Comparative Contexts of Discrimination: Caste and Untouchability in South Asia

Excerpts from the paper by Surinder S. Jodhka & Ghanshyam Shah, Working Paper Series, Volume IV, Number 05, 2010
Indian Institute of Dalit Studies, New Delhi

Read the full paper here
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Breaking ranks with the Government of India, the foreign minister of Nepal, Jeet Bahadur Darjee Gautam during a meeting of the United Nations in September 2009, welcomed the inclusion of caste based discrimination against Dalits as a case of human rights violation, to be treated at par with the racial discrimination. This move of the Nepalese government opened-up way for implementing the proposal mooted by the UNHRC to involve “regional and international mechanism, the UN and its organs” to complement national efforts to combat caste based discrimination.
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While caste indeed has a religious dimension and it finds legitimacy in religious texts of the Hindus, it is also a socio-economic system[1] which shaped local economies, social and cultural entitlements and political regimes. In other words caste was much more than an ideological system. The idea of caste and associated social and economic structures persisted with varied religious tradition of the South Asian region.
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Similarly, the Sinhala Buddhist communities of Sri Lanka seem to defy the theological position of their faith. Even when no one is “unclean” in the sacred meaning of the term, social anthropologists have documented the presence of caste like hierarchies, identification of occupations with social groups and even “outside untouchables” (Banks 1960; Leach 1960; Ryan 1993).
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However, it is the colonial constructs and theoretical models of caste that continue to dominate not only the popular but also academic imagining of caste. Even the leaders of nationalist movements in the subcontinent accepted this colonial common-sense on caste quite uncritically. Thus when the new states were formed, of India, Pakistan and even Sri Lanka, it was only India which had Hindu majority, recognised the need to deal with caste and untouchability and made provisions for the uplift of those who had been kept out of the system, the untouchable whom the colonial rulers had designated as Scheduled Castes.
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Though caste continues to be an important category of kinship and community classifications in Pakistan, Dalit question is a little more complicated there. Given that the term Scheduled Caste is still officially used for the “untouchable” communities of its small Hindu minority and that almost the entire Christian population of the country are converts from Dalit Chuhras of Punjab, caste question gets closely entangled with the minority question in Pakistan. However, quite like Bangladesh, caste and untouchability also exists among the Muslims of Pakistan. Though the mainstream Islamic ideology completely denies any place to caste in Pakistan, its presence, in the form of social intercourse, birth based occupation, segregation in residence and taboo in social relationship is very widely recognised and plays an important role in structuring kinship and political economy of the country (see Alavi 1972; Gazdar 2007). Popular categories with which Dalits of Pakistan are identified are not completely alien to Indians. For example Mochi (cobblers), Pather (brick maker), and Bhangi (sweeper) are mostly Muslims and considered “lower” castes on the basis of their family occupation, regardless of their religion. There are other titles, such as Musalman Sheikhs, Mussalis (both used for Muslim Dalits) and Masihi (Christians) universally refer to specific groups of people, also identified with specific occupation and used to segregate them from the rest as “untouchable” groups. It is not only the Dalits who are identified through caste names. Others too have caste names and maintain caste boundaries…

