Caste in academia and activism: In conversation with P.D. Sathyapal

P.D. Satyapal is an anthropologist, professor and BAMCEF speaker. In conversation, he has shared his experience of caste and gender and his experiences of caste inside educational institutions. In this concluding excerpt from the conversation, he shares his experiences as an anthropologist and of his work at the interface between activism and academia.

I came back to Andhra University for my Ph.D. and took the topic, ‘inequality among the tribes’. So far, sociologists and anthropologists have been saying that there are two different groups of society – caste society, inequal, hierarchical and so on, and societies of tribes, where there is no hierarchy and they are relatively homogenous. I had seen multi-tribal villages, like multi-caste villages, where we find very clearly the system of caste, or discrimination on the lines of caste. So, I studied that. For my M.Phil., I had worked in the Andaman and Nicobar islands. I was there for five and a half months, studying tribes in isolation. I had been to more than 12 islands. That was a very good experience for me. We always dream of anthropologists as adventurers, so that satiated some of my fantasies of working alone with groups on tiny islands. Then I came to the Andhra-Orissa border and stayed for nine months in a village. That is a usual routine for anthropologists – we do our fieldwork by a methodology called participant observation, so the stipulation is that we must stay with the community we are studying for nearly a calendar year. That does not always happen, but I managed to stay for nine months in a small village. I had to walk for 17 kilometres from the nearest bus stop to reach that place, established rapport with the villagers, stayed in a hut that was abandoned, and studied inequality there.

Later on, I joined the Department of Anthropology in Andhra University. In between, I became president of research scholars, we used to have some 920 research scholars. As research scholars, we had some agitations about how appointments were being made, along with the Teachers’ Association. We had a Scholars and Teachers Action Committee, had bitter fights with the Vice Chancellor. There were several questions hurled in either direction, the government came down and make a commission with the Chief Secretary and Vice Chancellor, those sort of things went on. There, too, I was looking at rosters, seeing how they manipulate with the rosters.

I joined the same university as a teacher. Since my area of interest is inequality and my passion is for Ambedkarite thought, I picked up those papers that deal with Indian society, culture, stratification, democracy, human rights, things of that sort. Till that time, I had never worked specifically in any Ambedkarite organisation. I used to go to Ambedkar Bhavan, participate in some protests sporadically, talk at events, that’s all.

As a teacher, I tried to reflect upon the syllabus and pedagogical things. Nowhere do we find that the real problems of society are being dealt with. Even at the post-graduate level, where we are talking about things like society, where we read about caste – even there, with regard to theories and origins of caste, and how mechanisms of caste work, caste in relation to economy, politics, religion – we do not see our viewpoints there. Of what Ambedkar I have read, these people – they don’t matter at all – people like M.N. Srinivas, Dubey, they are all talking about their own small concepts. In India, so far, nobody has given a theory in anthropology, there is no grand theory of anthropology as the Indian contribution, from any of the Indian anthropologists. Concepts like Sanskritisation, they are only small concepts, they were fashioned after anthropologists like Robert Redfield and others. So Srinivas and Dubey and people like them are treated as authorities on caste and are believed to have done many things on caste. I am not convinced. Dr. Ambedkar’s work and contribution is much more, his ideas are more rigourous. The looking at concepts analytically – I don’t find those qualities here with Indian anthropologists. The observations that we were made to teach, I had a feeling that these were all peripheral.

I was a young teacher, I had been expressing some of these opinions but it was to no avail. Noone was taking me very seriously at that time. That was when I thought I should get abreast of this subject first. I started teaching and started changing my papers almost every year, six, seven years, it went on like that. I was reading Ambedkar, I was participating in events. Till 1997, 1998, I only had these stray attachments, very very thin attachments to the Ambedkarite movements.

This took a turn, because I came in touch with an organisation called BAMCEF, the All India Backward And Minority Communities Employees Federation, with which I work even now. Here I find a different kind of argument, a rigour, ideologial clarity. Here, there is very fine analysis, it gives scope for the right kind of perspective, so that we can understand a society quite well. So with the influence of BAMCEF and my reading in Ambedkar and other people, I thought this is the time I should intervene into my study area. I started taking on these guys, I’ve become much more vocal. In 5-6 years I had understood that professor is the top position you can get academically. All other posts like warden, dean, VC are all honorary position. In anthropological association, there are honorary positions and much of these people are handpicked. So with the influence of BAMCEF on my personality, I decided not to go after these posts and take up activism as my passion. Then I grew bolder, I started arguing with senior teachers. I started facing difficult times, if I talked about one thing, they used to change the topic to something else. In university seminars, you know what happens, if you are pointing out one thing, they will try to shift to another. They tried, in fact, to baffle me, intimidate me with their presence as senior teachers an all. I’ve seen all that and it took me one year to retaliate. I make very calculated and sharp criticism. That is how I started taking on these so-called Indian anthropologist who are not well-versed with the subject of caste.

I am not paid for my work in BAMCEF. I have to travel and speak to groups. I am travelling on many weekends. I am lucky in that my wife shares my passion for this struggle against caste and does not have a problem with my work. Some of my colleagues complain that it is difficult to take their family’s complaints about their work. I luckily don’t have any problems there.

