<p class="bodytext">In the meadows of Kashmir lies a school with classrooms, students, and teachers — but little can be said about the quality of education. Rahil, a young boy, dreams of learning but struggles because the language of his textbooks and lessons differs from the Kashmiri of his lullabies and daily life. There is a disconnect between the language of instruction, the language of books, and the language he truly knows and understands. His experience is shared by many across India, where the language of education can feel like a barrier, quietly distancing students from their own stories and communities.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Language is more than a tool for communication—it carries memory, emotion, identity, and a sense of belonging. It shapes how communities connect and share stories and how people see themselves. Yet, for many, access to their language in education and public life remains limited. The Constitution of India recognises 22 scheduled languages in its Eighth Schedule. However, turning that recognition into practice remains a challenge. Article 348 mandates English for proceedings in the Supreme Court and high courts and for official documents, making it feel distant from the language spoken at home by large sections of the population. While Articles 29 and 30 protect the linguistic rights of minorities, the judicial system often prioritises English for consistency—as seen in a 2019 SC ruling that favoured uniformity over the use of regional languages. Hindi and English dominate much of India’s administration and education, creating a gap that can make access to opportunities harder for many.</p>.For some new grads, AI job apocalypse is already here.<p class="bodytext">Across India, the challenge of linguistic diversity affects countless lives, often unnoticed by those fluent in dominant languages. In Assam, language has long been a sensitive issue. In 1960, efforts to make Assamese the sole official language led to protests and the tragic deaths of 11 Bengali-speaking students. They laid down their lives during an agitation on May 19, 1961, demanding the abrogation of the Assam Official Language Act of 1960. “Bhasha Shahid Divas”, or Language Martyrs Day, is still observed to commemorate the lives lost on that day. This highlights that language in India, as in Assam, is seldom neutral.</p>.<p class="bodytext">After independence, India’s leaders faced the challenge of unifying a deeply diverse nation. Article 343 named Hindi as the official language, with English to be retained temporarily for 15 years. But India’s linguistic diversity demanded more flexibility. In the 1960s, anti-Hindi protests in Chennai, led by the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK), showed that language is not just cultural but also deeply personal and political. These protests led to the Official Languages Act, 1963, affirming India’s bilingual approach. The Three Language Policy of 1968 aimed to promote national integration by encouraging the teaching of Hindi, English, and a regional language, but its uneven application, where non-Hindi states often faced greater pressure to adopt Hindi, left some feeling unheard, while others faced fewer expectations.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Amid these challenges, the legacy of Karpoori Thakur, Bihar’s Chief Minister from 1977 to 1979, offers a nuanced perspective. Thakur believed that education should reflect the languages people speak. He reduced the emphasis on English in Bihar’s Public Service Commission exams and allowed students to write in Hindi, Bhojpuri, Maithili, or Magahi. He also supported village-level councils to teach local dialects, fostering pride in mother tongues. While the <br />full impact of his reforms is hard to measure, his vision shifted perspectives, encouraging a more inclusive approach in an era still shaped by colonial legacies.</p>.<p class="bodytext">English holds a unique place in India. It represents opportunity, modernity, and global connection. It shapes legal discourse, corporate spaces, and urban life. Speaking English can open doors, but for many, especially those divided by caste, class, or geography, it remains out of reach. Today, India has the second-largest English-speaking population in the world, with an estimated 220 million speakers, second only to the United States. The challenge lies not in rejecting English but in ensuring that the embrace of one language does not result in erasure of many others that come from the heart of India.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The idea of a single national language may seem unifying, but India’s richness tells a different story. Here, language is not just words—it is history, identity, and spirit. No one language can carry all these roles for everyone.</p>.<p class="bodytext">India’s journey toward embracing its linguistic diversity is still underway. Some steps have been taken, but much remains to be done.</p>.<p class="bodytext">(Sheikh is a student and Arun teaches economics at FLAME University)</p>
