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caste

By Ritika Khatri

Food has a magical effect on people. When we are having a terrible day, a good day, or celebrating, it has the power to change moods and make things better. It’s an important part of our life, from festive meals to simple soothing meals on bad days. Yet, in our country, individual or community food choices are frequently morally policed. Food has the capability to both unite and divide people across culture and societies. And this duality of food­ is a reflection of our societal complexity.

Besides, food, a fundamental human necessity, has become contentious and politicized topics in our society. The degree of controversy has reached to the point that people are facing violence and lynching over their food choices. This acute reaction to individual food penchants is revealing the deep-seated social conditioning and larger socio-political backdrop that rules/shape our behaviour.

Even in urban settings, people encounter the widespread and inescapable stigma associated with non-vegetarian food. While renting a home or room, landlords frequently question about dietary preferences, with many specially barring non-vegetarian foods. In areas such as Kamla Nagar (nearby Delhi University’s North campus), it is common to find PGs (paying guest accommodations) that strictly prohibit non-veg on the premises. This form of dietary discrimination is based not only food preferences but also has connotations related to smells associated with non-veg food. Vegetarians often stigmatize the smell of non-veg dishes, associating them with impurity and pollution.

While conducting fieldwork in Punjab and Haryana, I encountered Pummy (name changed), a working woman from Sangrur, Punjab. During our conversation she shared her experience which showed how cultural, familial and societal expectations influence and constrain our food choices. This article explores the intricate relationship between food preferences, the stigma attached to non-vegetarianism, and how caste, class and gender intersect to shape these narratives.

Caste, Gender and Dietary Prejudices

My fieldwork in two villages of Punjab and Haryana in 2022-23 involved interactions with women from diverse age groups and castes. A striking pattern emerged: while most women and their daughters refrained from eating non-veg, their sons were permitted to do so outside the home. When questioned, the justification was often that sons needed more protein for physical development and sports activities. Daughters, on the other hand, were expected to conform to stay vegetarian foods. Reason, because daughters will get marry one day and will go to stay her future in-law’s house. This perpetuates a cycle of dietary control and gender-based discrimination.

In another incident, an upper caste woman campaigning for panchayat elections recounted feeling nauseous upon entering a Dalit household, attributing the smell to their consumption of pork. Ironically, she herself consumed chicken but looked upon those who ate pork. This attitude is deeply rooted in the notions of purity and pollution associated with caste. Many people I spoke to during my fieldwork believed that non-vegetarians emit a distinct, unpleasant odour, further entrenching caste-based prejudices.

Societal expectation and familial pressure

Pummy was a lively and friendly woman. During a ride to my fieldwork area, our conversation naturally turned towards food. To my surprise, Pummy hesitantly shared her love for butter chicken, a preference she had to keep hidden from her husband and in-laws. Even though she is a working woman, she finds herself unable to openly discuss her non-vegetarianism with her family, who were strict vegetarians. Societal expectation and familial pressure prevent her to openly share it her family. This situation reflects a common predicament among many women in similar cultural contexts.

Pummy additionally shared a funny yet insightful incident from a relatives wedding. During the pre-wedding rituals, an elderly vegetarian woman accidently ate a non-vegetarian dish, mistaking it for potato curry. When she realized she’d erred, she joked that if she had known how delicious non-veg food was, she would have started eating it long ago. Nevertheless, other relatives took a sigh of relief, as they were panicking that the older women could make scene at the wedding. This incident highlights the rigid norms and occasional, unintentional breaches have the protentional to sour up and tense the situations.

Reflecting on Personal Biases

Reflecting on my own experience, I realized that I, too, had unconsciously contributed to the problem. Growing up in a strict vegetarian household, where even onions and garlic were eschewed, I remember an instance from school when a girl brought an omelette for lunch. The silent gossip and social exclusion she faced from her peers, including myself, mirrored the societal conditioning we had all received at home. Such early experience shape individuals’ attitude towards food and perpetuate a cycle of judgment and exclusion.

