Linguistics over licences in Maharashtra

At Mumbai’s Andheri Regional Transport Office (RTO), rows of plastic chairs that once held people waiting for token numbers to take driving tests now house a different kind of crowd: auto drivers with laptops open, chanting Marathi phrases for the first time in their working lives. The four-day Marathi course, launched from June 1, has become an unexpected part of five of the 25 RTOs, each located in a different area in Mumbai. Every day, 50 to 80 drivers arrive at each center and compete to pass the language test before their permit is flagged.

The urgency stems from an announcement made in April by Pratap Baburao Sarnaik, Maharashtra Transport Minister and chairman of the Maharashtra State Road Transport Corporation (MSRTC). Sarnaik held a press conference to announce that taxi and auto drivers in Mumbai must know how to read, write and speak Marathi, otherwise they risk losing their licence. Transport officials who issue licenses without proper checks may also face prosecution. The journey was to begin on May 1.

His statement sparked a political storm within days, prompting a backlash from Shiv Sena’s Sanjay Nirupam and Samajwadi Party leader Abu Azmi, who objected to the timeline. Sarnaik, who is also from the Shiv Sena, which is part of the ruling alliance, later postponed the deadline to August 15, giving drivers a longer time to learn how to read, write and speak in Marathi. There are 88,923 registered taxis and 4,22,990 cars in Mumbai, most of which are used by people migrating to the State in search of work.

For some, the classroom is an unfamiliar and uncomfortable space that brings to the surface old anxieties about literacy, age, and what their children might think. Drivers who have spent years memorizing routes, fares and the unwritten etiquette of Mumbai’s roads now find themselves once again holding a pen and chanting the words under the gaze of an instructor.

For some, four days pass quickly and without much fuss; for others, each session is a small, silent reckoning with a part of their past they hope never to revisit.

contrasting views

Moolachand Yadav, 53, from Kurla, who has been driving in Mumbai since 1991, says he has no objection to the new regulation. “Itne saal se yahi sheher mein gaadi chala rahe hain, ab Marathi seekh lenge toh sawari bhi badhegi (I have been living in this city for many years. Maybe learning Marathi will help me find more customers),” he says, confident of completing the course. For more than three decades, Yadav has been watching the city change around him: new flyovers, new fares, new passengers.

For him, Marathi is the next thing to get used to, which is no different than learning a new route or a new practice. Some drivers in his booth complain about the lessons coming into prime earning hours, but he chooses to look at the situation differently. He thinks a few mornings spent learning the language could mean better conversations with Marathi-speaking travelers and possibly more regular customers in the long run. For Yadav, classes are an opportunity rather than a necessity; a way to gain the trust of more passengers and with it, more money.

Not everyone shares his excitement. In Govandi in Mumbai’s eastern suburbs, Rakesh Mandal bristles at the idea of ​​sitting in a classroom. “pasture age 42 hi. just single school jaate traitor. Agar ana bhi school jaane lagunga, toh woh sochenge ki unka baap padha-likha nahi hai (I am 42 years old. My children go to school. If I start school, my children will think that I cannot read or write),” he says, but quietly admits that he does not know.

Mandal has been driving a taxi in Govandi for 20 years and takes his own children to school before starting his shifts. The thought of his children seeing him work every day terrifies him. The discomfort goes deeper than the test itself. Going back to school for Mandal risks exposing a vulnerability he has tried to hide for decades, and in his view, no certification is worth the cost.

Sarnaik feels that it is a responsibility to learn the language of the region where one works. At the press conference, he added that the Ministry of Transport has received complaints, especially from Mumbai Metropolitan Region, Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar and Nagpur, that many drivers are unable or unwilling to speak Marathi with passengers.

RTOs are transforming schools

Vidya Prabhu, a retired teacher, runs a four-day Marathi speaking, reading and writing course. | Photo Credit: Emmanual Yogini

The person overseeing the program at Andheri RTO is Deputy Regional Transport Officer Sudhir Jaybhaye. “On the first day (June 8) there were 52 students, on the second day the number increased to 74. Now we have more than 85 students in each group,” he says. Classes are held between 12.30pm and 1.30pm, which he says is in between the busy morning and evening office commutes.

