Speaking Terms

IN JANUARY 1965, THE STREETS OF TAMIL NADU hummed with discontent. The Union government’s decree that Hindi would become the sole official language was about to take effect and students had taken to the streets. The crack of batons found its rhythm, forcing open the wounds of the 1930s, when Tamil first became a language inscribed not just on paper but in sacrifice. Three decades later, Tamil Nadu once again emerged as a crucible of anti-Hindi sentiment. “It was a different time. But the feeling remains the same. Tamil is not just a language—it is a geography, a memory, a way of being that says: we were here before you called this place a nation,” says Duraimurugan, the state’s 86-year-old minister for water resources and one of many leaders who found their footing in the aftermath of the anti-Hindi protests of 1965. The Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam’s (DMK) rise to power was the earthquake that followed the tremors of student agitation and it came as vindication for those who had marched, shouted and bled. Since then, the party has periodically sharpened its teeth on the politics of cultural pride so that it can take the fight to the poll booths and win.

Today, the pulse of Tamil activism is felt more through viral hashtags, in Chief Minister MK Stalin’s firm rejection of the three-language for­mula proposed by the Union government under the National Educa­tion Policy (NEP) 2020, and in the positive Tamil Nadu story articulated by his erudite cabinet colleague PTR Palanivel Thiagarajan. A modern, policy-oriented politician, Thiagarajan makes a larger argument about Tamil Nadu’s success story in education and economic progress, and questions the irony of the very success that was built through local in­novation and efficiency now being at risk of being punished under the guise of national “fairness”. Cautioning against the erosion of Tamil Nadu’s autonomy, not just in economic decisions but in its right to define its own identity, the state has opposed the Centre’s proposed delimitation exercise and called for an all-party meeting of leaders from like-minded states on March 22. D Jayakumar, an opposition leader and minister in the former AIADMK government, says, “This is a diversion­ary tactic, adopted because we are nearing Assembly elections. In the past couple of years, fiscal debt has swelled and scams have multiplied. Chief Minister Stalin is trying to make a poll issue out of delimitation and the language issue. Everyone knows language is not an issue—it is a fact in Tamil Nadu that Hindi cannot be imposed. No party except BJP supports this move and the Centre will not be successful in implement­ing all provisions of the NEP in our state.”

Tamil Nadu’s political leadership, cutting across party lines, has indeed unequivocally rejected the NEP, reiterating its commitment to the two-language policy of Tamil and English. The state’s historical memory of linguistic imposition has fostered a vigilant populace, ever ready to oppose perceived threats to its linguistic autonomy. Stalin’s own voice bears the weight of history, harking back to the early 20th century, when leaders like EV Ramasamy aka Periyar had champi­oned the cause of Dravidian identity. The Justice Party, a precursor to the Dravidian parties, had vehemently opposed the imposition of Hindi, viewing it as cultural encroachment. The anti-Hindi agita­tions of 1937-40, sparked by the Madras Presidency’s attempt to make Hindi compulsory in schools, had galvanised public opinion, and CN Annadurai, who later founded DMK, had harnessed this senti­ment, leading to widespread protests that ultimately forced the government to retract its policy. Stalin’s statements today mirror this stubborn refusal of a people to let their tongue be bent.

Language is both a vessel of cultural heritage and a potent instrument of political expression. For Tamil Nadu, it is not just the memory of past agitations but also the political capital built around linguistic pride that renders any perceived imposition of Hindi untenable. The Dravidian movement’s legacy continues to influence contemporary politics, with language serving as a po­tent symbol of identity and autonomy. The state has a longstanding policy requiring that all commercial establishments display their names predominantly in Tamil. As per the Tamil Nadu Shops and Establishment Rules, 1948, the name boards of every establishment should be in Tamil, and if other languages are used, the Tamil ver­sion must be predominant. The DMK government has gone a step further by excluding the rupee symbol from Tamil Nadu’s 2025 budget and replacing it with the Tamil script to remind the Centre that the state’s cultural sovereignty would not be compromised.

