“In twenty minutes’ walk through the bazar of India,
my ear has been struck by the sounds of every language that I have heard in any
part of the world,” wrote an Englishman in 1909.Then as now, the metropolis of western India has had one of
the most tangled linguistic situations anywhere. Each census has revealed it as a city without a majority language.
In the recent census, Mumbai residents claimed 222 different
mother tongues.There are 25
linguistic groups of 1,000 or
more persons in a population of millions. References to Babel have
become trite. The Indian languages are philologically separate and distinct,
and most use entirely different scripts. Some are related, and the speakers of
one can communicate crudely with the speakers of another, but it is impossible
to read newspaper or converse intelligently without training in that specific
language. Furthermore, these linguistic differences reflect deep-seated
political, economic and cultural differences which spring easily into
animosities and even violence.
All language groups in India have shown a healthy
growth in total newspaper circulation in recent years. During these
eventful years, newspapers were born and died, and the circulation “pie”
doubled in size. But the various language groups continue to slice it about the
same.
Literacy is increasing rapidly, both in Mumbai and
elsewhere in western India, opening up vast new readership potentialities. The
language in which a child first learns to read is likely to be the language in
which he will later read his newspapers, unless they are not available, or a
newspaper in another language offers him far more in content. In mainland
Maharashtra the great majority
of the children receive their education in Marathi, but in Mumbai there are
schools available in twelve different languages. Large groups of children receive their instruction in
each of the languages in which dailies are published with the help of printing technology, indicating a continuation
of the present pattern of readership into the next generation.
Indian newspapers have been hampered by the nation’s
economic difficulties. Massive poverty, even more than illiteracy, has kept the
sales of most newspapers small, their advertising skimpy, and their financial
positions shaky. Import of newsprint and every thing else is limited, and its
shortage inhibits expansion and new enterprises. Inflation has raised costs
sharply, putting a tight squeeze on the small newspaper with limited resources.
Political developments play their part. Both the state
and federal governments take a paternalistic interest in the development of the
press, and they have been more and more inclined to shape that development.
They provide networks of information officers, allocate the newsprint,
distribute advertising revenue, subsidize the Press Trust of India, which is
the principal wire service, and while they usually tolerate opposing views,
obstreperous editors have been arrested. Enforcement of a price differential,
rigged to help the small papers, was blocked by the courts. One can only
speculate how much they “encourage” the press of their official languages in
particular.
English-language papers would wither and fade, to be
supplanted by Hindi news ones, have not yet come true. In India they remain a minor
factor, limited largely to readers from the Hindi areas. Hindi has not replaced
English as the only truly nationwide language, and it is not likely to oust the
newly-established regional languages. English remains in use in industry, in
the universities and even in the federal government itself. It is, as it was under
the Crown, a virtual requirement for the ambitious.
Since languages and cultures are matters of immense
pride, there seems to be no cure. Having many newspapers is the only way to
meet the problem of many languages. Each journal must fill the news, editorial
and advertising needs of its own small community, whatever else it may lack. To
obtain such special services, many persons suffer an inferior brand of
journalism.