Caste in the educational institution: In conversation with P.D. Sathyapal

P.D. Satyapal is an anthropologist, professor and BAMCEF speaker. In conversation, he has shared his experience of caste and gender. Here he shares his experiences of caste inside educational institutions and his first encounters with Ambedkarite thought…

Both my parents were teachers in high school. It was a church school. I didn’t have negative experiences in school, except for a few occasions when the Brahmin teachers would talk about reservation. We were not enjoying reservation at the time, except, as Christians, we have 1 per cent reservation in Andhra Pradesh. When discussing personalities, they would say, ‘You should have a lot of regard for Gandhi, because if he was not there, you will not have ended up in schools.’ I never really understood at the time. Later, I came to understand that they were sarcastic comments.

I went to Loyola College – that’s in Vijayawada. I did my intermediate and degree there. I am from a Protestant background and there for the first time, I saw the difference between the Protestants and Catholics. I was there for a full five years. I used to be block leader for a hostel. The warden used to give me a list of students. He asked me to check if they regularly attend mass or not. I thought he was giving me a list of Christians. I told him, ‘Father, there are so many other Christian boys. Should I give their names?’ He said, ‘No, no, I know who all are there. But I am particular about these guys.’ It was only in the final year that I understood that they were all the so-called upper caste Christian boys. In the final year of my BSc, we could understand how the management was moving. My rector was a Brahmin convert. My principal was a Kamma convert and my warden was Reddy. They say that they are a Christian institution but they don’t go with the compassion and concern that they always boast of. In my final year, we had a problem with our warden, 71 of our students made some kind of an agitation for the first time in the history of that college. All our TCs were posted home…I stayed outside taking a private room. Since then, I can see how they could be antagonistic to students who were rebels,  at the same time, the inequal treatment that is meted out due to caste.

After graduation, I moved to TISS. My father had made a commitment that they would send me to the church as a missionary. Even after Plus Two, I was slowly coming out of the fold. My father was worried. ‘If not as a missionary, I will send you as a social worker,’ he said. So, though I’ve done graduation in sciences, he sent me to do a Masters in Social Work (MSW) at TISS. We belong to a church called the Salvation Army which has social work as a part of the missionary work they do. There in Mumbai, I came in touch with Ambedkarite organisations. I got friends who were well-versed in Ambedkarite ideology.  I attended their meetings on things like ‘what is caste,’ ‘what is its dynamics.’ That was my first brush with Ambedkarite surroundings.

After I graduated from TISS, my father wanted to send me to the church by force. There were heated discussions. My father was a disciplinarian, he used to beat me around. So, when I decided and told him I was not going to the church, he was angry with me, and threw out my suitcase. I came out of the house. One of my relatives was studying in Andhra University. He asked me to join a course. This anthropology struck me. I was just going through the syllabus and it was quite exotic for me. That’s how I strayed into anthropology and stayed there. Throughout my stint at Andhra University, in Vizag, there used to be caste associations, and different castes used to have them. Andhra University is an area where things are open, social identities are open, and people used to agitate. So then I took part, I started reading Ambedkar.

I met a professor called Pawan Murthy – he was a professor of political science. He was a good Ambedkarite. He had worked with Dr. Ambedkar. He knew him right from 1944, when he came to Andhra. Both things are there for him – he is in teaching as well as activism. When I was in hostel, he used to be our chief warden. Whoever approaches him, he would always conduct a small interview, he used to ask, who is Dr. Ambedkar, what is his birthday, have you read any of his work. When the answer is no, he would immediately come down on you. [laughs] He forced me to read many books and he used to be very strict.

Later on, he became my father-in-law. I married his daughter.

After my post-graduation here, we were in several agitations. I was involved in the agitations against the Karamchedu* incident. I participated in caste associations. I started identifying myself as an Ambedkarite. In 1986, I joined the Hyderabad Central University(HCU) for my MPhil. In 1985, they started the first UGC NET. I was the second batch. If I had not got that fellowship, I might not have got into research, I moved to HCU, there I found that it is an agraharam. There I’ve seen that, of course, they take students from SC/ST backgrounds. But they’ll see to it, that within the first semester itself, more than 60 to 70 people will discontinue. What happens is, you know, there is an SC guy or some person maybe from a Telugu medium background because Central Universities should take students from rural backgrounds. In the very first or second week, they’ll ask them to prepare for a talk on a certain topic and the whole department will be there, including the teachers. The teachers bombard the students with questions. First thing is, they could not converse very freely in English. Second, this kind of a thing is new for them. They get discouraged and they leave.

We had a HoD, she was a Bengali Brahmin, married to a Telugu guy. She has done good work on ethnicity, she had got a PhD from Philadelphia, she used to smoke a pipe, she used to be very, very vocal, and I was under her guidance. She had two – six research scholars were there – she had two pet research scholars who were girls, who also started smoking. I went to see her and I was told that she was busy. Then I went to the canteen. How they try to discourage you, you know -  she came to the canteen, she found me, and said ‘Hey you, you’re the one who came from Andhra University?’ and I said, ‘Yes, ma’am’, and she said, ‘Don’t you know that you should come and see the HoD. What kind of people are you? You don’t know …’  She was just shouting like that. Anyone would have been really shaken by this, I was just.. I told her, ‘Ma’am, I came to your room but I was told that you are busy, so I thought I would meet you later on. Anyway, nice meeting you.’ I just gave it back like that.

