In Maharashtra, the politics of identity has long revolved around the pillars of language, region, and legacy. The recent uproar over the introduction of Hindi as a third compulsory language in Marathi and English medium schools under the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 is not just about education policy—it’s a reflection of deep-rooted tensions, old rivalries, and a political script that has been running for decades.
At the heart of the latest storm are two familiar names—Raj Thackeray and Uddhav Thackeray, cousins and once the joint inheritors of Balasaheb Thackeray’s Hindutva-driven, Marathi-pride narrative. Their fallout in 2005 led to the formation of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) by Raj, who felt sidelined in the Shiv Sena’s new power structure. While Uddhav softened Shiv Sena’s image to appeal to a broader electorate, Raj took up the baton of aggressive Marathi identity, turning his party into a firebrand voice for “sons of the soil”.
Now, almost two decades later, the proposed inclusion of Hindi as a third compulsory language from classes 1 to 5 has reignited the old flames—and unexpectedly offered a chance for reconciliation. Raj Thackeray, sensing a threat to Marathi cultural primacy, called out the Fadnavis government’s decision and declared that MNS will oppose its implementation. He criticised the so-called imposition of Hindi in schools that historically balanced between Marathi and English. Uddhav, too, aligned himself against the policy, warning against bowing to linguistic hegemony that might erode Marathi pride.
The irony here is stark. Hindi—the language that connects India’s heartland and has served as a national bridge across linguistic divides—is now being vilified in Maharashtra under the pretext of cultural protection. This isn’t the first time such resistance has played out. For years, Shiv Sena and MNS workers have attacked North Indian migrants, particularly from UP and Bihar, accusing them of stealing jobs, not learning Marathi, and overburdening the city’s infrastructure. Violent protests, mob beatings, and open threats were justified in the name of defending Marathi asmita (identity).
What makes the present moment significant is the broader political context. Raj Thackeray, who had aligned with the NDA during the 2024 Lok Sabha elections in a last-ditch attempt to remain politically relevant, is now signalling a potential thaw with Uddhav Thackeray—despite years of bitter rivalry. Both cousins have expressed willingness to set aside “small quarrels” to protect Marathi language and culture. This reunion, if it materialises, could reshape Maharashtra’s political landscape. A united Thackeray front would hold symbolic power, particularly in Mumbai and the Konkan belt, where the legacy of Balasaheb still commands loyalty.
But the controversy itself reveals the paradox of regional politics. The inclusion of Hindi as a third language—not the first, not the primary—is being projected as an attack on local identity. The NEP’s goal is to promote multilingualism and national integration, not diminish regional languages. Marathi remains the mother tongue in schools. English continues to be the language of aspiration. Hindi, in this scheme, is merely an addition—intended to improve communication and mobility across states. Yet political parties have twisted this into a cultural invasion, fueling fears for political mileage.
This manufactured outrage has once again exposed how regional parties in Maharashtra use language politics not to preserve identity but to consolidate power through division. Hindi-speaking citizens are not invaders—they are fellow Indians. And to see them as threats simply because of their mother tongue is both regressive and discriminatory.
The Thackeray cousins may find common cause in opposing the NEP provision, but the real question is: are they uniting to truly protect Marathi, or simply to revive their own sinking political fortunes? Because while the people of Maharashtra worry about employment, inflation, and infrastructure, their leaders are still stuck debating which language a six-year-old should learn first.
In the end, the politics of language must not be allowed to fracture the unity of the nation. India thrives because of its diversity, not despite it. Maharashtra has given this country great thinkers, reformers, and leaders—it should not reduce itself to linguistic parochialism at the hands of desperate dynasts.
