The Story of English in India by Prof. N. Krishnaswamy and Lalitha Krishnaswamy; Foundation Books; Price: Rs.150; 226 pp
Undoubtedly in terms of geographic spread if not numbers, it is the most widely spoken language in India. If today a businessman or professional (lawyer, architect, engineer, medical practitioner) from Bangalore can travel to Kolkata or from Jammu to Thiruvananthapuram and expeditiously transact his business before returning to base within a day or two, it’s because of Macaulay’s gift to the people of India — the English language. Despite the obvious benefit of this unintended linguistic legacy of our erstwhile masters — or perhaps because of its historical association — there’s no dearth of supra nationalists who are dead set against acquainting India’s children with this now indisputably dominant language of international business and diplomacy. Never mind the tiny inconvenient detail that almost every head of household across the country — from the miserable bonded labourer in rural Bihar to the emaciated rickshaw puller in communist-ruled Kolkata — dreams of a ‘convent’, i.e English medium, education for his children as their passport out of generations of poverty and inequity.
Ascribe it to another ‘only in India’ contradiction, but English or more accurately ‘Inglish’, although the most widely used language in India and lingua franca of business, the judiciary, Constitution and Parliament, is not listed as one of the 15 official languages of India (check your currency notes). In the original Constitution of India approved by Parliament on January 26, 1950, it was accorded the status of a bridge national language for a mere 15 years, after which Hindi — numerically the most widely spoken language in the country — would become the sole national language. Came 1965 and people of the non-Hindi belt states, and southern states in particular, quite logically felt that adoption of Hindi would tilt the playing field in terms of access to government, corporate and teaching jobs in favour of natural Hindi speaking people. Instead it seemed fairer to adopt the admittedly imported language in the learning of which considerable investment had already been made during the past century of British rule, i.e English. Thus it came to pass that following rioting, public affray and immolations, Parliament relented and the Official Language Amendment Act, 1967 which affirmed that “English will continue as an associate official language for an indefinite period” was enacted. And this is the official status in contemporary India of Macaulay’s gift of tongue, which gives India a cutting edge in this age of outsourcing and global markets.
The history of English in India and its metamorphosis from a language somewhat reluctantly recommended as the official medium of education by the imperious Lord Macaulay (1800-1859) to the East India Company in 1832 “to form a class of interpreters between us and the millions we govern” to its present status as the de facto national language, is traced in this marvelously well-written book authored by Prof. N. Krishnaswamy, former professor of English at the Central Institute of English and Foreign Languages, Hyderabad, and teacher-educationist Lalitha Krishnaswamy.
Broad in its sweep and in effect a history of Indian education in the period 1757-2000, The Story of English in India recounts the struggle between the Orientalists and Anglicists which began in the early 19th century and continues to this day within contemporary India’s groves of academe. In sum, the orientalists believed that the objective of British intervention in Indian education should be to revive native systems of education and enrich them with European science, philosophy and mathematics. On the other hand anglicists (led by Christian missionaries who aspired to convert Hindu heathens to Christianity on a mass scale through English medium instruction) believed as Macaulay charmingly observed “that a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia”.
Nor should it be assumed that this face off between orientalists and anglicists was entirely a debate between British liberals and conservatives. A large number of intelligent and educated Indians — led by Raja Ram Mohun Roy — were in favour of English as the medium of higher education to enable access to western knowledge, particularly in the sciences and philosophy. In 1835 the governor-general Lord William Bentick sided with the anglicists and directed that “all funds appropriated for the purpose of education would be best employed on English education alone”.
Although it was patently clear that the prime motivation of the East India Company and the imperial government was to create a clerical class of English speaking Indians who would help them govern the country, the Indian intelligentsia and emerging middle class welcomed the imposition of English as the prime language of education. They were quick to discern that English education would open up jobs in government, business and the professions for them. Moreover they presciently adjudged that access to enlightened works of modern science, technology, law and philosophy would become easier. And ironically this new knowledge precipitated the beginning of the end of the British raj in India.
