The Marathi language rule for auto and taxi drivers can promote integration, but only if it does not become another instrument of identity politics. The political scenario in Maharashtra has changed after the Cockroach Janata Party’s (CJP) agitation, and every political party is now trying to woo ‘Gen Z’ which could emerge as a significant vote bank by 2029. But Maharashtra’s political conversation has moved to a much more emotionally charged issue: the Marathi language requirement for auto-rickshaw and taxi drivers. What began as a transport regulation has quickly become a political contest involving Marathi identity, migrant livelihoods and the BJP’s relationship with the sizeable North Indian electorate in Mumbai and the Mumbai Metropolitan Region. Language Barrier Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis has had to step in to clarify that Hindi-speaking drivers are not expected to become experts in Marathi, but only need enough of the language to conduct their daily work. Samajwadi Party chief Akhilesh Yadav, meanwhile, has attacked the policy, questioning whether language can become a barrier to earning a livelihood in another state. The Maharashtra government has made “working knowledge” of Marathi mandatory for auto-rickshaw, taxi and app-based cab drivers. The rule extends not only to traditional autos and taxis but also to drivers working with aggregators such as Ola, Uber and Rapido. Compliance is linked to their ability to continue operating. RTO teams have been conducting practical tests rather than formal examinations. Drivers are asked basic questions and everyday phrases relating to destinations, fares, routes, meters, travel time and payments. A 16-question format has been reported, designed around situations a driver is likely to encounter with passengers. The scale of enforcement explains why the issue has suddenly become explosive. In the first five days of inspections, authorities checked 35,190 commercial passenger vehicles across Maharashtra, including 14,399 in the MMR, and issued 4,729 notices statewide, of which 2,239 were in the MMR. On August 24 alone, 1,392 drivers were checked in the MMR and 139 were found lacking the required proficiency. Drivers who fail the test are not immediately supposed to lose their livelihoods. They receive a notice and are given time to acquire the required working knowledge. Under the rules, however, continued non-compliance can eventually lead to suspension and, for repeated violations, cancellation of the licence or badge. That is where the policy becomes more complicated. For a driver who works 10–12 hours a day, has limited formal education or has lived in Mumbai for years without needing to speak Marathi fluently, learning a new language under the threat of losing his livelihood is understandably intimidating. Legal Problem There is also a legal question. The Bombay High Court struck down a similar requirement for autorickshaw permits in 2017, raising questions about the statutory basis and the manner in which the present rule is being enforced. The answer lies somewhere between “Marathi must be compulsory” and “nobody should be forced to learn Marathi”. Mumbai cannot function without communication. A passenger should be able to tell a driver where he wants to go, negotiate or understand the fare, ask for directions and communicate basic safety or emergency information. For that purpose, basic Marathi proficiency is a perfectly reasonable requirement for a public-facing transport worker. But basic conversational Marathi is very different from linguistic proficiency. That distinction should become the foundation of the government’s policy. Maharashtra has already taken one important corrective step by announcing 161 Marathi language training centres across the state and a dedicated RTO helpline to address complaints of harassment, illegal fines and procedural irregularities. In the MMR, 16 of the 48 earlier training centres are also being reopened. This should go further. Every driver receiving a notice should automatically be given access to a free, government-recognised Marathi course. The course should be short, practical and audio-visual, teaching perhaps 50–100 sentences relevant to driving rather than grammar, literature or writing. Drivers should be allowed multiple attempts, and the test should be standardised across all RTOs. The issue is not whether Marathi deserves protection. It does. Marathi is Maharashtra’s official and cultural language, and there is nothing unreasonable about expecting people who live and work here to acquire a basic knowledge of it. But Mumbai has historically succeeded because it has absorbed people from across India. The city does not need to choose between Marathi and Hindi. It can accommodate both. Political Minefield The BJP, meanwhile, faces a difficult balancing act. Its Maharashtra leadership cannot ignore Marathi sentiment, but it also cannot afford to alienate migrant communities that have traditionally formed an important part of its urban support base. The emergence of the BJP’s own labour cell criticising alleged harassment of non-Marathi drivers demonstrates just how delicate the issue has become. The labour cell has even threatened an MMR-wide strike if alleged harassment continues. For the Shiv Sena led by Eknath Shinde, the controversy offers an opportunity to reclaim the Marathi identity space traditionally associated with the Sena and the MNS. For the Uddhav Thackeray-led Sena (UBT), the challenge is different: it has criticised policies affecting drivers’ livelihoods while simultaneously trying to retain its Marathi identity credentials. The MNS, unsurprisingly, has adopted the most aggressive position, warning non-Marathi drivers to learn Marathi or leave Maharashtra. The Marathi passenger benefits if communication becomes easier. The non-Marathi driver benefits because he gains a practical skill and greater integration into Mumbai society. The government benefits because implementation becomes less confrontational. And Mumbai benefits because its public transport system becomes more inclusive rather than more polarised. The biggest losers would be the drivers themselves and ordinary commuters. A prolonged strike or large-scale suspension of licences could affect daily mobility across the MMR, particularly for passengers who depend on autos and taxis for last-mile connectivity. The Maharashtra government therefore has an opportunity to turn a politically sensitive controversy into a model of linguistic integration. The correct message should not be: “Speak Marathi or leave Mumbai.” It should be simpler: “You live and work in Maharashtra — learn enough Marathi to connect with the people you serve.” (The writer is a political observer. Views personal.)
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