Will caste ever die?
I had a class on democracy in South Asia with Sumit Ganguly, Rabindranath Tagore Chair Professor, Indiana University. And I must say that he gave me enough material for not one, but many posts. He spoke about democracy in India, its successes, its failures, the caste system, and the utter neglect of primary education, among other things. But, before all that, I would like to say that I was simply astounded when I discovered that I knew all the people he mentioned as acquaintances in Chennai. Well, it’s a small world. We are about a billion people, and growing everyday, but we seem to know everyone else. So, that said, on to what I really want to say.
First, about Indian democracy. It is alive, vibrant and fully functional. It may have its problems and setbacks, it may fail in many ways, but it still survives. In that I agree with Ganguly. I have nothing more to add. However, I do have something about to add to the comments that he made about the caste system. Let me warn you, I am going to launch a frontal attack on the caste system and all that it represents. I know I will probably draw criticism because just a few days ago I raved and ranted about how people passed value judgements without understanding the system. But hey! I am an insider. I can say what I want to and I have grown up in it. I face criticism everyday because I have unconventional views on the subject.
Without further ado, let me say that the caste system is simply untenable in the modern world. Ganguly pointed out that one’s caste doesn’t matter in any field except one. And that one field untouched by modernisation is marriage. I could not agree more. I was always told that it is bad to discriminate against someone because of caste or religion. I was told that religion was merely a way of self-realisation. I believed in something, but that did not necessarily mean that everyone else had to. The Muslim way of self-realisation was just as good as the Christian way, which in turn was just as good as mine. But, imagine my surprise, or worse still, my utter disillusion, when the same people told me I could never marry Anand because he was of a different caste. Where did notions of equality go? Is equality merely in words and not in action? Why is it that we have broken the atom, but refuse to break our prejudices? (Thanks to Tamanna for that line. It was very appropriate in this context.) Will caste ever die? Well-educated, upper-class Indians who are egalitarian in every other way suddenly become convinced that endogamy is the best thing in the world when it comes to their daughter’s marriage. Why can’t we, as Indians, break out of our shells and learn to accept people for who they are without asking irrelevant questions of caste and race?
The second aspect of this question is that of gender inequality. It is somehow always accepted that the prodigal son in the US bring home an American wife. But, let the post-doc, 20-something daughter mention that she has an American friend she rather likes and the parents immediately persuade her to come home so that she can get married to a “suitable boy” (Vikram Seth got it right.) she has never met. Even young Indian men are no better in their attitude. It is all very nice when they date a dozen sexy American women, but mention marriage and they want the traditional Indian girl who is “homely, caring, slim, fair and pretty”. Not to mention that this “homely”, whatever that means, Indian girl should be a perfect daughter-in-law, a loving and loyal wife, a doting aunt and a caring mother of the three kids she will have in 4 years. What the hell? Are we living in the 17th century? While I have nothing against kids or parents-in-law, no woman can be everything a standard matrimonial ad asks for. It is impossible.
But well, whoever said life was fair? Whatever we do, we must get our hearts and minds out of the 17th century. There is no point in talking about equality if it doesn’t exist in the everyday lives of people. Equality before the law or equal voting rights does not give you happiness. Wholesome and happy relationships with other human beings do.
Get it right! Indian is a nationality…
A couple of days ago, I came across a facebook group telling people to get an atlas if they can’t recognise country names. And, I remembered my first experiences in France. The first time I told someone outside of Sciences Po that I was from India was at the residence where I live. This guy insisted on starting a conversation with me when I was doing my laundry. Wanting to be polite, I replied to his question on my nationality by saying I was Indian. And voila! He says, “Ah! Tu es indienne? Donc, tu parles indien?” To translate, asked me if I spoke Indian. It made me want to turn around and tell him to be a little more precise. Which one of the 21 official languages and more than 500 (I may be wrong here) unofficial ones is Indian? I refrained from unleashing my sarcasm on the unsuspecting character and decided to be polite. I explained that there were more languages in India than in the whole of Europe put together. Which one did he mean? To that he replies, with a tone of great sincerety, “But, all of them must be comprehensible to everyone right?”
Uh oh…problem here. Tell me, is French comprehensible to someone who speaks only Romanian? Or English to someone who speaks Norwegian exclusively? Then how the hell does he expect a native Bengali to understand Tamil? I dismissed the incident as a freak accident of fate. But no, I had overestimated the intelligence of some people in this place. Since then, I have met people who have asked me the same dumb questions. “Is there internet in India? Do you speak English? Do you have electricity?” Haven’t they heard of India ever? Haven’t they followed the furore that outsourcing created? Have they not ever heard of Amartya Sen? Do you have any idea how many Indians work at Microsoft? Do they even know that when they call Dell to troubleshoot your computer, they are probably talking to an Indian named Maragathavalli with the nickame Maggie, or one named Sambasivam a.k.a Sam?
