Changing the Unchangeable
(Published Anandalipi 2016, Pg.93)
By Sreya Sarkar
There he was--- the living legend of Indian sociology. He stood talking to a group of students at the top of the Sociology Department stairs. All I had to do is climb the stairs and talk to him, but something held me back. Earlier in the day during the new graduate student orientation, when I introduced myself to the Department, my eyes had rested on him briefly. I had expected at least a warm nod if not an acknowledging smile, but all I had got was a flinty stare from him. His face had looked blank, devoid of emotions and my jetlagged mind had found it cold and mildly disappointing.
Professor Rakesh Kumar was a name known to all Indian sociology students aspiring to do original research. His path breaking work had influenced a new wave of research marrying anthropology to cultural studies opening up new directions for future social scientists. His analysis of identity in Indian context was the most detailed till date. His tenure at Upenn was one of the top reasons for me to apply to the University. But now as my eyes took in his smart corduroy jacket with patch elbows, rimless glasses and neat slicked back hair, he seemed removed and unreal, more like a snazzy corporate guy with an MBA degree than the introverted nerdy sociologist I had imagined. My unshaven disheveledness made me feel shy and I dodged the idea of talking to him.
I was greatly surprised when he emailed me the very next day inviting me to a dinner treat. It was unusually cold in September even by Philadelphia standards, I was told. Summer had made a brief stop and was being given a hasty farewell by an overenthusiastic Fall, the American term for autumn I had learnt. Coming from India which predominantly has two seasons---sweltering summer and a mild winter, it was a revelation to feel the crisp separateness of four different seasons in Philadelphia. I walked to White Dog café from the rented apartment that I was sharing with two more Indian students. I wrapped the windcheater I had bought from Delhi’s Connaught Place tighter around my torso as the chilly evening breeze tussled my hair.
“Welcome to Upenn, Ravi”, said Prof. Kumar with a toothy smile as we shook hands at the fancy restaurant he had invited me to. “I was in the selection committee you know” he confided. “I liked your cover letter and your research proposal was detailed and impressive. Too bad you won’t be able to use it in Upenn.”
I raised my eyebrows without realizing. “Don’t get me wrong. JNU equips its students well. It’s a good proposal but not good enough for this University.”
“JNU has very high standards as well, Sir”, I said. “Yes, but…it is not the same”, he said lowering his voice. He looked at me for a few seconds silently as if trying to measure me up. “I saw in your cover letter that you are interested in understanding the relevance of ascriptive identity like caste and tribe in the formation of regional political parties in India. I thought it was more of a political science approach than a sociological query”
“Yes, it does have a strong political science tinge but I thought you are in support of fluidity among social sciences. Sociology and political science converge many a times, don’t you think?”
Prof. Kumar nodded his head and squinted his eyes in concentration.
“You can’t do caste and tribe together, it’s just too much to take on.”
“I know. So I might choose caste to focus on”
“It’s difficult to find data on caste. What you find mostly are anecdotes.”
“I don’t think so. Otherwise stalwarts like Andre Beteille, M.N. Srinivas, Rajni Kothari and later Dipankar Gupta could not have done their analyses.”
A stiff smile hovered on Prof. Kumar’s lips. He coughed uneasily. “The thing about caste is that, the more times change, the more everything remains the same.” I did not understand the statement and asked him to elucidate but he did not want to explain further. He deftly changed the topic after mentioning that I would have plenty of time to decide what I really wanted to do and so there was no reason to discuss it further at the moment.
He talked about the city of Philadelphia fondly. “Philly is steeped in history. You should visit the Liberty Bell and the Independence Hall. And yes…” he paused and smiled. “You have to run up the ‘Rocky’ stairs at the Art Museum here”. Rocky’s Gonna Fly Now theme music played in my mind. I remembered in a flash Stallone jogging through the rough underbelly of Philadelphia and bolting up the magnificent Museum stairs. I looked forward to visiting the Art Museum.
