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Urdu’s Exile Diminishes Indian Pluralism
Zoya Hasan
Urdu is central to that heritage and to Indian pluralism and culture. What needs to be encouraged is linguistic diversity that nourishes it, and not linguistic discrimination that diminishes it.
India’s right-wing seems to think Urdu is a foreign import, forced upon the country by Muslim invaders. This is far from the truth. Urdu is an Indian language with deep historical roots. It is locally born and just as indigenous as other languages. It was born out of “the cultural hybridisation that happened in the Indian subcontinent,” notes Alok Rai.
Urdu is not a Muslim language, just as Hindi is not a Hindu language. Despite commonalities in semantics, no one in Jeddah or Tehran can follow sentences spoken in Urdu, just as closer home regional language speakers including Muslims in Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka or Bengal, to name a just few states, cannot speak Urdu or even follow it.
The chief minister of Tamil Nadu M.K. Stalin has appositely reminded everyone that Hindi being propagated as the national language has smothered scores of local languages in the Hindi heartland. The fraught relationship between Hindi and regional Hindis is an important one which is certainly worth noting. But, perhaps more crucial is the relationship between Hindi and Urdu for understanding the politics of language which has played out on the same overwrought ideological registers of communal and ethnic nationalism.
The diversity of Hindi has been suppressed largely because of its vehement hostility to Urdu. It was linked to the concerted effort by urban upper caste Hindu elites in the upper and middle Gangetic plains to displace Urdu as the official language and replace it with Hindi in Devanagari script. Shoring up Hindi numbers became crucial to this process. Many local languages of the region like Awadhi, Braj Bhasha, Bundeli, etc., were nominally fused into Hindi as a political tactic to be counted as Hindi to bolster its numbers. Hindi and Urdu in this process became proxies for Hindu and Muslim mobilisation.
This exercise may have also clipped Hindi’s ability to think/function as a local and regional vehicle of progress in promoting literacy and education, for example, as regional languages have done in south India. The southern states have forged ahead with impressive gross enrolment rates and density of higher education institutions per capita, whereas the Hindi speaking states have lagged behind. Nor has Hindi expansionism in the post-Independence period produced liberal progressive currents and ideas advocating equality for all despite Hindi being in the forefront of the anti-colonial struggles. In the post-independence period, it is the language of power, and not resistance.
Consequently, the Hindi elite entrenched in Uttar Pradesh since the 1950s has not played the same progressive role that regional elites emerging from linguistic movements have played in the South Indian states, where it has been a vehicle of progress and also resistance. Actually, Hindi nationalism has given way to revivalism and majoritarianism in the heartland. This gives us a clue to the historical underpinnings of the politics of resentment and its Hindi-Hindu connection, which drives the project of cultural assertion and the political dominance of the present dispensation. This has provided space to political leaders who have frequently used the Hindi-Urdu controversy as a tool to promote divisiveness and sectarianism. For them, it became an issue of religio-cultural identity around which communitarian politics could be conducted.
Urdu is among the 22 languages officially recognised by the Indian constitution. It was given the respect it deserved after India’s independence by its inclusion in the Eighth Schedule of the constitution. Governments at the Union and states have taken some measures to support Urdu, such as establishing the National Council for Promotion of Urdu Language (NCPUL). However, these efforts remain limited compared to the extensive support provided to other languages.
Over the decades, Urdu has suffered from neglect as it went on to be identified with Muslims even though for centuries, it was widely spoken by Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs in India. Many of its celebrated poets and writers were non-Muslims. Urdu has profoundly influenced Indian cinema, particularly Hindi cinema – its dialogues, songs and music. This reflects the historical and cultural connections between Hindi and Urdu-speaking regions in the subcontinent but its role is diminishing with film scripts increasingly favouring Hindi. Broadly speaking, Urdu began to be used interchangeably with Muslims in the political arena, leading to its systematic decline in the public sphere including in Bollywood.
The politics around it has intensified further since the Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP) came to power in 2014. The present regime’s ideology is defined by a strong emphasis on Hindi-Hindu nationalism as the route to political dominance. This fits into the larger narrative of creating a homogenised heartland. To advance this process, Hindi was portrayed as the language of nationalism while Urdu was seen as language of separatism. After partition of India in 1947, Pakistan adopted Urdu as its national language, further deepening the communal perception of the language in India. Urdu’s elevation in that country strengthened this misperception. This has fuelled policies and narratives that worked for the elimination of Urdu from the lands of which it is an intrinsic part. However, these lands today represent a political space where the dominant language of democratic politics is Hindi making it the political lingua franca of the entire region with little or no space for other languages.
The latest fracas over Urdu happened in February this year when chief minister Adityanath, labelled those who read Urdu, particularly Muslims, with the term “Kathmulla.” These comments came after a heated exchange in the Vidhan Sabha when the Samajwadi Party leader Mata Prasad Pandey demanded Urdu translation of assembly proceedings, after the Speaker announced translations in Awadhi, Bhojpuri, Braj, Bundeli, along with English. The chief minister not only rejected this suggestion, he made it clear that Urdu could not have the status of any of the other languages of the state. Adityanath’s blunt attack is a continuation of the ‘Hindi-Hindu’ politics through other means to invigorate and consolidate muscular Hindu nationalism.