For the last time guys, I am not from the tip of the world. I come from a country that is one of the fastest growing economies in the world. It is many times bigger than France or Germany and is home to one-sixth of humanity. And also for the last time, a language called Indian does not exist. It is Hindi, Tamil, Kannada, Bengali, Gujarati or even Tulu, but not Indian. Get it right! Indian is a nationality, not a language!
Of caste and democracy…
Yesterday, I was waiting in a long queue in the cafeteria of Sciences Po, when I ran into a friend who was before me in the queue. After a minute or two of small talk and Sciences Po bashing, as is normal with all students of the dratted college, I happened to mention that I have a dissertation on Tamil nationalism in Sri Lanka to complete. She looked at me, rather strangely might I add, and then asked me why I did not consider doing my dissertation on the caste system and democracy in India. I replied, in no uncertain terms, that I was not interested in the topic, adding that the much-maligned system of castes cannot be studied by one who has grown up in it. At that comment, she told me that it would be an interesting thing to write about how castes can be abolished.
Now, let me make it clear that while I am no avid supporter of the caste system in India, I do not believe it can be abolished. It exists and will continue to exist for the next 500 years. Nobody wants to get rid of it, not even the “oppressed castes” themselves. There is an increasing affirmation of one’s caste identity within the framework of Indian democracy. And, I made the mistake of actually telling Miss. Know-it-all this in the belief that she would drop the topic and concentrate on getting her low-calorie sandwich and “yaourt nature” from the counter. But no, she was not to be outdone. In an irritatingly smug voice she declared, “Mais…tu sais que le sytème des castes va à l’encontre de la démocratie en Inde. Tu te rends compte que c’est l’oppression!!”
For those poor souls who know little or no French, she was basically trying to convince me that the system was against the concept of democracy and that it was oppression of the lower castes! Hello!! But who exactly is someone from an ex-Soviet republic that has no idea of freedom, and much less of democracy, to hector me on what it means to be democratic? It was, at best, frustrating. In fact, all I felt was a sense of outrage at being told that India was not democratic. At that moment, I felt like tearing her argument apart by pointing out that her country did not even remotely resemble a democracy and that people in glass houses must not throw stones.
Aargh!! Honestly, some people believe they have exclusive sovereignty over concepts like freedom, democracy and liberty. A cursory glance at the Freedom House index of liberty in the world will reveal that India is one of the few developing countries in the world that is completely free. Also note that most countries of the ex-Soviet Union are considered not free. Need I say more? I admit that India is not the best country in the world when it concerns corruption, human development and primary education. But, to say that India is not democratic infuriates me like no other comment can. I may be wrong in saying this, but ask the man on the street in India if caste must be abolished. He/she will say no. Caste, like a family name is an identity. It is a symbol of belonging to a particular group. So much so that many people are beginning to adopt their caste names as surnames in South India. Who is a western-educated Kyrgyz student of International Relations to hector the people of India to get rid of that one symbol that gives them security? It is true that the “oppressed” castes must be given basic rights. But, to say that the system must be abolished is both unrealistic and patronising.
Let me make one thing clear. Ridding India of the problem of caste is not, as Kipling would have claimed, the white man’s burden. It is not even the black, brown or yellow man’s burden. The people of India will get rid of it when they feel that it has lost its utility and relevance in the modern world. Until then, the world would do well to step aside and let us rule ourselves the way we think fit. We elect our leaders in free and fair elections every 5 years, sometimes even more frequently. We are capable of deciding who should rule us and what the rulers should do. Like all other democracies, we have our failings. We elect people who are not worth it. We make mistakes and so find that politics is increasingly corrupt and criminalised. But, let us deal with it in our own way. Through democracy. It has served us well over the last 60 years. And I believe it will continue to do so for many decades to come. Until then, western-educated know-it-all snobs would do well to refrain from commenting on things they neither know nor understand.
Three weeks… and then?