He spent the entire evening praising American culture, its ability to embrace everyone with an open heart. I tried to toss in a few questions about his research and findings about Indian diaspora settling in U.S. in the 1970s but he did not seem interested in continuing in that direction. He was content talking about his cultural discoveries in U.S. He talked elaborately about new cuisines and made me taste what he said was an expensive red wine. I wanted to keep an open mind and appreciate the wine but my tired messed up senses found it bitter and dry. After a while I found his attitude condescending and rather annoying. Without saying out aloud he exhumed a sense of disregard for all comments that were not delivered by his mouth.
Over the next few weeks as I came to know that Prof. Kumar had been assigned as my first year guide, I had to spend some more time with him. And each time I met him, I found him high handed and conceited. My friends back home in India would ask me excitedly about ‘the Rakesh Kumar’ students raved about and I did not have the heart to burst their bubble and tell them that he was an unbearable show-off as a person. Without really asking about my interest in his present research on labor migration he advised me to register for his course on South Asian migration to U.S. along with other core courses. I was not interested in the topic and had instead registered for his course offered to undergraduate students on Indian identity and politics. “Why are you taking that basic course? You know most of that stuff already!” But I had stuck to my decision and joined the course. As arrogant as I found him as a person outside the class, he was a delight to watch as a teacher inside the lecture hall. He was a magician casting spells on his students, mesmerizing them with his wit and knowledge. I had a great time interacting with him and the other students in his class.
Amidst getting acclimatized to the new assignment system and adjusting to my new apartment mates, I had hardly had a chance to follow up with Prof. Kumar apart from the usual communication about my grades. An exciting year had whizzed past. New course materials and readings had filled my mind with stimulating ideas and I felt hopeful about putting my spin on the topic that was close to my heart. All along I was convinced about what I wanted to do. Soon came the time when I was supposed to have a more serious discussion about my choice of dissertation topic with Prof. Kumar. I had had a few futile meetings with him about my intention to pursue caste and party politics. He would argue that there was nothing new left to be understood about caste in our country and I would passionately argue against it. He would keep telling me to do something else and I would insist that caste politics is where my interest lay.
Caste to me was an interesting phenomenon. In the present era I thought that it gave power to underdogs through the formation of regional parties. “Caste is not always evil. It empowers those who have never had the opportunity to feel in control” I told him.
“Caste is a regressive institution and nothing regressive can ever be used to bring about progress, to move forward”, he said nodding his head forcefully. “Try looking at the Indian diaspora who have come and settled here. They have their own share of problems too. Not all are affluent and well paid. Many live in dingy basement apartments and earn minimal wages” I was not interested in this group of people. “It’s a great topic but not my thing”, I said politely but firmly. It was frustrating to try convince him about what I really wanted to do.
After facing this insufferable stalemate for a couple of times I decided to ask him directly why he was trying to influence me so heavy handedly. “I understand that you don’t feel strongly about caste and its influence but that is what I want to study.”
Prof. Kumar narrowed his eyes and said slowly, “Fine. It is your decision. You can work on anything you like.”
I could have left it at that but my hot headedness got the better of me. “I don’t know where you are coming from. Perhaps you are not fully aware of the dimension of change India has gone through over the last two decades. People have started thinking differently, especially the younger generation. They are willing to see the two sides of the caste argument casting aside the orthodoxy and the rage. They are hungry to get an insight into the real caste issue and why it has such a stronghold on politics. So, if we researchers don’t give them unbiased analysis, who will?”
“I think it is not possible to analyze an element like caste”, said Prof. Kumar quietly with a kind of dejected expression in his eyes that I had never noticed before.
I pushed on. “It is because researchers have not looked into the subject accurately that it still seems a riddle and a source of superstition and division among Indians. Until and unless there is more research on it, Indians would not get over it.”
Prof. kumar’s expression changed from sullen to stormy rapidly. He started breathing hard and stood up slowly. “Pandit Nehru had said the same thing when India became free of British rule. That caste as an institute will wither and die but it did not. If anything it continued to thrive over the last five decades. What more is there to find out?”
“That was because enough research had not been done then. Now there are a variety of papers and analyses…” I defended my point.
“No one reads research papers. No one takes them seriously. If you think you will be able to change a nation’s attitude about something as entrenched as caste system by writing white papers, you are wrong! It is a futile effort”, he said clenching his fist. “You can do all you want to but, it would not be enough to change a country’s mindset. Don’t waste your youth chasing after an idealism no one cares about.”
