Maharashtra Marathi Language Mandate Migrant Drivers

When the government tells you to learn a new language or lose your livelihood, you find a way.

For thousands of migrant auto and taxi drivers in Maharashtra, that way looks different depending on who you are and where you live. Some are filing into classrooms after 11-hour shifts, sitting in the front row, tracing alphabets with the same hands that grip steering wheels all day. Others have quietly turned their phones into classrooms, swapping entertainment reels for Marathi lessons, buying newspapers in a script they’re still learning to read.

Maharashtra’s Marathi mandate, now a month old, requires all auto-rickshaw and taxi drivers to demonstrate working knowledge of the language by August 15 or risk losing their permits. The directive has sent ripples through a community of 2.8 lakh auto-rickshaw and 20,000 taxi permit holders in Mumbai alone, many of them migrants from Hindi-speaking states who have spent decades navigating the city without needing Marathi.

Political parties have rushed to organise language classes. The state government has announced its own initiative starting June. Nayonika Bose attended classes across the city to meet drivers now walking a tightrope between eking out a living and a genuine desire to learn the language.

Shadaab Qureshi, 43, taxi driver, Grant Road

After an 11-hour shift, Shadaab Qureshi pressed his last cup of chai at Asha hotel. On a normal day, that 6 pm cup would mean curtains down for the 43-year-old cabbie, whose day takes him across South Mumbai ferrying passengers. But May 20 was different.

Instead of heading home to Grant Road’s Kamathipura, Qureshi walked towards Nagpada’s Ahmed Sailor Primary School with a spring in his step, powered not just by chai but by the excitement that comes with a new experience.

He had good reason to be excited. Nearly three decades after quitting school, he was back in a classroom, this time as a student of Marathi.

Thrilled, he was the first to arrive. Qureshi, known as ‘Bhola’ among friends, says, “When I told my friends about my class, they laughed at me. But it doesn’t make a difference to me. I have come alone to learn.”

Though he can follow the language, he had signed up to learn spoken Marathi after the government’s latest diktat. “I can understand when my passengers speak to me. If they say ‘Pudhe’, I know they want me to go straight, or ‘Thamba’ means stop. But speaking Marathi is when I get stuck. Increasingly, I have started to feel embarrassed when I am unable to speak in Marathi.”

Shadaab arrived in Mumbai from Delhi in 1991. After a few years as a mechanic, he bought a Fiat and started driving a taxi in the early 2000s. The problem, he says, isn’t passengers. “While customers don’t generally speak in Marathi, the problem arises when RTO officers stop us. Their Marathi is very fluent, so it is difficult to grasp their words. Learning the language is very important. When I heard about this class, I was happy about the opportunity. For the past three days, I have been coming to the school to register, submit my photos and fill the forms for the course.”

Soon, students began filling the benches for the first lecture of ‘Chala Marathi Shikuya’, a three-month course organised by Anjuman-I-Islam and the NCP (Sharadchandra Pawar) Minority department. Among the 12 students, a newly recruited BMC teacher, an MBA student, business owners and office goers, taxi drivers Shadaab and Tajuddin Ansari (46) had claimed the front row on a humid Thursday evening.

Guided by teachers Mustaaq and Ainul Attar, the class began with introductions in broken Marathi. “Maajha naav Shadab aahe. Mi Grant Roadh madhye rahto. Mi Taxi chalavto. (My name is Shadab. I live in Grant Road. I drive a taxi),” said Shadab, to encouraging applause from his classmates.

Soon, echoes of Marathi vyanjans (alphabets) filled the room. “Ka, Kha, Ga, Gha,” the students repeated after their teachers. Shadaab and Tajuddin traced each alphabet carefully with their pens. The Devanagari script, similar to Hindi, helped. The course book also included Urdu script alongside Marathi for the students’ convenience.

Unlike Shadaab, Ansari is more proficient in spoken Marathi, a skill picked up from working at a tea stall in the Marathi-dominated Lalbaug area before he started driving a taxi eight years ago. He’s a native of Jharkhand’s Giridih.

After vyanjans, the class moved to pronouns, and the session grew harder. Students struggled to distinguish Majha, Majhi and Majhya, all meaning “mine” but varying with the gender of the noun that follows. “It will take some time. Don’t worry, just keep practising,” said Mustaaq. Ainul advised the class to watch snippets of Marathi serials or news to get used to the language.

By 9 pm, homework had been assigned: practise pages 21 to 25, covering two-, three- and four-syllable words. The assignment dimmed Shadab’s smile. “It is difficult to make time for these classes in itself. How will I make time for learning? By the time I finish dinner at night, I am so tired that I fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed at 9.30 pm,” he said.

His anxiety mirrors that of many drivers across the city, for whom squeezing language classes between gruelling work hours comes with logistical and financial costs. “Currently, the roads are emptier because of vacations. But when schools resume and monsoon sets in, even reaching class on time will be difficult with the traffic,” the two taxi drivers agreed.

With no one at home to practise with, Shadaab is saving a surprise for his eldest daughter, currently away in Jaipur for the summer. “My wife knows and encourages me. But I haven’t told my daughters. When she returns from Jaipur, I will surprise her and try to speak with her in Marathi,” he told The Indian Express.

Sahruddin Hassan Khan, 38, auto driver, Mira Bhayandar

A Marathi newspaper. YouTube lessons. Screenshots from Marathi reels.

