Cast-e Your Eye Over : Happy Ambedkar Jayanti

This one has been a long time coming. I've hesitated to write this blog for years now. Every time I hear the word 'caste' I get an uneasy feeling. Before, that uneasy feeling used to be fear and embarrassment. Who discusses such things? Today, it's guilt. It's guilt for not expressing my position so far. It's guilt for letting every casteist remark slide. It's guilt for not having the courage to challenge the narrative of our upper-class friends. It's guilt for being quiet. It's guilt for being ashamed. 

My first interaction with caste was with my civics textbook. I'd heard the infrequent comment at school. 'Nuvvu Reddy caste aa?' or a 'We are proud Brahmins' was not unheard of. But it felt like everyone knew the history of the caste system. It was something that existed ages ago. In today's society, caste didn't matter. As one of my teacher's put it, today, when you go to eat a meal in a restaurant, do you care what caste the person next to you belongs to? That solved it for me. Caste was over. They had fought for their rights and now they had them and we were all equals. Happily ever after. 

No.

My dad told me about Ambedkar once. I asked him the question. If we're all equal, why do we have reservation? He had a glint in his eye he only gets when he's serious about something. He told me how the varna system had worked. How the Dalits didn't even get a slot in this system. They were menial labour. Almost property. They carried the feaces of the upper castes on their heads, lowered those same heads in their presence and lived lives of extreme poverty. Ambedkar had fought for these people. He fought and gave them a seat at the table of Indian politics. 

It was in seventh grade when I first realised that I had a caste as well. I brought home an admission form and sat down at the dinner table. 'What do I tick for caste?'

My parents exchanged a glance. 'General'.

'What is our caste?' I asked. 

My dad said jokingly. 'Brahmin only you are'

'You're both Brahmin?'

My dad spoke slowly. 'Well, technically, our side is Dalit.'

I was surprised. 'Dalit?'

'Yes. We belong to the Mala caste. So actually, since caste follows from your father's side, you'd be Dalit also.'

I think my father feared I'd be embarrassed to hear what he had told me. That I wouldn't like associating myself with being Dalit. My dad and his dad had worked so hard. They'd made a name for themselves in this city. My grandfather was a renowned civil engineer. Now my dad was a beloved member of the cricket community, and now a successful writer. They did this for their families to never feel 'less than'. They had 'overcome' their caste. They were happy. Their daughter was in a good school, a good student. A fluent English speaker, top of her class. 

'So should I tick SC then?'

'No.' There was finality to it. 

I let it go for a while. But it bugged me. My dad had spoken so proudly of what Dr. Ambedkar had done. About how his legacy was equivalent to those of Mandela or Gandhi. But he didn't want me to use the power that Ambedkar had fought so hard for. Why? Was he ashamed?

'But why?'

'You don't need it. You're smart.'

'But it would be lying no? I'm not general category.'

'They only ask you that so you can apply for reservation. Your cutoff mark will be lower and you'll have reserved seats in government jobs. You don't need it.'

'Yes, but it's my right no? I am Dalit. I am not lying to them.'

My dad and I had strained bits of conversation about it later. But there was not much finality to it. I ticked 'General' and submitted my form. But I knew there was more to that conversation.

My next and most recent interaction with the word 'caste' was in my classroom at my new school. Our  class was having a discussion on reservation. 'Don't even get me started on reservation' our teacher said. I was puzzled. What did she mean? The rest of the class giggled. 

'Reservation, to be frank, is not needed anymore.' I heard the glass shatter in my head.

The SC students were occupying seats of the truly meritorious she said. The ones who deserved it. The ones with 99 percent had to lose seats to the lowly 80 percent students. Simply because they were SC. They didn't need that crutch she said. It was simply 'unfair' to those who 'deserved' it. 

I looked around in disbelief. Surely, everyone knew this was crazy. I noticed my class of forty. All either nodding along in support or yawning in disinterest. Was no-one going to say anything?

I raised my hand. I quietly mumbled a few points about historic oppressions but rather than be acknowledged as an interesting viewpoint, I was reduced to an opponent in the argument my teacher was set out to win. No-one in class knew enough to support me or cared enough to argue. 