One of the most striking features of South Asia is the association of Dalit communities with certain types of jobs. For example, the cleaning of streets and latrines, dealing with dead animals, casual and bonded labour on land are almost everywhere identified with Dalit communities. Not only are these low status jobs, invariably they are also low paid jobs. Another common feature of Dalit life in these four countries is their residential segregation. They seem to be either living in segregated settlements away from the main village, or in the urban slums where living conditions are generally poor. The experience of untouchability and discrimination was also a shared reality but its details varied.
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The pre-colonial Sri Lankan state was built around caste-based privileges of the ruling elite and hereditary and mandatory caste services of the bottom layers in society. Unlike the Hindu caste system founded on the basis of religious notions of purity and pollution, the caste systems in Sri Lanka have relied more on a kind of secular ranking upheld by the state, land ownership and tenure, religious organisations and rituals, and firmly-rooted notions of inherent superiority and
inferiority. The official requirement and support to the caste systems has indeed eroded over the years but the state has also turned a blind eye to the deprivations caused by caste discrimination. The militant Tamil movement led by LTTE also imposed a ban on the practice of caste for consolidating Tamil identity, which only turned it into a kind of underground reality, not to be confronted openly through politics and policy.
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Dalits in Bangladesh also face discrimination in political sphere as well as in civic life. Many of them reported that they were not treated well even by the doctors and nurses in hospitals and clinics. They were also not allowed entry into their houses. The Hindu Dalits faced much more discrimination in religious life. They were not allowed entry into temples and were discouraged from participating in religious/community functions. Though in past some sections of Muslim Dalit
communities such as Lalbegi, Abdal and Bediya, (popularly known as Arzal), engaged in occupations such as toilet cleaning and garbage collection were often not allowed entry into mosques, there seemed to be no such restriction in place any longer. However, otherwise, the condition of Muslim Dalits did not seem to be any better than those of the Hindu Dalits. The number of Muslim Dalits complaining about practice of untouchability against them in tea shops was much higher (around 40 per cent) than the Hindu Dalits (around 15 per cent). Same was the case with having access to hotel rooms. Access to water from public and private sources was also denied to both categories of Dalits.
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Caste and religion have always been interwoven in complex ways. While Hinduism has often been seen, and rightly so, to provide a theological justification to caste hierarchy, the Pakistani state uses Islamic identity and ideology to completely deny the presence of caste in the social and economic life of country even when caste-based identities and caste related discrimination are quite rampant in the country, including among the Muslims. Such official denial of caste also works to the double disadvantage of the Hindu and Christian Dalits of Pakistan. While being members of a small religious minority, they confront a hostile majoritarian state and civil society; being Dalits they also remain marginalised within their own religious communities.
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Caste divisions and differences have perhaps not been as strong in countries like Sri Lanka, Bangladesh or Pakistan as they have been in India, or in some of its regions. However, unlike India, there has been no recognition of their special situation as socially excluded and deprived. Since the states in these countries do not recognise caste, they also do not collect data on their numbers and around variables of their economic status. In contrast the state policies have played a critical role in producing Dalit elite, which has played an important role in articulating Dalit aspirations and identity. No such process is visible anywhere else in South Asia. In this context Gellner’s  observation made about Nepal is worth quoting. Writing in 1995, Gleener observed:

… Nepalese state has so far taken no measures of positive discrimination in favour of those disadvantaged by the caste system, as have long been in place in India. Thus, in spite of the changes… it remains true that traditions, practices and ideas which have long been rendered controversial in India are still in Nepal relatively uncontested parts of everyday life (Gellner 1995:2).
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Read the full paper here

Footnote [1] For example, some scholars stress that the origin of caste system lay in the nature of agrarian production and generous of surplus in early agrarian system (see Klass 1980; Yurlova 1989). Similarly, some others have pointed to primacy of the political in structuring caste hierarchies in India (see Raheja 1988; Quigley, D. 1993)

Caste and gender: In conversation with P.D. Sathyapal

P.D. Satyapal is an anthropologist, professor and BAMCEF speaker. In a conversation, he shares some of his experiences of caste and gender that led him towards Ambedkarite thought…

I was in born in a small town, a place called Baptla. It has many educational institutions, an agricultural institution, a few colleges, so many students used to come there. Other than that, it doesn’t have anything, like, it’s not a commercial centre. So, it is quite removed from the rural setting.

My mother is also a teacher. I am the eldest of six. She used to work, cook everything for us, pack lunch. She used to work very hard. At times, that male chauvinism used to be there in my father, though my mother is equally educated. When she complained about the load of domestic work, he would say, ‘What you’re complaining, it is just cooking, eating and washing’. He couldn’t see how difficult it was. So that was the relationship I see among many of my relatives – all of them are not highly educated – there are people working as teachers, clerks.

During my holidays, I would go to see my relatives, friends, whenever my father allowed me. I had gone to a place called Burrapalam (in Tenali), my grandfather’s native place. We had relatives there. I had friends among the relatives my age. Incidentally, one of my classmates from Loyola College, Vijayawada, he is of the same village. He belongs to the Kamma caste, they own a rice mill and lands. Whenever I go there, I visit him.

When I was in Plus Two – this is in 1977 – I have seen a strange thing: this guy, who is an adolescent, used to talk about his friendship with so many girls. He was economically well off and many people work in his field and the rice mill. He talked about having relationships with girls with ease. Always, he pointed out the place where my relatives stayed – that’s the cheri – and said, I’ve had sexual relations with that girl, this girl. He used to talk about that. Then I wondered, how is this guy talking about having very easy sexual relationships with these girls? So I asked him. He said, ‘They’re very easy’. So that was the first thing – he was talking about girls from relatives’ families – I’m a friend to him. We are talking at the same wavelength, but at the same time, it is a painful feeling in my mind because he is saying that all my relatives’ girls are loose.

