Introduction
There was a time when Hindi poetry didn’t just speak—it roared, whispered, wept, and healed. From Kabir’s dohas that cut through spiritual hypocrisy to Mahadevi Varma’s soulful verses of feminine introspection, Hindi poetry carved out a space that belonged to every Indian heart. But today, the echoes of this once-vibrant art form are fading. In cafes across Delhi, poetry slams are held in English. Young writers post on Instagram in broken metaphors dressed in borrowed tongues. Somewhere between the colonial classroom and the startup boardroom, Hindi poetry has become an artifact—admired, but rarely understood or continued.
So what happened? Why is Hindi poetry being lost? The answer lies buried deep in a colonial past that still casts its shadow over our cultural present.
1. The Colonial Machinery: English as Prestige, Hindi as Primitive
When the British came to India, they didn’t just colonize land—they colonized minds. Thomas Macaulay’s infamous Minute on Education in 1835 set the tone for an education system that prioritized English as the language of “civilized” discourse. “We must create a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern,” he wrote. In essence, he wanted a class of Indians who were Indian in blood, but English in taste, opinion, morals, and intellect.
This linguistic imperialism did something insidious: it made English the language of aspiration, and relegated Hindi—and other regional languages—to the domestic, the spiritual, and the backward. Over time, Hindi poetry, once a pillar of philosophical and cultural thought, was dismissed as quaint, overly emotional, and unsophisticated. English poetry became the gateway to scholarships, publication, and global validation. Hindi poetry became homework.
2. Urban Aspirations and the English Dream
Fast forward to modern India, and you’ll see the effects of that legacy in full bloom. In urban India, fluency in English isn’t just a skill—it’s a class marker. Children are praised for reading Robert Frost, but not Dinkar. A school poetry competition often asks for “spoken word pieces” modeled on American slam poets rather than the cadence of Harivansh Rai Bachchan or Nirala.
Young Indians today live in a world where global platforms—from TED Talks to YouTube to Instagram Reels—reward English content with reach and relatability. Hindi is viewed as too local, too “desi,” too specific to resonate across the polished, global image millennials and Gen Z are building. As a result, Hindi poets often self-censor or switch languages entirely, writing in English to reach a larger audience. Hindi poetry becomes less a form of self-expression and more a nostalgic throwback.
3. The Publishing Industry’s Silent Bias
Hindi poets also find themselves locked out of mainstream literary publishing. English-language writers dominate the Indian literary awards circuit, book festivals, and bestseller lists. Walk into a bookstore, and you’ll find translations of Ghalib into English—but rarely the reverse. Hindi poets, unless canonized already, are seen as niche. Literary agents rarely scout in Hindi spaces. Most major literary journals are in English. If you write in Hindi, you are told to either find a translator or settle for a small press.
Even when Hindi poetry is published, it’s often marketed as “folksy,” “ethnic,” or “regional”—coded language that subtly undercuts its sophistication. English-language poetry, on the other hand, is allowed to be experimental, academic, modern. This two-tiered system reinforces the idea that serious thought happens in English; Hindi is for songs, slogans, and sentiment.
4. Cultural Amnesia and the Bollywoodification of Hindi Poetry
Bollywood, ironically, has both preserved and trivialized Hindi poetry. On one hand, it introduced generations to the lyricism of Sahir Ludhianvi, Kaifi Azmi, and Gulzar. On the other, it turned poetry into product—something that rhymes, fits a meter, and can sell a scene.
Over time, even this kind of poetic storytelling was diluted. Today, song lyrics often mimic English rap rhythms or EDM drops, reducing Hindi’s linguistic range to clichés. Words are picked for their trendiness, not texture. This Bollywoodification has made Hindi poetry synonymous with love ballads and dramatic monologues—stripping it of its philosophical and political edge.
As a result, audiences think of Hindi poetry as either romantic mush or patriotic fervor, ignoring the radical, rebellious, and deeply introspective traditions it once carried.
