Society
West Asia Crisis: Can Kerala’s Returning Gulf Migrants Find a Future in the Green Economy?
Kerala Gulf migrants face growing uncertainty as the West Asia crisis threatens livelihoods. Can green jobs, reskilling and climate investments provide a sustainable future?
Up to 12 million Indian livelihoods are at risk from the West Asia crisis — Kerala alone accounts for 1.5 to 2 million of them. In the state most built on Gulf money, the jobs coming next don’t match the jobs going away. India’s most literate state is testing whether reskilling, entrepreneurship support and a reimagined green economy can catch its returning workers before they fall through.
When Cinil, who grew up in the hill district of Idukki, boarded his flight home from the Gulf earlier this year, no one had handed him a termination letter. He read the signs instead. For years he had worked in automobile advertising, chasing campaigns for car dealerships across the region — steady, unglamorous work that had financed a life back in Kerala. Then the campaigns got smaller. Clients cut budgets. Contracts that used to renew themselves simply stopped renewing. As the West Asia crisis deepened around him, Cinil made a calculation that hundreds of thousands of Keralites are now quietly making too: better to leave on your own terms than wait to be pushed.
Kerala Gulf Migrants Face an Uncertain Future
For others, there was no such choice to make. “Around 300 to 350 people lost their jobs in a single company in the hospitality sector,” says Baheej, from Kozhikode, a coastal district in Kerala, who has worked in the Gulf for many years. “That means 300 to 350 families were pushed into uncertainty almost overnight.” As tourist arrivals and travel activity declined amid the ongoing crisis, hospitality workers were among the first to feel it. Businesses cut costs to survive, and layoffs followed.
Lijesh’s story, from Malappuram, is a quieter kind of uncertainty. A driver, he has been sent home by his employer on a month of forced leave. He hasn’t told his own family that the leave is compulsory — his two daughters, both still in school, don’t know. “There is a lot of uncertainty,” he tells EdPublica.
Even those still employed are living with a different kind of strain. Workers in oil and gas facilities, particularly refineries, worry that escalating tensions could put critical energy infrastructure at risk. For many, simply reporting to work has become a source of anxiety.
“The ongoing West Asia crisis has affected almost every industry to varying degrees. However, the sectors most significantly impacted in terms of employment and business continuity are Oil & Gas, Construction, Hospitality, Facility Management, Aviation, Logistics, Manufacturing, Shipping and related service industries. The greatest challenges are supply chain disruptions, rising energy costs, project delays and reduced business activity,” said Suresh Kumar Madhusudhanan, a Mumbai-based veteran of the global human resource industry and Managing Director of Seagull International, to EdPublica.
Yet the picture isn’t uniformly bleak — at least not yet, and not for everyone. Net remittances from the region to India rose to $16 billion this April, the second month of the conflict, up 70% over the same period last year, according to data presented by the Union Finance Ministry in its latest report. Cinil’s story and Baheej’s exist alongside that number, not despite it: money is still flowing home even as jobs disappear, a lag that officials and economists are watching closely for signs of how long it can hold.
What Happens to Kerala?
For more than five decades, migration to the Gulf has shaped Kerala’s economy. In districts such as Malappuram — Lijesh’s home district — Kozhikode, where Baheej is from, and Thrissur, remittances have financed homes, education, healthcare and small businesses, woven into the fabric of everyday life rather than sitting apart from it. Idukki, where Cinil is from, has historically sent far fewer workers to the Gulf than the state’s traditional migration belt along the coast — a sign that the crisis’s reach is not confined to the districts usually associated with it.
According to the Kerala Migration Survey (KMS) 2023, the state received ₹2.17 lakh crore in inward remittances that year, with 80.5% of its emigrants living in Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries.
A new study by IPE Global, an international development consultancy, puts a number on the exposure this creates. The West Asia crisis could put 10 to 12 million livelihoods across India at risk, the report estimates. Kerala alone accounts for 1.5 to 2 million of them — behind Uttar Pradesh (3.5 to 4 million) and Bihar (2 to 2.5 million), but still among the states most exposed. (The report’s estimates are built from a triangulated synthesis of migration and remittance data from the Ministry of External Affairs and the RBI, cross-referenced with state-wise sectoral employment patterns, rather than new primary surveys — a methodology the authors say reflects genuine uncertainty in how the crisis will actually unfold.)
“The movement of migrants has always remained relatively steady. Every year, around 2.5 to 3 lakh Keralites migrate to GCC countries, while nearly 1.5 lakh return. We saw similar situations during the 1990 Gulf War, the 2008 global financial crisis, the return of workers from Saudi Arabia following labour reforms in 2013, and again during the COVID-19 pandemic. Our system is seasoned and proven to manage such situations,” said Ajith Kolassery, former CEO of Norka Roots, the Kerala government agency tasked with the welfare and rehabilitation of the state’s Non-Resident Keralites.
“Kerala’s heavy dependence on the Gulf makes it particularly vulnerable. A prolonged West Asia crisis could reduce overseas jobs, cut remittances and bring more expatriates back home, putting additional pressure on the state’s economy. Kerala must respond by diversifying overseas employment, strengthening skills, creating more jobs at home and promoting entrepreneurship,” Madhusudhanan said.
The Green Transition Offers Hope
The IPE Global report argues that the crisis presents an opening to accelerate India’s green transition — and that the money to do it largely already exists inside the government’s own scheme architecture. By converging existing programmes such as PM-KUSUM (India’s mega solar initiative that turns farmers from energy consumers into energy producers by subsidizing solar pumps and rural solar power plants), the National Green Hydrogen Mission, Production Linked Incentive (PLI) schemes and the Carbon Credit Trading Scheme, the report estimates India could unlock USD 42–53 billion (₹4–5 lakh crore) without new outlay.
If implemented effectively, the report projects these initiatives could generate 35 million green jobs by 2047 and contribute to a USD 15 trillion green economy by 2070, spread across agriculture, renewable energy and industry:
- Agriculture: Reframing PM-KUSUM as a “Farmer-as-Energy-Producer” programme — letting farmers sell surplus solar power back to the grid — could create 15 lakh (1.5 million) jobs on its own, add 50,000 MW of agri-solar capacity, raise farmers’ annual incomes by ₹25,000 to ₹40,000, and cut roughly 70 million tonnes of CO2 equivalent a year. The agriculture sector as a whole is projected to generate 6 to 7 million jobs.
- Energy: Hitting India’s 500 GW renewable energy target could generate 3.4 million jobs, while the National Green Hydrogen Mission — backed by up to ₹8 lakh crore in mobilised investment — could add another 1.5 to 2 million, for 5 to 8 million jobs sector-wide.
- Industry: A proposed National Green Steel Mission, decarbonising India’s 140-million-tonne steel sector, could help preserve the country’s USD 8 billion steel export market from EU carbon border tariffs (CBAM) while avoiding 55 million tonnes of CO2e annually. Alongside a Green Transformation Mission for India’s 63 million MSMEs, the industrial sector’s job potential runs past 20 million.
Abinash Mohanty, Head of the Climate Change and Sustainability Practice at IPE Global and the study’s lead author, frames the numbers starkly: with 85% of India’s crude oil imported and 10 to 12 million livelihoods exposed to a single geopolitical shock, he says, “the fragility is real. But so is the opportunity.”
The scale is real too — but so is the catch. The jobs the report says are coming are not, for the most part, the jobs currently being lost.
The Jobs Being Lost Are Not the Jobs Being Created
The workers most vulnerable to the current crisis are largely construction workers, hospitality staff, drivers and domestic workers employed across the Gulf. The jobs driving India’s green transition require a very different skill set.
Solar installation, battery manufacturing, power systems, renewable supply chains and green hydrogen production demand technical qualifications that many returning Gulf migrants have never had the chance to acquire.
Green hydrogen illustrates the gap sharply. The report estimates the sector could create 1.5 to 2 million jobs, but these roles require expertise in electrochemistry, fuel cell technology and industrial-scale systems management. For someone who has spent years working in a hotel, on a construction site or in facility management, moving directly into these sectors is unlikely without substantial reskilling.
A Significant Geographic Mismatch
The mismatch isn’t just about skills — it’s about geography. Rajasthan has the potential to generate around 5 million green jobs by 2047 while facing only about 0.5 million livelihoods at risk from the West Asia crisis. Gujarat could generate 4.5 million green jobs against just 0.28 million at risk. Tamil Nadu’s exposure (roughly 1 to 1.2 million livelihoods at risk) is dwarfed by its green jobs potential of 3.5 million.
Kerala sits at the opposite end of that spread. Despite being among the states most exposed to the Gulf economy, its estimated green jobs potential is only around one million — roughly half its at-risk livelihoods.
The mismatch is rooted in geography and infrastructure. Rajasthan and Gujarat have abundant land, large renewable energy parks and heavy industrial investment. Kerala has limited land for utility-scale renewable projects and few openings for large-scale green manufacturing.
Kerala’s Gulf Paradox: When Prosperity Becomes a Liability
Abinash Mohanty, the study’s lead author, explained to EdPublica why Kerala stands apart from the other states examined in the report.
“There is a peculiar irony embedded in Kerala’s economic story,” he said. “For four decades, the desert sands of the Gulf have nourished the rice fields of Malabar, remittances flowing back to fund concrete houses, college fees, and gold jewellery, transforming the state’s social fabric in the process. Today, Kerala still draws nearly a fifth of India’s entire remittance pie, even as its Gulf-bound workforce has shrunk sharply over the past decade. It is a state living off the echo of a migration boom that has already peaked.”
“Herein lies the mismatch,” Mohanty continued. “The IPE Global study reveals that India’s green transition — its solar parks, hydrogen valleys, and battery gigafactories — is gravitating naturally towards Rajasthan’s deserts and Tamil Nadu’s coastlines, not Kerala’s backwaters. Kerala, like a seasoned sailor stranded as the tide recedes, finds itself with deep economic dependence but a comparatively shallow green jobs harbour to dock in.”
“The solution cannot be importing Rajasthan’s solar playbook wholesale,” he said. “Kerala must instead lean into what it already possesses: a highly literate, internationally exposed workforce. Its future lies not in manufacturing solar panels, but in becoming India’s hub for green services — climate fintech, renewable energy project management, marine and coastal resilience engineering, and the skilled re-export of its own returning diaspora as consultants to other Gulf-exposed states. Kerala’s comparative advantage was always human capital, not hectares of sunlight — and that, fortunately, travels well.”
A Different Transition for Kerala
For Kerala, the transition is unlikely to mirror Rajasthan’s or Gujarat’s. Instead, sectors such as the blue economy, sustainable fisheries, marine industries, eco-tourism and green services may offer opportunities better aligned with the state’s geography and workforce. Alongside these, returning migrants will need structured reskilling programmes that connect training directly to employment.
Even some of the report’s own recommendations run into Kerala-specific limits. The report proposes expanding PM-KUSUM so farmers can earn by selling surplus solar power to the grid — but eligibility under Component A generally requires 3–4 acres of land, clear ownership records and proximity to an electricity substation, conditions that are far harder to meet in a state of small, fragmented landholdings.
Kolassery believes Kerala should focus first on helping returning migrants find immediate livelihoods before chasing long-term structural change. “NORKA Roots has already demonstrated that this can be done,” he said, pointing to the NORKA Department Project for Returned Emigrants (NDPREM), which offers a 15% capital subsidy, a 3% interest subsidy for the first four years of timely loan repayment, and bank loans ranging from ₹1 lakh to ₹30 lakh, alongside entrepreneurship training and technical guidance through the Centre for Management Development.
“Our immediate priority should be short-term absorption. Kerala may not have the industrial advantages of larger states, but it has a knowledge-based economy and a workforce with international exposure,” he said. Rather than viewing returning migrants as a burden, he argues, Kerala should channel their experience into entrepreneurship and niche industries while courting new investment. “The Middle East’s investment landscape has shattered due to security concerns. This is the right time for India, especially Kerala, to position itself as a safe destination for investment. If we provide the right support, we can convert this challenge into an opportunity,” he said.
What’s Actually Working — and What Isn’t Yet
“The recommendations presented in the report demonstrate that climate action is not merely an environmental obligation — it is a pathway to economic transformation, energy sovereignty, livelihood security and long-term prosperity,” said Ashwajit Singh, Founder and Managing Director of IPE Global.
That pathway isn’t purely theoretical in Kerala. NDPREM, the state’s existing returnee-support scheme, already provides a working template — a 15% capital subsidy, a 3% interest subsidy for the first four years of timely repayment, loans up to ₹30 lakh, and hands-on entrepreneurship training through the Centre for Management Development. It is, in effect, a smaller-scale version of what the IPE Global report says the country needs at national scale: existing institutional capacity, redirected rather than rebuilt from scratch. Kolassery points to it as proof that Kerala doesn’t need to wait for green jobs to materialise before it starts absorbing returning workers — it can start now, with tools already in hand.
But the template has real limits, and they mirror the gaps in the national scheme architecture it’s modelled on. NDPREM works best for migrants with capital and a business idea already in mind; it does little for the hospitality and construction workers Baheej describes, who need wage employment, not a loan. And the state’s proposed long-term bet — blue economy jobs, sustainable fisheries, eco-tourism — remains mostly aspirational, without the scheme convergence or funding commitments that agriculture and energy have already secured nationally through PM-KUSUM and the Green Hydrogen Mission.
For Cinil, back in Kerala and weighing what comes next, the choice in front of him is a narrower version of the one facing policymakers: use what exists now, or wait for something better suited to arrive. What would close that gap, according to both the report and Kerala’s own migration officials, is not a single scheme but three things moving together — reskilling programmes that lead directly into named jobs rather than general training, financing that reaches wage-seekers as well as entrepreneurs, and faster investment in the blue-economy and green-services sectors the state is actually positioned to build. None of that requires new institutions to invent. It requires the ones already in place — NORKA Roots, PM-KUSUM, state industrial policy — to move at the speed the crisis demands. As opportunities in the Gulf grow more uncertain, the test for Kerala’s green transition won’t be how large the numbers get by 2047, but whether workers like Cinil find a next job before the wait becomes permanent.
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Society
When a Village Walks Together, Even Drought Is Defeated. How Halma Breathed Life Back into Kesarpura’s Pond
How a traditional Halma brought Kesarpura villagers together to restore a pond, strengthen water security and revive community-led conservation.
About 22 kilometres from the Petlawad block headquarters in Jhabua district of Madhya Pradesh, the village of Kesarpura has a story to tell, one about the confidence of an entire community. A Halma was held here on 19 May 2026, and what followed convinced the village that the solution it had long sought from outside had been within it all along.
Halma is a word from the Bhili dialect, often translated as a “call for help”, and it means collective voluntary labour. When a family in the Bhil community is weighed down by a burden, whether raising a house, bringing in a harvest or facing a calamity, the word goes round the village and people come, unpaid and with their own tools, to stand by them. The message is simple: you are not alone. In Jhabua the tradition has also been turned to the work of saving water. Since 2009 the local organisation Shivganga has organised large Halmas for soil and water conservation, and one in February 2020 drew some 20,000 people from about 500 villages.
Kesarpura’s only pond had been waiting for exactly this tradition. Years of neglect had left it so choked with silt and weeds that its depth was shrinking, and so was its capacity to hold water. Seepage through one stretch of the embankment quietly drained away the rainwater it collected. This is a tribal district, where Scheduled Tribes made up about 87 per cent of the population at the 2011 Census, and a hilly one: as the district administration itself notes, water runs off the slopes instead of being held by the soil, so even good rainfall can leave villages short of water. In such a landscape a failing pond meant a direct threat to a full year of farming and to the water that livestock depend on. As summer set in, the pond bed would fill with cracks, and the village’s hopes would drain away with it.
Before the Halma: a dry pond bed, heaps of silt and seepage along the embankment. Photo: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, VAAGDHARA
The village knew the problem was big, but it also knew the solution lay in its own hands. With the support of the Gram Swaraj Samuh, a village self-governance group of ten women and ten men formed by VAAGDHARA, it was decided that a Halma would be held at the pond. The idea was not new to the area: less than a fortnight earlier, on 6 May, villagers of Borpada, also in Petlawad, had used a Halma to clear a silted public well after repeated appeals to the panchayat brought no result. On the morning of 19 May, Kesarpura showed its true strength.
It began not with speeches or formal announcements but with the beat of the dhol, kundi and thali. A rally wound through the village. Children ran ahead carrying a banner that read “Traditional Halma Method,” with the slogan beneath it: “Save water regularly, and the future is secure.” Behind them walked elders, youth and women, with someone from every household carrying a pickaxe, a spade or a metal pan.
The rally sets out to the beat of the dhol and thali, with a banner reading “Traditional Halma Method”; enthusiastic children lead the way. Photo: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, VAAGDHARA
Around 150 people gathered at the pond for the Halma. There is no attendance register and no list; people come of their own accord and leave having done more than they thought they could. Under the blazing sun, heads were covered with gamchas and dupattas, yet faces glowed instead of showing fatigue. The work divided itself. Some waded into the pond to cut the weeds, others dug out silt with pickaxes and spades, and the silt was loaded into pans and basins and handed to a long line of women. The pans passed from hand to hand and head to head, and the silt made its way out of the pond.
Men wielding pickaxes and spades on the pond bed, while women stand in line holding pans. Photo: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, VAAGDHARA
The role of women was the most remarkable part of the scene. Amid their household responsibilities, they stayed at the pond all day. Recalling that day, Basanti Ninama says that when the dhol sounded she could not sit at home, and standing in line with a pan on her head, it felt like work in her own courtyard.
“I was tired, but my heart felt light. I felt I was doing something for my village.”
– Basanti Ninama
Everyone also worked together to pile soil on the embankment where water had been seeping out, pressing it down and strengthening it. Clearing silt and weeds and strengthening the earthen bund are the standard steps in restoring a village pond, and those who know water conservation understand that the strength of the embankment and the depth of the pond decide how long a water body lasts. When noon came, the tools were set down, but the bond of togetherness did not break. Lunch, too, was cooked by everyone together on the pond’s bank. The women wove plates from tree leaves, and then everyone sat in a long row on colourful mats. An elderly woman and a small child ate the same meal on the same mat, and the true meaning of Halma came alive right there. Here, trust takes the place of accounts, and hard work and celebration blend into one another.
Women making leaf plates: even the preparation of the meal was a collective effort. Photo: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, VAAGDHARA
The simplicity of the leaf plate is a lesson in itself. A plate made from tree leaves leaves no plastic waste and needs no water for washing. Leaf plates have long been part of community feasts across India, and researchers describe them as a renewable alternative to plastic disposables. At an event whose very purpose is to save water, this goes beyond symbolism and becomes practice. Traditions often carry such eco-friendly solutions quietly, without any announcement.
Those who restored the pond that day included Basanti Ninama, Ganga Ninama, Surta Ninama, Sundar Mavi, Anadu Maida, Devli Mori, Phula Katara, Seema Maida, Anita Katara, Kala Ninama, Sukhram Maida, Ukarlal Maida, Mansingh Ninama, Ukar Ninama, Laxman Ninama, Dilip Vasuniya, Gendu Mori, Khima Mori, Anil Maida and Sunil Katara. Though they differ in age and family, their experiences seem threaded on a single string. For Ganga Ninama it was an emotional day: generations of her family have drunk this pond’s water, and it pained her to see it buried under silt.
“The day the pond was cleaned, I felt we had repaid our debt.” – Ganga Ninama
For men like Sukhram Maida and Anil Maida, the experience changed the way they thought. They used to believe that work on the pond was the government’s job, but on the day of the Halma they realised that when a village comes together, it has no one to wait for. “Before the Halma, we thought the government would do this work. This time we understood that when the village becomes one, we don’t have to wait for anyone.” – Anil Maida. The thought was not unique to Kesarpura: at the Samuh meeting in Borpada, someone had remarked that waiting for the government could cost another three years.
“It was very hot, but nobody complained. We want our children to see how work for the village is done.” – Devli Mori
During the event, Paramesh Patidar, Implementation Leader at VAAGDHARA, spoke with the villagers and explained that Halma is not merely voluntary labour but a tradition of standing by one another in joy and sorrow and sharing collective responsibility.
Behind the scenes, Block Facilitator Mukesh Porwal and his team also played a vital role, working at every level from mobilising people to planning the work. The steady guidance of Team Leader Dharmendrasingh Chunawat gave direction to the entire effort.
After the Halma the village returned to its routine, but nobody expected the result to show so soon. The monsoon turned out weaker than hoped. The India Meteorological Department had forecast a below-normal season, and by late July Jhabua was among the Madhya Pradesh districts reporting rainfall 33 to 45 per cent below normal; by 9 September the district’s shortfall stood at about 36 per cent. There was every fear that the pond would once again be left only partly filled. But about three months later, around August 2026, when villagers looked towards the pond, it was filled to the brim with water.
Where dust once flew, calm water now stretches far into the distance; the green grass sprouting along the edge is proof of life’s return. Photo: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, VAAGDHARA
The greatest joy was that the seepage through the embankment had also stopped. The water that came had stayed. For farmers like Sunil Katara and Mansingh Ninama, the meaning was direct: their fields will get irrigation and their cattle will have drinking water.
It is worth asking why such ponds last. Studies of India’s water infrastructure describe a recurring cycle of construction, neglect and rebuilding, with upkeep after construction as the weak link, and village ponds that were once maintained by the communities who used them fell into disrepair as that responsibility moved elsewhere. Experience shows that when a water structure is built from outside by a contractor, its upkeep often becomes nobody’s responsibility; the embankment breaks, the silt returns, and within a few years the pond can be back to its old state. A structure built through voluntary labour creates an emotional bond. Someone who has put soil into it with their own hands cannot bear to see it deteriorate. This is Halma’s greatest invisible achievement: along with the structure, it raises a whole generation of guardians. One good season in a poor monsoon is encouraging, but it is early evidence rather than proof; how long the pond lasts will depend on the desilting and embankment care the village now commits to.
The hopes ahead are considerable. In the rabi season, when fields need water the most, this stored water can become the farmers’ mainstay. With water standing in the pond, groundwater levels in nearby wells and hand pumps may also improve; case studies of desilted village ponds in Maharashtra’s Marathwada region report that nearby borewells recharged and the irrigated area grew in both the kharif and rabi seasons. Greenery is returning to the embankment, and guarding it is now the village’s shared responsibility. Remove the silt, bind the embankment, hold the rain, raise the groundwater, then irrigate the fields: this entire cycle of water conservation now appears to be complete in Kesarpura.
Greenery on the strengthened embankment, with still water on one side. Photo: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, VAAGDHARA
One sees the tradition of the elders and the labour of the young, the support of women and families, and above all a collective resolve to do something for one’s own village.
Kesarpura’s story is a reminder that development does not always wait for help from outside. In a country where, by NITI Aayog’s 2018 assessment, some 600 million people face high to extreme water stress, and where even large investments in water structures struggle with upkeep once they are built, examples like this show that the key often lies in local knowledge and community ownership. Three things together have given this pond a new lease of life: tradition meeting present-day need, institutions staying in the role of facilitators (in Borpada, too, the Samuh gave villagers room to decide for themselves rather than handing them ready-made answers), and a village that regards its resource as its own. Halma did not remove only silt and weeds from Kesarpura’s pond; it rekindled hope in people’s hearts, and today that hope is as clear as the pond’s water.
Society
India to Push Indian Sign Language Into Everyday Life
From an ISL rendition of Vande Mataram to school lessons, books and digital learning, new initiatives are widening the place of Indian Sign Language in everyday life for deaf people.
When Vande Mataram was presented in Indian Sign Language (ISL) at this year’s Sign Language Day event in New Delhi, it was more than a ceremonial performance. It showed how a familiar part of public life can be made accessible through a visual language. But the larger story lies elsewhere. Alongside the ISL rendition, the event brought out a range of new resources, for young children, school students, readers, teachers, interpreters and people accessing educational content online. Together, they point to an effort to take ISL beyond specialised spaces and into more routine parts of life.
India had about 50.7 lakh people with hearing disability, according to the 2011 Census. The figure includes people who were deaf as well as those with difficulty hearing. The Department of Empowerment of Persons with Disabilities (DEPwD) has called for ISL to become part of “everyday citizenship”, so that deaf people can take part in public life without communication barriers, said Additional Secretary Manmeet Kaur Nanda.
A Child’s First Lessons
Some of the new material begins at the earliest stage of education. “Sanket Vatika” visual books have been introduced for children aged 3–6. There is also new teaching material for courses that prepare ISL interpreters and teachers. For schoolchildren, ISL videos now cover content from 14 textbooks for Classes 1–6. The material includes 100 personalised adaptive learning videos. Concept-based videos have also been prepared for Classes 9–12.
The idea is to build resources across different stages of schooling rather than leave gaps as children move from one level to another.
More Than Classroom Material
The move into ISL is also reaching books. Three hundred National Book Trust titles have been made accessible in ISL. They include stories, biographies and historical accounts.
The ISL Dictionary has also been expanded into 11 more languages. The stated goal is to eventually cover all 22 Scheduled Languages. For a language to be used widely, its vocabulary has to travel with it. The expansion of the dictionary is one part of that process.
Taking ISL to the Screen
ISL content is now being live-streamed through PM e-Vidya Channel 31 using direct encoder-based streaming. That puts educational material in a format that deaf viewers can access through a dedicated ISL channel, rather than having to rely only on spoken content.
Digital resources and translated material cannot cover every interaction. There is still a need for people who can interpret between ISL and spoken languages. At the event, DEPwD Joint Secretary Rajeev Sharma spoke about the growing demand for ISL interpreters across different fields.
The new teaching material for the Diploma in Indian Sign Language Interpretation and Diploma in Teaching Indian Sign Language courses is part of this effort. It points to a practical challenge: making information available in ISL is one part of access. Having enough trained people to support communication is another.
What this Looks Like in Ordinary Life
The ISL version of Vande Mataram may have been one of the more visible moments at the event. But the changes taking place in classrooms, books and digital learning are closer to the everyday experience of deaf people.
For a young child, it could mean learning a new word from a picture book in ISL. For a student, it could mean following a lesson in a language they understand. For a reader, it could mean picking up a story, biography or history book in ISL. And for someone who needs to communicate directly, it could mean having an interpreter to help bridge the conversation.
Taken together, these efforts are about making ISL useful beyond a classroom or a special occasion, as a language through which deaf people can learn, read, find information and take part in public life. That is what this year’s Sign Language Day, themed “Declaring Deaf People’s Human Rights”, sought to put into focus.
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