Then she thought, ‘Ok, this guy is giving back,’ and after three months, she changes me to another teacher who is from BC background. He is also from Andhra University, then he moved to Shillong, his name is professor Kothanda Rao. He is one who really taught me how to face these guys in educational institutions. He’s from the fishermen community. His own experience is quite exemplary – he came from a very poor background, he’s a self-made man, he’s got a lot of influence, he used to write to people like Fredrik Barth in 1963 when he was doing his M.A. (Barth was interested in ethnic communities. Barth took him to the Hague, Netherlands.) Later on, professor Kothanda Rao became an authority on kinship, specially in south India – he worked on the elder sister’s daughter alliance ties. People like Louis Dumont used to write to him. He is a fearless critic. He was in very bad health, when he was in bed also, he reviewed a book on Paramalai Kallar, written by Louis Dumont. He asked me to take notes – Louis Dumont missed the elder-sister’s daughter alliance in the kinship ties – so this fellow started of with ‘I cannot forgive you for your methodological sin’ and, like that, so many harsh words he used. Later on, after two years, after Kothanda Rao passed, Louis Dumont wrote an article, mentioning him. He said ‘What do a few harsh words matter, when people like Rao are extending my work and correcting its inadequacies.’ It was my good fortune that I was under this man. Here was the man who told me, ‘If  you are good at your subject and if you can shoot with your tongue, you can get away with these institutions, otherwise they will really crush you.’

…

*The names of the Dalits murdered in Karamchedu have been recorded here. Scroll down this page to find excerpts from the article by D. Narasimha Reddy 1985. ‘Karamchedu: A dialectic without development’, Economic and Political Weekly 20 (37): 1546–49.

In the concluding set of excerpts from a conversation with P.D. Sathyapal, he will share his experiences as an anthropologist and of his work at the interface between activism and academia.

Bhagwan Das: 1927-2010

- Vijay Prashad

First published on the INSAF site

Bhagwan Das (The historian of ‘his people’). His life was given over to the fight against caste and untouchability, and towards the promotion of Buddhism.

During the monsoon season of 1991, I began my dissertation research in Delhi.

I always knew that the project was going to be hard: to write the history of the Balmiki community of North India. In graduate school at the University of Chicago I studied with Barney Cohn, who guided me deftly into the study of a “people without history”. Nothing about the Balmiki community was without history, but its absence in the archives made writing the history difficult. Unlike commercial communities whose archives resided in their transaction documents and unlike royal families whose archives slumbered in palaces and in war notes, the “untouchables” of India did not seem to have their own archives, and only rarely made an appearance in history books.

My work began in the National Archives of India, where my friend Prabhu Mohapatra led me into the Revenue papers. Here, in the margins, I found a lot of information on the Chuhra community of Punjab – the people whose hard labour made Punjab’s fields flower. I also went out to the various colonies where the Balmiki community lived: in the Bhangi colony on Mandir Marg and in the Old City, along its walls. One evening, near Kalan Masjid, a community elder handed me a slip of paper that had a name and a number written on it. He told me to call the number and go and see the man.

A few days later, I called the number and asked to speak to Bhagwan Das. In less than a minute a man came on the line. He spoke with what sounded vaguely like an American accent. Very courteously he asked me to see him a few days later. Bhagwan Das lived in a modest housing complex in Munirka. His unpretentious apartment was filled with books and magazines, all well read.

One of the first questions I asked him was about his accent. He laughed, a bit startled by my abruptness, and told me about his childhood near Shimla, in the Jutogh cantonment. English came to him not from the colonial overlords, but in the 1940s when he encountered U.S. airmen during his service on the Burma front during the Second World War. We chatted about the American troops, and he told me that he had befriended a few African-Americans among them. He was curious about racial discrimination and they were interested in his Dalit community (a U.S. air force report in the 1940s noted, “Native persons here are of a dark race and the Negro fails to respect their rights and privacy”; certainly the airmen that Bhagwan Das met did not respect his privacy, but they did honour his rights). These evenings in Bhagwan Das’ house were my apprenticeship.

Many scholars came through Bhagwan Das’ Munirka flat. He offered us his encyclopaedic knowledge and his kind wisdom. When I heard he had died on November 18, I was reminded of his calm intelligence and his kindness. Born in 1927 in the Jutogh cantonment, Bhagwan Das came of age in the shadow of B.R. Ambedkar, whom he met for the first time in 1943 in Shimla. Ambedkar drew him into the Scheduled Castes Federation and into working for him as a research assistant between 1955 and 1956. Finishing his law degree, Bhagwan Das went to work at the High Court. This was his job. His life was given over to the fight against untouchability and caste, and towards the promotion of Buddhism.

Bhagwan Das helped found the World Conference of Religions for Peace (Kyoto, 1970), along with the remarkable American Gandhian, Homer Jack. In 1983, he spoke before the United Nations on the vice of untouchability. He pointed out that India has an enlightened Constitution, what many in his circle called “Dr. Ambedkar’s Constitution”. Nevertheless, Bhagwan Das told the U.N., “Anything which the untouchables consider good for them is vehemently resisted and opposed. Whatever goes to make them weak, dispirited, disunited and dependent is encouraged.” It was a powerful presentation.

Bhagwan Das was also a leading figure in making sure that the Dalit issue was not seen only in its domestic context, but taken in an Asian and global framework. In 1998, he was central to the creation of the International Dalit Convention (Kuala Lumpur) and had a role in the Dalit presence at the World Conference Against Racism (Durban, 2001). I had presented a paper at the U.N. conference on Dalit oppression in the global context, a talk that greatly pleased him (it was later published in a volume in honour of Eleanor Zelliot, titled Claiming Power from Below, by Oxford University Press). At the time of his death, Bhagwan Das was working on a book on untouchability in Asia.