Meanwhile, in the heartland of Urdu, if one could call it that – Uttar Pradesh and Bihar – state governments have been working to discontinue the use of Urdu, nowhere more vigorously than in Uttar Pradesh. The deliberately twisted interpretation of the three-language formula has reinforced the exclusion of Urdu in Uttar Pradesh. The three languages taught in schools, for example, included Hindi, English and Sanskrit, not Urdu, even though it is spoken by a larger number of its citizens than Sanskrit or English. The New Education Policy (NEP) will presumably retain this discriminatory formula in the state at the expense of Urdu. However, in the south of the Vindhyas, the proposal to extend the three-language formula to Tamil Nadu has raised a veritable storm in the state aggravating the perception of Hindi imposition.
The renaming of places with Urdu origins, such as Allahabad to Prayagraj, is part of a larger trend of erasing its presence, and by extension erasing any instance of the shared Hindu-Muslim heritage, in public life. In the past, politicians elected to state assemblies have been barred from taking oath in Urdu; artists have been stopped from painting Urdu graffiti; and cities and neighbourhoods have been renamed. Earlier in 2017, the Uttar Pradesh government ordered the replacement of Urdu signboards at railway stations and government buildings with Hindi, despite Urdu being the second official language of the state. Even in states where Urdu had a significant presence, such as Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, it was systematically phased out from schools and bureaucracy. Urdu-medium schools and colleges suffered from a lack of government funding and infrastructure. Several BJP-led state governments have either reduced funding for Urdu-medium schools or made policies that discourage students from pursuing education in Urdu.
Urdu is an integral part of India’s diverse heritage. Efforts to erase it from public and official spaces ignores its contributions to India’s rich literary, cultural, and political history. The exile of Urdu from its heartland where it was built up as a literary and conversational language by the combined efforts of both Hindus and Muslims, weakens the linguistic and cultural plurality of India. In a country of spectacular linguistic diversity such as ours, language informs our collective consciousness and composite heritage. Urdu is central to that heritage and to Indian pluralism and culture. What needs to be encouraged is linguistic diversity that nourishes it, and not linguistic discrimination that diminishes it.
(Zoya Hasan is Professor Emerita, Centre for Political Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Courtesy: The India Cable – a premium newsletter from The Wire & Galileo Ideas.)
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Soroor Ahmed, in an article also published in The Wire, “Row over Urdu and a Tale of Two Non-Hindi Knowing Prime Ministers of India”, adds some interesting facts regarding Urdu (extract):
What is ironic is that it was in the erstwhile East Pakistan (earlier known as East Bengal) where the first Bangla language movement was launched just after partition. What is even more surprising is that the attempt to make Urdu the sole official language of Pakistan was first made by the country’s founder, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, who, ironically, was not fluent in Urdu himself, as his mother tongue was Gujarati, and he struggled to read, write, and speak Urdu. Astonishingly, he used English as the language, in March 1948, to announce in Dhaka that only Urdu would be the official language of Pakistan. In his campaign for the creation of Pakistan he would use English to deliver speeches and communicate with common masses.
Another interesting fact is that when the Urdu-Bangla tussle erupted in 1952 in East Pakistan (then known as East Bengal), resulting in the death of many individuals, the prime minister of Pakistan was Khwaja Nazimuddin, who hailed from Dhaka. The chief minister of East Pakistan at the time was Nurul Amin (serving from 1948 to 1954), also a Bengali Muslim, who ironically opposed the Bangla language movement. Notably, Amin briefly served as the prime minister of Pakistan (from December 7 to 20, 1971) under General Yahya Khan, coinciding with the fall of Dhaka.
There were several Bengali Muslims who in those heydays also advocated the adoption of Arabic script for Bangla.
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Supreme Court Verdict Allowing Urdu Signage Reaffirms that India is a Multilingual Democracy
John Simte
The Supreme Court on April 15 upheld the continued use of Urdu on a municipal signboard in Patur Municipal Council in Maharashtra’s Akola district.
The legal question before it Mrs Varshatai vs State of Maharashtra was narrow. But by ruling that the use of Urdu on the signboard was permissible, the court affirmed that multilingualism is not a disruption to governance but a reflection of how governance already works in many parts of India. It treats the presence of Urdu not as an exception to the official language regime, but as a continuation of it in a multilingual setting.
The Supreme Court’s decision in also draws attention to how language appears and disappears in public life, and how institutions either reflect or resist the multilingual realities of India.
The petitioner had argued that the Maharashtra Local Authorities (Official Languages) Act, 2022, required the exclusive use of Marathi. The court clarified that while the Act mandates the use of Marathi, it does not prohibit additional languages.
Urdu had been used on signage in Patur since 1956, reflecting longstanding administrative practice and the linguistic composition of the town.
Constitutional grounding, legal reasoning
The court based its reasoning on the Constitution’s language provisions. Article 345 permits states to adopt one or more languages for official purposes. Articles 350 and 350B protect the rights of linguistic minorities to communicate with the state in their language of use. These provisions reflect an expectation that governance in India will be multilingual, not monolingual.
