NCERT and the politics of language in English textbooks

THE NCERT has ignited controversy by replacing the titles of English textbooks like ‘Honeysuckle’ with Hindi titles such as ‘Poorvi’, ‘Mridang’ and ‘Santoor‘ for Classes VI, VII and VIII. Government officials defend these names, claiming they transcend language and draw from India’s artistic traditions. ‘Poorvi‘ (meaning eastern), they note, is not simply a Hindi word but a raga in Hindustani classical music, symbolising the harmony of an eastern dawn.

Defenders of the NCERT’s move invoke the Shakespearean adage, “What’s in a name?" It suggests that these titular changes are inconsequential. This argument, however, contains a glaring logical fallacy. If, indeed, there is “nothing in a name", why insist on replacing perfectly functional English titles with Hindi ones? The selective application of this principle betrays its disingenuousness. Would the same defender embrace naming Sanskrit textbooks ‘Twinkle’ or Hindi textbooks ‘Harmony’? The ensuing discomfort and resistance would reveal the fallacy of their position. Names carry significant cultural weight and symbolic meaning — a fact the NCERT recognises when imposing Hindi nomenclature but conveniently overlooks when justifying it. The content of these textbooks has been revised to feature more Indian contexts. Moving away from western-centric materials —think ‘Rain, Rain, Go Away’ as a nursery rhyme far removed from India’s monsoonal realities — the books now incorporate multiple genres intended to reflect students’ lived experiences within the Indian social, cultural and geographical landscapes.

The textbooks ostensibly aim to develop core language competencies through intelligently designed activities. Units are structured with sections like ‘Let us listen’, ‘Let us speak’, ‘Let us read’, ‘Let us write’ and ‘Let us learn’ while supposedly weaving in elements of cultural heritage alongside values of ecological sensitivity, disability awareness, gender equality and digital skills.

The primary goal of textbooks is to develop core language competencies while integrating vocabulary and grammar within meaningful contexts relevant to Indian students. By merging Indian ethos with a global language, the NCERT envisions a system aligned with the ‘Ek Bharat, Shreshtha Bharat‘ theme.

This rosy picture quickly deteriorates under scrutiny, particularly from non-Hindi-speaking states, where the renaming is perceived as a sinister move to impose Hindi and undermine linguistic diversity. Kerala’s Education Minister V Sivankutt has labelled it a “violation of common logic", arguing that English textbooks deserve English titles, not Hindi ones transliterated into Roman script.

In the broader context of states’ resistance to the NEP 2020, these criticisms are not unfounded. Using ‘Poorvi‘ — a Hindi word — for an English textbook represents symbolic overreach and a subtle assertion of Hindi supremacy, even in a subject taught in a global language. For students in regions where Hindi is neither spoken nor understood, these titles create an alienating psychological barrier to learning. Practical concerns also emerge: how will a child in rural Tamil Nadu pronounce ‘Poorvi‘ or understand its meaning without Hindi familiarity? The Roman script doesn’t resolve this disconnect; it merely highlights it, risking mispronunciation and confusion. Rather than fostering unity, this approach deepens regional divides by portraying Hindi as the default lens through which India’s diversity must be viewed.

The NEP-2020, as manifested in the NCFSE-2023 and these controversial textbooks, has reached its “crescendo". These materials purportedly aim to “instill" pride for the Indian ethos and values in students. This ‘pride’ must be ‘ingrained’ in the students even while teaching a non-Indian language. Yet, this approach overlooks that language and its teaching are key conduits for transmitting culture across generations.

Sapir-Whorf hypothesised that the structure of language determines one’s perception and categorisation of experience. The Indian student does not grasp the ‘structure’ of the English language before schooling begins because English is largely the second language for her, and none of the Indian languages have a structure similar to that of English. It is through language that we socialise, we create or conflict with authority, we argue, imagine, fantasise and dream. The English language and its teaching cannot be ‘separated’ from the English culture, just as Hindi cannot be separated from the culture of ‘Hindi patti‘ or Sanskrit cannot be disassociated with a particular religion, as it is the lingua franca of the gods only.

Beneath this debate lies an uglier truth: the renaming of textbooks exemplifies a larger homogenising project, threatening India’s pluralistic fabric. While ‘Ek Bharat, Shreshtha Bharat‘ sounds noble, it often manifests as a push for uniformity, privileging Hindi and northern culture. Naming an English textbook ‘Poorvi‘ is particularly ironic — a western language cloaked in a Hindi title, forcing an awkward marriage that reeks of cultural imperialism, shifting from colonial legacies to national majoritarianism. The near-total absence of non-Hindu characters — Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, Jains, Parsis, Buddhists — and the erasure of their cultures, values, festivals and craftsmanship in the textbook further underscores this steadily narrowing cultural imagination.

Using English to “instill" Indian ethos and values is not merely inconsistent but also casts aspersions on Hindi, Sanskrit and other Indian languages’ ability to do the same effectively. In the neoliberal context, English language teaching (ELT) is expected to enhance international communication with financial motivations. Viewing ELT solely in economic terms perpetuates the “indoctrination" explicit in Macaulay’s infamous minutes. The NEP had an opportunity to alter this discourse, but it, instead, replaced colonial indoctrination with Indian majoritarian indoctrination.

The tokenism in the textbooks’ content deepens concerns. A southern folktale here, a reference to western kite-flying there and an eastern nod in the title ‘Poorvi‘ feel like hollow gestures while the northern culture claims dominance. This selective representation fails to address the systemic marginalisation of non-Hindi languages and cultures. In India, language is more than a medium — it’s a vessel of identity, history and pride. By symbolically prioritising Hindi, the government sends a message that other languages are lesser, fuelling resentment among linguistic minorities.

The NEP failed to recognise how critical pedagogy in ELT could have helped learners perceive social inequalities, injustice and imbalances. Instead of using indigenised language teaching for emancipation, it capitulated to a nationalist agenda that undermines India’s true linguistic and cultural diversity, replacing colonial indoctrination with Indian majoritarian indoctrination. These nationalist ideals ring hollow, particularly when the National Flag in this textbook, despite the government’s flag frenzy, is displayed with its colours upside down, a fitting metaphor for the fundamental inversion of the ideals being touted (see ‘Poorvi’, Class 7, page 200). The result is not educational liberation but merely a change in the source of ideological imposition.

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