That was the first year. I started hating my relatives. I thought, these people don’t know how to raise their girls, these girls are not moral in their behaviour. That is a time when I begin to ask why it should happen like this. Deliberately, next holidays I went there. I’ve been talking to these girls. As a youth, I’m thinking, if he can have relationships like that…so I’m also feeling romantic. When I’m with him, I think, so Burrapalam is like a free area. Again, he was talking to me about these things – very innocently, from his own background, you understand – so I asked how it works and all that. So, he said, ‘I go through this person.’ ‘He arranges things for me,’ he used to boast, well, not boasting, he was right. Even those girls who get married when they come back to their natal homes, he can continue the connection, he said. He can go to their homes in the night, the parents themselves will arrange for this. The first time, I had a negative feeling about the girls, now I’m having such feelings about their parents. How could they be so bad? Don’t they have any self-respect? Though this guy is a landlord and all…that was a painful thing for me. I didn’t talk to anybody about it. He told me, this guy would arrange girls for him. There is a cinema hall there. Choosing from the girls who come to the theatre, he would tell this man and he’ll arrange.

Then I asked the one who arranges – I don’t call him a pimp, but that’s his job – he works at the rice mill, so I asked him, ‘You also belong to the same caste.’ I belong to a Scheduled Caste called Mala. I asked him, ‘So it seems you arrange many good girls to my friend Ramu, why do you do that?’ Then he asked me, ‘You also want girls?’ I was hesitant to say yes or no. I just smiled. Then he told me, ‘Don’t harbour any such thoughts, it is a very bad thing. Don’t think that these people do it because they fancy it.’ He said that it is their necessity. I didn’t understand what this kind of necessity is. Then I started observing things and again asked him. Then he took me to the rice mill. They used to have two, three shifts. After one shift is over, workers ready to sell their labour will be ready at the gate. This persion is the one who picks up who should come for the next round of work. There I observed that he is picking up only few people, so I asked him why. He said, ‘That’s the secret, that’s the key.’

I sat with this man, also my relative, the manager, the one who is supplying all these girls to my friend. He told me that it is because all these people are labourers. Working in the mill or the field is the only thing they can do for a living. He said that the parents agree to send these girls because, unless they do it, they can’t be guaranteed regular continuous work. He would select only those parents or members of that family who satisfied this guy. I was totally disturbed. That was the time when I didn’t understand that hunger is so deep, that it also allows you to let your girls go and do this. These are the very parents who, when he visits their homes in the night, would vacate their houses, take their cots, and go away from their house, so he could have privacy with their daughter. That was one gory experience I have had. Before that, I was hating my relatives, thinking that they are not educated or good. Now I understand that because they are poor and have to sell their labour – and for the guarantee of work – they are taking up this thing.

I went to Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS) to study social work. My father wanted me to go to that school and then come to the church and work as a social worker. Loyola College was a boys college. TISS was co-ed and the hostel had boys in one wing and girls in one wing. I was pinching myself. Later on, I found there was not much to be happy about, all the girls used to make us run errands. [laughs]

My professor used to be very harsh on the boys – only 3 of us in a class of 26. Every month, we have to go for a week of project work and give a report. Girls would be sent to hospitals, the boys to do projects on beggary, I was given a project on the leper colony – near Elephanta there was an island where more than 3000 lepers were rehabilitated. Then she sent me to work on prostitution. It was very difficult for me that time. Suppose she sent me to work on beggary – I didn’t know much Hindi, didn’t know Marathi at all – so I had to find those beggars who could converse in English. I would always get poor marks. There is an area in Bombay called Kamathipura – that time, in 1982, more than 36,000 licensed prostitutes were in that one area. For the first time, I’ve seen something like a prostitute India. For different states they have select houses – they call this as Andhra House, they call that as Assam House, Kashmir House, you have a choice. I went to the Andhra House. It was difficult to get there, we had to do a lot of pleading with managers and all that. Three of us made surveys, we surveyed the caste composition, socio-economic compostition of the prostitutes there. When I was doing all these calculations, I found that more than 68 per cent were from SC/ST/OBC background. It was the first time, I had seen prostitution from up close. Otherwise, we have some romanticised ideas of prostitution. That experience, I correlated with my experience in Plus Two. There and then, I was looking at this thing: They are all poor. I had framed a question: how many people still retain their relationship with their family while dong prostitution. In my survey, more than 58-59 percent of these girls still have connections with their family. More than 52 percent of their parents visit them, come to them, see them, take money. Which means parents are allowing them to do this. That means it is poverty that makes people sell their bodies. That is one area, I could correlate two experiences like this.

