Why it smells of Hindi imposition

The Union government has threatened to withhold funds for Tamil Nadu under the Samagra Shiksha Abhiyan because the state has refused to implement the three-language formula. The Union education minister insists the formula is an integral part of the new National Education Policy (NEP) and that Tamil Nadu must comply or go without Central funds.

At first glance, this might even seem fair: if a state refuses to implement a ‘national’ policy, why should it expect money from the Centre? It’s the Centre’s money, after all!

But Tamil Nadu has hit back, asking: what happens if we stop sending our share of tax revenue to the Centre? Tamil Nadu has long argued that the Union government sends it far less than what it contributes in taxes. Each time the state raises this issue, it is dismissed as selfishness. How can Tamil Nadu only think about itself? Isn’t it responsible for the entire nation?

We won’t dive into that debate right now — though Tamil Nadu does have a point. States like Bihar and Uttar Pradesh contribute far less in taxes than Tamil Nadu but receive a disproportionately larger share of Central funds.

The counterargument is that India is one country and states must look out for each other. After all, how can Tamil Nadu prosper if Bihar or Uttar Pradesh remain backward? But here’s the real question: Tamil Nadu is expected to worry about Bihar — but has Bihar ever been asked to care about Tamil Nadu? Does Tamil Nadu or Kerala even register in Bihar and UP’s political consciousness?

The Union government’s attitude towards South Indian states often borders on hostility. Even during natural disasters — cyclones, droughts, floods — the Centre has been reluctant to release adequate relief funds from the National Disaster Response Fund.

Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala have had to take the legal battle for their rightful share all the way to the Supreme Court.

If a government pulls back in times of crisis, how can it be trusted? Tamil Nadu’s scepticism about the three-language formula is rooted in this mistrust. The Centre insists that the policy is not about imposing Hindi, but can Tamil Nadu be blamed for seeing it as a backdoor attempt to push the language?

Look at this example to understand the government’s intention. The Union home ministry recently wrote to the external affairs ministry, instructing it to promote Hindi in foreign embassies, government offices and branches of Indian banks abroad.

The moment the BJP came to power in 2015, it set up a special Hindi cell in the external affairs ministry, and for the first time, a joint secretary-level officer was appointed specifically to promote Hindi overseas. Why this special treatment for Hindi? Tamil, Khasi or Kannada speakers might legitimately ask — aren’t Indians who speak these languages equally important?

The BJP government’s bias towards Hindi is evident across sectors. Take education. Three years ago, on a visit to the North-East, home minister Amit Shah announced that Hindi would be made compulsory in all North-Eastern states. He also declared that 22,000 Hindi teachers would be recruited for the region.

The move sparked massive protests. Has there ever been a similar push to recruit Tamil or Malayalam or Assamese teachers in Bihar or Uttar Pradesh or even Delhi? When the chief minister of Uttar Pradesh openly spews venom against Urdu — a language spoken by millions in his own state — one can easily imagine the BJP’s attitude toward Assamese, Bengali or Tamil.

In 2017, the BJP government removed Tamil, Malayalam, Bengali and other language services from Delhi’s central All India Radio (AIR) station, shifting them to their respective states.

This not only resulted in job losses for news readers and translators in Delhi but also sent a clear message — languages other than Hindi were to be treated as ‘regional’, not national. So if Tamil Nadu refuses to implement the three-language formula, it has sound reasons.

The education minister is calling this policy a constitutional mandate. He is lying: the Indian Constitution has no such provision. Hindi is simply one of India’s many languages, but Hindi hardliners have always sought to pitch it as the ‘national’ language. Nor is the three-language formula written into law. Does the education minister not know this? Why then is he threatening Tamil Nadu?

The 2020 National Education Policy, which pushes this formula, was never debated in Parliament. It is the brainchild of the Union government, with no inputs from India’s states. More importantly, no policy like this can ever be mandatory. Education is on the Concurrent List, meaning both the Centre and the states have a say. No decision can, therefore, be imposed unilaterally by Delhi.

The original three-language formula was introduced around a decade after Independence, with the noble intention of promoting linguistic integration. The idea was that Hindi speakers would learn Malayalam or Marathi, and vice versa.

But history tells a different story. Over the past 60 years, Kannada and Malayalam speakers have learned Hindi — but Hindi speakers have shown no reciprocal interest. Even where the three-language formula was implemented formally, no credible move was made to foster the learning of Indian languages other than Hindi. A credible attempt to do that would have entailed the appointment of teachers of these languages. Instead, funds were funnelled into promoting Hindi — and Sanskrit was slotted in as the ‘third language’ in Hindi-speaking states. We all know this was a deception, but it continued unchecked.

Even Sanskrit wasn’t taught seriously; it was just a formality. What did all these Sanskrit scholars really achieve in 60 years? We deceived ourselves, and we still don’t realise it.

Tamil Nadu has been far more honest than the Hindi-speaking belt: it didn’t participate in the three-language charade, opting instead to properly implement a two-language system. Hindi hardliners have no moral authority to lecture Tamil Nadu — and BJP leaders, even less so. Tamil Nadu is right to be wary of the BJP’s Hindi-first nationalist politics.

The problem isn’t language — it’s politics. Or rather, the people in power. As the revolutionary Hindi poet Dhoomil wrote:

‘भाषा उस तिकड़मी दरिंदे का कौन है

जो सड़क पर और है

संसद में और है इसिलए बाहर आ!

संसद के अंधेरे से निकलकर

सड़क पर आ!

भाषा ठीक करने से पहले आदमी को ठीक कर…’

‘Language is the prey of that cunning beast that speaks one way in the streets and another in Parliament. Step out! Come out of the shadows of Parliament onto the streets! Before you fix the language, fix the people…’

Apoorvanand teaches Hindi at Delhi University