Divided we stay

The Right to Equality was enshrined in the Constitution in 1950. Yet, 64 years later, a survey by the National Council of Applied Economic Research (NCAER) found that one in four Indians across all religious groups admitted to practising untouchability.

Noted Dalit writer and activist Urmila Pawar’s book Aaydan — The Weave of My Life only confirms this. It superimposes the concerns of an urban Indian woman with the discrimination — subtle and overt — that an educated Dalit experiences in everyday life.

Born into a poor, rural family in Ratnagiri, where her mother wove baskets to supplement their income, Pawar uses the basket ( aaydan in Marathi) as a metaphor for the weave of her life. Unlike the village’s upper-caste families that enjoyed lavish spreads, the Dalits survived on a bare diet of greens, fish stock and chillies. Their lifestyle and thrift made them the butt of jokes, but their caste was a bigger humiliation. She recalls how upper-caste girls in school would not allow her to touch the food they cooked at get-togethers, although everyone ultimately ate in a group.

Her family had Muslim tenants, whose relative loudly reprimanded them “for not having found a better place to stay than a Mahar’s house.” Equally indelible was the insensitivity of teachers who rebuked her for her dirty, old clothes while handing over her scholarship; but far worse encounters awaited her when she moved to a town after marrying.

In the town where her husband worked, the house-owner’s daughter was friendly, and often borrowed her saris. Once, when borrowing a brocade sari, the girl got to know of Pawar’s caste — thanks to the white wedding sari typical of her community. “She left without a word; the brocade sari was returned after a long time, soiled and dirty.” The visits stopped and the couple soon had to move to a house owned by a woman municipal councillor. But the attitude was no different. They could change homes, but certainly not the attitude towards them.

Years later, in a city apartment block, a neighbour rained insults on her daughter after discovering her caste. The worst was when Pawar realised what caste-based promotions would mean. Armed with a postgraduate degree and holding a government job, her promotion as branch manager bred resentment amongst her colleagues, irrespective of the fact that she had put in more than ten years of service. The resentment was more pronounced when she earned fame as a writer. Even likeminded writers did not desist from making disparaging comments about her ‘culture’.

Even her husband, Harishchandra, who initially encouraged her to study and complete her graduation, eventually resented her decision to enrol for a postgraduate degree. Perhaps the yoke of patriarchy worked against his better self.

Pawar recounts the many tragedies in her life — from losing her son to a railway accident to her husband’s death from cancer — but her story is devoid of rancour. She appears bewildered, rather than bitter, at a world where caste matters more than merit. The book ends with a hint of positivity as Pawar’s daughter marries a young man who attaches no importance to caste.

In India we might have Dalit chief ministers, but tragedies such as the Khairlanji massacre rear their head continually. This book helps us understand the psyche of discrimination and resentment practised by upper-caste Indians for centuries.

( Dr Rina Mukherji is a Kolkata-based journalist, who specialises in sustainable development and gender issues)

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