The Politics Of Language In India - Unity without uniformity

Language has never been a neutral tool in India — it has always been deeply political, layered with questions of identity, power, and belonging. From the Constituent Assembly debates of the 1940s to the linguistic states movement of the 1950s, and from Hindi–English tussles to regional pride, every decade has witnessed its own “language moment.” Earlier this year, Maharashtra found itself at the centre of a familiar storm. The Thackeray cousins — estranged leaders of rival Shiv Sena factions — locked horns with Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis over what, at first glance, might seem like a simple cultural matter: the language spoken in Mumbai’s shops, streets, and schools. Beneath the surface, however, the episode seemed to me to be a deeper story — of how language, one of India’s richest assets, is increasingly being reduced to a political weapon.

The recent war of words in Maharashtra between the Thackeray cousins and Deputy CM Devendra Fadnavis is just the latest reminder that linguistic politics remains alive and volatile.

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The current Maharashtra row

Mumbai, India’s most cosmopolitan city, is home to people from every corner of the country. Yet, only 36% of its residents speak Marathi as their mother tongue, as pointed out by Coomi Kapoor, the reputed journalist and Contributing Editor at The Indian Express. The city was once the joint capital of the undivided Bombay State, shared equally by Maharashtrians and Gujaratis until the bifurcation in 1960. But in the heated run-up to municipal elections, demands to “speak only Marathi” in public spaces resurfaced — echoing a broader national pattern where linguistic pride often slips into linguistic chauvinism.

In early August 2025, Maharashtra politics flared up again over language. Shiv Sena (UBT) leader Aaditya Thackeray accused Deputy CM Devendra Fadnavis of undermining Marathi pride by prioritising Hindi in certain public events and communications. In a sharp counter, Fadnavis asserted that Marathi’s status in Maharashtra is non-negotiable but accused the Thackerays of politicising the issue for electoral mileage. Adding fuel to the fire, Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) chief Raj Thackeray stepped in with his own brand of linguistic assertiveness, reviving his long-standing “Marathi Manoos” pitch.

This is not new. From Tamil Nadu’s anti-Hindi agitations to recent attacks on migrant workers in Maharashtra, India’s “unity in diversity” has repeatedly been tested by the politics of language. While these exchanges may appear as mere political theatrics ahead of elections, they tap into deep undercurrents — the insecurities of cultural identity, the legacy of linguistic movements, and the uneasy balance between regional languages and national unity.

The historical backdrop - Language and its role in Nation-building

The first time Congress showed support to the principle of State reorganization on linguistic lines was in 1905 - in its opposition to the partition of Bengal, though official recognition came during the 1917 Calcutta session, and later on in 1920 under Gandhi's guidance, it was adopted as a clear political objective in the Nagpur resolution, along with reorganization of the INC's provincial committees on linguistic lines - which ultimately facilitated mass engagement in the National movement. When India became independent, the question of “national language” nearly tore the Constituent Assembly apart. Hindi proponents, led by leaders like R.V. Dhulekar and Purshottam Das Tandon, wanted it declared the sole national language, while many like G.B. Pant and T.T. Krishnamachari feared domination and marginalization of their mother tongues. Compromise came in the form of Article 343, making Hindi the official language of the Union, with English continuing for an initial 15 years (later extended indefinitely).

But on the ground, linguistic identities were too strong to be steamrolled. Post independence, the leadership's immediate focus was not on accommodating regional and linguistic aspirations, but rather on integrating the provinces and princely states into a new, nited India. The 1948 Dhar Commission as well as The JVP Committee, consisting of Nehru, Patel and Sitaramayya, both cautioned against the disintegrative effects of reorganisation and wished to delay. As Nehru said, "First things must come first - security and stability of India." Leaders feared increased regionalism, political fragmentation, and violence. However, Ambedkar supported the idea of reorganisation as essential for the functioning of a Democratic Polity. Despite favouring a strong centre, he put forward a number of proposals in his work 'Needs for checks and balances : Articles on linguistic States' - such as safeguards against linguistic communalism. Ambedkar recommended the division of four large states of Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar and Maharashtra, much before the State reorganisation commission's recommendations. By early 1950s, the demand for linguistic reorganisation of states had become intensely political. Congress leaders were severely divided over the issue, while demands for Mahapunjab, Vishal Andhra, Vidarbha and much more arose, supported by the interests of the middle class. Ultimately, the States Reorganization Act of 1956, following the martyrdom of Potti Sriramulu in Andhra, reorganized state boundaries on linguistic lines. This was both a recognition of diversity and a political necessity to prevent fragmentation.

The tension between Regionalism and Nationalism

Linguistic pride is a double-edged sword. On one side, it safeguards culture, literature, and identity. On the other, it can fuel exclusion, xenophobia, and political opportunism. Maharashtra’s politics has often reflected this duality — from the Samyukta Maharashtra Movement (which demanded a Marathi-majority state with Mumbai as its capital) to the more recent “sons of the soil” rhetoric of the MNS.

The central challenge has always been: how do you forge a national identity without erasing regional ones? This tension was anticipated in the Constituent Assembly debates, where leaders like B.R. Ambedkar warned against “linguistic majoritarianism” while still supporting states based on language for administrative convenience.

Hindi, while spoken by a plurality (44% according to Census 2011), is not the majority language in terms of mother tongue. English, while unifying in administration and higher education, remains an elite language spoken by only around 10% of the population. Regional languages dominate emotional, cultural, and daily life — a fact recognized in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution, which currently lists 22 languages.

Language as a tool - and a weapon - of Politics in India

As the political scientist Granville Austin observed, in his work 'Language and the Constitution: The Half-Hearted Compromise', the language provisions in the Constitution were a pragmatic but imperfect solution. He critiques the framers for failing to resolve the fundamental tensions between the aspirations of Hindi speaking

states and the fears of linguistic domination among non-Hindi speakers. Austin notes

that the compromise preserved national unity but left the language question unresolved, resulting in recurring conflicts and debates - which are ongoing at the present moment.

In electoral politics, language issues often resurface during moments of political uncertainty or competition. Leaders use it to consolidate their core vote base, trigger emotional responses, and create a rallying point against perceived outsiders.

The Maharashtra row mirrors similar episodes in Tamil Nadu (anti-Hindi agitations of the 1960s that cemented the Dravidian movement), Karnataka (pro-Kannada protests against Hindi signage in Bengaluru), and Assam (conflicts over Assamese vs. Bengali during the 1980s and again in recent years). Each case shows how linguistic politics is rarely about language alone — it is about power, representation, and identity. Linguistic demands often intertwine with employment opportunities, migration patterns, and resource allocation, making them fertile ground for political campaigns.

A way forward? Perhaps

India’s multilingual reality is both its strength and its challenge. The three-language formula in education, constitutional safeguards for regional languages, and cultural promotion efforts aim to balance unity with diversity. But political actors will continue to exploit language whenever it can serve as a mobilising tool.

The task for citizens is to recognise when genuine cultural preservation is at stake — and when it’s simply electoral theatre. The dream of nation-building, as envisaged by the framers of our Constitution, lies in a plural identity: many languages, one people.

The politics of language in India will never fully disappear, because language is inseparable from who we are. But if we can see through the political performances and work to protect linguistic diversity without turning it into a weapon, then perhaps India’s many voices can continue to sing together — sometimes in harmony, sometimes in spirited debate, but always in the same democratic chorus.