Fifteen-year-old Tamang sits in his room in Meghalaya, staring anxiously at his new school timetable. Until last year, English was the only language subject he studied. This year, his timetable lists three. What troubles him most is that Khasi, the language he speaks at home, is not among the options available to him.
Tamang’s dilemma is part of a much larger shift. The Central Board of Secondary Education has recently issued new guidelines for implementing the Three-Language Policy in its affiliated schools. Under the policy, students are expected to study three languages, of which at least two must be Indian languages.
On paper, the policy adds languages. However, inside the classroom, it also means recruiting teachers, producing textbooks, finding additional hours and conducting more examinations.
These guidelines could shape the learning experience of nearly 2.5 crore students across the country. And thus, this week’s Policy Mandala examines why the Three-Language Policy is being pushed, how it is designed and whether schools are ready to make it work.
Before we go further, let us understand who is responsible for turning this idea into classroom practice.
The Union government sets the broad direction through the Ministry of Education and the National Education Policy. The National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) develops curricular frameworks and learning resources, while boards such as CBSE translate them into school-level requirements. Ultimately, schools and teachers must turn these requirements into actual learning.
But why three languages, and why the renewed push now?
The policy is not new, but the reasons offered for it have changed over time. The idea began taking shape soon after Independence. In 1968, the idea was formalised for the first time through the Kothari Commission.
At the time, the Three-Language Formula was as much a political compromise as an educational policy. It aimed to balance Hindi, English and regional languages amid anti-Hindi protests and concerns in non-Hindi-speaking states.
Over time, however, its purpose has widened. The National Education Policy 2020 renewed the emphasis on multilingual learning, arguing that children should become comfortable using more than one language from an early age. CBSE’s latest guidelines now seek to move that vision from principle to classroom practice.
The idea is that this can improve how they think and learn, make communication across different parts of India easier, and help them stay connected to Indian languages and cultures.
There is evidence behind this argument. India has a migrant workforce running into several crores, yet workers moving across states often face language barriers while searching for employment, accessing public services and adjusting to unfamiliar communities. Learning another Indian language can therefore make movement and cultural adaptation across states easier.
Learning multiple languages may also support mental development. Studies have linked the regular use of multiple languages with stronger working memory and attention spans.
The problem, then, is not the idea of multilingualism. It is whether the current framework has been designed and resourced well enough to produce it. This is where three clear problems begin to appear.
The first is that the reform adds ambition before fixing basic learning gaps. ASER 2024 found that only 44.8% of Class V students in government schools in rural India could read a Class II-level text. At a time when many children are still struggling with foundational literacy and arithmetic, another compulsory language could add pressure unless schools protect enough time for basic learning.
The second problem is that the formula does not always reflect the languages children actually speak around them. For students like Tamang, the promise of multilingualism may feel hollow if Khasi, the language spoken at home, is not among the available options.
In reality, the Indian languages a student learns are often determined by curriculum requirements and teacher availability, rather than by the student’s home language or likely educational and employment needs. Thus the intent gets diluted by the design.
The third problem is whether schools are ready at all. There is no clear mapping of language demand, teacher availability, recruitment needs or capacity building. Without trained teachers, suitable textbooks and enough classroom time, the third language may become another subject to pass rather than a language to learn.
These weaknesses are already becoming visible. Several states have questioned the rollout over limited consultation, while schools raised concerns about teacher availability, resources and classroom readiness.
In simple terms, the policy turns out to be a poor design because it revolves around the output rather than the actual outcomes.
The focus has been on how many languages a child should study rather about which languages are useful, how will the choices be linked to employment futures and what meaningful multilingual ability should look like.
So what would a system designed around outcomes rather than mere language counts look like? Switzerland offers one useful principle.
Switzerland, like India, is multilingual, although on a much smaller and more territorially defined scale. It recognises four national languages and different regions predominantly use different languages. The education system embodies the same idea as India, a three language formula, where English is compulsory and two additional languages need to be learned.
However, the national government does not impose one identical language combination across the country. States or ‘cantons’ decide curricula, teaching materials and lesson hours, while coordinating through common frameworks across linguistic regions. And this has worked out successfully.
This is not a model India can copy directly. India’s linguistic landscape is far more diverse, and language communities do not always fit neatly within state borders. But Switzerland offers a valuable idea, to set multilingualism as the national goal, while allowing the route to be shaped locally.
For India, this could mean giving states and districts greater space to design language combinations around what children speak at home, which teachers are available and where students are likely to study or work. National coordination can define broad learning outcomes, but the exact language basket need not be identical everywhere.
Ultimately, the debate is not simply about whether Indian children should learn more languages. It is about who decides which languages matter, whether schools have the capacity to teach them, and who bears the burden when ambition is not matched by preparation.
The success of India’s Three-Language Policy will not be measured by how many languages appear on Tamang’s timetable, but by how many he can meaningfully understand, speak and use.
Co-Authored by : Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak
