By Dipak Kurm
The Union Cabinet’s approval of the proposal to rename Kerala as Keralam marks the culmination of a long-standing cultural and political aspiration. What may appear at first glance to be a minor semantic adjustment is, in fact, a deeply symbolic move reflecting linguistic identity, historical continuity, and federal procedure. The demand had already received the unanimous backing of the Kerala Assembly twice, in 2023 and again in 2024, before finally securing the Centre’s consent. With the constitutional process now underway, the southern state stands on the threshold of formally aligning its official English name with the one long used in Malayalam. The decision illustrates how questions of nomenclature in India often carry layers of cultural assertion and administrative complexity that extend far beyond mere orthography.
The resolutions that set this process in motion were introduced by Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan, who argued that the change was both linguistically appropriate and historically justified. Political consensus within the state strengthened the proposal’s legitimacy, particularly after support came from across party lines. Notably, state BJP president Rajeev Chandrasekhar wrote to the Chief Minister expressing his party’s endorsement of the move, signalling rare bipartisan convergence in Kerala’s otherwise polarised political environment. Such unanimity helped the proposal gain momentum in New Delhi, where state name changes typically undergo careful scrutiny. The Cabinet’s approval therefore represents not just administrative clearance but also recognition of a broad-based political and cultural consensus within the state.
The necessity of passing the resolution twice reveals the procedural precision involved in constitutional changes. The 2024 resolution clarified that while Malayalam speakers have always referred to the state as Keralam, the First Schedule of the Constitution continued to record the English form Kerala. Vijayan later explained that the earlier resolution had attempted to implement changes across all languages listed in the Eighth Schedule, but technical examination showed that the correction had effectively been confined only to the First Schedule. To eliminate this discrepancy and ensure legal coherence, the Assembly adopted a fresh resolution. This careful recalibration underscores how even seemingly symbolic reforms must navigate the dense architecture of constitutional law, where linguistic nuance and legislative drafting must align perfectly before any alteration can proceed.
The historical roots of the name lend further depth to the present decision. One of the earliest epigraphic references appears in Rock Edict II of Emperor Ashoka, dated to 257 BCE, which mentions “Keralaputra,” often interpreted as referring to the ancient Chera dynasty. Over centuries, the region’s identity evolved through layers of linguistic and cultural transformation. Scholars have long debated the etymology of Keralam, with some tracing it to “Cheram.” The noted German linguist Herman Gundert, compiler of the first Malayalam-English dictionary, observed that “keram” represented the Kannada form of “cheram” and described Keralam as the territory stretching between Gokarnam and Kanyakumari. The linguistic root “cher,” meaning “to join,” reinforced the idea of a land formed through cultural confluence. In this light, the contemporary renaming appears less an innovation than a restoration of historical usage.
The political imagination of a unified Malayalam-speaking homeland emerged much later, particularly during the early twentieth century. The Aikya Kerala movement gathered momentum in the 1920s, driven by intellectuals, social reformers, and political activists who envisioned a state defined by linguistic unity rather than princely boundaries. At the time, Malayalam-speaking populations were distributed across several administrative units, including the princely states of Travancore and Kochi and the Malabar region under the Madras Presidency. Inspired by the broader Indian freedom struggle, proponents of unification argued that shared language and cultural traditions justified political consolidation. Their campaign gradually transformed from a cultural demand into a concrete administrative objective, laying the groundwork for the state that would eventually emerge in independent India.
The path to statehood accelerated after Independence through the integration of princely territories. On July 1, 1949, Travancore and Kochi merged to form the Travancore-Cochin state, an important transitional step. When the Union government initiated linguistic reorganisation of states, the State Reorganisation Commission, chaired by Syed Fazl Ali, recommended the creation of Kerala by combining the Malabar district and the Kasargod taluk with Travancore-Cochin, while excluding the southern taluks that now lie within Tamil Nadu. The state formally came into existence on November 1, 1956, a date celebrated annually as Kerala Piravi. The present renaming effort thus echoes the original linguistic logic that shaped the state’s very birth.
Changing the name of a state, however, is far more complex than renaming a city. Under Article 3 of the Constitution, the initiative must originate from the state legislature, after which the Union Ministry of Home Affairs examines the proposal and circulates it among multiple agencies for no-objection clearances. These typically include the Railways, Intelligence Bureau, Department of Posts, Survey of India, and the Registrar General of India. Only after these layers of scrutiny can the proposal be introduced in Parliament as a Bill. Once both Houses approve and the notification is issued, the new name becomes legally operative. The elaborate process reflects the federal balance embedded in the Constitution, ensuring that symbolic changes do not disrupt administrative, cartographic, or security frameworks.
Past experience shows that such proposals are not always straightforward. In 2018, for instance, West Bengal’s attempt to rename itself Bangla encountered resistance when the Ministry of External Affairs flagged concerns about phonetic similarity with Bangladesh. The proposal ultimately stalled, illustrating how geopolitical sensitivities can influence even internal nomenclature decisions. The smoother progress of the Kerala-to-Keralam proposal suggests that it faced no comparable diplomatic complications. Nevertheless, the precedent highlights why the Union government proceeds cautiously in matters of state renaming, balancing cultural aspirations against administrative clarity and international considerations.
Beyond procedure and politics, the proposed shift carries cultural resonance. For many Malayalis, “Keralam” has always been the authentic expression of regional identity, embedded in literature, everyday speech, and historical memory. Retaining the anglicised “Kerala” in the Constitution created a subtle dissonance between official terminology and lived linguistic reality. The renaming therefore represents an attempt to harmonise constitutional language with vernacular consciousness. Similar impulses have shaped earlier changes across India, where cities and regions have sought to shed colonial-era spellings in favour of indigenous forms. In this sense, the move reflects a broader postcolonial trend of linguistic self-assertion within the Indian Union.
As the proposal moves toward parliamentary formalisation, its significance extends beyond nomenclature. It reaffirms the enduring power of language in shaping political identity and highlights the responsiveness of India’s federal structure to regionally articulated aspirations. If completed, the transition from Kerala to Keralam will stand as a rare example of near-unanimous political agreement in a deeply plural democracy. More importantly, it will symbolically reconnect the modern state with its ancient linguistic heritage, completing a historical circle that began more than two millennia ago.
(the writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)