5. Digital Platforms and the Irony of Voice
You would think the digital age would be Hindi poetry’s redemption arc. After all, the internet has democratized expression, allowing poets to upload their work without gatekeepers. But the algorithms that run these platforms prioritize engagement, not depth. Poems that are short, visual, and easily digestible tend to go viral—qualities more common in English-language memes than in Hindi kavitas.
Moreover, social media has become English-first by default. Even Hindi speakers often write captions, hashtags, and punchlines in Roman script. The very typography of Hindi is fading from our screens.
Ironically, voice-based platforms like YouTube and podcasts have created a resurgence of spoken Hindi poetry—but it’s often consumed for nostalgia, not cultural continuity. An old man reciting “Madhushala” might go viral, but few will search for new Hindi poets carrying the legacy forward.
6. The Politics of Language: Hindi vs. Regional Languages
It’s important to note that even as Hindi is being neglected in elite circles, it’s also seen as oppressive by speakers of other Indian languages. Many Tamil, Bengali, and Kannada speakers resist the idea of Hindi as a “national language” imposed on them. This political tension has weakened support for Hindi poetry as a shared national heritage.
So while English colonized Hindi, Hindi is often viewed (especially in the South) as a colonizer itself. This further fragments the literary landscape, where Indian languages are pitted against each other instead of being supported as a collective resistance against the dominance of English.
7. Education, Memory, and Linguistic Shame
The colonial hangover has been so deeply internalized that many Indians feel a subtle shame about speaking, reading, or writing in Hindi. It’s common to hear phrases like “My Hindi is very weak” from educated youth, as if that is a badge of accomplishment. Parents enroll their children in English-medium schools where Hindi is treated as a second-class subject—often taught poorly, with rote learning and outdated texts.
Without a curriculum that presents Hindi poetry as alive, diverse, and dynamic, students lose interest. They grow up associating Hindi poetry with exams, not emotions. With each passing generation, cultural memory erodes further.
8. What We Lose When We Lose Hindi Poetry
To lose Hindi poetry is to lose the metaphors that once shaped how Indians understood the world. It’s to forget the rhythm of our revolutions and the language of our lullabies. Hindi poetry was never just about love and longing—it was about caste, class, freedom, fear, and identity. When we stop reading or writing in Hindi, we don’t just lose a language—we lose a worldview.
Think of Kabir’s radical rejection of religious orthodoxy. Think of Dinkar’s fierce nationalism. Think of Mahadevi Varma’s proto-feminism. These voices didn’t just entertain; they shaped India’s moral and political consciousness.
Without them, we risk becoming a nation fluent in commerce, but illiterate in culture.
9. Hope in the Margins: Resurgence Through Resistance
But all is not lost. In pockets across India, a quiet rebellion is brewing. Spoken word artists are turning to Hindi to reclaim authenticity. Small publishers like Rajkamal Prakashan are nurturing new talent. Literary YouTube channels, Instagram poetry accounts, and WhatsApp forwards may be cliché—but they’re also carriers of continuity.
More importantly, bilingual poets are emerging—those who weave Hindi and English together in a way that challenges colonial binaries. They don’t see English as superior or Hindi as sentimental. They use both to tell modern stories rooted in Indian soil.
Conclusion: Breaking the Hangover
The colonial hangover is not just a metaphor. It’s a lived reality that shapes how we teach, read, speak, and imagine ourselves. But hangovers, by their nature, are temporary—if we choose to wake up.
Hindi poetry doesn’t need to be saved—it needs to be re-centered. Not just in textbooks or retro playlists, but in publishing houses, classrooms, digital platforms, and public conversations. We need to celebrate it not as a relic, but as a living force that can still challenge, comfort, and change us.
Because somewhere in a quiet village, a poet still scribbles on the back of a notebook. Somewhere in a city, a heartbroken teenager still murmurs a line they barely understand. Hindi poetry isn’t dead. It’s waiting for us to listen—without the hangover.
