[These are exciting
stories, even revolutionary in a country where, for centuries, the social order
was considered immutable. Traditionally, Indian society was divided into four
main castes. At the top, Brahmins, as priests and teachers; second came the
Kshatriyas, the warriors and rulers; third, Vaishyas, who were merchants; last,
Shudras, the laborers. And below them all, the Dalits, or untouchables, called
Harijans, or “children of God,” by Mahatma Gandhi (for indeed, who isn’t?).]
By Lavanya Sankaran
 |
Raghu Rai/Magnum Photos
Boys in the Dharavi slum next to Mumbai’s international airport.
|
BANGALORE, India — CASTE is not a word that modernizing India likes to use. It has
receded to the unfashionable background. Newspapers reserve their headlines for
the newer metrics of social hierarchy: wealth and politics, and those powerful
influencers of popular culture, actors and cricket stars.
There are two stories we
tell ourselves in urban India. One is about how education transforms lives. It
is the golden key to the future, allowing people to rise above the
circumstances of their birth and background. And sometimes, it does. In my own
neighborhood, a few sons and daughters of cooks and gardeners are earning their
engineering and business degrees, and sweeping their families into the middle
class. Not many, certainly. But enough that this is a valid hope, a valid
dream.
The other story is about
how the last two decades of economic growth have fundamentally changed the
country, creating jobs and income and nurturing aspiration where earlier there
was none. New money and an increasingly powerful middle class are supposedly
displacing the old social hierarchies.
These are exciting
stories, even revolutionary in a country where, for centuries, the social order
was considered immutable. Traditionally, Indian society was divided into four
main castes. At the top, Brahmins, as priests and teachers; second came the
Kshatriyas, the warriors and rulers; third, Vaishyas, who were merchants; last,
Shudras, the laborers. And below them all, the Dalits, or untouchables, called
Harijans, or “children of God,” by Mahatma Gandhi (for indeed, who isn’t?).
The castes were
ostensibly professional divisions but were locked firmly into place by birth
and a rigid structure of social rules that governed interaction between and
within them.
That, famously, was
then. Discrimination based on caste has been illegal in India for more than six
decades. In today’s urban India, this land of possibility, separated from rural
India by cultural and economic chasms, it seems reactionary even to speak of
caste. Certainly it shouldn’t — and usually doesn’t — come up at work or at
play or in the apartment elevator.
If it features in urban
conversations at all, it is defanged, reduced to cultural stereotypes and
amusing-if-annoying tropes that never bother with political correctness.
Gujarati Baniyas of the Vaishya caste have a keen eye on finance. Tamil
Brahmins do math and classical music. Nobody parties or fights harder than a
Punjabi Khatri (of the Kshatriyas). It’s the equivalent, in America, of
expecting the Asian kid to have good grades, the black man to be the best
dancer and the Jewish guy to be well-read and have some slight mother issues.
As India transforms, one
might expect caste to dissolve and disappear, but that is not happening.
Instead, caste is making its presence felt in ways similar to race in modern
America: less important now in jobs and education, but vibrantly alive when it
comes to two significant societal markers — marriage and politics.
No surprise on that
first one. Inter-caste marriages in India are on the rise but still tend to be
the province of the liberal few. For much of the country, with its penchant for
arranged marriages and close family ties, caste is still a primary determinant
in choosing a spouse.
Politics is where caste
has gotten a surprising new lease on life. After money and education, democracy
is, of course, the third powerful force transforming Indian society. But
Indians, it turns out, are passionate about the caste of their politicians.
Nearly half of the voting population of even a highly educated city like
Bangalore considers caste to be the
No. 1 reason to vote for a candidate.
Democracy gives power to
people who previously had none. But, like race, caste can shift political
discussions from present-day merit to payback for historical injustices.
Six decades of
democratic statehood have attempted to correct the imbalances of the past
through “reservation” — job and
education quotas for the so-called backward castes, like the
Dalits. This program has been effective, in a fairly hit-or-miss fashion. Some
say that nearly all university seats are reserved for lower castes, effectively
blocking Brahmins from higher education. Others point out that the vast
majority of high paying jobs are still in the hands of the top three castes.
This, then, is the
problem of discussing caste in India: the profound lack of information and
contradictory data on the subject. Succeeding governments for years shied away
from gathering caste-based data, preferring, with obscure political wisdom, to
enact their policies in the dark. This changed in 2011, with the first Indian
census to visit the subject in eight decades.
The ostensible reason
for the caste census was to see where we were economically. But let’s have no
doubt, the impact will be political.
Indian political parties
have played caste politics for years. The powerful Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam
party and its derivatives have thrived on an anti-Brahmin platform in Tamil
Nadu. The compelling rise of Mayawati, a Dalit woman who goes by one name, to
chief minister of Uttar Pradesh was built on the support of her caste. But,
once in office, her reputation as one of the world’s most influential female
politicians was marred by corruption and mismanagement in her administration. Last
year, her party lost control of Uttar Pradesh’s legislative assembly, and Ms.
Mayawati resigned her position. Now, in an intriguing twist, she hopes to
regain power by wooing not just Dalits but also Brahmins, arguing that the
latter are newly marginalized.
The census results will
give strategists their best tools for precisely targeting voters and tailoring
campaign messages to caste concerns and fears. Caste will probably grow as a
voter focal point, at the expense of administrative competency in economics,
education, foreign policy, women’s rights, the environment and every other
vital matter of governance that concerns a growing India.
So that is the
fascinating conundrum of Indian society: on one hand, caste is losing its
virility as India opens up opportunities and mind-sets, while on the other, the
forces of democratic politics ensure that it will thrive and never be forgotten
as a crucial social index.
Lavanya Sankaran is the author of the novel “The Hope
Factory.”
