Abdul Karim was born into a modest Bengali-speaking household in Bangladesh, studied in his mother tongue through school, and yet went on to crack one of the toughest barriers in South Asia: the English-language civil service exam.

He not only entered the country's foreign service but later graduated from Harvard.

His story, driven not by privilege but by his learning of English, lies at the heart of a forthcoming book, The Identity Reconstruction of Subaltern English Learners: Language, Liberation, and Leadership in South Asia, due out in January 2026.

The authors Aamir Hasan and Nadeem Hussain argue that for millions of South Asians who come from poor and working-class backgrounds, English is less a colonial relic than a tool, one that helps them climb the rungs where decisions are made, credentials established and opportunities beckon. 

"We have seen English as a language of inclusion... unlocking someone's leadership potential," Hussain, a public policy and economic development scholar, tells TRT World. "Traditionally, it is seen as a colonial legacy. This is a different perspective that we bring."

Hasan, co-author of the book, goes further: "We are now in an age well beyond the colonial era. English as the global lingua franca is well detached from its role in colonialism. Today, the barriers it creates are enforced by local elites — the modern-day gatekeepers."

In the context of the book, the elites are best described as those who play a role in enabling hierarchies of class and caste, or the ones with the power to influence policies. It also includes those with social privilege, easy access to opportunities and generational wealth.

The book draws on fieldwork in six countries — Afghanistan, Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Pakistan and Sri Lanka — and follows people who did not grow up exposed to English: no English at home, no English-medium schools and no English-speaking environment. 

Yet these people found ways to get hold of the language — by memorising cricket commentary, poring over English newspapers and practising online.

The results were often life-changing, such as with a Karachi rickshaw driver's daughter, who learned English as a subject, won a business school scholarship and now earns more than her father did in his lifetime.

For these individuals, the book found, English did not erase their backgrounds.

The book complicates a familiar narrative of English as the "master's tongue". For those left out, English often triggers feelings of exclusion and embarrassment. But once they acquire it, the same language can flip the script — opening doors, boosting confidence and helping them develop to be leaders in their respective fields. 

As one Indian researcher, Shruti, 29, put it: "Reading, writing and discussing scholarship happen in English, so my competence shows up when my English does."

The authors describe this as a leadership pipeline. English does not just make it easy to find jobs, it repeatedly places people in situations where they can prove themselves, refine their skills and be seen by more clients or audiences.

But access to English remains deeply unequal, especially in post-colonial South Asian societies.

Hussain points to elites who publicly preach local-language pride while privately sending their children to expensive English-medium schools. This same elite is often the biggest critic of a single school system for all the children. 

In Pakistan, Hasan calls this "linguistic apartheid": a deliberately split education system where the majority get weak vernacular schooling while a small minority receive elite English instruction.

"The remedy is not to tear English down," Hussain says. "It is to make access fair. If they really want to break the poverty cycle, they need to learn English."

Hussain stresses that while English still carries the colonial baggage of being seen as a language of prestige, the reality is that learning it can open doors to opportunities that would otherwise remain closed.

So, for the authors, English is not a replacement for local languages, but an add-on — an extra set of keys needed to open certain locked rooms. Some who master it even rediscover pride in their mother tongues, because English lets them defend and celebrate those languages on a bigger stage.

And the personal stories of success after learning the language continue to pile up: a student from Pakistan's Sindh who taught himself English from an English newspaper, made it to the University of Karachi, and now receiving a PhD from the University of Massachusetts (UMass) Boston. A civil servant who rose to become principal of the Civil Services Academy. Others who joined the UN or foreign embassies.

Their paths do not erase inequality, but they do puncture the idea that only elites deserve a voice, the authors say.

Abdul Karim's story, among others, best showcases this, where knowing English acted as a key tool, like a crowbar, and opened the door to many opportunities.