Lyrics: "Tu Hindu Banega Na Musalman Banega"

तू हिन्दू बनेगा न मुसलमान बनेगा
تو ہندو بنےگا نہ مسلمان بنےگا
You'll become neither Hindu nor Muslim

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human
(as opposed to being labeled as Hindu or Muslim)

अच्छा है अभी तक तेरा कुछ नाम नहीं है
اچھا  ہے ابھی تک تیرا کچھ نام نہیں ہے
Good that 'til now you have no name

तुझको किसी मज़हब से कोई काम नहीं है
تجھ کو کسی مذہب سے کوئی کام نہیں ہے
You have no dealing with any religion

जिस इल्म ने इंसानों को तक़सीम किया है
جس علم نے انسانوں کو تقسیم کیا ہے
The knowledge which has divided humans

उस इल्म का  तुझ पर कोई इलज़ाम नहीं है
اس علم کا تجھ پر کوئی الزام نہیں ہے
That knowledge will not burden you
(with accusations)

तू बदले हुए वक़्त की पहचान बनेगा
تو بدلے ہوئے وقت کی پہچان بنےگا
You will be the face of the changing times

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

मालिक ने हर इंसान को इंसान बनाया
مالک نے ہر انسان کو انسان بنایا
God made each a human

हम ने उसे हिन्दू या मुसलमान बनाया
ہم نے اسے ہندو یا مسلمان بنایا
We made each a Hindu or a Muslim

क़ुदरत ने तो बख्शी थी हमें एक ही धरती
قدرت نے تو بخشی تھی ہمیں ایک ہی دھرتی
Nature allocated one earth to us

हम ने कहीं भारत कहीं ईरान बनाया
ہم نے کہیں بھارت کہیں ایران بنایا  
Whereas we have created India and Iran

जो तोड़ दे हर बांध वह तूफ़ान बनेगा
جو توڑ دے ہر باندھ وہ طوفان بنےگا
The one who breaks each lock will become a storm

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

नफ़रत जो सिखाए वह धर्म तेरा नहीं है
نفرت جو سکھاے وہ دھرم تیرا نہیں ہے
The religion that teaches hatred is not yours

इंसान को जो रौंदे वह क़दम तेरा नहीं है
انسان کو جو روندے وہ قدم تیرا نہیں ہے
The step/foot that tramples humanity is not yours

क़ुरआन न हो जिस में वह मंदिर नहीं है तेरा
قرآن نہ ہو جس میں مندر نہیں ہے تیرا
The temple without a Qur'an is not your temple

गीता न हो जिस में वह हरम तेरा नहीं है
گیتا نہ ہو جس میں وہ حرم تیرا نہیں ہے
The mosque without a Gita is not your mosque

तू अमन का और सुलह का अरमान बनेगा
تو امن اور صلح کا ارمان بنےگا
You will become hope for peace and reconciliation

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

ये दीन के ताजर ये वतन बेचने वाले
یے دین کے تاجر یے وطن بیچنے والے
These traders of religion; these who sell the country

इंसानों की लाशों के कफ़न बेचने वाले
انسانوں کی لاشوں کے کفن بیچنے والے
These who sell the shroud off of corpses

ये महलों में बैठे हुए क़ातिल ये लुटेरे
یے مہلوں میں بیٹھے ہوے قاتل یے لٹیرے
These murderers and thieves sitting in palaces

काँटों के एवज रूह ए चमन बेचने वाले
کانٹوں کے ایوز روحِ چمن بیچنے والے
These who sell thorns instead of flowers

तू इन के लिए मौत का ऐलान बनेगा
تو ان کے لئے موت کا اعلان بنےگا
You will become their death knell

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

Lyricist: Sahir Ludhianvi
Transcription & Translation by Nikhil Nandigam

"Truth Alone Triumphs"

This afternoon, I finally had the opportunity to watch the first episode of Aamir Khan's hyped television show -- Satyamev Jayate. With the release of the show's theme song and its popularity, I was very interested in finding out more about the show's agenda. Would it be a travel show, and entertainment talk show? Would it be placed aside as another of the many reality shows?

My answer is that it is a combination of all three, and it is what India needs. Firstly, the objective of the show is to highlight societal issues which are often swept under the rug by upper-middle class urban Indians -- Indians who will likely form the audience of this program. Secondly, this program targets issues which well-off urban Indians believe do not affect them at all. 