‘There’s nothing more political than food’

An American Chef, Anthony Bourdain, shared his thoughts about food in a different context, but it seems plausible to share here. He said, “There is nothing more political than food. Food is reflection, maybe the most direct and obvious reflection of who we are, where we came from, what we love, who eats in the country, who does. The things that we eat are the direct reflection of our histories. The ingredients, whether they are dried or pickled or preserved, these are reflections of often long, very painful histories”. It is imperative for us as a society to recognize the diverse food habits that exists. With empathy and understanding, we can begin to dismantle the discriminatory practices that have long been entrenched in our social-cultural fabric. We need to work towards a society where food, instead of dividing us, becomes a means to celebrate our diversity.

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By Kanika Bhatia

Few years ago I ran a blog that featured a story on invisibility. I had traveled to Mcleodganj, visited the quintessential spots, and spent an hour with some local children. The story spoke about their simple desire to talk. That’s it. Just like that 60 minute conversation, their desire was fairly simple. Do you see us? Please do. 

Years later, I woke up to a systematic banishment of generations of groups. When you raise this theme in sophisticated circles, it usually ends up disregarded with one statement: “It doesn’t exist anymore.” How do we then explain Dalit targeted rapes, menial jobs still limited to certain sections, ghettos, sewage cleaning “accidents”, garbage segregation jobs, and the large question of identity that still looms over the head of 75% (probably higher) population of this country. You choose not to see it, but it exists. Rampant, aggressive and ubiquitous. 

The patriarch of my family followed Arya Samaj. It wasn’t until last month that I fully grasped what it meant, because to a young eye, we did hawans and that’s it. I wasn’t ever a fan of his methods or him if am being honest, but to the sparing attention of a teenager, religion/ culture/ social capital is the last concern. How problematic Arya Samaj is in its conception, how it dictates so many of its loyalists to further a cause that saw relevance some centuries ago, and is nothing short of horror to my “modern” understanding is something I am only beginning to gnaw at. THIS absolute disregard for what happened in my own courtyard is another format of this naked invisibilisation. 

“I don’t see caste” “I don’t question someone’s identity” “My decisions never revolve around caste” : the war cry of modern liberals like myself. The logic being simple, haven’t done bad, but haven’t done good either. The idea that we don’t see caste, despite the very visible format in which it exists, is a privilege. A famous anecdote goes where a child asks his mother, “mother, what is my caste?” The mother tactfully replies, “If you don’t know it yet, you’re probably an upper caste.” Most oppressed groups share a common theme, they are aware of it. Infact, they are reminded of it with that extra layer of awareness no matter where they are or what they do. I am a woman, more so because no one lets me forget it even for a second. You’re stepping in an elevator or you’re walking down for groceries, you are vigilant. Subconsciously I know eyes that are digging through my clothes. If I am careless, there will be someone who will ensure I don’t falter. The privilege of the upper caste exists when you’re not reminded of it every waking hour. Dismissing its existence is a disservice of blinding yourself and those around you to a very real identity crisis still enveloping as India moves to celebrate its 75th year of independence. 

A young blogger, Tejaswani Tabhane pointed out, “Blindness to caste does not take the social, political and economic privileges one gets because of one’s “accident of birth” in a particular (upper) caste. To be born in a privileged caste is not anyone’s fault, but to refuse to even acknowledge “unearned benefits” accruing due to one’s caste and thereby claiming that the very mechanism that enforces them is absent in one’s life isn’t right.” The countless spaces where I haven’t seen caste before haunt me now. Why didn’t all your reading, awareness allow your senses to observe that nearly every menial job around you is being done by someone who doesn’t belong to an upper caste? Who segregates your garbage when you mindlessly give it to the ‘koodewale bhaiya.’ Why is this systematic denial of growth not being discussed in the elite circles? Unseen, not just sidelined. 

