Representative image.
Credit: iStock Photo
Over the last 80 years, successive governments have carried out a decadal census. The 1931 Census was quite a landmark, as it held a clear mirror before the country about the caste and community composition. The 1941 Census was an exceptional one as the war disrupted the exercise. The 1951 Census happened during a rather busy year for the new Indian republic. It was during the 1961 Census that languages in the country were enumerated fully.
India learnt through it that a total of 1,652 mother tongues were being spoken. Through a rather ill-founded logic, this figure was pegged in the 1971 Census at only 109, a reduction of 1,543. The logic was that a language deserving recognition should not have less than 10,000 speakers. This was on no scientific grounds a fair decision; but it has stuck and the practice continues to be followed.
The language enumeration takes place in the first year of every decade. The data collected is disclosed to the public some six or seven years later. This is so as the processing of language data is far more time-consuming than processing economic or other scientific data. In 2018, the Census of India declared the language data of the 2011 Census. The scale of the entire exercise is simply unprecedented. It takes into account 1.2 billion speakers of a very large number of languages. The Language division of the census office, therefore, deserves applause. Yet, the data presented leaves one with more questions than before.
During the census, the citizens of India provided 19,569 names of mother tongues. In technical terms, these are called ‘raw returns’. Based on previously available linguistic and sociological information, the authorities decided that of these, 18,200 did not ‘logically’ match with known information. Only 1,369 names (‘labels’ as they are technically called) were picked up as ‘being names of languages’. The ‘raw returns’ left out represent nearly six million citizens. Thanks to the classification regime, their linguistic citizenship is just axed.
Then, in addition to the 1,369 ‘mother tongue’ names shortlisted after scrutiny, there were 1,474 other mother tongue labels recorded. They were placed under the generic label ‘others’. These linguistic ‘others’ are not seen as any concern of the census! They have languages of their own. They speak; but the classification system could not identify what or which languages they speak. So they are simply silenced by slapping an apparently innocuous label on them. Others!
The fortunate 1,369 were further grouped together under a total of 121 ‘group labels’. These were presented to the country as ‘languages’. Of these, 22 are the languages included in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution. So, they are called the ‘scheduled’ languages. The remaining 99 are described as the ‘non-scheduled’ languages. When one starts looking at these, one finds that most of the groupings are forced.
For instance, under the heading ‘Hindi’, there are nearly fifty other languages. Bhojpuri, spoken by more than 50 million people, with its own cinema, theatre, literature, vocabulary and style, is listed as ‘Hindi’. Nearly 30 million of the population from Rajasthan, with its own independent languages too, is listed as speaking Hindi as the mother tongue. The Powari/Pawri tribal community in Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh has also been hitched to it. So, too, is the Kumauni of Uttarakhand yoked to Hindi.
The report states that 52, 83, 47,193 people speak Hindi as their mother tongue. And this simply is not so. One expects that the census should, at the minimum, adequately reflect the linguistic composition of the country. Giving cold figures that help neither educators nor policy makers, and not least the speakers of languages themselves, is a practice that deserves to be brought to an end.
Since our Constitution gives us the fundamental and non-negotiable right to free expression, and since it not only accepts but encourages the idea of a multilingual India, is there not something profoundly unconstitutional in intimidating writers and thinkers, or in wilfully suppressing people’s languages? The UNESCO brief for language rights describes the denial of mother tongues or any wilful concealment of mother tongue by the members states as equivalent to genocide. A strong word indeed, but necessary, according to UNESCO.
Quite ironically, the justification for both these actions is drawn from a common source — a deeply flawed idea of nationalism. It holds that anyone critical of the current regime is an enemy of India, an anti-national trying to ‘spread disaffection towards the state’, in simpler words, seditious. With respect to languages, the argument is that if we have any large multiplicity of languages, it may result in the disintegration of our national territory.
The love for the nation and its integrity are, of course, of prime importance. But a nation becomes great by the thought and knowledge it produces, by nurturing the freedom of mind and by the fearlessness of its citizens. States that consciously encourage creating societies incapable of critiquing the system generate what the ancient Latin described as hegemony. And governments that become intolerant of difference of opinion become heavy with hubris. Hubris and hegemony produce a pervasive mediocrity. Excessively proud rulers, intellectual mediocrity and lynching mobs form a combination that threatens speech and forces civilisations to shut their minds.
(G N Devy is chairperson, The People’s Linguistic Survey of India)