In India today, a troubling shift is happening. The narrative of division is no longer just communal—it’s becoming increasingly linguistic. The growing tension isn’t about Hindu vs Muslim anymore. Now, it’s Hindi vs Tamil, Hindi vs Kannada, Hindi vs Marathi. And it begs a serious question: Where are we headed as a country when even our languages are being turned against each other?
But let’s be clear from the start—Hindi is not the enemy here.
Hindi, spoken by over 40% of Indians and understood by many more, is not some foreign import. It is as Indian, as rooted in our soil, as any other regional language. Yet, in recent times, we see rising anger against it—portrayed unfairly as a language of imposition or dominance. We must ask: Is the resentment truly against Hindi, or is it a reaction against power and centralisation, dressed up as a language issue?
The answer lies in how language politics have evolved. In states like Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, and Maharashtra, resistance to Hindi often masks deeper regional anxieties—about cultural identity, autonomy, and fear of being overshadowed. The central government’s push to promote Hindi has, at times, been misread as an attempt to impose it. That perception—whether accurate or not—has become political ammunition.
But let’s not confuse Hindi, the language of poets, playwrights, farmers, and common citizens, with the politics of Hindi, which is something else entirely. Hindi has never asked to be used as a weapon. Hindi didn’t demand to be “national.” The Constitution never even declared a national language—only official languages, Hindi and English, for administrative purposes. In fact, Hindi itself is a victim—caught in the crossfire of emotional politics, linguistic pride, and historical grievances.
We must also ask: Why is there less anger toward English, a true colonial import, which dominates our education system, courts, corporate world, and media? We accept English unquestioningly as a passport to upward mobility, yet bristle at Hindi—which, for all practical purposes, is the mother tongue of a significant portion of our population. Why this hypocrisy?
The truth is, this isn’t about Hindi vs Tamil, or Hindi vs Kannada. It’s about centre vs state. It’s about power vs pride. Language is merely the easiest battlefield.
So where do we go from here?
First, we need to stop demonizing Hindi or glorifying English as the neutral middle ground. Hindi is not a threat. It’s not a tool of oppression. It’s a part of who we are—just like Bengali, Malayalam, Assamese, or Konkani. Second, there needs to be a stronger national understanding that India doesn’t have to choose one language to feel united. We’re not a monolith, and our strength lies in that diversity.
Third, policymakers must ensure that promotion doesn’t feel like imposition. Encouraging Hindi shouldn’t mean ignoring or sidelining regional languages. Equally, defending local languages shouldn’t mean vilifying Hindi.
Finally, let’s take a step back from the politics and look at people. Millions of Indians are multilingual. A person in Goa might speak Konkani, understand Marathi, learn Hindi, and work in English. That’s India. That’s the real India. And that India isn’t at war with itself.
Let’s not fall into the trap of turning our languages into weapons. Let’s speak, listen, and respect—all our languages. Including Hindi. Especially Hindi.
Because Hindi is not trying to dominate. Hindi is trying to belong.
And that’s something we should all understand—not fight.