I should have backed off but my tongue was beyond my control by now. “Is that what social reform movement is about? A few young people wasting their life for idealism? Since when have sociologists moved away from reality and become so cynical and closed? Universities have become hotbeds of discussion in our country now. Students have been asking difficult questions and they are not afraid that they will be labeled as anti-establishment or anti-nationalists…”
“All that is showmanship-ism. The youth need to rebel against something from time to time. I doubt they deeply believe in caste equality. How much do they know about the history of caste system in India?” Prof. Kumar’s lips pressed together in a thin grim line.
I tried to keep my cool. “Everyone knows about the history of caste and reservation in our country. But now the angle has changed. There was a time when the anti-reservation movement had engulfed the country but now caste has emerged as a powerful source of self-identification. It has proved to be a useful tool of political mobilization in India’s electoral democracy. Now actually there is a race to join the Schedule Caste and Scheduled Tribe bandwagon. Gurjars in Rajasthan wanted inclusion in ST list. The Patel community in Gujarat claimed that they were ‘backward’ and should come under the reservation umbrella. And most recently the Jats in Haryana agitated and made sure they were put under ‘reservation’”, I said calmly, patting myself secretly for knowing the history and following the recent developments.
“And where does all that take us? Back to square one, I guess. Reservation has lost its relevance and become completely watered down now”, he said dryly.
My argumentative side took over. “You hardly went back and lived in India in the last twenty-five years, right? The last time you went to India was five years ago, you told me. Perhaps you have lost touch with the ground reality there. I know you are brilliant and well-read and have a big fan following but you still don’t understand that the new generation researchers in India have every intention of cracking the caste code. It is not like what India was when you left it twenty-five years ago”
“You can theorize as much as you want but caste is still going to remain a dangerous weapon and trying to use it in anyway will only cause harm”, he said coming toward me and looking into my eyes with an unspoken plea. I was a good three inches taller than his average five-eight yet he looked indomitable and dangerous as a menacing look creeped into his eyes.
He looked feral, almost threatening, like he could do anything to me. Beads of perspiration oozed out of his forehead. A storm seemed to wreck his insides, like there was an implosion that he was trying to contain by keeping his mouth shut. I took a step back understanding that the conversation was taking on a more personal edge. His bias against caste study was not just an academic opinion anymore.
In a tremulous voice Prof. Kumar continued, “Caste is fundamental to India. It’s like pigmentation that decides our skin color, it is like the strands of DNA molecules that cling around each other forming our genes. People in India are not capable of thinking of caste in an objective fashion. They are just too close to it--too entangled in it.” He tapped his toe impatiently and wiggled his pointer with much vigor. “What is captured in research is all a lie. Do you want to know the reality, Ravi? Do you have the courage to face the reality? Then come with me!” he tugged at my hand and led me to the Department bathroom. “I can’t close the door to my room in the Department. It’s against the policy but, I want to show you something.” He yanked open his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. I stared at him speechless. He opened his shirt and showed me his naked upper body. Angry red scars wove a ghastly pattern on his chest and stomach. I gulped down my dismay trying not to look too shocked. The moment passed and he put his shirt back on, much to my relief. His wild recklessness was sheathed in civility once more as we walked back to his room.
I could not talk for a long time. And then the obvious question rolled off my tongue. “What happened?”
“I was in Delhi University in 1989. I lived in a hostel surrounded by bright and good-humored students. We had such good camaraderie. No one asked anyone about each other’s family background. We were all the same. Till the day we all became each other’s enemy. Janata Dal decided to implement the Mandal Commission recommendations and what followed was pure mayhem. And do you know who participated in it widely? The intellectuals---the students, professionals, lawyers and of course the press. Everyone watched in horror as the city of Delhi exploded in violent anti-Mandal demonstrations.”