K Annamalai, the Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) state president, has sought to counter DMK’s protectionist narrative by invoking the story of Sundar Pichai, the CEO of Alphabet and a Tamil who reportedly studied Hindi in school. Pichai’s success, Annamalai argues, stands as proof that embracing additional languages need not threaten Tamil’s pride. However, the BJP leader misses the broader discourse on federalism, cultural preservation, and the rights of states to steer their educational trajectories. Many of the southern states also oppose UGC’s draft regulations, viewing them as encroachments on state autonomy, particularly concerning the appointment of vice chancellors and the governance of state univer­sities. The proposed regulations suggest that the selection commit­tee for appointing vice chancellors be constituted by the governor, effectively reducing the role of state governments in these critical appointments. This shift is viewed as an infringement on the rights of states to manage their educational institutions. The draft regula­tions also propose grading higher education institutions based on their implementation of the NEP. In Tamil Nadu, where the NEP has been staunchly opposed, none of the state universities has adopted it. Consequently, if these regulations are enforced, the rankings and privileges of Tamil Nadu’s universities could be adversely affected.

In response to these challenges, a conclave of higher educa­tion ministers from seven states, including Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, convened in Bengaluru on February 5, 2025. The assembly unanimously passed a resolution opposing the draft UGC regu­lations, criticising the mandatory imposition of NEP guidelines and the punitive measures proposed for non-compliance. The ministers contended that these regulations are “dictatorial and an attack on state autonomy”, favouring private institutions at the expense of public universities and potentially creating bar­riers to inclusive education by making entrance examinations compulsory for undergraduate courses.

ANOTHER FACET of this discourse is delimitation and the fear of political marginalisation. In the south­ern states, the debate around delimitation as well as language policy is an expression of deeper, structural anxieties about the nature of India’s federal compact. Both are seen as centralising measures—tools through which the Cen­tre, intentionally or not, undermines regional agency. At its core, delimitation—a recalibration of parliamentary constituencies based on contemporary population figures—is driven by the os­tensibly neutral logic of demographic fairness. By redistributing seats in direct proportion to population, delimitation rewards demographic growth. This, on the surface, seems equitable—more citizens, more representation—but in India, demographic growth is not merely statistical. It reflects historical, political, and cultural divergences between north and south. Southern states, particular­ly Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala, and Andhra Pradesh, have long championed progressive policies promoting women’s education, healthcare, and economic mobility—measures which, by no coin­cidence, have significantly slowed their population growth rates. Their reward, paradoxically, could be an impending reduction in national representation. This demographic inversion threatens a fundamental recalibration of political gravity, shifting the centre decisively northward. For southern states, this means a tangible dilution of their voice in Parliament, a prospect met with conster­nation by regional leaders who fear marginalisation.

In Karnataka, the Congress government has expressed reserva­tions about the mandatory inclusion of Hindi, emphasising the pri­macy of Kannada alongside English. Civil society organisations and student groups have echoed these concerns, organising campaigns to safeguard their linguistic heritage. The apprehensions stem from a historical context where Kannada has had to assert its space amidst the dominance of other languages in urban and administra­tive domains. The unification of Kannada-speaking regions into the state of Karnataka in 1956 was a pivotal moment, consolidating a collective identity. However, the prominence of other languages, particularly Tamil, in urban centres like Bengaluru, often led to tensions. The 1960s witnessed efforts by Kannada writers and activ­ists to promote the language, culminating in the Gokak agitation of the early 1980s. Spearheaded by literary figures and bolstered by the support of film icon Dr Rajkumar, the movement demanded primacy for Kannada in education. The widespread public support forced the government to accede to the demands.

