I am aware that this article may upset many Hindi proponents, but that is of no concern to me. I am not in pursuit of popularity or publicity, despite what some may assume. I have often expressed views that have made me unpopular. I speak what I believe to be the truth, regardless of whether it pleases or offends people.
The reality is that Hindi is not the language of the common man in India, not even in the so-called Hindi-speaking regions. The language spoken by the common people is Hindustani, also referred to as Khadiboli.
To illustrate the distinction between Hindi and Hindustani, consider this example: in Hindustani, one would say “udhar dekhiye” to mean “look there.” However, in Hindi, the equivalent phrase would be “udhar avalokan keejiye.” The average person would never use the phrase “udhar avalokan keejiye.”
Hindi is an artificially constructed language, developed as part of the British colonial policy of divide and rule. The British propagated the false notion that Hindi was the language of Hindus, while Urdu belonged to Muslims.
Before 1947, Urdu served as the common language of educated individuals—Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and others—across vast regions of India. However, after the partition in 1947, when Pakistan was established as an Islamic state, Urdu came under attack in India. Religious extremists falsely promoted the idea that Urdu was a foreign language belonging exclusively to Muslims.
As part of this agenda, a concerted effort was made to eliminate Persian and Arabic words from Hindustani, even though they had been widely adopted in everyday speech. These words were then replaced with Sanskrit-derived alternatives. For instance, the word “zila” (district) was substituted with “janpad,” “kaafi” (enough) with “paryapt,” “zyaada” (more) with “adhik,” and “mujrim” (accused) with “abhiyukt.”
Hundreds, if not thousands, of similar examples exist where commonly used Persian words were deliberately weeded out and replaced with Sanskrit terms. This process was nearly catastrophic for Urdu, almost amounting to linguistic genocide.
During my tenure as a judge at the Allahabad High Court, a lawyer who regularly argued in Hindi once submitted a petition titled “Pratibhu Avedan Patra.” I asked him what “Pratibhu” meant, and he replied that it referred to bail. I then pointed out that he should have simply used the term “bail” or “zamaanat,” which everyone understood, rather than “Pratibhu,” a word that was unfamiliar to most people.
In court, deciphering Hindi in government notifications was often challenging, as the language used was highly Sanskritized, or “klisht.”
Similarly, certain Hindi books employ such complex Sanskrit-derived vocabulary that their meaning becomes difficult to grasp.
It is a misconception that incorporating foreign words weakens a language. On the contrary, it strengthens it. English, for example, has become more robust by assimilating words not only from European languages but also from Arabic, Persian, and Hindustani. Consequently, it was misguided to remove Persian and Arabic words that had become an integral part of Hindustani.
To conclude, I believe that modern Hindi poetry does not compare to Urdu poetry in terms of expressiveness and sophistication. Consider this famous Urdu line from Bismil’s revolutionary poem: “Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.” If translated into Hindi, it would read: “Sheesh katwaane ki ichcha ab hamaare hriday mein hai.” Which version do you think revolutionaries would prefer to chant?
Likewise, take the powerful lines by Faiz Ahmed Faiz: “Bol ki lab azad hain tere, bol zubaan ab tak teri hai.” In Hindi, this could be translated as “Uchchaaran karo, munh swatantra hai tumhaara.” However, the Hindi version lacks the strength and depth of the original Urdu. Hindi simply does not possess the same intensity and elegance that Urdu offers.