I went to see Bhagwan Das several times during the early 1990s. He had a remarkable memory: one day, in 1993 (as my notes tell me), he fired off a series of names of people I should meet: Kanhayya Lal, Bhagwan Din, Narain Din, Kalyan Chand, Shiv Charan, and so on. Each name came with a story. Bhagwan Das did not have to consult any paper or notes; he had their names and their biographies at his fingertips. It was exhilarating. What kind of idea was this that a “people have no history”!

Bhagwan Das was a living historian and his autobiography, Mein Bhangi Hoon (I am a Bhangi, 1976), provided a window into the life and lineage of one person who fought against the idea that he had no history. A part of his story is available from Navayana as In Pursuit of Ambedkar, 2010. I read his works eagerly. He also taught me how to create my archive. The state might have only put the Chuhra and the Balmiki into marginal notes; but the people were less dismissive of their own histories. In plastic bags, and wrapped in rope, under beds and in steel trunks, he said, there were documents galore; and indeed this was the case. The most precious papers that tell the history of the Balmiki community were not found in the National Archives but in the humble homes from northern Punjab to western Uttar Pradesh.

One day Bhagwan Das said to me, get out of Delhi. Go to Punjab. That is where the trick will be uncovered. He sent me to meet Lahori Ram Balley, the remarkable leader of Buddhist Publishing House at Phagwara Gate in Jalandhar. Lahori Ram told me the story of the Scheduled Caste Federation of Punjab and handed me an invaluable pamphlet by Fazul Hussain ( Achutuddhar aur Hindu asksariyat ke mansube, Lahore, 1930).

“IN PURSUIT OF Ambedkar” tells a part of Bhagwan Das’ story. The first volume of “Thus Spoke Ambedkar” was strongly criticised by the press, said Bhagwan Das. “We expected it and in fact welcomed the criticism,” he wrote in the second volume, “because we believe nobody kicks a dead dog.”

Lahori Ram had encouraged Bhagwan Das’ intellectual and political work. Both were followers of Ambedkar. In the 1960s, the two friends would publish a series of books of Ambedkar’s speeches, Thus Spoke Ambedkar (edited with superb) volume opened with a poem by Khalil Gibran, demonstrating the open-mindedness of these men. They were not bilious like those dominant caste intellectuals; nor were they prone to compromise. The first volume was strongly criticised by the press, Bhagwan Das recollected. “We expected it and in fact welcomed the criticism,” he wrote in the second volume, “because we believe nobody kicks a dead dog. All great ideas have to pass through three stages namely ridicule, discussion and finally acceptance.” They were at the first stage. The next was before them.

The generosity of Bhagwan Das and his friends never ceased to astonish me. Lahori Ram and Bhagwan Das also sent me off to meet the leaders of the Balmiki community in Jalandhar and Ludhiana, and later, in Shimla. The trick was here. I had not noticed it. They knew where they were leading me. It was the classic matter of the novice historian being led by the intellectual engagé.

Just outside Jalandhar, in a Balmiki-dominated village, I spent several nights. One went poorly. It was cold, and I was not keen on the bed. I went for a walk just before dawn. In the field I saw a light flickering, and went toward it. There I saw an old man lighting a set of lamps and placing them in a set of pigeon-holes. He was in what might have been a trance. I watched him, and then retreated. The next morning I asked him what he was doing. He told me about Bala Shah Nuri and Lal Beg, the preceptors of the Chuhras, the great faith of his people that had been obliterated in the 1930s. It was in this decade that the Chuhras had been force-marched into Hinduism and encouraged to forget their own religion and customs. This was the trick.

I went back to Delhi. Bhagwan Das knew I had found it out when I walked into his door (it must have been in March 1993). He handed me his book, Valmiki Jayanti aur Bhangi Jati, which laid out part of the story. Later, I found Amichand Pandit’s Valmiki Prakash (1936), which was a catechism for the Chuhras; and I found Youngson’s collection of Lalbeg songs in The Indian Antiquary (1906).

Bhagwan Das appreciated how we had together uncovered a forgotten story: how his community’s deep cultural traditions had been vanquished by the Hindu Mahasabha and conservative sections of the Congress – eager as they were to increase the numbers of “Hindus” against “Muslims”. It was a tragedy for the Chuhras, the Lalbegs, the Bala Shahis: they now became second-class Hindus. It is from this kind of reduction that human dignity shudders. It was also out of this history that Bhagwan Das followed Ambedkar to Buddhism; better a new religion that one loved than an enforced one that treated you as beneath contempt.

The generations before us loved poetry. It is something that we have lost to our own discredit. To make a point, and to do so in an unexpected way, they would often offer up a couplet or a line of poetry. It was very graceful. Bhagwan Das loved poetry. He particularly liked to talk with me about the verse of the Punjabi branch of the Balmiki community. It is from him that I grew to love the writings of Bhagmal ‘Pagal’, whom I would later meet in Jalandhar, and Gurudas ‘Alam’, whose poem from 1947 stays with me.

After one trip to Jalandhar, I brought back Alam’s Jo Mai Mar Gia (1975) for Bhagwan Das. We sat in the main room in his house, me drinking tea, and him reading out the poems. Here is Azaadi,

My friend, have you seen Freedom?

