Language row attempts to revive a dead horse

It can help a politician hiss, but doesn’t offer enough political venom to bite

- Shashi Shekhar

It was the “swinging sixties” in Allahabad (present-day Prayagraj). British rule had ended two decades ago, but in a city teeming with the old gentry, the colonial ways were still visible.

The Civil Lines observed the tradition of a lunch break, and in many shops, salesmen wearing ties could be found speaking in English with their esteemed, genteel customers.

The city was proud of its university, dubbed the Oxford of the East. The Indian Civil Service had been rechristened as the Indian Administrative Service (IAS). Yet the nomenclature change did nothing to dampen its power or its regalia. Admission to Allahabad University was considered the essential first step towards realising the goal of cracking the civil services examination. The city hosted many poets and writers. The city had enough reasons to feel snooty and entitled.

In such an atmosphere, the residents woke up to a surprise one day when they saw slogans written in coal tar on the walls of the local church, convent schools, and some other prominent places debunking the English language exhorting, “Angrezi hatao, Bharat bachao” (remove English and save the country). In the initial days, people failed to fathom the long-term impact of a larger movement. The anti-English campaign was the brainchild of socialist leader Ram Manohar Lohia, who initiated it in 1957. It took a decade to gather steam, and received the support of the Jana Sangh and other political parties. Sensing an imminent public outcry, then Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri made some critical moves in support of Hindi, leading to violent reactions in the Southern states, resulting in 70 cases of self-immolation or death by poisoning. Some died in the police firing on the protestors.