by Mir Tariq Rasool
While language is often hailed as the expression of thought and the ambassador of culture, the unchecked rise of one dominant language at the expense of others undermines the very purpose of International Mother Language Day.
Language, often regarded as God’s first gift to Adam, serves as the medium through which knowledge of self and the other is acquired, how the consciousness of good and evil is discerned, and the instrument of interaction. It is language that distinguishes Homo sapiens from other creatures, defining emotions, giving shape to dreams, and lending voice to words. Languages mould identity, imbue value where none exists, bridge the metaphysical realms, and unravel the sacred, abstract symbols of religion. They are the spirit of civilisation, the pillars of cultural existence, and the symbols of power for nations. For any nation, a language is an existential element—a Hegelian Dasein for the individual or a Weltanschauung for a community. It constructs society, shapes thought and lends colour to ideas and ideals. As Jacques Derrida observed, language is an active force that shapes our perceptions of reality and reinforces existing power structures.
Like all languages, Kashur, or Kashmiri, represents Dasein or Weltanschauung—a symbol of existence for the Kashmiri people. Kashur is as potent as any other language, capable of serving as an instrument of power and a tool for deconstructing dominant discourses, as Pierre Bourdieu and David Corson have argued. The towering poet and critic Ami Kamil once remarked, “Kashreys sayethi Kashyer saaryi, Natt Varanyik Haraan Kaaw”—a testament to the language’s enduring significance. Kashur has bestowed upon its people a unique identity; a native Kashmiri is defined by their language, which forms the bedrock of their culture and identity.
Rehman Rahi, in his celebrated poem ‘Hymn to Language’, eloquently expressed this bond: “Haye kasher zev, Me che cheeni drieh, Cze myeen khabar, Cze myeev nzar, Cze myeen shaoor’ich sonzil zich, Cze myeeni zameer’ich mecx’sang” (O Kashmiri language! I swear by you, you are my awareness, my vision too, the radiant ray of my perception, the whirling violin of my conscience!). Kashur, or Kashmiri, stands as one of the oldest languages, a testament to the resilience and richness of its people. Yet, despite its profound heritage, it finds itself increasingly deserted, a poignant reflection of the challenges it faces in the modern world.
The language of resilience, the language of powerlessness, and the language of the prehistoric era—Kashur is a living testament to endurance, having weathered harsh and unforgiving times since its emergence in antiquity. It is said to have existed long before King Ashoka annexed Kashmir into his dominion in the 3rd century BC. Over millennia, Kashur has evolved alongside the region’s rich composite culture and literature, flourishing as a vessel of identity and expression. Yet, in the face of lingo-colonialism, power-driven cultural identities, and the globalisation of imperial cultures, this tenacious language now finds itself in a precarious state. Though not extinct, it lingers in uncertainty, displaying symptoms of endangerment that have stirred deep concern among those who cherish it.
Scholars and historians have documented Kashur’s resilience as an inflectional language, consistently surviving the strains of its historical evolution. However, many linguists, scholars, and critics argue that, despite significant efforts, Kashur has not evolved at the same pace as other languages. This stagnation is attributed to a complex web of political, regional, and strategic factors—issues that language activists and organisations must urgently address. From ordinary citizens to linguistic activists, academics, and intellectuals, there is a pervasive sense of unease. Many fear that Kashur, though still alive, teeters on the brink of extinction.
Even among Kashmiri writers, poets, and artists, there is a troubling trend: the preference for languages of power over their mother tongue. Feeling marginalised, they often turn to more dominant languages to express their art, leaving Kashur to languish in neglect. As Michel Foucault observed, language is a tool wielded to shape, control, and dominate. Whether in legal, political, or religious discourse, it constructs realities and governs the flow of truth. Yet, Kashur has failed to assert such influence. Its speakers have allowed it to grow so feeble that many now feel a sense of embarrassment when using it. Even those whose mother tongue is Kashmiri often forsake it in favour of “white-collar” languages, abandoning the very essence of their cultural identity.
Those who use Kashur as a medium of expression have so far failed to dominate, not because the language itself is lacking, but due to a profound absence of love, care, and affection for it. This neglect has prevented them from harnessing the full spirit of their mother tongue. While millions of writers and poets have composed prose and poetry in Kashur, few have risen to a level of lasting impression. The majority have struggled to wield the language with the aesthetic precision it deserves. Language activism in Kashmir, though well-intentioned, has often been reduced to a wave of derision. Many leading activists are either driven by personal ambition or operate as pseudo-functional entities, lacking coherent plans or meaningful practice. The harsh reality is that such activism has mocked the very process of language evolution, as the mother tongue is increasingly abandoned at familial and personal levels.
A language thrives when it boasts both standard speakers and qualitative writers. Yet, Kashur has to see its day in the sun. When rare, exceptional poets or writers have emerged, they have often been ignored or marginalised, perceived as threats to the entrenched, albeit illusory, power structures. This flawed approach to language activism has, in many ways, hindered the natural evolution of Kashur.
The Kashmiri language, proudly claimed as a mother tongue by nearly ninety lakh speakers (a figure that has risen from seventy-five lakhs in 2011), faces an uncertain future. Its speakers, though numerous, are deeply conflicted about its prospects. Studies have shown that languages, though eternal in their nature and structure, can indeed perish. This death can be averted if speakers honour and preserve the embedded eternity of their language. Languages evolve, though their evolution differs from Darwinian principles. They flourish when their speakers respect and nurture this growth.