I’ve neither seen her nor eaten her.

I heard from Jaggu:

She has come as far as Ambala,

And there was a large crowd around her.

She was facing Birla with her back towards the common people.

In Jalandhar, I also met R.C. Sangal, the editor of Jago, Jagte Raho, from whom I got a stack of the papers. Bhagwan Das enjoyed the fact that the paper carried the verse of Baudh Sharan Hans and Alam (I also found Bodhdharam Patrika, another Ambedkarite newspaper that regularly carried poetry, including, from 1978, Alam’s great Chunav). The last time I met Bhagwan Das, we talked about poetry. I had thought to bring together some of these poets into a small volume. I was such a poor translator that I doubted my abilities. He was as encouraging as ever.

He called Ambedkar “an iconoclast and a revolutionary”. These words apply to Bhagwan Das himself, whose flat in Munirka was a stone’s throw from Jawaharlal Nehru University, but for me it was an intellectual haven like no other.

Vijay Prashad is the George and Martha Kellner Chair in South Asian History and Professor of International Studies at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, USA.

Waiting for a Visa

- B. R. Ambedkar

…

The first incident, which I am recording as well as I can remember, occurred in about 1901, when we were at Satara.

…

The train arrived at Masur at about five in the evening, and we got down with our luggage. In a few minutes all the passengers who had got down from the train had gone away to their destinations. We four children remained on the platform, looking out for my father or his servant whom he had promised to send. Long did we wait–but no one turned up. An hour elapsed, and the station-master came to enquire. He asked us for our tickets. We showed them to him. He asked us why we tarried.

We told him that we were bound for Koregaon, and that we were waiting for father or his servant to come, but that neither had turned up, and that we did not know how to reach Koregaon. We were well-dressed children. From our dress or talk no one could make out that we were children of the untouchables. Indeed the station-master was quite sure we were Brahmin children, and was extremely touched at the plight in which he found us.

As is usual among the Hindus, the station-master asked us who we were. Without a moment’s thought I blurted out that we were Mahars. (Mahar is one of the communities which are treated as untouchables in the Bombay Presidency). He was stunned. His face underwent a sudden change. We could see that he was overpowered by a strange feeling of repulsion. As soon as he heard my reply he went away to his room, and we stood where we were. Fifteen to twenty minutes elapsed; the sun was almost setting. Our father had not turned up, nor had he sent his servant; and now the station-master had also left us. We were quite bewildered, and the joy and happiness which we had felt at the beginning of the journey gave way to a feeling of extreme sadness.

After half an hour, the station-master returned and asked us what we proposed to do. We said that if we could get a bullock-cart on hire, we would go to Koregaon; and if it was not very far, we would like to start straightway. There were many bullock-carts plying for hire. But my reply to the station-master that we were Mahars had gone round among the cartmen, and not one of them was prepared to suffer being polluted, and to demean himself carrying passengers of the untouchable classes. We were prepared to pay double the fare, but we found that money did not work.

The station-master who was negotiating on our behalf stood silent, not knowing what to do. Suddenly a thought seemed to have entered his head and he asked us, “Can you drive the cart?” Feeling that he was finding out a solution of our difficulty, we shouted, “Yes, we can.” With that answer he went and proposed on our behalf that we were to pay the cartman double the fare and drive the cart, and that he should walk on foot along with the cart on our journey. One cartman agreed, since it gave him an opportunity to earn his fare and also saved him from being polluted.

…

(The English text of Waiting for a Visa is available here. ‘விசாவுக்காக காத்திருக்கிறேன்’ முழு உரையை வே. தனசேகரின் வலை பதிவிலும், தமிழச்சியின் வலைத்தளத்திலும் காணலாம். )

விசாவுக்காக காத்திருக்கிறேன்

- பி.ஆர்.அம்பேத்கர்

…

எனக்கு நினைவிருந்து நான் பதிவு செய்யும் எனது முதல் அனுபவ நிகழ்வு நாங்கள் சதாராவில் இருந்தபோது 1901-இல் ஏற்பட்டது.

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மாலை 5-மணிக்கு இரயில் மாசூரை வந்தடைந்தது. மூட்டை முடிச்சுகளை எடுத்துக் கொண்டு நாங்கள் இரயிலை விட்டு இறங்கினோம். சில நிமிட நேரத்தில் அந்த நிலையத்தில் இரயிலை விட்டு இறங்கியவர்கள் அனைவரும் தங்கள் தங்கள் இடங்களுக்குப் புறப்பட்டுச் சென்றுவிட்டனர். எங்கள் தந்தையோ அல்லது அவரது சேவகரோ வருவார் என்று எதிர்பார்த்து நாங்கள் நால்வரும் இரயிலடியிலேயே காத்திருந்தோம். வெகுநேரம் காத்திருந்தும் எவரும் வரவில்லை. ஒரு மணி நேரம் கழிந்த பின் ஸ்டேஷன் மாஸ்டர் வந்து எங்களிடம் விசாரித்தார். பயணச் சீட்டு இருக்கிறதா என்று அவர் எங்களைக் கேட்டார். நாங்கள் எங்கள் பயணச் சீட்டுகளை அவரிடம் காட்டினோம். நீங்கள் ஏன் தயங்கி நின்று கொண்டிருக்கிறீர்கள் என்று அவர் எங்களைக் கேட்டார். நாங்கள் கோர்கான் செல்ல வேண்டும் என்றும், எங்கள் தந்தையோ அல்லது அவரது சேவகரோ வருவார் என்று நாங்கள் காத்திருப்பதாகவும், கோர்கானுக்கு எப்படி போவது என்று எங்களுக்குத் தெரியவில்லை என்றும் அவரிடம் நாங்கள் கூறினோம்.