The petitioner’s argument rested on the assumption that official status implies exclusivity. This reflects what scholars call language ideology – the belief that public order or national identity requires linguistic uniformity.
Such beliefs, while politically powerful, rarely reflect actual language practices in Indian cities and towns, where people regularly navigate more than one language in markets, homes, schools and offices.
The court rejected this narrow interpretation. It recognised that the use of Urdu in Patur’s signage was part of a settled administrative routine, shaped by demographic needs and institutional continuity. The presence of Urdu did not interfere with the status of Marathi; it coexisted with it in a pragmatic arrangement that had worked for decades.
Visibility, public recognition
Language in public spaces does more than transmit information. It communicates who is acknowledged, recognised by the state and who is included in public life. This is what linguistic anthropologists describe through the concept of indexicality – the idea that language points to social meaning, presence and legitimacy.
When a language appears on official signage, it signals that the state acknowledges its speakers as participants in civic life.
Removing a language from such spaces can subtly shift this relationship. The court’s judgment affirms that multilingual signage, particularly in places like Patur, is not exceptional. It is part of how institutions function when they reflect the communities they serve.
Politics of official language
The court also made a brief but telling observation on how India’s postcolonial language policy was shaped by Partition. During the Constituent Assembly debates, Hindustani, a shared register drawing from both Hindi and Urdu, had strong support from figures like Gandhi and Nehru. It was widely used and understood, and seen as a natural bridge across linguistic communities.
However, following Pakistan’s adoption of Urdu as its national language, the debate in India shifted. Hindi and Urdu began to be framed as markers of national and religious identity. In that atmosphere, Hindustani lost political ground. As the court noted, “the ultimate victim was Hindustani”.
This decision had long-term consequences. India adopted Hindi in the Devanagari script as the official language of the Union under Article 343, but in doing so, it passed over a more widely intelligible and inclusive register. The exclusion of Hindustani reflects how language planning became tied to nation-building, and how shared, blended linguistic forms were sacrificed in favour of cleaner, more politicised categories.
The court’s mention of this history connects the present case to deeper patterns. It shows how decisions about language – whether in constitutional text or on a signboard are embedded in longer narratives about belonging, identity, and state legitimacy.
Linguistic citizenship, everyday access
The presence of Urdu on the Patur signboard also illustrates what scholars such as Christopher Stroud describe as linguistic citizenship – the ability to participate in public life through one’s own language. This is not just about rights on paper. It is about the routine ability to access services, understand communication, and be seen by public institutions.
In many parts of India, multilingual signage emerges organically from population needs. It is a way of making governance more legible. The Patur case shows that such practices do not require new policies or constitutional amendments. They can persist quietly through institutional memory, unless actively challenged.
The court’s decision affirms that linguistic visibility matters not only in national policy but in the ordinary spaces where people interact with the state. It reinforces the idea that inclusion is often built not through grand declarations, but through continued attention to local realities.
Politics of public language
This quiet affirmation of multilingualism contrasts with recent political efforts to reshape public space through language. In Uttar Pradesh, for example, Allahabad has been renamed Prayagraj, Faizabad became Ayodhya, and Mughal Sarai is now Pandit Deen Dayal Upadhyay Nagar. These changes, presented as administrative or cultural corrections, shift the symbolic landscape of cities. They elevate some linguistic and historical narratives while erasing others.
Renaming is not only about labels. It alters the language through which places are remembered and related to. It tells residents what kinds of identities are being recognised and which are no longer part of the official memory. Like language removal from signage, renaming can signal a narrowing of who belongs.
In this context, the continued presence of Urdu on a signboard affirmed not through protest but through institutional stability becomes all the more significant. It shows that public language can reflect complexity without controversy, and that multilingualism can remain part of the civic fabric through the quiet work of administration.
Affirming multilingualism
Beyond civic signage, language hierarchies are reinforced through education policy. The National Education Policy 2020 encourages instruction in the mother tongue and reiterates the three-language formula. Yet in practice, implementation prioritises English and Hindi, while languages like Urdu, Santali and Bodo receive limited institutional support.
When textbooks are unavailable, teachers untrained, or examinations conducted in unfamiliar scripts, the result is functional exclusion. Language rights remain abstract if they are not matched by infrastructural support.
In this environment, the presence of Urdu on a municipal signboard becomes more than symbolic. It is a reminder that language recognition is most meaningful when embedded in everyday governance. The Patur judgement affirms that such practices can be lawful, practical, and constitutionally sound.
By situating the legal dispute within both legal reasoning and historical awareness, the court offers a model for engaging with language diversity without falling into symbolic extremes. It shows that recognition can be pragmatic, that linguistic inclusion can emerge through ordinary means and that public language remains a key site where the relationship between state and citizen is negotiated.
(John Simte is a lawyer. He has graduated from the National Law School, Bangalore. Courtesy: Scroll.in, an Indian digital news publication, whose English edition is edited by Naresh Fernandes.)