I am writing to you from a monsoon-soaked Goa, India’s richest state per capita, that has gone into a slumber. Goa may be tranquil, but it is sandwiched between two states in turmoil. To my north is Maharashtra and its capital city, Mumbai, which is India’s financial hub and Bollywood. To my south is Karnataka and its capital city, Bengaluru, also called India’s Silicon Valley. Both Maharashtra and Karnataka are witnessing an internal linguistic war.

We often think of language as our thread to identity. Yet, in parts of India today, local dialects are being wielded as a weapon. In Mumbai, non-locals are being forced to speak Marathi. Meanwhile, in Bengaluru, employees from North India are being harassed for not speaking Kannada. As these incidents escalate, it is worth asking: when does cultural pride tip into persecution?

Violence flared in July when a restaurant owner in Mumbai was assaulted by local goons for conversing in Hindi instead of Marathi. 

Source: ‘Speak Marathi’: Raj Thackeray’s MNS workers slap restaurant owner – Video from Mira Road goes viral | Livemint

The violence is not being perpetuated by fringe extremists. It is an expression of local politics at play. In Maharashtra, the “Marathi Manoos” rhetoric has been propagated by the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) party. This is a regional, right-wing Hindutva clan that has used language and identity politics to stay relevant. Despite never forming a government since their entry into politics two decades ago, their modus operandi to incite violence against non-Marathi speakers does drum up some local support during election season. 

Source: SBI staff in Bengaluru says: ‘This is India, I’ll Speak Hindi’ – sparks major language row | Watch viral video on social media | Times of India

Language politics in Karnataka are more complex and institutionalized. Karnataka’s “Kannada First” policies have emboldened vigilantism by local hooligans. Even national parties like the Indian National Congress and the Bharatiya Janata Party support the “Kannada First” policy, which has two requirements. First, it is mandatory for commercial stores to write 60% of their signboards in Kannada. Global brands like Adidas, Nike, Apple and Samsung are among a few that were forced to rewrite their nameboards. Second, all multinationals must disclose the number of Kannada-speaking employees. Failure to do so invites strict government action. The result? A growing number of migrants are now learning Kannada, mostly to integrate socially.

Now, the Constitution of India envisages linguistic plurality as core to its democracy. Article 19 guarantees expression in any language, while the Eighth Schedule recognises 22 official languages, including Hindi, English, Marathi and Kannada. But when cities morph into linguistic fortresses where non-locals are being forced to prove their belonging by speaking in Marathi or Kannada, India veers away from constitutional pluralism toward exclusion. 

What amplifies this crisis is the lack of response from political and institutional leadership. In Mumbai, for example, politicians from the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) party urge their workers to use violence against non-Marathi speakers, as long as they don’t get caught on camera. Police response has been inconsistent, rather absent. While police reports have been filed in a few cases, there is little evidence of systemic follow-through. Victims often find it easier to choose against pursuing legal recourse, fearing backlash or loss of employment.

Source: ‘Hit but don’t shoot video’: Raj Thackeray’s blunt advice to MNS workers amid Marathi row | Money Control

Despite this troubling trend, there remains hope in the educational foundations of multilingualism. India implemented the National Education Policy (NEP) in 2020, following principles laid by the Kothari Commission. This policy offers a Three‑Language Formula and urges children to learn:

1. Their mother tongue or local language.
2. A second Indian language.
3. English or a Modern European language.

Source: Tamil Nadu vs three-language formula: A look at state’s history of opposing Hindi in education and why it continues to resist | Economic Times

Currently, about 60% of government schools serving nearly 75% of students offer education in three languages. The best performing states in implementing the three-language formula are Gujarat (97.6%), Punjab (96.2%), Sikkim (89.2%), Uttarakhand (87.4%) and Uttar Pradesh (82.8%). Among southern states, Karnataka (76.4%) and Kerala (71.7%) exceed the national average.

In contrast, the southern state of Tamil Nadu (3.2%), the eastern states of Arunachal Pradesh (0.3%) and Nagaland (2.5%) lag drastically in implementing the three-language formula. Tamil Nadu sticks to a two-language model and is yet to fully adopt the policy. Tamil politicians argue the three-language policy is New Delhi’s attempt at enforcing Hindi as a national language. Meanwhile, Arunachal Pradesh and Nagaland struggle with implementing the policy due to scant resources and teacher shortages.

Source: 61.6% of India’s schools in 3-language club. Gujarat & Punjab lead, TN & Arunachal rank among lowest | The Print

Source: Tamil Nadu govt sticks to its stand on resisting Hindi imposition, says will not implement NEP | Deccan Herald

Despite the challenges in implementing the policy, there are examples of multilingualism blooming in semi-urban pockets. A school in Kohlapur, Maharashtra, near the border with Karnataka, now teaches Marathi, Kannada, Hindi, English, Japanese, German and Russian.

Source: Beyond Marathi, English: Kolhapur school teaches Japanese, German & Russian too | Times of India

These issues may appear localized, but they echo a broader global concern: the intersection of language, migration and belonging. This phenomenon is seen worldwide. Spanish speakers often face discrimination in the United States. In China, the Uyghur community has lost touch with their mother tongue after being systemically forced to only speak Mandarin. Since colonial times, language has been used as a weapon to control minds. Even today, it remains a proxy battlefield for political and ethnic anxieties.

On the other hand, there are countries like Switzerland (with four official languages) and Canada (English and French). They have shown that language acceptance is not about uniformity, but about federal accommodation. In Switzerland and Canada, language rights have been enshrined in signage, services and civic life.

What is unfolding in Indian cities is not just a domestic concern; it is also a global issue. It poses difficult questions for democracies everywhere. How do multicultural societies preserve linguistic heritage without alienating those who speak a different language? How do governments draw the line between cultural rights and civic exclusion? Is learning local languages the way forward?

A signboard in Kerala with directions in Malayalam, Hindi, Tamil, Kannada, Telugu and English, Shutterstock

There are over 120 languages and 19,000 dialects spoken in India. Roughly 40% of all publications, newspapers, magazines and journals are in Hindi. At 13% English has the second highest readership. The rest is divided into regional languages like Marathi, Bengali, Gujarati, Tamil and Kannada. While exact numbers fluctuate due to the dynamic nature of media, it is estimated that newspapers are published in over 20 major languages and hundreds of dialects across India. The exact count can vary based on how dialects are classified and the inclusion of local or community-based publications.

Source: Statistical year book India Chapter 36 | Mospi

Newspapers in multiple languages in Mumbai, Shutterstock

Language, ultimately, is more than words — it is the scaffolding of trust, belonging and democracy. In India, millions of urban residents communicate across linguistic lines, yet they face a choice: reclaim linguistic pluralism or descend into fragmented parochialism.

“Language is a purely human and non-instinctive method of communicating ideas, emotions, and desires by means of a system of voluntarily produced symbols.”

India has always thrived in its contradictions. It is a country where a street vendor in New Delhi might speak Hindi, Punjabi and English in a single sentence. Here, schoolchildren in the southern state of Kerala recite poetry in Malayalam and Sanskrit with equal ease. 

Linguistic assaults in Mumbai and Bengaluru may seem like minor social skirmishes, but I see them as red flags. They indicate a deeper crisis in local politics of belonging and identity. If left unaddressed, these could fracture civic trust and threaten the very idea of India.

As global citizens concerned with democratic values and cultural coexistence, we must all ask: Do we want to live in a world where languages unite us or one where they divide?