நாங்கள் அனைவரும் நல்ல உடை அணிந்து இருந்தோம். எங்களின் உடைகளிலிருந்தோ, எங்கள் பேச்சிலிருந்தோ நாங்கள் தீண்டத்தகாதவர்களின் பிள்ளைகள் என்பதை எவராலுமே கண்டுபிடிக்க முடியாது. நாங்கள் பார்ப்பனர்கள் என்று எண்ணிக் கொண்ட ஸ்டேஷன் மாஸ்டர் எங்கள் பரிதாப நிலையைக் கண்டு மிகவும் வருந்தினார். இந்துக்களின் வழக்கம் போல நீங்கள் எல்லாம் யார் என்று அவர் கேட்டார். ஒரு சிறிதும் யோசிக்காமல் நாங்கள் மஹர்கள் என்று நான் உளறிவிட்டேன். (பம்பாய் இராஜதானியில் தீண்டத்தகாதவர்களாகக் கருதப்பட்ட சமூகத்தினரில் மஹரும் ஒன்று) அவர் முகம் திடிரென மாறிவிட்டது. அதிசயிக்கத்தக்க வெறுப்பு உணர்வுக்கு அவர் ஆட்படுவதை எங்களால் பார்க்க முடிந்தது. எனது பதிலைக் கேட்டவுடனே அவர் தனது அறைக்குச் சென்றுவிட்டார். நாங்கள் இருந்த இடத்திலேயே நின்று கொண்டிருந்தோம். பதினைந்து, இருபது நிமிட நேரம் சென்றது. சூரியன் மறையும் நேரம். எங்கள் தந்தையும் வரவில்லை; சேவகனையும் அனுப்பவில்லை. ஸ்டேஷன் மாஸ்டரும் எங்களை விட்டுவிட்டுப் போய்விட்டார். நாங்கள் மிகவும் அதிர்ச்சி அடைந்தோம்; பயணத்தின் தொடக்கத்தில் நாங்கள் கொண்ட மகிழ்ச்சி எல்லாம் மறைந்து எங்களை மிகுந்த சோக உணர்வு ஆட்கொண்டது.

அரைமணி நேரம் கழித்து வந்த ஸ்டேஷன் மாஸ்டர் நீங்கள் என்ன செய்யப்போகிறீர்கள் என்று எங்களைக் கேட்டார். மாட்டு வண்டி வாடகைக்குக் கிடைத்தால் கோர்கான் வெகு தொலைவு இல்லை என்பதால், நாங்கள் உடனே புறப்படுவதாகக் கூறினோம். வாடகை சவாரிக்கு வரும் மாட்டு வண்டிகள் பல அங்கிருந்தன. ஆனால் நாங்கள் மஹர்கள் என்று ஸ்டேஷன் மாஸ்டரிடம் நான் கூறிய செய்தி அனைத்து மாட்டு வண்டிக்காரர்களுக்கும் தெரிந்துவிட்டபடியால், தீண்டத்தகாதவர்களைத் தங்கள் வண்டியில் ஏற்றிக் கொண்டு சென்று தங்களை இழிவுபடுத்திக் கொள்ளவோ, தங்களை அசுத்தப் படுத்திக் கொள்ளவோ அவர்களில் எவரும் விரும்பவில்லை. இரண்டு மடங்கு கட்டணம் தருவதாக நாங்கள் கூறியபோதும் பயன் ஏதுமில்லை.

எங்களுக்காகப் பேசிக் கொண்டிருந்த ஸ்டேஷன் மாஸ்டர் என்ன செய்வது என்ற தெரியாமல் பேசாமல் நின்று கொண்டிருந்தார். திடீரென அவருக்கு ஒரு யோசனை தோன்றியது. எங்களைப் பார்த்து “உங்களால் வண்டி ஓட்ட முடியுமா?” என்று கேட்டார். எங்கள் இயலாமைக்கு ஒரு தீர்வு காண முயல்கிறார் என்ற உணர்வு எங்களுக்கு ஏற்பட்டது. “எங்களால் வண்டி ஓட்ட முடியும்” என்று நாங்கள் கூவினோம். இந்தப் பதிலைக் கேட்ட அவர் வண்டிக்காரர்களிடம் சென்று, “வண்டிக்கு இரண்டு பங்கு வாடகை கொடுத்துவிட்டு வண்டியை அவர்களே ஓட்டிவருவார்கள்; நீ வண்டியின் பின்னே நடந்து செல்லலாம்” என்று கூறினார். இந்த ஏற்பாடு தனக்கு வாடகை சம்பாதித்துக் கொடுப்பதுடன் தன்னைத் தீட்டடையச் செய்யாமல் காப்பாற்றும் என்று கருதிய ஒரு வண்டிக்காரன் இதற்கு ஒப்புக் கொண்டான்.

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(‘விசாவுக்காக காத்திருக்கிறேன்’ முழு உரையை வே. தனசேகரின் வலை பதிவிலும், தமிழச்சியின் வலைத்தளத்திலும் காணலாம். The English text of Waiting for a Visa is available here.)