I learnt about TM Krishna and his new book recently: Sebastian and Sons. If you don’t know him, he is a renowned Carnatic singer and activist who is very vocal on casteist biases in his field and beyond. The book talks about mridangam makers, making and its players. Considered the “king of percussion,” Mridangam is a paradox within itself. Played by brahmanical and elite players, it’s made from the best cow hides the maker can find, only to be used in reverence of Nandi, Shiva’s bull. The invisibility that we spoke of above? This practise sounds like the perfect example of brahminical worlds hypocrisy masked by its blindness. The profound and profane coexist. 

I am far from being an expert or an ally on the subject. However, like the accidental hail with rain, came the epiphany. You can read Ambedkar, Phule all you want, but till you don’t SEE them (IT), it’s meaningless to even begin the conversation. Information is our generation’s blessing; you can learn everything from caste to cakes. Whether it’s an academician, activist or a humanitarian lens you wish to use, use it. Don’t pretend you can’t see it. It is screaming for your attention. 

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By Dr. Elsa Lycias Joel

Kalaignar’s political ambitions have trickled down to the third generation for good.

Tamil Nadu knows of Muthuvel Karunanidhi (popularly referred to as ‘Kalaignar’ – Artist), as a leader who established himself as a screenplay writer, scriptwriter, actor, writer and poet with more than 100 books to his credit, an enormous intellect of our times and above all elected as chief minister for five times. Dr. Karunanidhi, more than most others, knew what it’s like to come up the hard way.

In a sense Karunanidhi’s fame was first cemented with his participation in the anti-hindu agitations at the age of 14 followed by his maiden attempt as founder and editor of ‘Manavar Nesan’ (friend of students), a handwritten newspaper circulated among members. A penchant for classic literature motivated Dr. Karunanidhi,  to write screen plays for five epics marked by a caustic wit and elegant script that demeaned primitive ideas that subjugated women in particular. Through his writings, this stalwart implored a change in public values in favour of supporting everything from arts and literature to better living for the poor, and he compelled the governments at the centre to pay heed. He had the guts to call the mother organization of the ruling party at the centre as a controversial organization based on religion.

Tamil Nadu celebrates this man, as he uniquely focused on the issues of Indian widow and untouchability, considered taboo topics, through his screenplays, thereby ushering in widespread social reforms. Thanks to him, Tamil Nadu does not any longer accept the custom of breaking of bangles by women on the death of their husbands, or dis-figuration and maltreatment of such women and does not accept any abuse of widows by conjoining the cultural, caste and property imperatives that were tolerated in this state of India, for so long. 

Tamilians have reasons to be grateful for his life. DMK Patriarch renounced religion and fought religious patriarchy tooth and nail because it worked as a means to coerce women into accepting gender oppression through religion.Even after being reformed, Hindu personal laws denied women of co-guardianship rights over her children, right to ancestral property and wealth. Movies like ‘Panam’ and ‘Thangarethnam’ conveyed strong ideas of him as a screenwriter. In 1952 through the movie ‘parasakthi’ he vindicated illiteracy, early marriage, social inequality, casteism, social dependency and stigma of widowhood. In Tamil Nadu, Dr. Karunanidhi is still seen as greater than God by many. For countless, the fact that they can boast of a lifestyle that was earlier considered a prerogative of the rich and privileged, is a matter of considerable satisfaction and pride and they owe it to Dr. Karunanidhi.

To appreciate Dr. Karunanidhi’s role as champion of the oppressed, one needs to take a glance at the holy city of Vrindavan near Mathura and Varanasi. The sight of abandoned widows begging, in addition to tolerating the cruel slings of societal indifference is pathetic. Can a widower survive on a dole of a handful of rice and Rs.8/ day by singing bhajans? How widows are treated in our country is an open refutation of the belief that in our culture a mother occupies a higher position than anybody – Matru devo bhava, Guru dev bhava. These ostracized widows are living symbols of the failure of our already inadequate systems.