In Part II, P.D. Sathyapal shares his experiences of caste inside educational institutions…

The story of Govind Majhi

- Pravin Patel

Pravin Patel is a human rights activist and president of the Tribal Welfare Society. Read the full essay on  jharkhand.org.in

I would like to share the story of Govind Majhi, a tribal youth of 29 years, living in a remote tribal village known as Patua, amidst forests of Latikata Block of Sundergarh district in Orissa. During my over 12 years of working with tribals in many tribal areas of our country, I have met several youths many of whom have developed as good dedicated volunteers who work for the welfare of their community in and around their area, but Govind Majhi is one youth who is totally different from others, who has proved that poverty can not come in the way if there is a strong determination and confidence to address the poverty.
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I invited him and others to discuss about our organizational matters. Govind also called in few of his villagers to have talks with me. I learnt that almost all of them are very poor, making living as daily wage earners. They stated that for the first time in his life, they have met people who work for poor as their friends. Govind was anxious to say so many things in that short time. I also noticed tears in his eyes. I advised him that if he can come with me and stay with us for that night, we can discuss at great length. He promptly agreed. It was little over 9 PM when we reached Pantha Niwas at Rourkela where we were staying. I and Govind talked till about 3 in the morning which I share with you all in shape of a real story.

Patua is a small village with a population of about 3,000, almost all are poor tribals. No internal roads, no electricity, no high school, no college, no doctor in the primary Health Centre is the reality of development. Ganju Tola where Govind resides with his father, wife and 2 ½ year daughter is a part of the Patua, which is part of Bad Dalki Gram Panchayat in Latikata block of Sundergarh district of Orissa.

Govind Majhi, hero of our true story was born in the year 1981 to Kali Majhi (father) and late Raibara Majhi (Mother). He has a younger brother Laxman Majhi and two married and one unmarried sisters. They own, besides their small house, is one and half acre of non-irrigated land on which, except paddy, nothing is grown.

What is poverty was not known to Govind Majhi in his childhood days. The family used to take one meal a day which was considered as a routine as almost all the houses same was the practice. A private secondary school that had come up at Bad Dalki was also instrumental in bringing in change in the lives of the Majhi family, thanks to the efforts of Govind. At the age of 17, he studied up class IX and X in that secondary school. Here he came in contact with other students, some of whom became his friends. He used to visit them at their houses where for the first time in his life came to know that they not only take two meals a day but also enjoys breakfast and have other luxuries. He was in dilemma, not able to understand the realities of life.

He asked his father why they do not eat two meals a day as his friends do at Bad Dalki. Kali Majhi, his father tried to impress upon him that he is now grown up, it is time for him to understand hard realities, if he wants to survive, as they are poor, they can not afford the luxury of meals twice a day. Paddy grown in their one and half acre of land is not enough for one year, if they take meals twice a day. All the rice will be finished in five to six months. What they will eat for the rest of the year till new paddy arrives? What ever little money he earns working as a daily wage earner is not enough to meet other requirements. They will die of hunger, if they eat twice a day. Govind was upset by learning lessons of the realities of life. His father even advised him to keep away from visiting houses of his friends. Young brain of Govind was in puzzle as to why they are poor and his friends at Bada-dalki are rich. He decided to talk to his friends.

Next day he asked his friend at the school, how many acres of land they own? He was surprised to know that they had no land at all. He got confused as how without land they manage to have so much rice that feeds them twice a day throughout the year. Another friend informed that they have eight acres of land that gives them enough paddy that is much more than what they require, as such they sell those surplus paddy to buy other necessities.

After a week or so, on a Sunday morning Govind reached his friend’s house that had no land at all. Here he understood that besides land, jobs in the state and public sector also helps to earn salaries with which they can buy all the rice and other food stuff as well as fulfill other social and economical requirements. He wanted to know, how his father can also get a job that can earn him salary. He understood that jobs are not easy, since required educational qualification is a must for getting any job, which is neither with him nor with his father. He understood that the circumstances in which they are living do not permit him to go for higher education as there is no money to buy even books. He realized that even he can not they can start working Govind learnt one more lesson to put at rest the question that haunted his mind.

