Why rejecting English means forgetting the foundations of India's success

By Mohd. Ziyaullah Khan 

There is a peculiar paradox unfolding in modern India. Never before have Indians been so visible, successful, and influential on the global stage. From Silicon Valley to London, from Toronto to Singapore, Indians occupy boardrooms, universities, hospitals, and technology companies with remarkable distinction.

Yet, at the very moment of this unprecedented success, a growing section of society seems intent on dismissing the very foundations that made these achievements possible. The recent remarks of Union Home Minister Amit Shah sparked a major political debate when he stated that people who speak English in India would "soon feel ashamed" and that creating such a society was not far away.

He argued that Indian languages are the jewels of the country's culture and that no foreign language can fully convey Indian history, religion, or heritage. This reflects what may be called "The Orchard of Amnesia"—a collective forgetting of the institutions, policies, and ideas that nurtured modern India's rise.

The extraordinary success of Indians, particularly in developed countries such as the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, and across Europe, did not happen by accident. It was built upon five disproportionately significant advantages.

First, there was the gift of English. Love it or hate it, familiarity with English made a profound difference. Regardless of accent, mother-tongue influence, or Indianised expressions, English became India's passport to the world. It enabled generations of Indians to access global knowledge, participate in international commerce, and excel in science, technology, law, finance, and medicine. It became a bridge to opportunity and a gateway to the global economy. Ironically, a colonial inheritance became one of independent India's greatest assets.

Second, India embraced the information technology revolution. The country's early adoption of computers and information technology in the mid-1980s positioned it perfectly for the Y2K boom and the outsourcing revolution that followed. An entire generation grew up learning to code, adapting to new technologies, and embracing the digital age. This technological readiness transformed India into the world's back office and one of its leading technology hubs.

Third, sustained investment in higher education created an extraordinary talent pool. India's subsidised technical education system produced generations of highly skilled professionals. Institutions of engineering and medicine, despite limited resources, underpaid teachers, and often challenging infrastructure, maintained rigorous academic standards and competitive entrance examinations that fostered resilience and excellence. The campuses may not always have looked glamorous, but they produced world-class minds.

Fourth, the strength of public welfare played a crucial role. Independent India built a welfare architecture that, despite its imperfections, provided millions with access to food, education, healthcare, banking, electricity, and employment opportunities. These safety nets allowed countless families to dream beyond survival and aspire to prosperity.

Fifth, economic liberalisation expanded opportunities without plunging the country into chaos. The reforms of the 1990s opened India's doors to the world. Under the leadership of P. V. Narasimha Rao and Dr. Manmohan Singh, India embraced liberalisation while maintaining social stability. There were no military coups, no economic collapse, and no violent upheaval. Instead, an entire generation entered the middle class and discovered opportunities that had once seemed unimaginable.

The India that the world admires today was not built by mythology or slogans. It was built painstakingly by institution-builders, constitutional thinkers, scientists, economists, and visionary leaders.

Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and V. P. Menon integrated a fragmented subcontinent into a unified nation.

B. R. Ambedkar and the members of the Constituent Assembly crafted a Constitution that was far ahead of its time and, in many ways, ahead of the society it sought to govern.

Scientists and institution-builders such as Homi J. Bhabha, Vikram Sarabhai, M. S. Swaminathan, Verghese Kurien, and P. C. Mahalanobis ensured that India did not merely survive but learned to innovate, feed itself, and think independently.

These men and women gave Indians credibility, competence, and dignity on the world stage. Their tools were not mysticism or mythology. Their tools were science, law, education, and reason.

Against this historical backdrop, recent assertions that Indians should feel ashamed of speaking English are deeply troubling. English is indeed a legacy of colonialism. But it is also the language through which millions of Indians accessed knowledge, secured global opportunities, and transformed their lives.

To reject English entirely is to reject one of the instruments that enabled India's rise. The contradiction becomes even more striking when such arguments come from those who govern, legislate, and communicate largely in English, and whose own children often study in elite English-medium schools or prestigious foreign universities.

An even more troubling trend is emerging among sections of India's affluent classes and diaspora communities. Many who benefited from public education, scientific institutions, welfare systems, and economic reforms now ask, often dismissively, "What did India achieve in the past 78 years?"

Some mock modern medicine while enjoying longer and healthier lives because of it. Others dismiss public subsidies while continuing to benefit from roads, electricity, passports, pensions, and infrastructure built by the state. Still others romanticise an imagined golden age while living comfortably in a modern reality created by planners, scientists, teachers, engineers, and bureaucrats. This is not merely historical ignorance; it is historical ingratitude.

There is a peculiar arrogance that arises when people are lifted by the labour of others and mistake that elevation for their own achievement. It is like harvesting fruit from an orchard planted, watered, and protected by generations before you and then declaring that the orchard flourished solely because you happened to stand beneath its trees.

You forget the blisters that planted the saplings.

You forget the storms that threatened the harvest.

You forget the countless hands that nurtured the soil.

Inheritance begins to look like invention. Privilege begins to resemble conquest. And eventually, the beneficiaries of the orchard become ashamed of its roots.

They enjoy its shade and sweetness and then seek to burn it down—not because it failed them, but because acknowledging those who built it demands humility.

Nations, like individuals, cannot afford collective amnesia. To deny the achievements of those who came before us is not merely an injustice to the past; it is a betrayal of the future. When we erase the contributions of institution-builders, educators, scientists, and reformers, we deprive future generations of perspective, gratitude, and truth.

India's success story was never inevitable. It was carefully built through vision, sacrifice, and sustained effort. The orchard did not appear overnight.

Someone planted it.

Someone nurtured it.

Someone protected it.

And before we rush to condemn its roots, we must remember that the fruits we enjoy today exist because of those who came before us.

For a nation that forgets the hands that built its orchard risks leaving nothing but ashes for those who come after.

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Mohd. Ziyaullah Khan is a freelance content writer and editor based in Nagpur. He is also an activist and social entrepreneur, and co-founder of TruthScape, a collective of digital activists working to counter disinformation on social media