How, then, does a language die? Is its demise tied to a fixed lifespan, or does it succumb to some inherent structural flaw? Anthropologists, structuralists, and linguists have identified no such intrinsic cause. Instead, language death is attributed to the negligence, disregard, and apathy of its native speakers. As David Crystal, a leading authority on language, asserts in his book Language Death, “to say a language is dead is like saying a person is dead. It could be no other way—for languages have no existence without people.” This observation underscores that the death of a language stems from its speakers rather than the language itself.
Applying this understanding to Kashur, one finds all the symptoms of language death glaringly evident. Despite its vast number of speakers, the younger generation rarely uses Kashur, even as a secondary language. Children and infants are increasingly raised with languages other than their mother tongue, a trend that reflects a deliberate, stepmotherly approach to Kashur. This shift, rooted in complex social and cultural dynamics, poses a grave threat to the survival of a language that has endured for millennia.
Kashur can now be considered a moribund language, no longer being properly learned as a mother tongue by children. Its intergenerational transmission has faltered due to a lack of attention from both government and non-governmental entities—parents, society, and teachers alike. Even language activists and organisations have failed to bridge the gap with younger generations, who have grown up under the influence of confusing linguistic environments and now struggle to identify with their mother tongue. Among the myriad reasons for this disconnection is the perceived lack of capital value in Kashur. In this postmodern society, where the language of power is seen as the sole means to secure employment, respect, glamour, and decency, Kashur holds little sway.
The rapid, commercialised tide of globalisation has placed regional languages under immense strain, as cultural capitalism perpetuates the dominance of certain languages while marginalising others. Though Kashur has not faced the direct brunt of this phenomenon, it has languished under its shadow for the past four decades. The language has long struggled within a multilingual framework, where the language of power—often the official or governmental language—has impeded its inclusive development. Historically, Kashur has absorbed influences from various dominant languages without losing its essence. This inflectional resilience has been its hallmark. During the Buddhist era, it embraced elements of Sanskrit. The Ghaznavid invasion in 1014 brought Persian influences, though Persian had already entered Kashmir through trade routes. Post-1947, English left its mark. Yet, despite these waves of linguistic influence, Kashur has endured, assimilating new elements while retaining its core identity. Its struggle continues today, as it navigates the pressures of linguistic expansionism in an era of globalisation.
One of the key factors in a language’s development is the literature it produces over time. Kashmiri literature has evolved to reflect the needs and philosophies of each era, from the Trika and Shaivism philosophies to the Islamic monotheism expressed in Sheikh’s Shruk, the Vakh of Lal Ded, and the Sufi thought of classical poets. Modern Kashmiri literature, influenced by foreign ideologies, has also found its place, with some contemporary poets drawing from structuralist and post-structuralist trends. However, it remains unclear whether these emerging literary movements have any meaningful impact on the growth of Kashur, particularly in the face of rising cultural capitalism.
The threat to regional and mother languages has not gone unnoticed. The United Nations, recognising the urgency, tasked UNESCO with implementing programmes to preserve languages on the brink of extinction. Yet, UNESCO must also address the insidious effects of linguistic capitalism and colonialism, which neither eradicate regional languages nor allow them the space to flourish. Each year, UNESCO observes International Mother Language Day, aiming to protect, preserve, and revive languages that are endangered or already lost. While these efforts are commendable, the survival of languages like Kashur ultimately depends on the commitment of its speakers and the broader societal structures that shape their choices.
The contemporary era of globalisation has brought with it a host of complexities, particularly in the realm of linguistics. It has dismantled the concept of territoriality, where regional, sub-regional, or mother tongues once thrived within specific boundaries. Now, a globalised language, imbued with power, has permeated societies worldwide, leaving many regional and mother languages stagnant and marginalised. As UNESCO and communities across the globe observe International Mother Language Day on 21 February, it is imperative to distinguish between the language of power and the language of powerlessness. The theme for 2020, “Languages without Borders,” promised inclusivity, yet borders have only grown more rigid. Elite, “white-collar” languages continue to expand, overshadowing and collapsing regional languages that lack such institutional backing.
This raises pressing questions: Were there ever borders for the language of power or capital, which now confine other languages to dwindling numbers of speakers? Was the slogan “Languages without Borders” merely a guise to facilitate the dominance of colonial languages over smaller, regional ones? In truth, languages inherently know no borders. Yet, when a language is politicised, capitalised, or endowed with imperial power, it erects barriers around others, condemning them to a slow demise. The theme for International Mother Language Day 2024, “Multilingual Education is a Pillar to Intergenerational Learning,” invites further reflection. Can capital-driven education systems, dominated by colonial languages—the currency of modern academia—genuinely foster the growth of other languages?
As we approach 2025, UNESCO marks the Silver Jubilee of International Mother Language Day, celebrating 25 years of advocacy for linguistic diversity and multilingual education. Yet, this milestone also prompts critical inquiry. Can linguistic diversity and multilingual education truly flourish in the face of growing lingual colonialism? Cultural capitalism, with language as its prized asset, has severed the intrinsic relationship between languages and geography. While language is often hailed as the expression of thought and the ambassador of culture, the unchecked rise of one dominant language at the expense of others undermines the very purpose of International Mother Language Day.
It is time for UNESCO to formulate policies that liberate regional and marginalised languages from the grip of linguistic capitalism. Only then can we hope for a world where all languages are accorded equal status, each carrying its unique message of peace, love, and unity.
(The writer is Patron of the Kashmir Literary and Philosophical Foundation. Ideas are personal.)