Instead of getting disheartened, he decided to accept it as a challenge that he will not accept it as their fate but will do every thing that can bring in the change. He decided to discontinue studies after class X and work with his father as a daily wage earner to earn money that can help his younger brother Laxman to go to college at Rourkela. He discussed with Laxman who ultimately agreed to do what ever is best in the interest of the family. This was the turning point for the better for Kali Majhi family.

Govind after finishing class X at Bada- Dalki left the studies; joined his father to work full time on his farm and also working as a labourer to earn wages. His brother Laxman studied hard as was greatly inspired by the sacrifice of his elder brother. He went to Vedvyas and Rourkela where he not only graduated but also cleared his Diploma in Electrical engineering with good results. One out of many of his applications for jobs; finally he got a call from the Indian Railways with whom he now works in their electrical department, presently posted at MALDA in West Bengal.

Majhi family not only now enjoys food twice a day but also afford to spend money on other needs and comforts they need. Govind has one mobile phone through which, he is in regular contact with his brother and married sisters. Kali Majhi is now 65 years of age. He has stopped working as a neither labour nor works at his farm any more. Govind sighs to say that his mother died of cancer seven years back, was unlucky to see the change in our lives. He regrets that if the change would come few years earlier, she would have died happily. He gets disturbed to say that his mother never enjoyed the luxury of eating two meals a day.

Govind also proudly says that Laxman has made two Fixed Deposit of Rs.10, 000/- each i.e. Rs. 20,000/- in the name of his younger unmarried sister Jasumati so that with that money with interest, they will spend in her marriage. He intends to make one more fixed deposit of Rs. 10,000/- later in this year. He has also paid all the money that was spent for the marriage of one of his sister few years back. Besides, the same Laxman also paid medical bills of about Rs. 8,000/- that was spent in the illness of one of his sister and also of his father. Laxman’s college friends are also employed elsewhere. Three of them are in BSF, five are police constables, one is with HAL at Sonabeda and five are at Rourkela Steel Plant.

Now Govind aspires to bring a change in his village. He states that in the name of development what they have got in last sixty years is one Anganwadi, a primary school that has classes up to class VIII, few tube wells that often goes dry in summer. Rivulet which flows round the year is at a short distance of ½ kilometer but only Kudar Tola residents are given the facility of lift irrigation that irrigates their 20-25 acres of land. No internal roads or lanes in the village. During rainy days, it is extremely difficult to ride bicycle or even walk on those muddy and marshy lanes full of pits. No electricity though power lines are not far off. The post office is a one man show with postman performing duty from postman to postmaster.

Primary Health Care centre is a cement concrete structure with no medical staff, forget about doctors. He says, nobody has seen any doctor from the day that health centre has been constructed. No ambulance has ever come to their village. When some one falls seriously ill, they used to take the patient, lifting with cot to take to Latikata, walking all the way. Now they take patients to the main road, from where they take them to Latikata or Rourkela by bus or Auto Rickshaws that ply regularly.

He adds saying that just as they suffered, there are many families in Patua who are as poor as they were one day. They also manage with one meal a day to survive. He adds to say that when guests arrive at some ones house and they have no rice in the house, they manage by taking from some ones house to be returned later on. Govind wants that all the villagers should come out of their tragedies at the earliest, as they have managed to do so. Rs. One or Two per KG rice scheme has no doubt helped few families but neither all the families have cards nor the quantity they get in a month is sufficient for them. He says instead of giving us rice at Rs. One or Two per kg, give us water from the rivulet that flows round the year near to their village to produce rice that they need. He also lists elephant menace as one more area of problem.

About NREGA, he says that till date no work has been done under NREGA at his village. The only work done is to construct a road from Deditola to Kendu Berli, which is five KM away from their village. They demanded work near to their village but no result. Even after the road work is over before one and half year, no payments has been made till now. Villagers have gone several times to Sarpanch and also to BDO but all in vain. Sarpanch says he has submitted all the required papers while BDO informs that the papers are incomplete and not sufficient.
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The caste of social interactions

Annie Shah, an NRI student, reflects on how her interactions with people in India continue to be governed by caste. These are excerpts from her essay titled ‘A Commentary on Indian Caste System‘ carried on the DalitIndia website.

“Mom, what the hell is the deal with Jains and the caste system?” 