Here I am, this beautiful evening of May, alternating between freaking out over term papers to finish and stressing over the rest of my life. After a solid seven years of university education, I am finally finishing in three weeks’ time. I feel a sense of elation and accomplishment at having come so far. When I stepped into WCC in June 2000, I was a timid and entirely unsure 17-year old. Over the next three years, I made friends, learnt my way around college, had my share of disappointments and failures, drove our beloved head of department up the wall with every rule broken, and above all, learnt the importance of humility. And, I said I learnt the importance of humility, not that I learnt to be humble. I am still struggling with that one. Then came my days at the University of Madras, as a post-graduate student of French literature. I learnt more than just French. I learnt to walk on eggshells around fragile egos, and to juggle work with school. At the end of it, I was happy to leave. I will not pretend to feel sorry about it. It seems like yesterday I landed in Paris, armed only with my knowledge of French and 200 euros in cash. Yes, you read that right. 200 euros. Every minute until I finally got into the Egide office here was an adventure. There, I got my scholarship money and my accommodation. It was scary.
Suddenly, I find myself nearing the end of my stay in Paris. I still have trouble believing that in three weeks, I will no longer be a student. That I step out of student life forever and into the world of work. It is both exhilarating and terrifying; exhilarating because it is a new way of life and a new world, and terrifying because I have never been anything other than a student in my life, even when I was a teacher at the Alliance Française. It is extremely difficult to imagine myself in a position of responsibility. And, as I said before, it is positively terrifying. At this point, half drowning in the interminable exposes and term papers, I find that I am on the threshold. I am at the threshold of a different life. And this is a life I will be living for the next 40 years. All this makes me wonder if I should have taken the plunge into the world of work at age 20 when I was young, naïve and idealistic. Four years later, I am more pragmatic, and as a result, more pessimistic. I retain none of the post-teen idealism of the perfect job. And that is not very reassuring. At this point in my life, I simply wait. I wait because I don’t know what else I can do. And I hope everything will turn out fine.
Some clarifications…and a bit more
Now…let me start with the clarifications. Someone, who calls himself “Tamizh Lover” left a comment on my post on music yesterday. Thanks for the vote of confidence, if you are reading this sir. But, I would like to clarify that I do read, write and speak Tamil as well as someone who has learnt it in school does. There is no question of learning it now. I did live in Chennai for all but 18 months of my life. It’s a little difficult to not learn Tamil in all this time.
Ok…now on to the next. A friend of mine posted a really nice article on her profile in Facebook. I am pasting it here because having to read it will mean having to sign up on Facebook and adding Julie as friend. In short, it’s easier this way.
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Where crossing the streets is concerned, I could by now fall within the category that could be understood as semi-Parisian. Depending mostly on my mood, I either join a crowd of scurrying locals and pray that I will not end up a cripple, or wait good-naturedly on the curb with the other Germans (what? did I say Germans? I meant to say foreigners, of course) and take pride in the fact that I am contributing to saving the world from a spiteful, anarchic end. So far, all this is well. That is, all this WAS well, until a recent event, which fell upon me near the Boulevard Saint Germain, left me very much perplexed. I was walking down the street and I came to a crossing. And the red man was signaling a halt. And a steady flow of Parisians was nonetheless boldly advancing forward despite a rapidly approaching white mini-van. (Don’t panic, this is not the account of a horrible car accident full of blood and guts that will make you never want to jaywalk again – actually, whether you will or not, it may have quite the contrary effect.) Now then, since I was in a law-abiding mood that particular day, I quite naturally stopped on the curb, intending to delay my crossing until the appropriate colour signal rendered it feasible. In the meantime, the white mini-van definitely approached the crossing and, the flow of jaywalkers having not declined, had to stop to let them pass, despite the persistence of red at the other end of the zebra. And then, to my great astonishment, the hairy, greasy driver of the vehicle in question leaned out of the window and shouted at ME, angrily gesturing with his chubby arm:
“Bouge, la vache! Vas-y!”
I was so stunned I actually complied with the crude request, making an effort to cross quickly and glancing up at the lights on the way to confirm that they were still red. Sure as the the Sun, I am not colour-blind… but then again, Paris is a world of its own colours… Who knows, maybe one day some Parisian will force me ahead in a cue! Hoping is believing… “
What can I say about this? It is perfect. I mean…I can relate to it perfectly well. And that is saying something because I come from India where the only freaking way you can get to the other side of the road is by jaywalking. I landed in Paris, and was so thrilled that pedestrian crossings actually existed, that I started being a law-abiding resident. All this, only to discover a few days later that you cannot be Parisian if you wait patiently for the light to turn green. I still do, because it is so much easier to cross a road when you are supposed to. But, I do elicit strange, uncomprehending looks from passers-by, who almost expect you to stop them and ask them for directions in Chinese…ok, not Chinese, maybe Indian English. Sigh! What can I say? Paris is a crazy city, and Parisians…are impatient. So, Julie, I concur!