Up until that day, I had feared studying 'caste'. It was not so much out of embarrassment or shame of being Dalit but rather of feeling out-of-place. My father had explained to me that I was privileged. I was smart. I was well-off. What place did I have in this narrative then? In this struggle? I was half Dalit but I did not face the brunt of my Dalitness like so many others had. My family would not kill me if I married outside my caste, I was not restricted from entering a temple, I was not stopped from drinking from a public water tank. My family had worked so hard to run from the badge of our Dalitness. Fluent English, Western clothes, financial comfort and intellectual discussion. They fought their way to earn their respect. They had changed so much, transformed themselves so violently to gain the respect that an upper-caste person could have by birth. 

I bought a book nearly a year-and-a-half ago. It was called 'Coming Out as Dalit' by Yashica Dutt. 'Coming out' I knew. You come out as gay, you come out as bisexual, what did coming out as Dalit even mean? The first chapter had me hooked. I began finding the answers that I explain below.

One argument I'd often heard was that 'Caste was not Hindu' at all. The idea that caste was set up by the British as a 'divide and conquer' strategem is completely bogus. While the British are not off the hook for their role in promoting casteism, the origins of caste run deeper and sharper. 

The origins of caste have been pondered by various sociologists. Gail Omvedt, in her book 'Dalits and the Democratic Revolution: Dr Ambedkar and the Dalit movement in Colonial India' analyses the work of anthropologists to see how caste came about. The racial theory of race believed that amongst the original inhabitants, the Dravidians, a system of jatis existed. While the Dravidians had certain notions of caste-like groups, the Aryans entered to exaggerate these concepts of purity and pollution. It 'was developed to legitimate teh way in which division among the Aryans were solidfiying'.. a way to maintain the upper hand. 

European Orientalists, with a great conviction of their natural superiority, argued that the Brahmins, Vaishyas and Kshatriyas had descended from the pure Aryans while the Shudras and Dalits were original inhabitatants. It was used to afifiliate themselves with those at the top of the social structure in India. Indeed, we had upper-caste nationalist leaders using the theory to prove their superiority over the lower caste. 

Jyotirao Phule flipped this theory on its head - denouncing Aryans as invaders who had exploited the rightful inhabitants of the subcontinent.

But the most common argument I hear putforth nowadays is that caste is not Hindu at all. I find it a testament to the inability of the modern Hindu to critically and rationally accept and question Hinduism's tumultuous history. Indeed, in the feelings of pride and assertion of one's faith, the Hindu has turned a blind eye to the demons in its cupboard.

The Rig Veda, the oldest known Hindu scripture, defines a Varna system. It divided society into four groups - the Brahmins emerging from the head of Brahma, the Kshatriya from the shoulders, the Vaishya from the thigh and the Shudra from the foot. Each Varna had its duties prescribed. The Brahmins were the scholars entrusted with  determining the vision and values of society, the Kshatriyas were to protect society, the Vaishyas were to protect animals and land and the Shudras were to render services to the others. The Varna system established a strict hierarchy with one varna being superior to the other. The Shudras were not allowed to read the Vedic texts that prescribed their role and the lords of the world were considered the Brahmins. Throughout the texts of the Vedas, the Manusmriti and the Mahabharata we see countless examples of the harsh inequalities of the caste system. 

For instance, the story of Ekalavya, a talented archer. Arjuna felt threatened by Ekalavya's mastery, even more so with Ekalavya belonging to a lower caste. A caste that shouldn't even be learning from Drona. To preserve the structure and Arjuna's pride, humble Ekalavya's thumb was cut off after Drona's asking.

As per Vedic scriptures and the Mansumriti ( written around 1800 years ago), Dalits were considered pollutants. They lived outside the main areas, walked different roads and drank from different water sources. 

Indeed, Dalits performing religious rites, studying scriptures or entering temples was seen as an insult to the upper-caste themselves.

It certainly appears that the caste system was designed to protect a powerful few. The higher castes could avoid manual labour, guaranteeing them generations of respect and wealth. This system was further imposed through the concept of karma. 

