Since mid-April, Maharashtra became the centre of a major linguistic storm. The state government’s decision to make Hindi a compulsory third language in Marathi- and English-medium schools from Classes 1 to 5 sparked a sharp backlash. Protests came from teachers, students, civil society groups and political parties across the spectrum.
Although the government on Sunday eventually withdrew the policy, the episode exposed a deeper anxiety: is India drifting from its pluralistic roots toward a homogenised national culture?
At the heart of the debate lies the question of who decides which languages matter in India’s classrooms, and by extension, in its public life.
This question has been asked before by the architect of the Indian Constitution BR Ambedkar, by Dravidian leader EV Ramaswamy “Periyar” and even by Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci, each offering insights into how language relates to identity, democracy, and power.
What Ambedkar knew
BR Ambedkar, a native of Maharashtra, argued powerfully in favour of primary education in the mother tongue. Speaking in the Constituent Assembly on 2 September 1949, he said that education in a child’s native language is not just pedagogically sound, but it is essential for democratic participation.
This view finds echo in a 2025 Unesco report titled Languages Matter: Global guidance on multilingual education. It confirms how children learn best in their first language.
In Maharashtra, where Marathi is the mother tongue for nearly 70% of the population (according to the 2011 census), imposing Hindi from the Class 1 risks disrupting that learning process – particularly for rural and marginalised students already struggling with access to education.
Ambedkar also cautioned against making Hindi the national language. On September 14, 1949, during heated Constituent assembly debates, he warned that Hindi speakers, while a significant group, were still a “minority of the population”. He pointed out that privileging one language over others risked alienating vast regions of India and fracturing its federal spirit.
His later writings, especially Thoughts on Linguistic States (1955), championed the idea of reconstituting Indian states on linguistic lines to ensure administrative efficiency and cultural autonomy. The formation of Maharashtra in 1960, after the Samyukta Maharashtra Movement demanded a separate state for Marathi sapeakers, reflects this principle.
Today, policies like compulsory Hindi in schools can take away the pride and dignity that past language movements fought hard to earn.
The illusion of choice
The National Education Policy 2020 reaffirms the old three-language formula (previously proposed by Kothari Commission in 1966): regional language, Hindi or English, and a third Indian language. On paper, this seems fair.
In practice, however, it disproportionately burdens non-Hindi states. Tamil Nadu has long rejected the formula, sticking to its own two-language policy, which was a result of decades of anti-Hindi agitations.
Paradoxically, in many Hindi-speaking states, schools do not actually offer any non-Hindi Indian languages. The result is an asymmetry: non-Hindi states must accommodate Hindi but not vice versa. This contradicts Ambedkar’s idea of cooperative federalism, where cultural decisions like language policy should be made with consent and context, not by default.
Maharashtra’s rollback was thus not just political damage control, but it was a reassertion of federal balance. But as long as the New Education Policy eaves room for interpretation, the risk of cultural overreach remains.
What Periyar fought against
While Ambedkar believed in institutional safeguards, Tamil leader Periyar waged a more direct war against what he saw as linguistic oppression. In the 1930s and 1960s, Periyar led massive protests in Tamil Nadu against the compulsory teaching of Hindi. For him, this was not about curriculum, but it was about cultural dominance.
He warned that compulsory Hindi would lead to “linguistic slavery”. His fear was not hypothetical. It was grounded in the lived reality of Tamil speakers who saw their language, literature, and identity sidelined by an increasingly Hindi-centric nationalism.
Periyar’s critique resonates in Maharashtra today. Many there view the push for Hindi as an attempt to dilute regional identity and cultural autonomy. His message remains urgent: language policy is rarely neutral; moreover, it often reflects the power of some to define the identity of others.
The language of power
Italian philosopher and political theorist Antonio Gramsci never wrote about India, but his theory of “cultural hegemony” helps us understand how language operates in complex societies. Gramsci argued that dominant groups do not just rule through laws or violence, but they shape what people see as “common sense”. Language is one of the most powerful tools in this process.
When a Marathi-speaking child from Vidarbha or Marathwada region is told to learn Hindi from Class 1, without any reciprocal push for Hindi speakers to learn Marathi, that child absorbs more than grammar. She internalises the idea that some languages (and by extension, cultures) matter more than others.
This is the slow, often invisible work of hegemony. It does not always come from diktats. Sometimes, it arrives as curriculum reform.
Beyond Maharashtra
The controversy in Maharashtra is not unique or isolated. In 2017, Bengaluru witnessed the #NammaMetroHindiBeda campaign, opposing Hindi signage in the city’s metro system. In Tamil Nadu, resistance to Hindi remains a political mainstay. West Bengal saw students protesting Hindi-only policies in scientific institutions. In Punjab, Panjab University students demanded respect for Punjabi in official communication.
Even the North East – India’s most linguistically diverse region – has pushed back. In 2022, the central government mandated Hindi up to Class 10 in all North Eastern states, prompting fierce objections from local cultural groups who saw the move as cultural erasure.
Each of these movements’ points to a deeper struggle: the protection of linguistic identities in a centralised nation-state.
Who gets to decide?
India’s strength lies not in any single language or culture, but in its ability to hold many together. Ambedkar reminds us that language should be a tool of empowerment, not exclusion. Periyar shows that resistance is necessary when institutions fail. Gramsci teaches us to look beneath the surface of policy and ask: who benefits?
The Maharashtra controversy is not just a local educational dispute. It is a national moment of reflection. Should language be used to unify, or to dominate? Should it reflect our diversity, or override it? And most crucially, who gets to decide?
Aniruddha Mahajan is a doctoral researcher at the University of Edinburgh, UK. His research interests include caste inequalities, student activism, nationalism, regional and linguistic politics, and the intellectual history of South Asia.
