Death of the Dictionary

The Gutenberg revolution appears to be waning as the written word, the defining mark of civilization—whether on Babylonian stelae or in racy detective novels—recedes in the face of the ever-compelling power of images and voice.

- PRATIK KANJILAL

The written word is shaking off the grip of regimentation, which had tightened over the centuries since printing caught on in Europe and later, dictionaries formalized language. Young people no longer read editorials to learn hieratic language. Instead, they are at ease with creoles, pidgins, slang and memes. But ironically, high feelings persist about language as a political and cultural marker of identity, purity and authenticity.

Notable exception: at the press conference after signing the India-UK free trade agreement, a struggling Hindi translator was told to feel free to use English words.

Meanwhile, Maharashtra is upset about the three-language formula. Governor C.P. Radhakrishnan has weighed in on the problem of "linguistic hatred," and recalled seeing a north Indian man in his home state of Tamil Nadu being beaten up for not knowing Tamil. Language politics in Tamil Nadu, an element of the Self-Respect Movement, was a bulwark against the Union government's promotion of Hindi, which sought to flatten cultural diversity and make the states politically accessible to Delhi. Many states in the east, west and south didn't enjoy being pushed around, and Tamil Nadu made it an enduring political issue. But it is rare for someone from the state to admit that linguistic assertion has an unpleasant side.

An extreme example: the Second World War was triggered by Hitler's determination to connect German-speaking populations in East Prussia and Austria with the German nation—"Ein volk, ein Reich, ein sprache," to rip off a Nazi slogan concerning the Führer.