“Annie, are you okay?  Are you eating enough?  Do you have enough money?  Did you talk to my friend, Niru?”

“Mom, listen, I have always thought that Jains don’t believe in the caste system… but after being here without you and dad it seems as though we do believe in the caste system and that…”

“Annie, can we NOT talk about this while you are calling me long distance?”

Being in India without my parents for the first time made me feel both farther away from them than I have ever felt, and closer to them than I have ever felt.  I met with my mom’s childhood friend who she has not seen since the 11th grade.  I met her husband and children, all of whom my mother has never met.  I gave them cashews and almonds, which are considered generous gifts in India.  Niru Masi refused to take them and I refused to take them back and I eventually walked away without letting her dispute the matter any further.  I’d seen my mom do this sort of thing hundreds of times.  It was fun mimicking her.  I put money in the hands of Niru Masi’s grandchildren.  I gave 501 rupees to each of them.  Indian people give money in increments ending in 1.  It’s good luck.  I was able to have conversations in Gujarati where I even impressed myself.  Being in the country where my parents were born and raised elicited feelings of pride for me.  I was doing the things, acting in the social ways that I have seen my mom act for the last 20 years.  I was representing my mom and her entire family when I stepped into Niru Masi’s home.  I felt very grown up.  I felt very comfortable.

Well, I thought I felt very comfortable.  And while I was representing my family, I realized that I was not representing myself.  What I did not know on day one of our visit to India, was that this would be my first trip to India as a foreigner.  For me, the best part of travelling has been that I feel as though I have a child’s eye again.  Everything that I have seen since we set sail in September has been as though I am seeing something for the first time.  I am learning how to define and process everything.  But I did not do this when I reached India.  This was all stuff that I had seen before, done before, experienced before.  Wrong!

Watching the rest of the Semester At Sea students get hustled by the Indian rikshawalas was not something that I was going to be a part of.  I put on an extra thick skin to avoid being scammed.  I was cold and to the point.   I did not exercise any discussion.  I was a patron and the cab drivers were doing me a service.  The homeless people on the street broke my heart like they do every time I go to India.  But in the past, I used to tug on my mom and dad’s sleeve until they gave me a coin or some food to give the homeless children.  I couldn’t do such things during this trip.  I hardened my face and pretended not to be affected.  I felt exhausted and terrible at night before going to bed.

It was at this point on this idle night when I realized I was not representing myself.  This is not the way that I treated the cab drivers and the homeless children in Vietnam or in Boston for that matter.  I talked to them, I tried my damnedest to get to know them and understand their situations.  I know that I got scammed a little bit here and there, but it didn’t upset me.  For some reason, I had equated being tough in India as being more Indian.  But the Indian part of me was the part that wanted to know about the situation of those less fortunate than I am.  It was the Indian part of me who wanted to connect with my fellow Indian brothers and sisters.

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In my visits to India, I have never touched a homeless person.  I have never eaten with a homeless person.  I have never asked a cab driver what his name is or engaged in conversation with him.  This is probably the situation for a lot of people.  But this is not my usual MO.  Back home, I am known by my friends to talk to the cab drivers in Boston.  I get made fun of for it.  Cab drivers have always intrigued me.  They all have a story, they’re from countries all around the world, and they know everything about the city in which they live.  I always ask the homeless people near my campus what their names are.  I never walk by a homeless person in Boston if they have asked me for money or addressed me.    If I don’t want to give somebody change, I make the conscious effort to say “sorry,” or “no.”  I believe that not being recognized as a human being is one of the cruelest things you can do to someone.  I do not make a habit of ignoring someone who has addressed me.  But all of these rules have never applied to me in India.  I have ignored people in India who have begged me for money.  And I was faced with the question of why my behavior is the way it is on this last trip?

It is because I play into the social order of life in India.  And when I say caste system, I do not necessarily mean the untouchables.  But I do play into a system of social hierarchies.  In the past I have always thought that this was a matter of economics.  But looking at it now, I doubt it.

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My tone is bitter because I feel as though devout Jains have not helped the situation of untouchables, and I feel as though Jains belong to the high rungs of the social hierarchy in India and do not help those less fortunate.  Mahavira, a contemporary of Buddha, founded Jainism.  Originally, he was a Kshatriya noble.  He developed the idea of Jainism because he did not believe in the caste system.  It seems to me that a religion that espouses such nonviolence, ethics and is primarily based against the caste system ought to have done more for the situation of caste in India.  But Jains have simply become part of the caste system.

