Why engage with M(Other) tongues?

Have you ever been asked what your mother tongue is? Did you feel baffled because you couldn’t quite identify which language to call your mother tongue? The question, though seemingly simple, is increasingly difficult to answer in today’s multilingual, multicultural world. What does it really mean to have a mother tongue? Is it the language spoken by your biological mother, the language you learned first, or does it depend on your surroundings, your family, your workplace, or the communities you belong to?

Rabindranath Tagore is famously known to have compared the mother tongue to “mother’s milk.” His analogy captures the intimate and formative bond between language and identity. In times when languages are dying and the hegemony of certain languages prevails under the diktat of the neoliberal market, the call to preserve our respective mother tongues becomes urgent. As linguistic diversity diminishes, safeguarding mother tongues is not just about heritage but also about resisting cultural homogenization and reclaiming voices that risk being silenced in a globalised world. Yet, in today’s fluid linguistic landscape, where people often grow up speaking multiple languages or adopt new ones due to migration and globalisation, the singularity of the metaphor feels increasingly unconvincing. Many scholars argue that the term ‘mother tongue’ is a relic of a simpler past, ill-suited to modern realities. After all, one’s primary language need not always be the language of the biological mother. In a world where caregiving roles are diverse and multilingualism is common, the question of which language truly constitutes one’s ‘mother tongue’ becomes even more elusive. Alternatives like ‘dominant language,’ ‘first language,’ or ‘home language’ have been proposed, yet none fully capture the complexity of our relationships with the languages we speak.

Yet, despite its limitations, the term ‘mother tongue’ persists across cultures—as matri bhasha in India, Muttersprache in German, lengua materna in Spanish, and Mameloshn in Yiddish. Why does this enduring association between language and the feminine remain so deeply ingrained?

The metaphor of the feminine as speech can be found across various ancient world philosophies. In ancient Egypt, the goddess Ma’at, wife of Thoth, the god of wisdom, was revered as the goddess of rhetoric and order. Similarly, in Sumerian and Akkadian texts, goddesses like Inanna (or Ishtar) were associated with wisdom, creativity, and speech.

This symbolic connection between the feminine and language is particularly significant in Indian philosophy. The Rigveda proclaims, “Speech was and is the Mother.” Here, the goddess Vac Devi is celebrated as the embodiment of speech and sound, the origin of all life. Etymologically, Vac (Sanskrit for “speech” or “word”) shares connections with the Latin vox and its modern counterparts in Romance languages, such as voice, voix, and voce.

Vac Devi is later associated with Saraswati, the river goddess whose attributes include wisdom, speech, and the arts. Saraswati, unlike fertility goddesses, is linked with intellectual creativity rather than physical procreation. She represents a maternal force that transcends traditional motherhood—a mother beyond mothering. Vac Devi’s lineage extends to Tara and Kali, figures that also symbolise the feminine as speech and tongue, respectively.

Kali, with her protruding tongue, exemplifies primal sound and the fiery essence of language. The 51 skulls in her garland are said to represent the letters of the Devanagari script, signifying her role as the originator of speech. Her iconography could be seen as reflecting the ongoing struggle for ownership of words and the quest for self-expression within patriarchal structures.

The Rigveda divides speech into four levels: Para (divine, unmanifested consciousness), Pashyanti (intellectual consciousness), Madhyama (mental consciousness), and Vaikhari (audible speech). These levels emphasise that language operates on multiple planes, from the transcendent to the tangible.

Om Prakash Singh, in his book Communication: Theory and Practice (2016), translates Para as the divine knowledge of the Lightning Spirit and Apara, under which the other three levels, namely Pashyanti, Madhyama and Vaikhari, are subsumed, as “placental knowledge”—a connection to the fetal state of pre-natal awareness.

French philosopher Luce Irigaray and biologist Hélène Rouch, in their conversation published in Je, Tu, Nous: Toward A Culture of Difference (1993), discuss the semiotic value of the placenta as a biological third space. They describe it as a space that neither belongs solely to the child nor the mother but arises to accommodate the other without defence mechanisms. The placenta thus represents a unique socio-symbolic space where coexistence and difference are celebrated—a profound metaphor for the relationship between language, self, and other.

This connection between the feminine and language underscores how the maternal, reimagined, allows us to see tradition not as rigid or hierarchical but as permeable to reinterpretation and renewal. Anu Aneja, in her book Disembodied Mothers: Re-writing the Maternal Metaphor through Goddess Iconography (2016), emphasises that the maternal symbolises open spatial arrangements, where others exist freely alongside one another.

The German thinker Johann Wolfgang von Goethe adds another dimension to this idea. Goethe, a polyglot and advocate of the ‘Eternal Feminine’, believed in the plurality of languages as a force of unity. Goethe believed that nature itself was a material representation of language and that by learning foreign tongues, we come closer to understanding ourselves. “Those who do not know foreign languages know nothing of their own,” he famously remarked. It is no wonder that Goethe gave the world the idea of Weltliteratur—a literature of interconnectedness based on respect, appreciation, and tolerance for different cultures. He reminded us that we do not live in isolated compartments of national, monolingual identities but as global citizens.

In conclusion, the term “mother tongue” persists not because it suggests a singular origin, but because, through its association with the maternal, it inherently emphasises plurality and inclusivity. Language, much like the maternal role, is not confined to one form or one origin, but is an ever-evolving, inclusive force that accommodates diversity. Rather than asking, “What is your mother tongue?” one should consider asking, “What are your mother tongues?” This shift reflects the idea that language, much like motherhood, is not a singular experience but a space that embraces multiplicity. In embracing our “mother tongues” in their plural form, we recognise that our identities are shaped not by a singular language, but by a rich tapestry of linguistic influences that come together to shape our worldview. The maternal association with language underscores the idea of connection, expansion, and openness, reminding us that our communication and understanding of the world are not limited, but enriched, through the plurality of languages we speak.

Views expressed are personal. The writer is a Professor of German Language, Literature & Cultural Studies, Centre for Foreign Languages at O.P. Jindal Global University