“My hostel became divided between lower and higher castes. All the Yadavs and Chauhans and Mondols were pushed together and treated like untouchables. There was some doubt about my lineage and it took the hostel folks a while to find out that I belonged to the scheduled caste category as well. And when they did I became isolated like the others. My roomie, my good friend Raghav, stopped talking to me. He became obsessed with the protest. He felt strongly about being a member of the upper caste Brahmin and joined a group that indulged and encouraged the sentiment of hatred and destruction. I tried to reach out to him but he shut himself down. Somehow I got to know what he was planning to do that day.”
Prof. Kumar paused. His eyes had a far-away look. I stood still but my heart pounded away galloping like a hundred horses together, waiting for the rest of the story.
“He made an expensive STD call to his parents in Lucknow that morning and then came back to the room and prayed in front of the small shrine he had set up on his side of the room for a long time. When I saw tears rolling down his eyes, I asked him why he was crying. I thought he would not reply but he surprised me and said How can one fight something fundamentally wrong? His bloodshot eyes looked terrifying. I asked him to sit with me for a while. I told him that there was a lot of madness around us. That he should calm down and think rationally but he was in a different head space. He heard nothing I told him. Like an automaton he walked out of the room mumbling like a mad man who had lost his head.”
“I remember hearing his screams as he set fire to his own self in front of our hostel. I ran out with a blanket and tried to douse the fire. The flames caught my shirt and the next thing I remember was someone trying to put out the flame with buckets of water. A scorching pain wrapped my chest and I fainted.”
“Raghav did not survive. The press took up his self-immolation case and slammed the then Prime Minister V.P. Singh’s decision to move forward with the plan to increase reservation for the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes.”
“My life in the hostel became hell-like. A group of upper caste students started harassing me. They mocked me. We should not have saved you. You should have burned with Raghav they kept telling me. I kept seeing Raghav everywhere and somehow felt responsible for his death. It had become impossible for me to stay back in Delhi. I went back to Lucknow, my home town. I had never felt this threatened in my life. I…I witnessed how caste can make all forget their education and humanity and make them act worse than animals. Caste like religion is an opiate. It possesses people like the devil and brings out their ugliest sides.”
“Fortunately, my UChicago application came through and I set off for U.S. after a few months. It is in this country that I could breathe freely again. This country gave me the anonymity I ached for. My merit, my hard work, my intelligence---these are the things that mattered here. That is what should matter anywhere in the World. But it does not matter what I think or say. So pardon me if I cannot fantasize about the good effects of caste system because…because I think there are none!”
He looked tired, as if he had run a marathon. “You see—reservation is no silver bullet to the problem of the poor and backward not having access to opportunity. It is necessary perhaps but never sufficient on its own. The economy had to grow for creating accommodation for all castes. More universities had to be opened. More jobs had to be created to cater to the huge Indian population. That did not happen simultaneously so, ultimately it boiled down to a demand and supply question. When there is more demand than supply, there is a scramble for the available spots---whether in universities or in employment. Reservation became a token right just like the right to vote”
“All the fuss and hatred attached to the term ‘reservation’ originates in the fact that it is treated like a generous handout to the ‘undeserving’ and ‘incapable’ which is so not the case in India. The truth is that the reserved seats are never filled and a big chunk of them lapse back to general or upper caste. The way ‘reservation’ is designed in India is too linear, too blunt and incapable of addressing the multiple nuanced form of discrimination practiced in India. No one tries to understand the rationale behind reservation and all end up taking a for or against stand emotionally, without understanding the implication”
My throat felt dry and scratchy. I asked as quietly as I could, “Could I get something to drink for you? I…I need some coffee.” I wish I could tell him sorry for jumping to a hasty judgment about him but I could not bring myself to say the words. They felt too hollow at this point of time.
Prof. Kumar turned his eyes towards me. Gradually but indisputably a smile-- a warm and sunny smile--- slipped out of his mouth. “Sit, I will make us some coffee right here” He started up his Keurig and in a few minutes we were sipping delicious Colombian coffee. The black clouds had cleared and we ended up talking for hours.
As I was getting ready to leave he said, “You know what…you are right. Just because my experience made me think that it’s no use analyzing caste anymore does not mean that there is really no need to look at it. I think you should stick to your decision to pursue research in whatever you like, irrespective of what I tell you”.
