Tag: Discrimination

Discrimi-Nation II

Discrimi-Nation II: The Dalit life sentence

By LokMarg Publishing


, 35, a Delhi-based advocate reports on his own life: being a Dalit and having to fight caste discrimination every step of the way.

I come from the town of Farrukhabad in Uttar Pradesh, a place where every caste has its own cluster. My father, a former government official, gave me a name that would not give away the secret that we belong to the Dalit community. Given he was a respected government official, everybody wanted to associate with us. I would always be given a glass and plate from a different set of utensils, however, to drink and eat in.

I came to Delhi in 2008, searching for jobs and internships, all the time hoping that I would not have to find myself in such caste conflicts. I expected to be free from the caste-based discrimination that I thought was only prevalent in villages and small towns. My assumption was that people in cities barely cared about caste. But here I was, with my confidence a little more than just shattered this time.

I realised the discrimination worked in whole new ways in the city. At school in Farrukhabad, I was a bright student. My teachers showed interest in me, but with their tendency to know my caste, these doting gurus stopped paying attention to me. This killed my confidence.

I thought teachers are supposed to bridge the gaps and strengthen moral values in the society, but they were actively promoting caste discrimination. I could not bring myself to tell my father what I was going through in school. All these frustration-inducing incidents built up to the point where my father started refusing dinner invitations only because of the discriminatory undertones in most of the people’s conduct.

The effect of the discrimination grew so much on me that throughout my college, I did not reveal it to anyone that I was a Dalit. I lived like a Thakur. I had great friends there and yet I felt suffocated. The fact that I could not share this part of my identity anchored me in an ocean of exasperation. The discrimination even chased me through when I was looking for accommodation here in Delhi.

Getting asked about my caste was routine but luckily, my stars presented me with a landlord who was only concerned about the timely payment of rent. This finally gave me a little respite, enabling me to see the ray of hope. Once a very senior lawyer asked what I was doing in the legal profession being a Dalit. “This profession was not meant for Dalit community,” he quickly concluded.

I was startled, yet replied that his advertisement for junior associate and interns did not mention that Dalit candidates were not eligible to apply. Had he mentioned it, I would have never applied. That day, I realised that no matter how much I try veiling this part of my identity, it will always pop back up as a problem given the societal constructs we live with.

I decided to stop looking for a job and started my own practice. The initial days were extremely difficult. Finding work and ensuring livelihood to make ends meet were challenging but I used it as a learning curve. Being a Dalit lawyer in Delhi does have its own quirks. People are ignorant of the crime of calling Dalits by their caste, or “bhangi”.

They are so ignorant that they will cross the line, just get the momentary feeling of superiority. There are also those who do not cross the line verbally, but their body language says it all. There have been instances where the children of my other Dalit friends were not invited to birthday parties of kids, and if they were, nobody would play with them.

The issues are numerous. They range from not letting us ride the traditional mare in our own wedding processions to not letting us into temples to marrying in upper castes. What we are left with is a predetermined source of income. It has been close to a decade since I have been practicing law and I realize not much has changed.

I still get cases to defend a couple that eloped because of they belong to different castes. Even though my friends think that caste-based discrimination is wrong, but they may too hesitate if a family member wants to marry a Dalit. What we are always left with is living life with a bad taste in our mouths.

More from Discrimi-Nation
Part I: Northeastern Distress
Part III: ‘Caste is a Dormant Volcano’

-With editorial assistance from Lokmarg

Discrimi-Nation I

Discrimi-Nation I: Northeastern Distress

By LokMarg


Our Constitution makes us all equal, but India remains a land of all sorts of discrimination—caste, gender, religion, race. For all its melting pots and cosmopolitan bravado, New Delhi is no different. Thirteen years ago, Alana Golmei, a Ph.D. from Manipur, came to the Capital in search of a better life. Her story:

Every man and woman from the Northeast is distressed with the way they are treated in the capital city. They survive rapes, face sexual advances, brave physical assaults from locals and what have you. The worst-case scenario is for the girls who work late hours, or are employed at spas, massage parlours or other unconventional means to make a living.

My first job here was with a charity organisation in Nehru Place. I would commute from Dwarka to Nehru Place in a jam-packed bus. Men took opportunity whenever there was one to pass lewd comments or touch inappropriately. They would call me names (that I would prefer not to mention here as I still find them demeaning). Some bluntly made jokes about my Mongoloid features.

With poor job opportunities in Manipur and big responsibilities on my shoulders, I had come to Delhi in 2005. That was the time when there was a ban on women employment back home. Despite being a Ph.D in Sociology, I could not find a decent job. No matter how educated you were, in Manipur you would not get more than a ₹4,000-job to begin with.  Like every girl from the Northeast, I stepped out in want of a better financial future. I always wanted to teach. After coming to Delhi, I started applying to colleges. Not being well-versed in Hindi was a major handicap. I would be called for interviews, but the language barrier spoiled my prospects.

Harassment and racial slurs are common. I still believe that men and women from the northeastern part of the country are relatively more stylishly dressed. This is not to do with money or class; it is a cultural thing. And because we have a strong style statement, many people take us to be women of easy virtue.

On the rare occasions that I approached police, I could notice them jeering and sharing jokes about me with other colleagues right in front of me, for I didn’t know Hindi. Such experiences on a daily basis could break any aspiring youth. But the need for a better life and opportunity kept me going.  Two years after moving to Delhi, I met a group of boys and girls who shared their experiences of sexual abuse and racial slurs in Delhi. We decided to form a support group so that others from Northeast do not have to suffer what we did. Or at least, they have someone to approach for redressal of their issues. I soon realised the magnitude of the challenge before the group.   

Our support group would constantly face threats from the locals for approaching police. The local community would even resist our intervention and help. People would not give us accommodation on rent; those who did would charge us more than water and electricity bills. Indecent advances were common even at the time of negotiations for housing or work.  

Dealing with the police initially proved a huge challenge. They would not take our complaints seriously and more often found fault in our conduct. We often needed to pull strings to push the police take us seriously.

But I find satisfaction in what I am doing now. Our foundation helps the community in distress and also assists them in the tiresome process at court or police station to get them justice. Apart from my job as a researcher, my regular day includes holding sensitization workshops with the locals and the police.  Political statements are one thing but we have to make people realise that the Northeast is a part of India and we are Indians, just like them.

 

(Alana Golmei, 42, is a researcher and the founder of the North East Support Centre & Helpline)

More from Discrimi-Nation
Part II: The Dalit life sentence
Part III: ‘Caste is a dormant volcano’

 

—With editorial assistance from Lokmarg