To keep quiet or Implode?

It was in class three that I found that my people, my identity is that of untouchables. I have not even read Shakespeare or Flaubert, nor have I read Premchand or Mahashweta Devi but I was made aware of my own existence in such a brutal manner.

I don’t know how others might react to this awareness, but for me it was always uncomfortable. I was a student in a Jesuit school where I never had to face my identity head on. I had enough resources as compared to the rest of my people and was equally motivated to study hard by my teachers but deep down the very fact that I carry such an identity even though I might not have to face the physical brunt in a very obscene manner as do so many of untouchables in India even today.

The question in front of me was whether to speak and make my surroundings uncomfortable or keep my discomfort within me and just study and perform well and keep the burden of my identity aside. All throughout my school life, I chose to keep my discomfort within me.

Something very interesting happened with me while I was in my class tenth, I came across Narendra Jadhav’s acclaimed autobiography and at that time it was translated into English as ‘Untouchable: My family’s triumphant escape out of the Caste system. Soon I found myself deep within the realms of Dalit Autobiographies. I still remember reading Bama Faustina’s Karukku, in which she described her struggle in a caste society in the state of Tamilnadu.

No sooner than that I have put my hands on Sheoraj Singh Bechain’s “Mera Bachpan Mere Kandhon par” and Om Prakash Valmiki’s jhoothan. It was as if I was obsessed with reading it all that I used to scourge internet for every little snippet I could find if I was not able to buy the hard copy.

Be it Nangeli, or Phoolan or be it I was reading about Everything I could get my hands off and I was still keeping my discomforts within me, waiting to Implode.

I had a very bright career infront of me as I was about to study engineering at Delhi Technological University but somehow I was made to feel I didn’t deserve despite my competencies. This was a moment of implosion and deep unrest and I chose to delve deep into what piqued me and I chose to study sociology at St Xavier’s College Mumbai.

There I found a voice, I used to speak a lot and fight a lot. When it comes to questioning caste you can’t speak without fighting. But a question always lingered infront of me what if I speak too much, will I be failed, my career jeopardized? But I was reckless back then, and only used to speak my mind as if I was trying to throw away my inner discomforts back towards the world that made me uncomfortable for my identity in the first place.

My personal callous attitude led me to flunk in Sociology: An Introduction Course paper thrice as I used to feel what is even the point of writing answers if nobody is even listening and I am just shouting.

At that time Rohith Vemula died by suicide and I wrote an article for round table India, which helped me in cathartically releasing my pain.

Academic writing has always made me feel pointless. I have always felt that if you can’t bleed within while writing, it’s of no use.

All my writings are angst and frustrations directed against a world of disgusting incingrueties of life. One of my teachers, a graduate from CHS JNU said my writings lack scholarship and reek of sensationalism.

Should I have spoken or kept quite? Should I have written scholarly or expressed my angst?

The point I am trying to make here is no wonder however hard our people try to be scholarly, their immanent lived realities will always collide which will give a pass to upper caste scholars to shun them as senstationalists.

Do you see how even in academic world, we are not allowed to be judged on our scholarship but are made prisoner’s of our own identities whereas Upper Caste Scholars never have to deal with this ignominy. Why would they? They are objective, carry scholarship, don’t reek sensationalism, are beyong their identities and true scholars.

The burden of identity is an artefact for the upper castes but iron shackles for us