Politics of ‘Marathi asmita’ skips half of Maharashtra

Over the past few months, Maharashtra has seen a renewed wave of Marathi identity politics – or asmita, as it’s known. It began when the Devendra Fadnavis-led government issued a government resolution (GR) making Hindi a compulsory third language in schools. Following backlash, the government quietly revised the order, saying the third language could be any one chosen by at least 20 students. 

The political optics have been clear. The loudest opposition came from Raj Thackeray’s Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, which recently found common ground with Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena over the Marathi issue even as Eknath Shinde’s Sena treaded cautiously. 

But what exactly have they been opposing? Is it the RSS’s Hindi-Hindu-Hindustan ideology? Or is this just a spectacle for electoral mileage ahead of the Mumbai municipal polls?

Because when it comes to Marathi pride, the outrage rarely extends beyond Mumbai and parts of western Maharashtra. In fact, as someone born and raised in Nagpur, I’ve never seen the kind of street-level Marathi identity politics that erupts in Mumbai. In Vidarbha, there was once a demand for statehood, but even that has faded. Language has never been central to politics here.

The reason for that lies in the history of Mumbai, Maharashtra, and Vidarbha.

Maharashtra and Marathi

The state of Maharashtra came into existence with Mumbai as its capital on May 1, 1960, after a decade-long struggle for a Marathi-speaking state by the Samyukta Maharashtra Movement, where over 100 protesters lost their lives in police firings. Prabodhankar Thackeray, Bal Thackeray’s father, was one of the key leaders of the movement. 

For Nagpur, the fight was over in 1950 when it lost its capital status of the Central Provinces and Berar and was merged into Madhya Pradesh, a Hindi-speaking state. In 1956, it was made part of the Bombay Province, and in 1960, it became a part of the newly-created state of Maharashtra. 

In just six years after the state’s formation, Bal Thackeray formed Shiv Sena in June 1966. The idea was to prioritise and protect Marathi and the rights of its local speakers. His charismatic presence, provocative statements, and ability to launch attacks on anyone in his fiery speeches helped him project himself as the champion of Marathi asmita and subsequently as a Hindu hruday samrat. In a targeted attack on South Indians, especially Tamilians, Shiv Sena raised derogatory slogans like “hatao lungi bajao pungi”, and launched violent attacks on South Indian restaurants. 

But Thackeray’s Marathi Manoos movement was more or less limited to western Maharashtra, especially Mumbai. Even in the 1980s, when the Shiv Sena started incorporating the Hindutva ideology and allied with the BJP, their presence was more in Konkan, Nashik, and Pune regions. 

In fact, since my childhood, I have never heard or read about Bal Thackeray giving a speech in Nagpur or Vidarbha. The two cousins, Uddhav and Raj, rarely visited the region and have limited presence. Even when the Shiv Sena became a major player in Maharashtra politics, there was a direct fight between the BJP and Congress in around 70 percent of assembly seats of the region and neither had Marathi as a poll plank. 

For long, Nagpur, the land of Deekshabhoomi – a sacred monument of Navayana Buddhism – was a Congress bastion with its huge Dalit-OBC voter base. The tide turned in 2014 when Nitin Gadkari won the Nagpur Lok Sabha seat.

Marathwada and Vidarbha have a large Hindi-speaking population. Varahadi, a Marathi dialect spoken in parts of Vidarbha, is also different from that spoken in Mumbai and other regions. Additionally, in Nagpur, people never hesitate to speak Hindi; people often speak Hindi in public and converse in Marathi at home. That’s one of the reasons this Marathi ‘nationalism’ doesn’t resonate with the Vidarbha people. 

Over the decades, Nagpur has become a medical destination for lakhs of patients and Hindi has become a go-to language for doing business. As a tier-two city, its affordable medical care and cheap cost of living attract people from MP, Chhattisgarh, and in some cases, even Uttar Pradesh. 

Whose responsibility is Marathi asmita?

Linguistic pride isn’t unique to Maharashtra. 

Tamil Nadu, for example, never implemented a three-language policy. There would hardly be any private schools in the state that teach Hindi, unlike other states in the south, whether governed by the BJP or other parties. These states have government and private schools offering Hindi or Sanskrit as the third language. Even Telugu actor Junior NTR revealed on The Kapil Sharma Show that he was taught Hindi in school. Yet, when you land in any of these states, the first words you hear or read are in the local language or English. 

As a person who has stayed in Bengaluru, Hyderabad, and Chennai, the locals never ask outsiders to learn their language. Of course, they might expect it, but they have never seen the kind of vandalism that was seen in Mumbai recently. In the last couple of years, sporadic incidents of natives forcing outsiders to speak Kannada have happened in Bengaluru, but it is more or less limited. In the southern states, since the script is entirely different from Devnagri and the locals can’t speak Hindi, migrants eventually learn to speak and understand the respective language. That’s love and respect for the language. 

It is the responsibility of Marathi speakers to mostly speak their mother tongue within the state so that others are compelled to learn it. Several people across Maharashtra know and understand Marathi well as it uses the Devanagari script. They might not be fluent, so they respond in Hindi. 

Visionless enthusiasm

The question of asmita is not limited to the Marathi speakers. A language is preserved by literature, state interventions, and a long-term policy framework designed to promote it. 

Quebec, the francophone majority province in Canada that conducted two unsuccessful referendums in the past, has passed laws to restrict English and ensure that French and its heritage are respected by everyone. The local government has ensured that every product description, public signage, and commercial establishments incorporate French. Public education is free, and the state ensures that children learn French at least till secondary school.

In the last 10 years, over 100 Marathi-medium schools have been shut. In my native village, the only Marathi-medium school is struggling to find students as more parents are opting for English or semi-English medium schools to make their children more competent so they have a better career growth.

Meanwhile, Marathi cinema and theatre, which are recognised across the world for their rich heritage and impeccable storytelling, fail to get the desired justice. While the government has imposed fines on cinema halls for not showing Marathi films for at least four weeks in a year, its implementation is questionable, and there is no law mandating the same. Similar is the case with signboards: When protests in Mumbai over its implementation make the news, the rest of Maharashtra goes unchecked.

Marathi literature is known for satire, criticism, humour, addressing deep-rooted sociological issues, and devotional poetry, among other things. But not a single Marathi author has won the Booker Prize. Inadequate translations in other languages, particularly in English, restrict not only the reach of the book but also the cultural exchange that comes along with it. 

As senior journalist Kumar Ketkar had pointed out, Shiv Sena (undivided) or, for that matter, even the MNS, never really took up the issue of language in a systematic manner to establish themselves as a synonym for Marathi as DMK did in Tamil Nadu. The South Indians who faced Balasaheb Thackeray’s wrath are still present in Mumbai. Over the years, despite Shiv Sena’s presence, Marathi speakers were reduced to a minority in Mumbai. 

Today, there are two Shiv Sena parties. Uddhav and Raj recently came together on one stage after 20 years. But the focus is still the same – Mumbai and the surrounding areas. There are no long-term plans for the promotion of Marathi, no solutions proposed for civic apathy, and no concrete answer to why they exist. Until and unless there is a holistic approach towards language, culture, and people to raise a civilised, lawful, and peaceful movement across Maharashtra, 

Marathi pride will remain what it has long been in Thackeray politics: a convenient mirage.

The writer is a Delhi-based independent journalist

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