The Karnataka Rakshana Vedike (KRV), a pro-Kannada organisation, has been at the forefront of advocating for the primacy of Kannada in public life. Their activism has included campaigns to enforce the use of Kannada on public signage and in administrative functions. In December 2023, KRV activists vandalised non-Kannada signboards in Bengaluru, protesting the perceived marginalisation of the Kannada language. Recently, an altercation in Belagavi, a border town, escalated dramatically after pro-Kannada outfits turned it into yet another flashpoint for renewed linguistic tensions. The incident occurred when a conductor of the North West Karnataka Road Transport Corpo­ration (NWKRTC) was assaulted by a group of Marathi-speaking individuals following a disagreement over language. A female pas­senger had apparently requested a bus ticket, speaking in Marathi and claiming her entitlement to free travel under the state’s travel scheme for women. The conductor asked her to communicate in Kannada, triggering a heated argument, with a group of Marathi speakers reportedly intervening and assaulting the conductor and the driver. In response, members of the Karnataka Nava Nirmana Sene blackened the face of a Maharashtra bus conductor in Chitra­durga and vandalised a Maharashtra-registered bus. Meanwhile, Shiv Sena activists in Maharashtra retaliated by targeting Karnata­ka-registered buses, further fuelling tensions. The growing unrest forced authorities to suspend bus services between Karnataka and Maharashtra. The episode underscores how local disputes, when amplified by identity-driven groups, can spiral into larger conflicts with far-reaching social and political implications.

To be sure, the Karnataka government has taken legislative measures to reinforce the use of Kannada. In January 2024, the Karnataka cabinet approved an ordinance amending the Kanna­da Language Comprehensive Development Act, mandating that 60 per cent of the text on all signboards in the state be in Kannada. This move aimed to solidify the language’s presence in public do­mains and ensure its visibility to both residents and visitors. How­ever, the ordinance faced challenges, as Governor Thaawarchand Gehlot returned it to the state Assembly for reconsideration. Em­ployment policies in Karnataka, too, reflect a nativist approach. In July 2024, the state government proposed a bill reserving 50 per cent of management positions and 75 per cent of non-management jobs in the private sector for local candidates. This legislation aimed to address concerns about employment opportunities for Kannadigas amidst increasing migration to the state. The Bill, however, faced criticism from industry leaders who argued that it could hinder the state’s economic growth and deter investment.

Under the Siddaramaiah government, Karnataka has with­drawn from the NEP and reintroduced the three-year degree programme for the academic year 2024-25. Deputy Chief Min­ister DK Shivakumar has since said that everyone must come together against the “flawed” NEP and pressure the Centre and UGC to roll it back. Shivakumar is set to represent Karnataka at the March 22 meet in Chennai on delimitation.

The state BJP, however, says that the opposition to the NEP exposes a short-sighted political mindset that sacrifices national interest at the altar of local appeasement. “The Karnataka govern­ment must put the future of our youth first—adopt NEP to turn our classrooms into engines of progress, equipping students for the opportunities and challenges of a changing world,” says BY Vijayendra, state president, BJP, and adds, “It’s ironic to see Chief Minister Siddaramaiah rushing to align with the Tamil Nadu chief minister on opposing NEP, yet showing no such urgency to meet MK Stalin when it came to securing Karnataka’s rightful share of Cauvery waters or resolving Bengaluru’s severe drinking water crisis—even during last summer’s peak shortage. The Congress government in Karnataka appears more focused on stirring divi­sion than solving real issues.”

In contrast, N Chandrababu Naidu, the chief minister of Andhra Pradesh, has taken a pragmatic approach, advocating for a multi­lingual educational framework. Naidu has emphasised the instru­mental role of language as a conduit for communication rather than a vessel of cultural imposition. He has proposed the promotion of 10 languages, encompassing both regional tongues like Telugu and in­ternational languages, in the state’s universities. This initiative aims to equip students with the linguistic versatility necessary to thrive globally. “We should promote Telugu and English, but it is better to learn Hindi so that we can mingle with people easily,” Naidu said.

Telangana Chief Minister A Revanth Reddy has adopted a more combative stance towards the perceived imposition of Hindi under the NEP, even though Hindi is widely spoken in the state. Reddy has firmly opposed making Hindi mandatory, advocating instead for its optional study. “I learnt Hindi to take on Modiji,” he jested while speaking at an event.

Ultimately, the debates surrounding delimitation and the three-language policy are threads in India’s evolving narrative of identity and representation. Both reflect struggles over who controls the terms of engagement, whose voice counts, and who decides the contours of culture and political power. In the crucible of these debates lies the very definition of India as a pluralistic, equitable, and democratic republic—a definition that, southern leaders insist, must remain robustly federal and inclusive.

AIADMKanti-Hindi proptestsDMKKanimozhilanguage politicsNorth-South IndiaTamil Naduthree language formulaTiruchi Siva