An Indian state has given taxi and tuk-tuk drivers one more year to learn the local language after a new rule making it mandatory sparked protests.
Transport officials in the western state of Maharashtra had begun testing drivers’ ability to conduct basic conversations in Marathi, the state’s official language, on 20 August.
Those who failed were given a month to learn the language, after which they risked having their licences suspended or cancelled.
The government said the requirement was meant to improve communication between drivers and passengers and ensure safer journeys.
But the rule alarmed drivers’ unions, who argued that workers should not risk losing their livelihoods while they were still learning the language. Many of the drivers are migrants who came to Maharashtra from other parts of India in search of work, including the populous Hindi-speaking states of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar.
Amid protests, Maharashtra Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis announced last week that the drivers would be given another year to learn Marathi, as many had been out of the formal education system for years and needed more time.
State Transport Minister Pratap Sarnaik has said that drivers will be expected to learn Marathi during the year and that there will be more extensions.
Maharashtra has almost 979,000 valid tuk-tuk and taxi permits, nearly half of them in the Mumbai metropolitan region.
The extension has brought some relief to drivers who had feared losing their ability to work.
“We were worried that if our licences were suspended, our daily income would be affected,” says Lakhan Pandey, a taxi driver in Mumbai. “Now we feel somewhat relieved.”
But the row has reopened a much older debate in Maharashtra, where questions of language, migration and jobs have shaped politics for decades.
“The issue is not simply about communication between drivers and passengers, but about Marathi identity, migration and employment,” says Prakash Akolkar, a journalist, author and political analyst.
Those tensions stretch back to the creation of Maharashtra itself. The state was formed in 1960 after a long campaign for a Marathi-speaking state.
As Mumbai grew into India’s financial centre, it drew generations of migrants from across the country in search of work. Language became increasingly entwined with arguments over jobs and opportunities for Marathi speakers.
In 1966, the Shiv Sena, a regional political party rooted in Marathi nationalism, was founded on a “sons of the soil” platform, arguing that Marathi speakers were losing jobs to migrants. It went on to become one of Maharashtra’s most powerful political forces, with Marathi identity at the heart of its appeal.
Today, Maharashtra is governed by a coalition led by Fadnavis’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and one faction of the Shiv Sena, which split in 2022. The rival faction and another regional party, the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), have also championed the Marathi cause.
Akolkar says it is reasonable to expect people who move to a state to learn some of the local language. But he draws a distinction between that and the politics around it.
“Ordinary people do not always treat language with the same intensity as political parties,” he says, adding that parties have often raised the issue when it suits the political circumstances.
Deepak Pawar, a political scientist and president of the Marathi Abhyas Kendra (Marathi Training Centre), which promotes the language, takes a stronger view. He argues that people who have lived in Maharashtra for years should already have acquired at least a basic knowledge of Marathi.
Refusing to learn the local language after living and working in the state for years is “linguistic arrogance”, he says.
It’s a tension that has played out in other states including Karnataka, where language activistsfear their local language – Kannada – is being marginalised as many migrants believe they can get by using Hindi or English.
In Maharashtra, the government says drivers are not expected to read or write Marathi, or to speak it fluently. Under changes to the state’s motor vehicle rules, they are required to have a “working knowledge” of the language.
To help them learn, the government has organised classes focused on Marathi words and phrases drivers might need at work – asking passengers where they want to go, discussing fares or giving directions.
Around 166,000 drivers have completed the training and passed an oral test, according to the state’s transport department.
Munawar Sheikh, a 58-year-old tuk-tuk driver, was among those who signed up.
Over four days at a training centre in Thane, near Mumbai, he and other drivers learnt 16 commonly used questions and phrases, including “Where do you want to go?”, “don’t worry” and “the fare will be according to the meter”.
At the end, they took an oral test, with those who passed receiving a certificate they could show transport officials during inspections.
Sheikh says the course taught him enough Marathi to manage basic conversations with passengers.
But for some drivers, finding the time to learn is part of the problem.
Ajay Singh, a taxi driver in Mumbai, says he wants to learn Marathi but has struggled to fit classes around his working day.
“From the time we wake up until late at night, we have to drive. Otherwise, there is no food on the table,” he says. “Taking a few hours out of the day for a class is financially difficult for me.”
Singh says he earns between 1,500 and 2,000 rupees ($17-$23; £13-£17) a day and worries that losing even a few days’ income could leave him struggling to pay rent and his children’s school fees.
Instead, he is trying to learn while he works – listening to Marathi radio stations while driving and practising with Marathi-speaking passengers.
Lakhan Pandey, also a driver, says the extra year has made a significant difference.
He says he never objected to learning Marathi – he just wanted enough time to do it.
“We live here, we work here. Of course we should learn Marathi,” he says. “Just give us the time to learn it without putting our livelihoods at risk.”
By BBC News
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