In the social order of things, we are descendants of the Kshatirya noble Mahavira.  The people we can marry are in accordance with that social standing.  I have heard my relatives say things like, “well, we’re considered higher than them.”  I remember how my sister’s boyfriend’s Brahmin family was haughty about the fact that they were higher up than my family, and I remember my mother rebuking by explaining that their sub-caste was not as prestigious as my family.

I am pretty angry with all of this.  I am also becoming quite aware of the fact that the Indian youth in America don’t really have a clue.  But, whether we like it or not, we represent these ideas of our ancestors subconsciously when we go to India.  This was affirmed by the fact that Minal Kode’s sentiments and emotions were quite similar to mine as we traveled through India.

It is obvious to me that the Dalits in India need a charismatic leader.  It is also obvious that socially, the structure of India needs desperately to be changed.  There will always be poor people, but the treatment of these people needs to change.  I am convinced that such a beautifully hospitable country is capable of this.

I am excited to talk to my parents about such things.  I need to understand what they think of these social hierarchies.  Although I had my first experience in India as a foreigner, I left feeling more Indian than I ever have.  It is the first time that I have felt a sense of responsibility to the country from which my parents belong… from the country which I belong to as well.

Read the full essay here

என் சனங்களின் கதை / The Story of My People

விழி. பா. இதயவேந்தன் கவிதையும், சிறுகதையும் எழுதுகிறார். தமிழ் தலித் எழுத்தாளர்களில் குறிப்பிடத்தக்கவர். பின் வரும் உரை அவர் எழுதிய தலித் அழகியல் (காவ்யா, சென்னை, 2002 ) இரண்டாம் அத்தியாயத்தின் சில பகுதிகள். இந்த அத்தியாயம் முதல் மன ஓசையில் செப்டம்பர் 1990 ல் வெளியானது.

Vizhi. Pa. Idhayavendhan writes poetry and fiction. He is among the notable Tamil Dalit writers. Following are excerpts from the second chapter of Dalith Azhagiyal (Dalit Aesthetics), Kavya, Chennai, 2002. This chapter originally appeared in Mana Osai in September 1990.

சிறிது இடைவெளிக்குப் பின் மீண்டும் நான் பிறந்த வளர்ந்த என் மண்ணை மிதித்தேன். குடியும் குடித்தனமுமாய் நிறைந்து கிடந்தார்கள். நாங்கள் வாடகை இருந்த வீடுகள் எரிக்கப்பட்டு வீடின்றி இரண்டு கிலோமீட்டர் தள்ளி நான் ஒதுக்கப்பட்டிருந்தேன்.

After a small interval, I again set foot on the land where I was born and had grown up. My people were full of alcohol and domestic cares. I had become homeless and shifted two kilometres away when our rented homes burnt down.

பலர் பல இடங்களில் சென்றுவிட்டார்கள். சிலர் வீடு கட்ட வசதியின்றி ஓய்ந்து கிடந்தார்கள். அவர்கள் வேற்றாள் கட்டிய வீடுகளில் குடியிருந்தார்கள். விழுப்புரம்-சென்னை மெயின் ரோட்டை ஒட்டினாற்போல் இரயில்வே கேட் அருகே மிகவும் பள்ளமான பகுதி முன்பு ‘புறாகுட்டை’ என்று பெயர்; இடையில் ‘பாப்பான் குளம்’. இப்போது கலைஞர் கருணாநிதி தெரு வழக்கில் உள்ளது.

Many people have left for many places. Some have fallen into a torpor, without the means to build a house. They continue to live in houses that others have built. It is a low-lying area, near the railway gate next to the Villupuram-Chennai Main Road. It was earlier called Purakuttai, then Pappaan Kulam. Now the name Kalaignar Karunanidhi Street is in use.

வீடு எரிந்ததுதான் எல்லோரையும் திசை மாற்றியது. நான் பிறந்து வளர்ந்த மண்ணையும் என்னையும் சற்றே வித்தியாசம் காட்டியது. எனக்கு நான் போலியாக்கிக் கொள்ளாமல் என் சனங்களின் முகம் கண்ணில் அரும்பி நின்றது.

The burning down of the houses had turned everyone in different directions. It had created a divide between me and the the land that I had been born and brought up in. To ensure that I did not become fake, the faces of my people remained in my mind’s eye.