How Periyar got his name

இந்த செய்தியைப் பகிர்ந்துகொண்ட பாரி செழியன் அவர்களுக்கு நன்றி.

Thank you Paari Chezhian for sharing this news clipping

“பட்டம் கொடுத்தபோது…பெரியார் சிரித்தார்”

“When the title was bestowed..Periyar laughed”

சமீபத்தில் பெரியார் பிறந்த நாள் விழா தடபுடலாக தமிழக அரசு சார்பில் நடைபெற்றது. அதில் கலந்துகொண்டு பேசிய தமிழக முதல்வர் ஜெயலலிதா “ஈ. வெ. ரா. பெரியாருக்கு ‘பெரியார்’ என்கிற பட்டப்பெயர் வழங்கப்பட்டது ஒரு பெண்கள் மாநாட்டில்தான்…” என்று குறிப்பிட்டார். அப்போது நடந்த பெண்கள் மாநாட்டைத் தலைமைதாங்கி நடத்திய மீனாம்பாள் சிவராஜ் சென்னையில் தான் வசித்து வருகிறார். அவரை நாம் நேரில் சந்தித்தோம். தன்னுடைய எண்பத்து ஒன்பதாம் வயதில் பார்வையிழந்த நிலையில், மிகவும் மெல்லிய குரலில் பேசத் தொடங்கிய அந்த மூதாட்டி சொன்ன சுவையான தகவல்கள்…

Recently Periyar’s birth anniversary was celebrated with much pomp on behalf of the Tamil Nadu government. Tamil Nadu Chief Minister Jayalalithaa, who participated and spoke at the function, said, “E.V.R. Periyar was given the title of ‘Periyar’ at a women’s conference…” Meenambal Sivaraj, who headed and organised a women’s conference at that time, still lives in Chennai. We met her in person. In her 89th year now, she has lost her eyesight. She began to speak to us in a very soft voice. These are the tasty tidbits that this elderly lady shared with us….

“1938 -ம் வருஷம்னு நினைக்கிறேன்…தமிழ்நாட்டுப் பெண்களுக்காக நாங்களெல்லாம் ஒரு அமைப்பு நடத்திக்கிட்டு இருந்தோம். அப்போது ‘நாராயணியம்மா’னு ஒருத்தர் குயின் மேரிஸ் கல்லூரியில் புரொபசரா இருந்தாங்க. அவங்க என்னிடம் ‘இந்த மெட்ராஸ் மாகானத்தில் உள்ள முக்கியமான பிரமுகர்கள் எல்லாரும் ஒவ்வொரு பட்டப்பெயரோட இருக்காங்க…ஆனா, ஈ.வெ.ரா-வுக்கு மட்டும் எந்த பட்டமும் இல்லை. அவருக்கு ஏதாவது ஒரு பட்டம் நம்ம அசோஸியேஷன் மூலமா கொடுக்கணும்’ னு சொன்னாங்க…நான் சொன்னேன் – ‘எல்லாருக்கும் வழிக்காட்டியாகவும், பகுத்தறிவுத் தந்தையாகவும் ஈ. வெ. ரா. இருக்காரு..இப்படி அவரை எல்லோரோடும் ஒப்பிட்டுப் பார்க்கும் போது உயர்ந்த இடத்துல இருக்குறதால, அவருக்குப் ‘பெரியார்’னு பட்டம் கொடுக்கலாம்’னு  யோசனை சொன்னேன். அதன்படி, அப்போ  மூர்மார்க்கெட் பக்கத்துல இருந்த விக்டோரியா பப்ளிக் ஹால் கட்டடத்துல கூட்டம் போட்டுப் பட்டத்தை முறைப்படி அறிவிச்சோம். அந்த நேரத்தில் ஈ.வெ. ரா. இந்தி எதிர்ப்புப் போராட்டத்தில் கைதாகி ஜெயிலில் இருந்தார். கூட்டம் முடிந்ததும் நாங்கள் நேரில் சென்று ‘பெரியார்’ பட்டம் சூட்டியிருக்கும் விவரத்தை அவரிடம் தெரிவிச்சோம். அதைக் கேட்டவுடன் அவர் ஒரு சிரிப்பு சிரித்தார். இதிலிருந்து ‘பெரியார்’ பட்டத்தை அவர் ஏற்றுக்கொண்டதாகப் புரிந்து கொண்டோம்…” என்றார், மீனாம்பாள் சிவராஜ்.

“I think the year was 1938…we were running an organisation for Tamil Nadu’s women. A person called Narayaniamma was a professor at Queen Mary’s College then. She told me, “All important people in Madras Presidency have special titles…but, E.V.R. alone does not have any such title. We have to give him some title through our Association.”..I gave the suggestion – ‘E.V.R. shows us all the way and is the father of Rationalism here…He occupies a higher place than any others we can compare him to, we can give him the title of ‘Periyar’ (the great one)’ And so, we organised a meeting at the Victoria Public Hall that was near Moore Market then and announced this title formally. E.V.R. was in jail at the time, after having been arrested during the anti-Hindi agitation. After the meeting was over, we went to see him in person and told him the news of having given him the title of ‘Periyar’. He laughed. From this, we took it that he had accepted the ‘Periyar’ title…” said Meenambal Sivaraj.

