomes grounds for exclusion, which is not pride, but prejudice.
This exclusion is not just symbolic, it has material consequences. It is estimated that around 600 million people in India live in a place they were not born in, and around 200 million are internal migrants. These citizens are not just workers; they are people who deserve equal access to public services and spaces. However, everyday linguistic barriers make this access difficult. Migrants struggle to access healthcare in hospitals, follow instructions during emergencies, or even report grievances to local police.
Urban life, especially in cities with significant migrant populations, must be built on a principle of linguistic accommodation. Systematic policies such as education can and should favour regional languages and mother tongues. However, public services, transport systems, and emergency instructions must be accessible to all living in that city. Public signage should ideally feature multiple languages, with the regional language prominently displayed alongside others like English and Hindi.
Recognise linguistic sensitivities
The Union government must step back from its Hindi-first policies and recognise the linguistic sensitivities involved. It should lead by example in reducing language-based hostility instead of reinforcing it. While the southern states resist linguistic domination from above, they must also guard against linguistic chauvinism from below. States must take proactive steps to ensure that migrants are treated with dignity, and facilitate an easier transition for them.
Initiatives such as Kerala’s Roshni, Changathi, and Jyoti programmes are welcome efforts in this direction. These programmes are designed to teach the children of migrant workers Malayalam through bilingual instruction, sometimes including their non-Hindi mother tongues such as Odia and Bengali.
Similar strategies must be devised to help migrants integrate into the host state’s cultural and societal fabric without force, not only to acknowledge their vital economic contributions, but also to ensure they can participate fully in all aspects of life without being sidelined. This integration must be reciprocal and accommodating, with the host society making a conscious effort to be inclusive and migrant-friendly. At a time when we have weaponised religion and caste for votes, let us leave language alone.
(S Irudaya Rajan is the Chair and Sneha S Najeeb a research associate at the International Institute of Migration and Development)