The lower castes were convinced that they were born into this varna due to the sins they had committed in their previous lives. They were not being exploited but rather they were paying the price for their own actions. They had to live with the guilt of the crimes of their past lives, forced to view themselves as defiling creatures. One's whose mere presence, whose mere shadow, was a cause of pollution.

The caste system could indeed run and maintain order for so many centuries because as DP Mukherji put it ' Class conflict had been smoothed and covered by caste traditions'. People would not rebel when they were convinced that they were the problem.

The British entered an India with a pre-existing hierachical social order and was opportunistic in its actions. The British did little to topple the caste system in India, framing laws that let the upper-castes get away with noxious treatment. This non-interference policy extended to education. Schools were not force to admit Dalit students. Separate schools were set up for Dalits but teachers often refused to teach them.

The entire system was made to be placed in the palms of the upper-castes. The judiciary worked with Brahmins to understand local laws and norms. Often Dalit cases were not even heard in court or they had to scream from across a room to avoid polluting the area.

1947 led to independence and the British left, handing down institutions like education, law, government, media etc. into the hands of the upper-castes. While most Dalits were just beginning to become literate the upper-castes were politicians, journalists and advocates. 

Ambedkar's advocacy for Dalit rights made him more than a messiah. He showed the Dalits not only that they had rights, but that these rights had been taken away from them systematically. In a Congress made up largely of the elite, educated, upper-caste crowd, there was resistance to calling for an end to untouchability and granting equal rights. They would risk offending the mighty and the rich.

Ambedkar carried out his own movements. In 1927, he and his followers went to the Chavdar lake in a sign of emancipation, and drank water from the public premises. Upper-caste people lashed out across the country and violent riots were commonplace. The British government ended up paying reparations to the upper-castes for 'damage'. 

Ambedkar worked with a blank chart. No one had systemically understood caste and its origins before him. His effort towards a separate electorate and his far-sightedness in Dalit welfare made him an icon. 

Today, the urban educated crowd tends to avoid discussions on caste. A friend brought up in class 'Caste is dividing society. Talking about it only worsens the situation.'

Let's say you have cancer. You can't see that you have cancer. The doctors said you do. You look perfectly fine. You could live peacefully in denial until a painful, sudden end or you could suffer the inconvenience of addressing the issue. 

Caste is present everywhere in India. In ways we are only beginning to realise. It is a sword looming on our heads one we are not aware of. 

My father and his siblings are all well-off today. Growing up they had a bungalow and servants to help them since they had a succesful father. My grandfather and his family were Malas, an agricultural community in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana. They had humble beginnings. They were farm labourers in Palamuru, a village near West Godavari in Andhra Pradesh. Thaatha's grandmother had been determined to change their fates. She insisted on sending her grandson to school. He was to be educated. 

My grandfather set out to a boarding school all alone. He studied hard, all while keeping his calm nonchalance. He made it to Hyderabad and made it big. Signing on projects like and making a name for Palamuru beyond what could have been imagined. 

My father never told me our caste until I asked him. My aunts hesitate to talk to neighbourhood aunties in fear of being outed as Dalits. Coming out as Dalit is the last thing they would want to do.

They would lose friends, connections, jobs and name. 

What is a story of pride, of struggle, of making it to the top is something my family and millions of other Dalit families spend their whole life trying to run from. Everything their fathers have done is so that the cursed label of 'Dalit' shines less brighter on the next generation. They work hard, they toil, they endure so that their child never has to ask the question 'What caste am I?'. 

Dr. BR Ambedkar

Yashica Dutt with her book 'Coming Out as Dalit'

My aunt told me 'To be treated like an equal, a Dalit has to be the best.' Whether in the corporate sector, in movies, in sport, in a banking office or in a kitty party, to be seen as an equal a Dalit always has to be the smartest, the most succesful or the best at English. He must seamlessly merge into upper-caste society, supress his 'Dalitness' and continue to prove his worthiness day after day. Further, even once a Dalit makes it into a high-ranking job every second he runs the risk of being doubted as a 'reservation' candidate. He must prove his competence and his place in an institution everyday and to everyone. 