இவர், தென்னிந்திய ஷெட்யூல்டு கேஸ்ட் பெடரேஷனுக்குத் தலைவராக இருந்தவர். மீனாம்பாளின் கணவர் சிவராஜ் ‘குடியரசுக் கட்சி’யைத் துவக்கியவர். பிரிட்டிஷ் காலத்தில் ஒரு முறையும், சுதந்திரம் பெற்ற பிறகு குடியரசுக் கட்சி சார்பாக ஒரு முறையும் சிவராஜ் நாடாளுமன்ற உறுப்பினராக இருந்திருக்கிறார் (சிவராஜுக்கு இந்த செப்டம்பர் 29 -ம்  தேதி – நூற்றாண்டு விழா!)

Meenambal Sivaraj was the head of the South Indian Scheduled Caste Federation. Her husband Sivaraj began the Republican Party. Sivaraj became a member of Parliament, once during British rule and once after Independence on behalf of the Republican Party (Sivaraj’s centenary birthday falls on September 29)

இந்தி எதிர்ப்புப் பற்றி மீனாம்பாள் சொல்லும்போது, “இதற்காக முதன்முதலில் சென்னை மாகாணத்தில் பொதுக்கூட்டம் கூட்டிப் பேசினேன். நாங்கள் இருந்த ராயப்பேட்டை வீட்டில்தான். ‘திருவாரூர் ஸ்டாலின் ஜெகதீசன்’ என்பவர் இந்தியை எதிர்த்துச் சாகும்வரை உண்ணாவிரதம் துவங்கினார். அப்போது கலைஞர் கருணாநிதிக்கு ரொம்பவும் சின்ன வயசு. திருவாரூர் ஸ்டாலின் ஜெகதீசனைப் பார்க்க அடிக்கடி கலைஞர் எங்கள் வீட்டுக்கு வருவார். அதற்குப் பின்பு அவரும் இந்தி எதிர்ப்புப் போராட்டத்தில் ரொம்பவும் தீவிரமாக இறங்கினார்…” என்றார்.

Speaking about the anti-Hindi agitation, Meenambal says, “I held the first public meeting on this issue in the Madras Presidency and spoke at it. It was at the house we were living in in Royapettah that Thiruvaroor Stalin Jegatheesan began a fast-unto-death against the imposition of Hindi. Kalaignar Karunanidhi was very young then. He would come often to our house to see Thiruvaroor Stalin. It was after this that he too joined the anti-Hindi agitation with great interest.”

டாக்டர் அம்பேத்கர் பற்றி நினைவுகூர்ந்த மீனாம்பாள் சிவராஜ். “அம்பேத்கர் சமையல்கலையில் வல்லவர். ஒருமுறை ஷெட்யூல்டு கேஸ்ட் பெடரேஷனுக்காக பம்பாயில் கூட்டம் ஒன்றில் கலந்து கொண்டேன். கூட்டம் முடிந்து திரும்பி வரும்போது ஏகப்பட்ட பசி…கூட்டத்தில் கலந்துகொண்ட எங்களை அம்பேத்கர், தன்னோட ‘ராஜ்கிரகா’  வீட்டுக்கு அழைத்துச் சென்று அவர் கையினாலேயே உணவு பரிமாறினார். இதில் முக்கியமான விஷயம், அந்த உணவைச் சமைத்ததே அம்பேத்கர்தான்! டாக்டர் அம்பேத்கர் சென்னைக்கு வரும்போது ‘செட்டிநாட்டார்’  ராஜா சர் முத்தையா செட்டியார், ‘சென்னையில் உங்களுக்கு வேண்டியவர்கள் யாராவது இருக்கிறார்களா?’ என்று தமாஷாய்க் கேட்பார். அதற்கு அம்பேத்கர், ‘என்னோட உடன்பிறவாத சகோதரி மீனாம்பாள் மெட்ராஸில் இருக்காங்களே…’ என்று குறிப்பிடுவார்” என்று பெருமையுடன் சொல்லி முடித்தார் மீனாம்பாள்.

Remembering Dr. Ambedkar, Meenambal Sivaraj says, “Ambedkar was skilled at cooking. Once, I participated in a meeting of the Scheduled Caste Federation at Bombay. Returning from the meeting, we were really hungry…Ambedkar took some of us who had participated in the meeting to his ‘Rajgriha’ home and served us food with his own hands. The important thing here is, he had cooked the food himself! When he came to Chennai, the Chettinad Raja Sir Muthiah Chettiar would ask him teasingly, “Do you have any dear ones in Chennai?” To which Ambedkar would reply, “But my sister Meenambal is in Madras…” she concludes proudly.

- எஸ். முருகவேலு / S. Murugavel
படம்: அ. ஜெரால்டு / Picture: A. Gerald

(Editorial note: Meenambal Sivaraj was a Chennai Corporation Councillor – unfortunately this does not find mention in the article. She passed away on November 30, 1992. The great god Google couldn’t give me a single obituary or news item about her life or passing. There are mentions of her in books/papers listed below. Any other links are welcome.)

Related material:
Swati on Women’s participation in the Dravidian movement
Women and Social Reform in modern India : A Reader Sumit Sarkar & Tanika Sarkar
Dalit Movement in India and its leaders 1857 – 1956 Ramachandra Kshirasagara
Contextualising Dalit movement in south India: Selfhood, Culture and Economy (papers presented on a seminar on this theme)