Jaybhaye explains that the office uses routine paperwork as leverage to enroll drivers in the program. When drivers come to get a new driving license, renew old driving licenses or register a vehicle, RTO staff tell them to enroll in the free Marathi course. “Drivers are told to complete the course first, and then their pending applications are evaluated.”

Anjali Deshpande, 73, one of the teachers at the Andheri centre, says attendance is meticulously recorded. It prepares a page where each driver’s license number, vehicle registration number and badge number are recorded. It is mandatory to attend all four lectures and sign the attendance register to receive a certificate jointly issued by the Mumbai Marathi Sahitya Sangh and Kokan Marathi Sahitya Parishad, institutions under the Department of Cultural Affairs of Maharashtra, renowned for their work in Marathi.

Deshpande is a retired clerk who voluntarily retired from the Centre’s defense department and started giving private lessons in Marathi and Hindi. He warmly describes his days teaching in RTO classrooms. “More than 200 auto drivers now call me ‘Marathi lady’. Now, when I go out to run errands, I get a different, more pleasant treatment from auto drivers,” she says, laughing. Unlike many parts of India, cars in Mumbai are metered, but fares can be negotiable.

Classes at Wadala RTO are usually held between 13:00 and 14:00, which is the lunch break of the RTO. One of the course coordinators explains the philosophy behind the teaching method: a combination of visuals and text. He says most of the instructors are retired professors and language teachers who have spent years teaching academics.

“The key difference between teaching children and adults is that children ask a lot more questions and start from scratch, while adult learners tend to overcome challenges on their own with less hand-holding,” he says, adding that the focus is on conversational Marathi. Students are taught 14 sentences. On the final day, students are tested on these to qualify for certification. The test will assess whether the driver can read a sign or document in Marathi, write a simple sentence and hold a simple conversation in the language, officials said.

Passengers weigh in

Reactions to the driver are not limited to drivers. Jyothi Ganta, a corporate professional who commutes about 9 kilometers a day from her Shimla House location to the Fort in south Mumbai, about 5 kilometers away, offers a traveler’s perspective. “It is not always necessary for drivers to speak Marathi. Sometimes both commuters and drivers get so busy with our phones that we just change the OTPs and that’s all,” he says.

Ganta’s native language is Telugu but since he was born and brought up in Mumbai, he speaks Marathi fluently. “When we move geographically, only two things change: One is the food, the other is the language. So we must speak the language of the land.” Chetan Tokde, 28, an auto driver from Ambernath in Thane district, takes a combative stance. “Why should we change our language, our culture, our pride?” He added that drivers who do not want to adapt “should go back to their hometowns.” He feels that Maharashtra’s Marathi-speaking drivers are capable of handling the city’s transport on their own.

Vedant Jather, 34, a call center worker who goes to Kanjurmarg station every day, strikes a more measured note. He says he has no problems with immigrants, but says some drivers who have lived, worked and earned money in the city for more than 40 years still haven’t learned the local language. “Is it possible for this to happen in Karnataka or Tamil Nadu?” he says, arguing that learning the local language is a responsibility that drivers themselves should take on, rather than waiting for the government to give time to push the issue.

Political crossfire

Arvind Gawde, Mumbai vice-president of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, is critical of the government’s approach and frames the entire exercise as an attempt to woo migrant voters from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. “Why is this government running a ‘Learn Marathi’ project for people from UP and Bihar?” He claims that the ruling alliance wants to help immigrants settle permanently in Mumbai and turn them into a vote bank.

He questions why taxpayers’ money is being spent on language education, calling the practice “political theatre”, pointing out that no other State runs similar programmes. “Have you ever heard of the Tamil Nadu government spending money and manpower to teach its language to foreigners?” He also feels that this is a poor use of RTOs’ limited resources. RTOs should focus on illegal drivers, road safety and the broader problems plaguing public transport, rather than what he disparagingly calls “educating them”. abiyyaS”.

In a few weeks, the four-day Marathi course became a small but meaningful window into the larger concerns of language, identity and belonging that continue to define life in Mumbai. As the Aug. 15 deadline approaches, RTO offices are on the rise across the city, even though debates about who truly belongs to the city and under what circumstances are far from resolved.

chinmay.r@thehindu.co.in

Edited by Sunalini Mathew and Amarjot Kaur.