Caste is not a thing of the past. There have been immense steps towards progress but caste continues to pierce into our lives. In nearly every sphere. 

For instance, the dignity of labour in India is known to be pathetic. Manual labour is associated with low wages, no hygiene and most of all no respect. This is not the case in other countries. A metal worker in America would own a car, have a house and walk around with confidence. One here would face demeaning comments and insults everyday. The caste system left all physical labour to the lower castes and most labour today belongs to the same. Chances are your maid, your garbage truck driver, your sweeper and your ayamma at school belong to lower castes. We're used to treating them as a level beneath us. As their superior beings. Casteism has normalised this behaviour so we do not question why we treat people that way. 

Internalized casteism means even Dalits who get ahead, earn money or get to some position of authority begin treating the people they left behind as inferiors. Act upper-caste, get accepted. That's the formula. 

Caste also has different connotations for women. Dalit women were considered the property of upper-caste men. They were theirs to rape, beat or use. Violence against Dalit women somewhere became so ordinary that we stopped giving it the reaction it deserves. 

The 'Nirbhaya' rape case that happened in Delhi received immense media traction and public support. A similar rape case happened four years later. Jisha, a Dalit girl, was horrifically raped in her room in Kerala. Frequent sexual advances meant noone would come to their rescue. The police had major delays in responding to the situation. The question of 'Why is Jisha not Nirbhaya?' describes the extent to which we do not blink an eye at violence against Dalit women. 

The media only perpetrates this. In the media, Dalits can only be victims that are pitiable or opportunists that take away from the meritorious. Most media houses are run by upper-caste people and the readers of many English publications are upper-caste. Dalit stories and narratives have no place in the readership that is too uncomfortable with discussing caste. Academia has similar troubles. 

Down till the concept of vegetarianism has been caste supremacist in India. Hinduism did not include vegetarianism until the emergence of religions like Buddhism that promoted non-violence. To compete with these upcoming religions, the upper castes switched to vegetarian diets. But for the impoverished Dalits their main source of nutrition was dead cow meat. Since they were they ones that carried the bodies of dead cattle, it was their cheapest easiest source of food. An all vegetarian diet was not feasible and now the diet that they were forced to follow became a new reason for their persecution.

Lastly, a discussion on caste is incomplete without a discussion on reservation. The kind of slander reservation has received in the last decade needs to be talked about. During the aftermath of Rohit Vemula's death, the anti-reservation protests received a lot more media coverage than the pro-reservation ones. The narratives on reservation continue to portray Dalits as sorrowful victims of the past or thiefs stealing opportunities from the 'merit' based. 

Merit, as Yashica Dutt put it, is a myth. Merit is not earned solely on the basis of your intrinsic competence, it is the environment, the family, the social life you live. For a first-generation Dalit there is no environment for education, no assurance of higher education and no proper job guarantee after. A Dalit business is more likely to shut down than that of a Brahmin because the skills of business, the contacts, the location, the assets have been gatekept for generations. 

Even for an educated Dalit, they face regular discrimination in job settings. Many interviewers look for 'culture' or 'acche ghar ke log' for their jobs, which loosely translates to having a well-off, upper-caste background. Reservations provide not an advantage or a crutch, but they are the first step in delivering what has been taken away from Dalits for thousands of years. A chance at equality. 

It is painful to see the urban crowd watch Shashi Tharoor talk of British reparations to India and feel a sense of national pride, to watch the Black Lives Matter movement and understand systemic racism but fail to apply the same logic to their own countrymen. 

India is still in denial. Until we begin to accept the horrific past of our country and acknowledge our ancestors' role change is impossible. It is time to feel those uncomfortable feelings of anger, guilt, resentment and shame after reading this and time for Dalits to stop living in the shadows. 

Being Dalit is not a label to hide or a truth to fear. It is a matter of pride, struggle and empowerment. 

So, read. Read the poems of Dalit struggle, the articles on injustice, the books of struggle. Stop hiding.

Educate. Agitate. Organise.