By Latyngkaihun Nongrem
India officially gained independence from British colonial rule at midnight on August 15—a moment that marked not only the birth of a nation but the awakening of many voices long unheard. India is situated north of the equator between 8°4’ north (the mainland) to 37°6’ north latitude and 68°7’ east to 97°25’ east longitude. It is the seventh-largest country in the world, with a total area of 3,287,263 square kilometres (1,269,219 mi²). India measures 3,214 km (1,997 mi) from north to south and 2,933 km (1,822 mi) from east to west. It has a land frontier of 15,200 km (9,445 mi) and a coastline of 7,516.6 km (4,671 mi). As of April 2026, India consists of 28 states and 8 union territories. Yet beyond these measurements, India is more than geography—it is like a vast river of languages, where each stream flows with its own rhythm, merging into a larger current of identity and existence. In such a river, every voice matters, every current contributes; and if language is the medium through which Being is revealed, can a nation afford to leave some languages unrecognized?
Meghalaya, the “abode of clouds,” stands as one of the last regions in India where matriliny continues to thrive. In this land, where clouds descend like quiet thoughts upon the hills, language too becomes inheritance—carried gently from one generation to another. The demand to include the Khasi language in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution of India is rooted in cultural, political, and developmental concerns. Khasi is not just a means of communication—it represents identity, heritage, and knowledge systems of the Khasi people. It is like a living root beneath the soil, unseen yet essential, holding together the ground of community and memory; and one must ask, does excluding Khasi from the Eighth Schedule risk silencing a unique way of understanding the world?
The Constitutional provisions relating to the Eighth Schedule occur in article 344(1) and 351 of the Constitution. Article 344(1) provides for the constitution of a Commission by the President on expiration of five years from the commencement of the Constitution and thereafter at the expiration of ten years from such commencement, which shall consist of a Chairman and such other members representing the different languages specified in the Eighth Schedule to make recommendations to the President for the progressive use of Hindi for official purposes of the Union.
Article 351 of the Constitution provides that it shall be the duty of the Union to promote the spread of the Hindi language, to develop it so that it may serve as a medium of expression for all the elements of the composite culture of India, and to secure its enrichment by assimilating—without interfering with its genius—the forms, style and expressions used in Hindustani and in the other languages of India specified in the Eighth Schedule, and by drawing, wherever necessary or desirable, for its vocabulary, primarily on Sanskrit and secondarily on other languages. It would thus appear that the Eighth Schedule was intended to promote the progressive use of Hindi and for the enrichment and promotion of that language. Here, the Constitution appears like a careful gardener, tending certain plants while drawing nourishment from many roots; yet even a gardener must recognize that growth depends on the diversity of the soil, which leads us to wonder—can the promotion of one language truly succeed without the inclusion of others that enrich it?
The German philosopher Martin Heidegger, in his Letter on Humanism, asserts that “language is the house of Being,” signifying that language is not merely a tool for communication but the essential medium through which reality (Being) is revealed and human beings “dwell.” Language structures understanding, bringing beings into existence for us. In this light, every language becomes a home of existence, a space where identity resides; and to leave one outside recognition is like leaving a house without a name on the map of a nation—ultimately raising the deeper question: is the inclusion of Khasi not just a constitutional decision, but a recognition of existence itself?
Mallikarjun.B (2021), in the study “The Eighth Schedule Languages – A Critical Appraisal,” found that the Eighth Schedule to the Constitution consists of the following 22 languages: (1) Assamese, (2) Bengali, (3) Gujarati, (4) Hindi, (5) Kannada, (6) Kashmiri, (7) Konkani, (8) Malayalam, (9) Manipuri, (10) Marathi, (11) Nepali, (12) Oriya, (13) Punjabi, (14) Sanskrit, (15) Sindhi, (16) Tamil, (17) Telugu, (18) Urdu, (19) Bodo, (20) Sananshali, (21) Maithili and (22) Dogri. Of these languages, 14 were initially included in the Constitution; Sindhi language was added in 1967; thereafter three more languages—Konkani, Manipuri and Nepali—were included in 1992; and subsequently Bodo, Dogri, Maithili and Santhali were added in 2004. The National Sahitya Akademi recognizes the languages of the Schedule as literary languages by default. The Eighth Schedule has played the important role of an arbitrator In deciding the medium of instruction in secondary schools, where the languages used should be modern Indian languages mentioned in the Schedule as well as English. The All-India level competitive examinations are conducted for entrance into higher and technical education and employment by different organizations.
Thus, the Eighth Schedule is not merely a list—it is like a gatekeeper of opportunity, deciding which voices enter classrooms, institutions, and the corridors of power; and in this role, one must reflect—what does it mean for equality if some languages shape education and governance while others remain outside them?
Scholars, linguists, and activists have long argued for the expansion of the Eighth Schedule of the Indian Constitution to include more languages, aiming for cultural preservation, recognition of linguistic diversity, and administrative, educational, and literary development. This demand is like a knock on a closed door, asking not for privilege but for acknowledgment, not for dominance but for dignity.
And so, the reflection continues: should the Eighth Schedule remain a fixed structure, or evolve as a living reflection of India’s diversity? Is recognition of a language a matter of numbers, or of the depth of identity and heritage it carries? In the end, the question lingers like an echo across the many voices of India—not only whether Khasi should be included, but whether a nation that calls itself diverse is ready to truly listen to all the languages through which its people exist.