Not only was a woman’s legal protection within a family made true under the Tamil Nadu Marriages Act in 2009 but bearing the expenses of inter-caste marriages by the DMK was another move to weaken the casteist forces. The first big move that the DMK made under the leadership of Karunanidhi was to pass a law calling for the legalization of self-respect marriages in 1967,  which is also reflective of the man’s premeditated attempt to banish religious hierarchy. This paved the way for Hindu marriages minus the presence of a Brahmin priest. Social reforms in the eyes of DMK chief centered on the secluded downtrodden people and widows. Social equality was DMK’s flagship. The two dozen and odd welfare boards set up during the DMK’s regime aimed at equality. Reservations and quotas created were so sensitive to the plight of the suffering lot who are segregated in other parts of India on the basis of the  Dharmaśāstras of Hinduism. By introducing the Women Entrepreneurs scheme and Women’s Small Trade Loan with saving scheme, he ensured to promote social capital, equality and social justice. 

As first among equals, he secured a precious right for all the Chief Ministers and on August 15, 1974, Mr. Karunanidhi became the first Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu to unfurl the national flag at the historic Fort St. George. The highest point of his “avatar” as a proponent of the Tamil language was marked by the Union government’s declaration of Tamil as a classical language in October 2004. The idea of State autonomy was perceived by him and it still flourishes for the good of all the State governments, and not to any particular party. 

With such a strong leader as Dr. Karunanidhi, whose focus was also on demolishing the caste hegemony over society, it remains to be seen if other states have understood Tamil Nadu’s political dynamics. In whatever he did, there was a sense of social justice. Kalaignar’s atheism never conflicted with his ideology and he stood by his credo, that,  discriminating against fellow beings in the name of religion and caste is inhuman. There are no questions or doubts as to how he presented himself as the savior of the oppressed and downtrodden and how he set a precedent for the future.

Twelve years after the Tamil Nadu government’s order, a person belonging to the so called non-creamy layer was posted as ‘Archaka’ at the famous Meenakshi Amman temple in Madurai. The war has just begun and Dr. Karunanidh’s legacy will live on. 

“May every sunrise hold more promises “

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By Kanika Bhatia 

[Rejections are like the caste system in this country. Highly visible, tangible yet rendered invisible by habit. Why is the current hustle culture, in love, career, even dreams not allowing us to celebrate the ways we handled, still handle, rejections everyday? When did dreams take the spotlight away from struggle, love from heartbreak and identity from ethos. Let’s explore.]

I noticed a tall board on my long drive towards Yamuna expressway the other day. Very simply, it read “Sensitive Zone.” I felt it and as a fair warning that’s where we are entering right now. If love in its varied formats, as romance, dream job, a bench at a deserted park has been the common theme for writers across the world, the flip side is rejections. Because what is heart felt if it doesn’t come with a little heart break. I have been a writer even before I said it out loud to myself or anyone else. However, the number of times I have rejected myself as one is the biggest story I will tell one day. What you’re about to read, is the various ways rejection works. It breaks you, makes you, and sometimes for all things reasonable, it becomes you. 

There are small infusions borrowed haphazardly from stories people have shared with me. For the lack of a better term, I call myself an enabler. This midwife quality of a writer that lets us borrow from your story to share truth, you might have missed sometimes, are essentially why writers exist. This essay has allies in rejection for each one who was brave enough to share with a stranger on the internet. Somedays I imagine us talking to each other like prisoners at night in refugee camps, “Sometimes me cry alone at night” – raw, honest, unchecked.

With loss or set back of any kind there is always the urge to string black crepe cloth over the whole period you struggled for. You would rather prefer to wipe out the memory, like the end of the safety net of college or my twenty six inch waist. But the idea of talking difficult memories is bound to make you feel more empowered than when you entered the room, and I am not fond of silence if we are being honest. Ann Patchett once wrote, “One of the things I’ve discovered in life is that no matter how vastly different our experiences are, the emotional responses to those experiences are often universal.” By paraphrasing your stories, I tried to meet all of them at a conjunction point, hoping there is light for all of us ahead. 