Unfortunately according to the authors, although India’s political leaders were effectively able to impact its ancient heritage, culture and political maturity upon the outside world through the English language, “the educational system continued to be colonial in content and character”. And even to this day the argument between orientalists and anglicists has not been resolved. Should children be taught in familiar vernacular languages to develop their early cognitive skills, or in English, the international language of business and commerce? The obvious answer is both. But after independence and the redrawing of linguistically determined state boundaries in 1956, a new tribe of language chauvinists driven by the lure of textbooks printing contracts has dumbed down Indian education.
Now, free India’s English language legacy if built upon, offers it another great opportunity to reap the demographic dividend and once again dominate world trade and commerce. Colonial prejudice and irrational sub-nationalism shouldn’t be allowed to vitiate this opportunity. That’s the message of the authors of this work of outstanding popular scholarship.
Dilip Thakore
Gandhian women’s champion
We Are Poor but So Many: The Story of Self-Employed Women in India by Ela R. Bhatt; Oxford University Press; Price: Rs.595; 233 pp
Magasaysay and right to Livelihood awards winner and recipient of honorary degrees from Harvard and Yale universities Elaben Bhatt has a global reputation as a tireless, sensitive and intelligent crusader for the rights of self-employed women. Despite this, her qualities of conceptual clarity and ability to frame pertinent issues are insufficiently appreciated. In this seminal book whose title is self explanatory, she compels attention to the neglect of the informal sector which comprises about three-fourths of the work force in India.
During a trip in 1969 to Israel, home of the kibbutz or cooperative, Bhatt discerned a connection between labour unions and cooperatives. When she returned, she set about mobilising women to form the Self-Employed Women’s Association (SEWA), the first women’s trade union which has 7 lakh members in seven states across the country. “Although there are as many trades among the self-employed as there are opportunities, I have focused on only a few. I have tried to reveal the process that has led to the birth of a trade union of self-employed women, the basic philosophy of the organisation, and the battles we face. I have also tried to highlight the role that trade cooperatives play in economic development and to show the impact of the larger economy on the lives of women,” says Bhatt in the introduction of this insightful book.
SEWA was launched in 1972 with women mill workers as its members, but it soon grew to include roadside vendors, ragpickers, garment tailors, embroiderers, salt farmers, gum gatherers and displaced persons. Early in her career as a trade unionist, Bhatt recognised that although socially disadvantaged women are vulnerable, they are also resilient, entrepreneurial and persevering. Given a little support and credit they can be freed from the clutches of the powerful supplier-middleman-contractor nexus. The idea was to increase their self-reliance individually and collectively.
The title of the book epitomises a truth that Indian society has consistently failed to acknowledge — that in unity there is strength. It was Chandaben (whose vocation is to trade kitchenware for old clothes that she cleans, mends and sells) who persuaded SEWA members that they could start their own bank because “we may be poor but we are so many”. This poor women’s bank now has 2 lakh members who are enthused about going to a welcoming bank everyday to deposit a portion of their modest earnings.
Refreshingly We are Poor but So Many is more than a dry-as-dust story of SEWA. It is also the autobiography of Ela Bhatt who was raised in the comfortable home of a successful lawyer and herself started as a lawyer in the Textile Labour Association — one of the country’s most powerful trade unions founded by Mahatma Gandhi in 1920. This book recounts the transformation of the author from a lonely woman lawyer conscious of her clothes and “short height”, into one of India’s most respected champions of women’s rights.
SEWA’s approach has been to build assets and not just fulfill needs. It acknowledges women as entrepreneurs and provides them the credit needed to buy supplies, expand their businesses, pay for their home and healthcare bills. While its main focus has been on economic activities and livelihood issues, SEWA has also contributed in the core issues of education, healthcare, agricultural practices, marketing and distribution.
Bhatt was nominated to the Rajya Sabha in 1986 and with her wealth of SEWA experience, made important contributions to policy debates of the day. Later as a member of the Second National Commission on Labour, in 2000, she was instrumental in introducing umbrella legislation for the protection of the unorganised sector. She has influenced urban legislation that now supports the informal sector and urban vendors. SEWA’s efforts with rehabilitation of displaced persons has also been influential in setting precedents and practice norms.
Therefore it’s fitting to wish Elaben and SEWA a long and successful innings, and to hope that the imperatives of business will not change their basic social development priorities.
Cavery Bopaiah