The University Grants Commission’s recent directive ambitiously titled ‘Learn One More Bharatiya Bhasha’ presents itself as a progressive reform couched in the rhetoric of cultural pride and linguistic revival. It promises to promote multilingualism, bridge regional divides and shift India away from an ‘English-dominant framework’ to a ‘Bharatiya bhasha-centred learning ecosystem’. Yes, it sounds uplifting. However, a closer examination of both the wording and the structure of the guidelines reveals a series of long-standing anxieties that this initiative does little to address.
The very title raises suspicions from states with a history of opposing central language policies. ‘Learn one more Bharatiya bhasha’ may sound innocent, but this is precisely the phrasing that Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and even Maharashtra have objected to for decades, viewing it as a thinly-disguised version of the old three-language formula. The document reaffirms that every higher education institution (HEI) must offer courses in at least three Indian languages. The logic is unclear: if the goal is multilingualism, why limit it to three?
More importantly, who decides the additional languages? Going by experience, Hindi will undoubtedly find a place, further fuelling the charge that the new guidelines are not new at all; they simply repackage an older, contentious formula in glossy language about national integration and employability. Even the celebrated idea of awarding students who learn five or more languages seems more symbolic than real.
At the postgraduate and doctoral levels, where students are deeply immersed in research, the likelihood of taking up multiple additional languages is minimal. It is hard to imagine a PhD scholar balancing coursework, fieldwork, deadlines, and the mandatory research output while simultaneously chasing certificates in four or five languages. The incentive is impressive to read, but impossible to implement.
The pretence becomes even more evident as the National Education Policy’s credit structure itself has reduced the space for languages in undergraduate programmes. What used to be a three- or four-semester engagement with language learning in many institutions has now shrunk to a single semester. If the system genuinely valued multilingual learning, it would not have reduced its curricular space in the first place.
Let’s examine the guidelines in detail. They insist that all HEIs offer courses at three levels—basic, intermediate and advanced—and that these courses be open to all: undergraduate and postgraduate students, doctoral scholars, teachers, staff members and even local community residents. In principle, this inclusivity sounds generous. In practice, it becomes unwieldy. Research has consistently shown that adult learners face significantly greater difficulty in acquiring new languages. Expecting students in their twenties and beyond to learn an additional language simply because an institution needs to meet an accreditation requirement is unrealistic at best and coercive at worst.
The UGC quite deceptively uses the word ‘encourage’ while the incentive structure tells the real story. When national accreditation and institutional ranking scores—metrics that shape funding, reputation, admissions and research grants—are linked to compliance, no guideline can be treated as optional. Institutions cannot afford to ignore anything linked to rankings. As we saw with the Indian knowledge system mandate, colleges will likely scramble to produce rapid, symbolic compliance. Once again, the burden of this coercion will fall not on administrators, but on staff and students.
Another troubling aspect of the initiative is the push to replace the so-called ‘English-dominant’ framework. While the desire to strengthen Indian languages is legitimate, the assumption that English must be pushed aside for Indian languages to flourish reflects a false binary. English has become the language of aspiration, mobility and global opportunity, not simply because of colonial legacy, but because of current academic, economic and professional realities.
For many marginalised families, English has been the key to upward mobility. Karnataka’s experience is a stark reminder: engineering colleges attempting Kannada-medium programmes have consistently struggled to attract students. Not because students disrespect Kannada, but because they clearly understand the stakes of employability. Hence, linking placement prospects to proficiency in Indian languages may have unintended consequences.
Instead of fostering genuine curiosity, it risks turning language learning into a transactional, certificate-driven exercise. When learning becomes a burden, its purpose is defeated. Sadly, the guidelines also mandate dashboards, tracking and evaluations, bureaucratising what should be an interest-driven process; a language learned under surveillance is rarely learned with joy.
None of this is an argument against multilingualism. India’s linguistic diversity is one of its greatest strengths, and a deeper understanding of cross-regional languages can enrich our cultural fabric. Learning a new language is a beautiful thing, but it cannot be engineered through mandates, ranking incentives, or token compliance. True multilingualism grows when students have the freedom, curiosity, and opportunity to explore languages on their own terms, not when the system nudges, evaluates, and rewards them for it.
By turning language learning into yet another compliance mechanism, the initiative can easily burden students, polarise states and weaken India’s multilingual future.
John J Kennedy | Former Professor and Dean, Christ (Deemed) University, Bengaluru
(Views are personal)