Since I have been writing about Hinduism, I have been inundated with comments asking about the caste system — some people have been curious, others have just about fallen short of demanding my blood.

I am, pardon the refrain, no expert on religion, but I thought I would put down some of my thoughts on the caste system, and how it has affected my life.

It may surprise some to learn that I actually don't remember hearing any open caste-ist statement until I was in my early twenties. I was visiting a distant, elderly relative, and we were chatting comfortably about this and that, when he leaned forward and said: "You know, the dean of students at Anna University [in Chennai] doesn't wear a poonal?" He was referring to the sacred thread worn across the body by Brahmins, the highest denomination in the Hindu caste system.

At first, I was a bit befuddled by the gentleman's apparent interest in what the dean of students at the engineering institute chose to wear under his shirt (I almost said, maybe he finds it itchy?) but I realised soon enough that he was saying that the said official was a non-Brahmin, and he clearly disapproved.

I was quite taken aback by his comment, and I was telling a distant aunt of mine that I was surprised at this caste-prejudice, and she responded: "Oh, Iyengars are all like that," referring in turn to my relative's denomination. I don't think she saw the irony. Generally speaking, this is how the caste system works in practice in urban India. On the surface, it does not necessarily seem to exist, but it always lurks beneath the skin.

You can spend your whole life being unaware, until it's time to get married, when it suddenly assumes importance. The more conservative families would just lay down the law in this respect, and the more liberal ones would say something along the lines of, "I don't mind any caste, but I think you would have a better married life if you chose someone of a similar cultural background."

In terms of education, the government-imposed quota system for lower castes means it is quite hard for higher castes to get a university seat, and in terms of employment, many companies are suspiciously full of people from a particular caste or denomination.

Division of labour

From what I gather, the caste system originated in the concept of division of labour — people were divided into priests, warriors, merchants and the serving class. But this simplified division does no justice to the complexity and the hundreds of subdivisions within those. I am a Brahmin myself, and we are subdivided into Iyers, worshippers of Shiva, and Iyengars, worshippers of Vishnu. Within other castes, there are hundreds of subdivisions, and the protagonist of Mulk Raj Anand's pioneering novel The Untouchable, refers to the lowest of the low in the caste of Dalits, the toilet cleaners.

The sad thing about caste in India is that it transfers across religions. One of my professors once told us a story. The rector of the institution had organised a trip for students to the villages in order for the kids to "observe the caste system". This professor immediately asked the rector, "Why not just ask them to observe the church congregation this evening, Father?"

And even amongst the most liberal families, it does play an important part in your upbringing if nothing else. Many Indians I meet in the UK, for example, are Brahmins like myself; they are often well educated, either making good money as engineers or pots of money as bankers and lawyers. Hence the general perception that Indians are vegetarians: it is actually only members of my caste, originally priests, that are supposed to be vegetarian.

But in discussing my own experience of caste, I am leaving out a vast majority. More than 60 per cent of India's population is in rural areas, where the caste system is much stronger. I once visited a farm owned by my school, which had appointed a Harijan to take care of the property. There was much consternation in the village because a Harijan had been allowed to set foot inside a farmhouse. Petty acts of retribution followed, such as the stealing of the water pump that irrigated the fields. It can get much, much worse.

In fact, the more I read about it, the more depressing it gets. But there are positives.

Unlike some other countries where violation of human rights is part of the constitution, there is official recognition in India of the need for change. We can argue the merits and demerits of positive discrimination, but the fact is that 69 per cent of university seats are allocated for disadvantaged castes.

When will we see a caste-free society? Probably never. But can it possibly change for the better?

It is changing already. India is a country in flux. Two years ago, I could never have imagined that the ludicrous law banning homosexuality would ever be lifted, and yet that process has started.

What the country will look like a decade on is anybody's guess.

— Guardian News & Media Ltd

 

Abhinav Ramnarayan is a freelance journalist