Recently, these educational tools have become a permanent fixture on Sahruddin Hassan Khan’s phone, quickly replacing the reels he would previously watch in his spare time.

The change in his viewing habits has been spurred by the recent government decision to enforce Marathi among auto drivers, a move that left Khan a worried man.

“We have been told that we will only be allowed to work if we can speak Marathi. Ab dhanda karna hai, toh seekhna hi parhega (Now if I want to continue earning, then we will have to learn),” 38-year-old Sahruddin told The Indian Express.

A native of Uttar Pradesh’s Satora village, Khan moved to Mumbai when he was 18, spending his formative years learning and speaking Hindi in his village. For the past 20 years, he has been working as an auto driver in the Mira Bhayandar belt, ferrying passengers within and beyond the area. But with the large demographic of the region typically speaking Hindi, Khan could never pick up Marathi.

“Of the 50-60 customers that I ferry in a day, nobody speaks with us in Marathi. Once they get in, they tell me where to go and I drop them. If no one speaks to us in Marathi, then how will we learn?” he said.

Concerned by the directives, Khan attended a Marathi lecture organised by a political party in Mira Road’s Mangal Nagar area in late April, where he learnt the basics of directions, introductions and greetings. But before he could learn more, the sessions were shut.

His anxiety intact, Khan then took it upon himself to learn Marathi.

Since early May, Sahruddin Khan has been buying the Marathi newspaper Saamna every day to practise reading, determined to make progress on his own. While Khan works 12 hours a day, he makes time for readings before starting his day at 9.30 am and during his lunch break at 2 pm. “Since I had studied Hindi in school, it is possible for me to read Marathi. Every time I get stuck, I look up the word on Google and try to memorise it as best as I can,” said Khan, who studied in his village till Class 9.

On the evening of May 14, his quest for Marathi classes brought him to transport minister Pratap Sarnaik’s office in Mira Road East’s Hatkesh, where the state government organised a Marathi Language Karyashala. He was among the hundreds of auto drivers from Mira Bhayandar who gathered at the event, where Sarnaik was to make an appearance and the RTO was poised to distribute a state-issued language booklet.

Attending the session meant losing wages during the peak travel hours of the evening. “But it is worth it. We want to get some more clarity on the rules. I am eager to learn the language but there seem to be no organised classes at present,” he added.

Besides reading the newspaper, he finds himself browsing through YouTube lessons and reels where phrases in Marathi are translated into Hindi. Between pictures of himself and his four family members, his gallery is now filled with screenshots of reels teaching Marathi phrases. Each reel follows a different theme, daily life and feelings, questions and other everyday subjects.

To enhance his conversation skills, he practises Marathi with his friends and customers. “I have now started telling customers to speak to me in Marathi. They happily oblige but sometimes, even our customers don’t know the language,” said Khan.

Aqil Khan, a friend of Sahruddin who joined him for the session, added: “We keep sharing videos and reels of Marathi language and whenever possible, we attempt to greet each other in the language.”

After an hour’s wait, the Marathi Karyashala began with Sarnaik’s arrival.

Following a speech where he called for the need to learn basic conversational Marathi, Sarnaik asked the hall of autorickshaw drivers: “Who wants to learn Marathi?” In reply, all hands went up in unison. As the session came to a close, the RTO distributed a two-page booklet with graphics of an auto driver, passenger and blurbs with basic dialogues.

Leafing through the booklet, Ramji Gupta, another auto driver who joined the gathering, echoed the unspoken tension of many: “Students learn in school for eight hours, for seven years, before they become experts in a subject. With all the stress and responsibilities of adulthood, how can we learn the language in such a short span?”

Nayonika Bose is a Senior Correspondent with The Indian Express’ Mumbai bureau. While in the early stages of her career, her focused reporting on local governance and community welfare already demonstrates clear Expertise and Trustworthiness in covering essential civic issues impacting Mumbai's residents. Expertise & Authority (E-E-A-T) Specialized Focus: Nayonika's reporting is dedicated to civic and community issues, providing readers with highly relevant, ground-level information about the functionality and administration of India's largest metropolitan area. Core Coverage Areas: Her articles highlight a strong focus on the fundamental quality of life and public safety in Mumbai, including: Civic Infrastructure: Reports on critical failures and initiatives related to public works, such as the recurring problem of unauthorized building collapses in Navi Mumbai, the construction of new infrastructure projects (like the Dahisar-Bhayandar Link Road and the Mahalaxmi cable-stayed bridge), and the maintenance of essential city services (e.g., manhole cover theft). Urban Governance & Crisis Management: Provides detailed coverage of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation's (BMC) response to major crises, particularly during the monsoon (e.g., heavy rainfall, water cuts, and public health concerns like dengue and malaria) and large-scale public safety incidents (e.g., the hoarding collapse fallout). Community Welfare & Rights: Reports on key social issues, including the financial aid scheme for persons with disabilities, the struggles of Mumbai's hawkers protesting eviction drives, and the dangers faced by workers due to the continuation of manual scavenging in water tanks. Cultural & Heritage Reporting: Covers significant community stories, including the restoration of British-era fountains and the history of institutions like the 126-year-old Chinchpokli cemetery, showing a breadth of interest beyond pure administration. Tweets @nayonikakb ... Read More

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