Why Preserving Endangered Languages Matters — More Than Words
- Deepa Pawar

- Dec 21, 2025
- 2 min read
When I think about languages, I don’t just see only words — I see identity, memory, culture, and human dignity.
I grew up in a basti in Mumbai, speaking Ghisadi Arsi Parsi with my friends — a language that carried our stories, jokes, fears, and ways of seeing the world. But even then, I remember being discouraged from speaking it in school, as if it were something to be hidden rather than celebrated. That memory stayed with me — not as nostalgia, but as a reminder of how languages can be quietly erased unless we resist that erasure.
In India, this loss is not abstract. The 1961 census recorded 1,652 languages, a testament to our incredible cultural diversity. Today, over 220 languages have already disappeared, and nearly 197 more are categorized as endangered — slipping toward silence unless we act.
For communities like mine — the Nomadic and Denotified Tribes (NT-DNT) — language is far more than speech. It is heritage, belonging, ways of thinking and belonging that have survived centuries of stigma and marginalisation. Many from these communities hide their identities out of fear, and along with identity, the languages of our ancestors are fading too.
That’s why I began working on documenting and preserving Ghisadi Arsi Parsi — not as an academic project, but as a commitment to visibility, memory, and dignity. I started by creating a creative dictionary, recording everyday phrases and words before they vanished from use. And I have tried to open dialogues across spaces about why community languages must be preserved — not just for nostalgia, but because when a language dies, a worldview dies with it.
In my view:
Language is community memory — it carries traditions, songs, stories, and the way a people make sense of the world.
Language is identity — to take a language away is to take away a part of a people’s self.
And most importantly, preserving endangered languages is a fight for justice, because every language lost is a muted voice of a community that has already been pushed to the margins.
This fight is urgent, not optional. Preserving a language is preserving the soul of a community, and it is inseparable from the broader struggle for equality, dignity, and rights that I and many others work for every day.



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