சாக்கடை, வாய்க்கால், குப்பைத் தொட்டிகளில் பொறுக்கி வந்த விறகுத்துண்டுகள்…கட்டைகள் கொழுந்துவிட்டு எரிந்தது பாக்கியம் வீட்டில். அலுமினியப் பாத்திரங்கள் உருகி இருப்பிடம் தெரியாமல் போயின. சுவர்கள் இடிந்து கவிழ்ந்தன. மூங்கில் தூணில் ஓட்டை போட்டு சேமித்து வைத்த சில்லறைகள் உருக்குலைந்தன. ஒவ்வொரு வீட்டிலும் உழைப்பை வாரிச் சென்றது அரசு மட்டுமல்ல; அக்கினியும் தான்.

Pieces of firewood scavenged from sewers, canals and rubbish dumps…they had caught fire in Bakkiyam’s house. The aluminium vessels melted and vanished without a trace. The walls crumbled and caved in. The coins saved inside a perforated bamboo pillar melted. In every house, it was not just the government that plundered their labour, it was also the fire.

நகராட்சியில் மலம் அள்ளுபவர்கள், அள்ளியதை வாரிக் கொண்டு போய் கொட்டிவருபவர்கள், சாக்கடை தள்ளுபவர்கள், சாக்கடைத் தொட்டி நீர் எடுப்பவர்கள், செப்டிக் டேங்க் சுத்தம் செய்பவர்கள், வீதி பெருக்குவோர், குப்பை அள்ளுவோர், இறந்து போன உடல்களைத் தூக்குவோர்…இப்படித்தான் இந்த ஏழைச் சனங்கள்.

People who cleared shit inside the corporation, those who took the cleared shit for disposal, those who cleared sewers, who took out the water from sewage tanks, who cleaned septic tanks, who swept the streets, who cleared garbage, who carried the bodies of the dead…such were these poor people.

கலாகலத்தில் செருப்பு தரப்படுவதில்லை. புடவை, துணிமணிகள் தரப்படுவதில்லை. சோப்பு தரப்படுவதில்லை. பக்கெட்டு தரப்படுவதில்லை. உரக்கக் கேட்டுவிட முடியாது. அடுத்த நாள் காரணமின்றி நிறுத்தப்படுவார்கள். நிறுத்தியதைப் போய்க் கும்பலைக் கேட்டால் போலீசில் பிடித்துக் கொடுப்பார்கள்.

Footwear was not distributed at the right time. Sarees, clothes were not given. Soap was not given. Buckets were not given. They could not ask too loudly for these. They could be stopped from work for no reason the next day. If they should go in a gang to question the dismissal, they will be handed over to the police.

….

இவர்கள் குடிக்கப் பிறக்கவில்லை. வாழ்க்கை அதற்கு அடிமையாக்கிவிட்டது. அடிப்படை வசதிகள் மறுக்கப்பட்டு கை காலுறைகூட இன்றி உழைப்பில் ஈடுபடும் நிலைதான் இன்றும். பலர் கற்பழிக்கப்பட்டதும், பலர் நிரந்தர விபச்சாரி யதார்த்தம். வறுமையின் நிரந்தர வாடிக்கையாளர்கள் என் சனங்கள்.

My people were not born to drink. Life has made them a slave to it. Working without basic facilities, working without protection for their hands or feet – the same conditions continue to prevail.  Many are raped, many are in prostitution. My people are permanent customers of poverty.

கந்துவட்டியின் சுமையால் சண்டையே வந்து கிணற்றில் விழுந்து தற்கொலை புரிந்தாள் ரெங்கம்மா. கடன் சுமையைத் தாங்காமல் நிரந்தர பணியையே விட்டு பெங்களூர் ஓடிப்போனான் சீனிவாசன். இந்த வாழ்கையை வெறுத்து, உறவுகளைத் துறந்து, நிரந்தர வேலையை விட்டு போளூர் ஓடிப்போய் கூலி வேலை செய்கிறான் பழனி. குஞ்சுகளை வட்டமிடும் பருந்து போல கந்துவட்டிகள்.

Disputes arose over usury and Rengamma committed suicide by jumping into a well. Seenivasan left a permanent job and ran away to Bangalore when the burden of debt overwhelmed him. Growing to hate this life, Palani abandoned a permanent post and his family to run away to Bolur to work as a daily wage labourer. The usurers circle them like vultures hovering over chickens.

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- மன ஓசை, செப் ’90 / From Mana Osai, September ’90