In previous posts from India last summer, I discussed the existence of two Indias: 

In my opinion, there are two Indias: the “modern India” that is publicized in the West and the “establishment India” that actually runs the nation. One generates money for the nation, and the other swallows money from the nation. People would like to believe that they live in the former, when in all actuality, they live in the latter. The privileged want to stay far from this “establishment,” while the average Indian drowns in the madness.

 The first episode which can be seen on Youtube courtesy of StarPlus focuses on female feticide in India. This refers to the sex-selective abortion of unborn girls in India. So what is different in the way that Satyamev Jayate covers this topic? Haven't we already seen documentaries and news broadcasts on the topic? I would like to highlight two significant ways in which I think this program will be more effective in sticking with its audience and roping in the attention of the upper-middle class urban population. This is the sector of the population that needs to be convinced of social injustices as they are the only sector of society with a certain amount of wealth and numbers. This cannot be said of the extremely wealthy and of the average or poor Indian.

That said, Satyamev Jayate takes the correct approach to addressing a topic such as female feticide. It's angle is somewhere between the usual types of programming Indians are accustomed to: a news broadcast and a serial. SJ avoids the sensationalism of Indian broadcast journalism and it also brings its subjects closer to the audience rather than isolating them in a condescending manner.

At this point, SJ accomplishes what pure journalism mostly cannot. Aamir is able to bring his subjects -- in this case mothers forced unknowingly into an abortion -- into the spotlight where they feel safe to speak out against their circumstances, and clearly tell their stories. SJ is respectful to its subjects and it is committed to alleviating these injustices. In this episode, Aamir says he will personally write a letter to the government of Rajasthan to quicken efforts for court hearings for the victims. From this first episode, Satyamev Jayate makes it clear that it is not trying to drop by, tell a heart-wrenching story, and retreat -- the word badlaav (change) was often used. Aamir is in it for the long run.

The angle of Satyamev Jayate also avoids the melodramatic mess of the average serial. Aamir could have easily gone this route to present societal injustice. It would have been easy and familiar. Thankfully, he did not. Serials create a sense of distance and fantasy between the audience and the characters. Rather, Aamir takes a key feature from serial culture and implements it appropriately into SJ -- that is, story. The witnesses tell their stories -- given no other context. That's the first part of the show.  The stories bring the audience into Aamir's mindset. The audience, at hearing the stories, are teary-eyed, but they still see themselves as separate, as part of "modern India" and removed from these injustices.

Next, Aamir pulls the audience off of its pedestal -- and this is the second reason why I feel SJ will be very effective. It bridges the gap between the two Indias. When the camera asks urbanites about female feticide -- three words emerge:

"GaaoN" -- village
"Anparh" -- illiterate
"Ghariib"-- poor

From here, a researcher asserts that this practice did not start with the poor, or rural, or illiterate folk. And that today, it is practiced by many people of reputable careers and families. Aamir even interviews a doctor who herself was forced into an abortion by her husband. This shatters the glass wall between the two Indias.

The audience is no longer allowed to feel at ease as Amir shows that female feticide not only affects mothers of girls, but that its effects spans across all families. For example, government officials license these doctors, doctors perform these abortions, and young men around India face a shortage of women when it comes to marriage. This imbalance affects all women as there is an increase in kidnappings and gang rape.

From this point onwards, audience expressions are not teary, but they are of shock. And this is the key success of Satyamev Jayate. To force sheltered, well-off Indians to realize that an injustice has been committed, one that no one can run from -- not one that merits sympathy, but one that merits shock and anger and reform.

Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind: Survival by Reform

Introduction

The beginnings of the Jamaat-e-Islaami and the roots of its pre-Partition ideology can be traced directly to the ideology of Sayyid Abul Ala Mawdudi. As one of the most prolific figures of the twentieth century, Mawdudi was critical in the development of Islam as a potent force in the era of post-British South Asia. Once Independence was won and Partition took place, Mawdudi and his JeI reorganized in Lahore, Pakistan under the name JeI Pakistan, while the organization's Indian counterparts took the name JeI Hind (Moten 180). This paper seeks to examine the ultimate objectives and methods administered by Jamaat-e-Islaami in India – Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind (JIH). The Jamaat is established across South Asia in Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Kashmir. However, India is the only minority-Muslim nation in which it is present. How does JIH trace its evolution from the days of hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah and Mawdudiyat in the 1940s to its formation of a secular political party in 2011? How has JIH negotiated its identity and legitimacy in order to own policy space, especially in a secular nation in which Muslims are a small minority. And how does the secular and largely Hindu-background of the Indian state react to the nation's most prominent Islamist party? To answer these questions, we explore the ideological reforms, policy reforms, and tactical reforms of JIH from the 1940s until today.

