School left my father traumatised. He could never recover from the caste insults and the oppression. My freedom, hence, is always about making sure that my existence can never be erased anymore, whether as history or a story
Updated At: Apr 23, 2023 07:03 AM
What it means to be a Dalit
Yogesh Maitreya
Water in a broken pot can flow freely, without any shape or course to follow. But freedom comes with a lot of risks, especially when one does not know what to do with it. For most of my life, I have been surrounded with things that tend to belittle me, discourage me and make me feel as if I do not matter in the larger reality of the caste society within this nation. How am I supposed to feel ‘free’ in the ecology of social affairs in which I was historically unseen, cunningly invisible-ised, and silently erased? To gain my freedom in such circumstances is to shout out my existence so loudly that it would echo endlessly in the indifferent ears of society, in their sleep and in their dreams. My freedom, hence, is always about making sure that my existence can never be erased anymore, whether as history or a story. I, a Dalit, therefore, must exist not only in the imagination but also in the conscience of the caste society as a voice that cannot be suppressed anymore.
My father was the first generation of Dalits (converted Buddhist) who were, legally, freed from the curse and violence of the practice called untouchability. However, law never guarantees the change people should feel in order to create an equal, liberal, just and fraternal society; in the case of violence, the law is just an ointment and not a permanent solution.
My father, while in school, was selectively beaten up by his teachers and made to sit in the last row in the classroom — the place which is supposed to nurture a child’s imagination and make him fearless while standing up for truth. The school proved to be a torture chamber, a traumatic experience for my father. Not all Dalits from his generation managed to scale up to the level of securing jobs which could guarantee them enough food, education and health. Those who were discouraged by the school, as an institution, lived with their traumas till their death. The school failed to teach them to believe in themselves. Rather, it made them feel disgusted about themselves, and sadistically tortured them. It was a wound that never healed. My father worked his entire life as a driver, working under the harsh sun, in rainy nights, and in chilly winters from morning to night, just to feed himself and us, also making sure that we could get an education which he could not. He was never in a position to communicate with us. Most of his time was consumed by work and the urgency of it. This is another form of violence in which you deprive the person of the time and scope to spend time with his family. To never have enough time to think of his history, his aspirations, his dreams. Because if he did, he would realise the conspiracy of the society, and would rebel.
My father worked all his life, survived and managed to feed us, provide us an education, but his thoughts, feelings and emotions largely remained invisible to us. The act of institutional violence does not necessarily kill a person but it surely kills something in him after which he loses the language to assert his needs, especially his aspirations and demands.
Despite reservation as a right, it does not make you feel enthusiastic about life. It, at times, facilitates an individual or a community in the journey towards their dreams or aspirations. The enthusiasm which a Dalit needs to be hopeful about in life most often gets killed by the institutions in a caste society. My father was one victim among millions. The repercussions of his victimhood, needless to say, affected my life too, until one day I began to see that there was something wrong in his honesty to work from day to night, and yet never manage to find time for himself in which he could be himself. I saw him working and drinking every day. He was honest in his work, but not at all satisfied in it, which was apparent in his drinking everyday. His body eventually became fragile during the last year of his life. The toxic work atmosphere, the indifference of the society, his trauma from the school and early life, all helped him die gradually without having a day for himself in which he could have lived without any worry for tomorrow, or thinking about the traumas from the past. This is violence. In fact, it is the greatest form of violence, because as a society we always fail to see it.
These were my observations while growing up. They affected me too. But I chose to live like water, flowing carelessly and free, only to discover that I, a Dalit, am the water in a broken pot in a caste society.
— The writer is a publisher and author.
April is observed as Dalit History Month
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