The irony of the mother tongue

Himangshu Ranjan Bhuyan

(The author is the recipient of the 'Yuba Lekhak Sanman - 2025' from the Government of Assam. He can be reached at himangshur1989@gmail.com.

In the social life of Assam at the present time, the most discussed yet most neglected issue is the future of the mother tongue and its practical dimensions. When we talk about the crisis of the Assamese language, our discussions almost always remain caught in a whirlpool of emotions, but in reality the roots of the problem run so deep that it has become impossible to cure this disease merely with emotional slogans or government notifications. The unpleasant truth is that for the majority of the Assamese middle class and upper class society, the Assamese language has now become merely an ordinary household language for casual conversation; it is no longer the language of knowledge, science, or economy. But the question is, who created this irony of our mother tongue? One thing is clear: no external enemy has come and forbidden us to speak our language; rather, we ourselves have begun to regard our own language as a burden in the name of modernity and in the blind race of globalisation. Parents proudly say that their children do not know how to read or write Assamese well, as if this were a matter of achievement. When a nation suffers from an inferiority complex regarding its own language and considers mastery of another language as the yardstick of aristocracy, the downfall of that nation becomes inevitable.

From an economic perspective, a language survives only when it has 'economic value' or can open paths to livelihood. A harsh truth of our society today is that we have gradually declared Assamese-medium education as 'insecure' in an unwritten manner. If one visits any mofussil town or village nowadays, it is evident that the number of students in government Assamese-medium schools is steadily declining, while private English-medium schools are overflowing with admissions. The reason is not merely parents' fondness for English; behind it lies a deep sense of insecurity. Parents see that from government jobs to the corporate world, English dominates everywhere. They think that if they educate their children in Assamese medium, their children will lag behind at the national or international level in the future. This notion is not entirely wrong, because our government and policymakers have utterly failed to shape the Assamese language into a career-orientated or employment-orientated one. The Japanese, Chinese, or Koreans have conquered the world by studying in their own mother tongues because they have translated all knowledge of science, technology, and commerce into their own languages. But we find it difficult to study science or mathematics in Assamese because we lack sufficient standard textbooks, and a section of our teachers themselves are incapable of explaining concepts in the mother tongue. Therefore, people's aversion to language that cannot fulfil economic needs is quite natural, and we cannot cover this realistic truth with emotions.

Another important factor in the crisis of our language is a kind of cultural hypocrisy that has taken root in society. We deliver grand speeches on language preservation at meetings and gatherings, post photos on social media, and shout "Chir chenehi mor bhasha janani", but within the four walls of home we prefer to speak to our children in English or a strange hybrid mixture of Hindi. Nowadays, many couples raise their children at an early age in an environment where the words "mummy" and "papa" feel more intimate than "ma deuta." They think that teaching Assamese at home will create problems in their children's English speaking. This is a ridiculous and unscientific notion. According to linguists, a child who masters his mother tongue well can learn any language in the world very easily. But our so-called prestigious English schools brainwash parents in such a way that speaking Assamese even at home, let alone in the school premises, seems like a crime. As a result, a 'hybrid generation' has emerged-people who can neither speak pure English, nor can they speak pure Assamese. Their Assamese sounds in a distorted form. Pronunciation errors, grammatical mistakes, and an overload of unnecessary English words have turned the Assamese language into a mishmash. Our so-called educated society is responsible for this cultural bankruptcy, which considers cutting off one's own roots as a sign of modernity.

One crucial point is that in this era of an explosion of information technology, any language that cannot firmly establish its place in the digital world is inevitably doomed to death. In this regard too, the condition of the Assamese language is extremely deplorable. When today's young generation searches for something on Google or acquires knowledge on the internet, they find very little information in Assamese. From Wikipedia to YouTube tutorials, the lack of Assamese content is glaringly obvious. Our writers, intellectuals, and publishers have so far given more importance to printed editions of books, but our efforts in the direction of e-books, audiobooks, or digital archives are negligible. As a result, for the generation growing up with smartphones in hand, the Assamese language has come to be perceived as an impractical medium. They are compelled to consume English content. Even on government websites, finding accurate Assamese information is difficult. At a time when small language communities around the world are striving to incorporate their languages into AI and computer programming, we remain stuck with problems of Assamese fonts and chaotic keyboards. If a language cannot keep pace with technology, it will survive only in bookshelves and literary gatherings, not at people's fingertips. It is truly unfortunate that no organized effort or government initiative is visible to bridge this digital divide.

The role of various organizations and institutions in Assam is also not above criticism in this matter. We see that these organizations spend more time on political posturing and emotional protests than on the propagation and promotion of the language. Even our national organizations have failed to adopt the kind of scientific approach needed to advance the language in line with current times. Holding a massive convention once a year, spending lakhs of rupees, and delivering pompous speeches-beyond that, has any constructive work been done for the development of the language in the real field? Their role in simplifying the language, creating new vocabulary (that people can actually use), or translating the best works of world literature is disappointing. Instead, conflicts among linguists and grammarians, along with complicated rules, are pushing ordinary people even further away from the language. When a language is bound by rigid rules, it becomes stagnant. Like a river, a language must have the capacity to change its flow and accept new words. But our scholars adopt such strictness in the name of purity that the new generation fears to write or speak, creating a state of apprehension.

Merely blaming the government for the debacle of the mother tongue in the education system will not help; the entire social system and our mindset are responsible for it. A large section of our teaching community today is unable to deliver lessons in a way that inspires students in the classroom. The infrastructure of Assamese-medium schools, the shortage of teachers, and the burden of non-academic duties on those who are there-all these together create a negative environment. In contrast, English-medium schools offer suitable facilities, smart classrooms, and discipline. Naturally, where would a conscious parent send their child? Thus, government Assamese schools are losing this competition. Moreover, when the government suddenly decides to teach science and mathematics in English, it proves that it itself believes Assamese cannot handle complex subjects. This self-destructive decision is said everywhere to have driven the last nail into the coffin of the language. At a time when we should have been improving the curriculum and preparing modern educational tools in Assamese, we have become involved in a conspiracy to remove the language from the medium of education itself. This is not merely the killing of a language; it is a process of blocking the intellectual development of an entire nation.

Finally, it is necessary to deeply realize that there is no shortcut or magical cure to rescue the mother tongue from this crisis. What is required is a collective awakening and a fundamental change in mindset. First, we must abandon this inferiority complex that Assamese is merely the language of rural or backward people. We must use our language fearlessly and proudly at home, in the market, and in offices. Second, the government and the private sector must take initiatives to connect the language with livelihood. Making the use of Assamese mandatory in every business and commercial establishment in Assam, along with ensuring its practical aspects, is essential. Third, the youth must come forward to increase Assamese content in the digital world. If we truly love our mother tongue, we must strive to keep it alive. Otherwise, it will not take long for the Assamese language to be marked as a 'dead language' in the pages of history. It would be our utmost shame if the language that our ancestors preserved for thousands of years comes to an end in our generation's hands. Time is still there, but very little. Only by abandoning emotion and advancing with reason and action can we free ourselves from this irony.