I finally spoke to my mum in Ajmer, telling her about the overwhelming reaction I have received for sharing my blog earlier this week, titled Today, I'm coming out as Dalit. She broke down immediately.
For her, it was the first-ever release from her shame of being Dalit. She and my Dad spoke about how my great-grandfather was forced to get down from a bicycle he was riding at Badi Chopar in Jaipur in the '50s. Because he was a Dalit riding a bicycle. Because if back then you were Dalit, you couldn't ride one. Or keep a moustache. Or wear a Jodhpuri suit. And a few blocks later, he got back on and rode it anyway. And kept a moustache and wore a Jodhpuri suit too.
I had heard this story a thousand times while growing up. This was the first time I sensed pride in it. A realization that my history was not so tainted after all. I told them how someone on Twitter had called me a "Rich Bitch", because how else would anyone dare to express their individuality, unless they were rich? Mum reminded me how we grew up anything but, and how I used the dreaded "quota" not to secure admission at the undergraduate college I attended, but for a scholarship of Rs. 3,000 to pay the annual fees. I told my friends about the guy whose one aggressive tweet got several RTs for calling me a bimbo. Because I had the audacity to borrow the terminology of "coming out" from the homosexual discourse. Since, of course, who cares about the internal conflict of dealing with a dual identity? "These Dalits, they already have so much! Why the melodrama?" one tweet screamed. "Lol, bitch. Sit down, no cares," said another comment, ironically representing the exact kind of voices that had forced me to speak up, and tragically forced Rohith Vemula to take his own life in Hyderabad earlier this month.
People wanted to know whether I had taken advantage of the reservation, because if I did, I already had more than I deserved. What more do Dalits deserve anyway? Certainly not pride. A lady who sounded more like a primary school teacher instructing a five-year-old, rather than one writer speaking to another, chastised me: "This is great. But upper castes shouldn't be made to feel ashamed." Since when did we deflect from Dalit shame to upper caste shame? Who implied that the shame had to transfer from Us to Them? Was it decades of guilt speaking - or simple caste-based prejudice?
I also got emails that applauded my effort but reminded me that it doesn't matter until I "expand my mind and talk about #HumanDiscrimination" and not just #DalitDiscrimination. Why was I being told what to talk about, instead of being allowed the freedom to decide for myself? And what was so wrong about focusing on just one kind of discrimination? Isn't that better for a detailed, nuanced discourse anyway? Why can't we talk problems that are Dalits face because of societal differences that are almost impossible to overcome? I was accused of being Yashica Dutt "from the USA, who was trying to make it cool to be a Dalit". And Hell, yes, I was. Wouldn't you want to associate with your identity if the world thought it was cool? Millions of Dalits would too.
But all of that is just a tiny, negative speck of the reaction I have received. There was some bitter, angry caste rage, which probably hasn't found its release elsewhere, and had often made my heart jump with each tweet. But every time that happened, I would get an email from someone who read my story and felt the same way. Or a Facebook message from an old colleague, who had been hiding his/her Dalit identity and wanted to know what made me do this. I got stories from everywhere of people like me, who could pass as non-Dalit, and the ones who couldn't. And from those who wouldn't hide their identity and defiantly carried their caste as a golden badge of honor. I heard stories from elite business institutions, engineering colleges, and offices of software companies. Instances that appear trivial on the surface, but can slice someone's pride to pieces in seconds. A mocking laugh, a scathing judgment or a glass of water that goes untouched because it came from a Dalit house had been watershed moments for these lives, and they altered perceptions of self forever.
Someone asked if I hoped anything would change. I didn't know what to tell her then. But when I saw tweets, messages and emails from ALLIES, people who wanted to help in any way they can, I knew it. This was change already. People who never realized their higher caste privileges admitted to instances when they unknowingly judged someone by their last name or the deeper tan of their skin. People who never "thought about it that way" started thinking. Those who didn't know "this existed amidst us" realized that caste was still very much an issue in both villages and the cities. The conversation has already changed on Facebook. Almost everyone in my extended list of "friends" is discussing "caste". And I know it's the same on many other friends' lists too.
Rohith Vemula has already created the change he should have lived to see.
Read these stories on dalitdiscrimination.tumblr.com. And share if you have any.
(Yashica Dutt is a New York-based writer covering gender, identity and culture. She was previously a Principal Correspondent with Brunch, Hindustan Times and is the founder of dalitdiscrimnation.tumblr.com.)
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