“I feel rejected everyday in my married life.” The day I implored for stories, this was the first message in my inbox, within the first ten minutes. I followed up, she promised, nothing came, I didn’t ask again. How do you ask someone to tell me more about a rejection she lives each day? No nostalgia, no painful memory but an everyday pain. If struggle is the biggest differentiator, I couldn’t bring myself to even fathom the 5Ws and the biggest how. Her struggle is beyond my limited bubble of privilege of choice. WHAT could be the rejection like, WHY was he doing this, WHERE did it hurt most (ego, heart or was it unbearably physical now?), WHEN will it stop, WHO will stop it and HOW will she save herself? Often when I see my little nephew going about his day, accepting and rejecting toys, textures, food, I am amazed at the callousness of children. They don’t understand rejection, and toys, food and textures don’t mind it. But at what age do we give away the power to another being for making us feel how they deem fit? When did we stop discarding what we didn’t like with a child-like ease? We were too afraid to break others so we cracked ourselves. 

Long ago, someone told me about manifestation journals. They are different because here you write things in hope that they will happen or manifest themselves before you somehow. Long lived dreams and goals are akin to those first entries in a manifestation journal. You have wanted them for a considerable part of your life, you have talked about them to whoever was listening and your mother smiles each time you look at her for reassurance that you will achieve it. What happens when one day you’re given a piece of paper that declares you can never have it. In fact, you don’t belong in the arena, and you’re not fit to even fight for this dream. How much of your person dies a little that day? This dream that metamorphosised into you gradually so much so that you no longer WANT to be a soldier, you ARE. You convinced yourself, you saw yourself in the uniform, you manifested this vision via your father, sister, uncle. You even pictured life through the kaleidoscope of discipline, patriotism and worth. It was almost in your fist, till it wasn’t. Now? Rejected, dejected and lost or hopeful, wiser and experienced. Life lets you be a true debutant sometimes. 

Burial and birth tie us to a place. They become a close identity metric. It’s the equaliser: thoughts, food, culture and means. But what happens when the same land keeps you estranged from happiness? How do you handle a rejection that raises no question on your worth, but feels too personal, too close to home? He didn’t know, he was honest in his naivety, but how long do you bury the city of your birth into oblivion, and why? When did a small town become slang or a rejection letter for love? Like the modern generation he swiped left and right, till it hit him, “modernity” was no guarantee of judgement free zones, and often it’s restricted to attires and social media humdrum. He found and lost “love”, each time with a “it’s not you, it’s me” humming sound till it was neither. It was the same city that he felt proud of, the same soil he played in, the same land that now nourished his parents that bore the denied stamp for love or a chance at it. This was a part of who he was, where he came from, how do you wipe off an identity to get a chance at love. Moreover, will love like this be worth it? Rejection bears its imprint on resumes and hearts, but soil was a first. 

These particular stories spoke to me. As a writer, when you’re trying to converse with your subject, you try so hard to connect with him/her. The writer’s paradox lies in the fact that we chase a unique story but try equally hard to find semblance, because we want to be you, to write you. These three stories, I couldn’t see myself in. I could sense the helplessness, a tear rolling down the cheek, the lingering finger tips of all things that reject you and the sinking feeling in their stomachs. BUT it was their story. As a writer, you need to learn to render yourself invisible, depersonalise.  The story is always bigger than you. I had drafts. How did I wish to tell these stories? I mutilated myself enough times, discarding, rejecting my own words till they seemed a little like yours. Hope it did a decent job. 

Also read it on the Author’s personal blog : https://www.shesaidit.in/post/rejection-stories

Picture Credits : Hao Hao (Ilustrationx)

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