When Tamil Nadu Deputy Chief Minister Udhayanidhi Stalin called Sanskrit a “dead language” while condemning the disparity in central funding, he spotlighted a deeper national fault line where language policy becomes a proxy for regional identity, power and development.
Stalin pointed out that Sanskrit receives a massive ₹2,400 crore, while Tamil was allocated just ₹150 crore for its development. For him and many in Tamil Nadu, this is not simply about language, but about an unfair cultural hierarchy: central funding is excessively skewed toward classical languages such as Sanskrit, while living, spoken regional languages are under-resourced.
This debate echoes similar tensions elsewhere, for instance, in Maharashtra, where resistance to the state government’s decision to make Hindi the third language in primary schools has sparked fierce backlash. Linguist Ganesh Devy has argued that promoting Hindi by default in non-Hindi states threatens regional identity and undermines cooperative federalism.
Such language battles are not trivial. When central policies privilege one language or appear to it can feel like a form of cultural colonisation to regional speakers. These disputes risk disintegrating the very constitutional values that hold a diverse India together. The Indian Constitution recognises 22 scheduled languages and protects linguistic pluralism (Articles 343–351, Article 29). By forcing or funding one language disproportionately, the state risks violating the spirit of cooperative federalism, where every language and culture has equal dignity.
The Maharashtra controversy is particularly revealing. Critics say that when Hindi was mandated, it threatened Marathi’s status in its own home state. Regional activists described this move as an erosion of Marathi rights, and protests forced the government to roll back and revisit its decision. By mandating Hindi without sufficient local consultation, the state stoked regional resentment, undermining unity under the banner of linguistic imposition.
Language imposition also carries long-term consequences for social and economic development. If regional language speakers feel sidelined, their sense of identity and belonging weakens. This, in turn, can erode trust in national institutions. When people feel their mother tongue is treated as less valuable, they may withdraw from public life, civil engagement, or even education in the state’s official structures.
To reverse this trend, two measures are vital. First, language funding should be made more equitable: classical and national languages deserve support, but not at the cost of regional ones. Policymakers should consult local linguistic communities before allocating funds. Second, language education policy must be decentralised: instead of one-size-fits-all mandates, states should have the flexibility to decide which languages to teach based on local cultural needs. As Devy suggests, district-level officials could decide school language policy, rather than having a top-down statewide prescription.
Ultimately, language policy should promote unity through diversity, not via dominance. Supporting regional languages strengthens democracy, fosters inclusion and honours the constitutional promise of equality. When politics weaponises language, it threatens the fragile balance of India’s multilingual nationhood. But through respectful funding and localised policy, India can preserve its linguistic soul while safeguarding its unity.