<p class="bodytext">In the meadows of Kashmir lies a school with classrooms, students, and teachers — but little can be said about the quality of education. Rahil, a young boy, dreams of learning but struggles because the language of his textbooks and lessons differs from the Kashmiri of his lullabies and daily life. There is a disconnect between the language of instruction, the language of books, and the language he truly knows and understands. His experience is shared by many across India, where the language of education can feel like a barrier, quietly distancing students from their own stories and communities.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Language is more than a tool for communication—it carries memory, emotion, identity, and a sense of belonging. It shapes how communities connect and share stories and how people see themselves. Yet, for many, access to their language in education and public life remains limited. The Constitution of India recognises 22 scheduled languages in its Eighth Schedule. However, turning that recognition into practice remains a challenge. Article 348 mandates English for proceedings in the Supreme Court and high courts and for official documents, making it feel distant from the language spoken at home by large sections of the population. While Articles 29 and 30 protect the linguistic rights of minorities, the judicial system often prioritises English for consistency—as seen in a 2019 SC ruling that favoured uniformity over the use of regional languages. Hindi and English dominate much of India’s administration and education, creating a gap that can make access to opportunities harder for many.</p>.For some new grads, AI job apocalypse is already here.<p class="bodytext">Across India, the challenge of linguistic diversity affects countless lives, often unnoticed by those fluent in dominant languages. In Assam, language has long been a sensitive issue. In 1960, efforts to make Assamese the sole official language led to protests and the tragic deaths of 11 Bengali-speaking students. They laid down their lives during an agitation on May 19, 1961, demanding the abrogation of the Assam Official Language Act of 1960. “Bhasha Shahid Divas”, or Language Martyrs Day, is still observed to commemorate the lives lost on that day. This highlights that language in India, as in Assam, is seldom neutral.</p>.<p class="bodytext">After independence, India’s leaders faced the challenge of unifying a deeply diverse nation. Article 343 named Hindi as the official language, with English to be retained temporarily for 15 years. But India’s linguistic diversity demanded more flexibility. In the 1960s, anti-Hindi protests in Chennai, led by the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK), showed that language is not just cultural but also deeply personal and political. These protests led to the Official Languages Act, 1963, affirming India’s bilingual approach. The Three Language Policy of 1968 aimed to promote national integration by encouraging the teaching of Hindi, English, and a regional language, but its uneven application, where non-Hindi states often faced greater pressure to adopt Hindi, left some feeling unheard, while others faced fewer expectations.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Amid these challenges, the legacy of Karpoori Thakur, Bihar’s Chief Minister from 1977 to 1979, offers a nuanced perspective. Thakur believed that education should reflect the languages people speak. He reduced the emphasis on English in Bihar’s Public Service Commission exams and allowed students to write in Hindi, Bhojpuri, Maithili, or Magahi. He also supported village-level councils to teach local dialects, fostering pride in mother tongues. While the <br />full impact of his reforms is hard to measure, his vision shifted perspectives, encouraging a more inclusive approach in an era still shaped by colonial legacies.</p>.<p class="bodytext">English holds a unique place in India. It represents opportunity, modernity, and global connection. It shapes legal discourse, corporate spaces, and urban life. Speaking English can open doors, but for many, especially those divided by caste, class, or geography, it remains out of reach. Today, India has the second-largest English-speaking population in the world, with an estimated 220 million speakers, second only to the United States. The challenge lies not in rejecting English but in ensuring that the embrace of one language does not result in erasure of many others that come from the heart of India.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The idea of a single national language may seem unifying, but India’s richness tells a different story. Here, language is not just words—it is history, identity, and spirit. No one language can carry all these roles for everyone.</p>.<p class="bodytext">India’s journey toward embracing its linguistic diversity is still underway. Some steps have been taken, but much remains to be done.</p>.<p class="bodytext">(Sheikh is a student and Arun teaches economics at FLAME University)</p>