Part I: Mawdudi and the Pre-Partition Jamaat-e-Islaami

A clear account of Mawdudi's personal ideology and the creation of Jamaat-e-Islaami in 1941 is critical to understanding how the organization developed into the premier Islamist parties in India and Pakistan. The pre-Partition JeI not only provides us with a foundation for understanding Mawdudi's ultimate wish for the Subcontinent, but it also allows for a contrast between Mawdudi's idealism and the realities of JIH's successes and failures in the past six decades. And moreover, we examine how the eventual realities in India diverge from this pre-Partition idealism.

Mawdudi's approach to Islam was non-traditionalist and greatly a reaction to the “western storm” (Ahmad 50). The resulting ideology was characterized by the existence of two polar opposites – Islam and jaahaliyat. For Mawdudi, jaahaliyat meant everything but the ideology upon which the JeI existed. Participation in secular legislature, secular judiciary, or any advancement of the secular was considered “un-Islamic” (Ahmad 3) The JeI itself propagated the idealist vision of establishing an Islamic caliphate throughout South Asia. This philosophy, hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah (Allah's Reign) was clearly outlined in JeI's first Constitution (Dastuur): sovereignty over this world belonged solely to Allah (Ali). And moreover, it was the duty of the members of JeI to convert the Subcontinent from the “land of unbelief” to the “land of Islam”¹ (Ahmad 3). In addition, membership of the original Jamaat was exclusive, a test of ones piety and convergence to Mawdudi's strict philosophies. For example, Mawdudi's refusal to work within any secular framework was not the prevailing stance within the Muslim community (Ahmad 8). Thus, though the essential creed of the Jamaat was as simple as the kalima² – JeI catered to a particular niche of purists in its pre-Partition history (Ali).

JeI's intolerance for secularism meant that it conflicted directly with Muhammad Ali Jinnah's Muslim League. Rooted in Muslim nationalism, the Muslim League sought the creation of a separate homeland for the Subcontinent's Muslims. Mawdudi saw Western-educated Jinnah's nationalist rhetoric as a threat to his vision of hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah. A nationalist state would not be an Islamic state (Moten 179). Furthermore, Mawdudi's propagation of the “Two State Theory” was a consequence of his beliefs that otherwise, Indian Muslims would be “annihilated and absorbed” into the Hindu majority (Moten 179). Therefore, the only option, in Mawdudi's opinion, was to advocate for “the Muslim community to turn inward” and to revive the notion of dar-ul-Islam (Moten 180). This desire for revivalism served as the Jamaat's raison d'etre from its creation in 1941 until the foundation of independent India and a separate Pakistan in 1947.

Part II: Ideological Reform: From Hukuumat-e-Ilaahiyah to Iqaamat-e-Deen

In 1947, the bloody partitioning of the Subcontinent drew arbitrary lines through India's northwestern and northeastern regions. This led to the establishment of the modern-day Republic of India and the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. In relation to the JeI, the emergence of these two new nations meant a shift in how it could approach its ultimate goal of hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah across South Asia.

In India, the re-organized Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind acknowledged that Mawdudi's original desire to instate an Islamic caliphate across the Subcontinent would be neither achievable, nor practical. Rather, JIH opted for a different Quranic term to describe their goal – iqaamat-e-deen (Ali). JIH's current constitution struggles to provide a confident definition of what this objective entails.

It is very difficult to give an English equivalent of the term 'Iqaamat-e-Deen.' It may, however, be rendered as the 'Establishment, Realization or Pursuit of Religion.' ‘Religion,’ ‘Way of Life,’ or 'System of Belief and Action’ are, however, very imperfect renderings of the word ‘Deen.’ (“The Constitution”)

In spite of the vague nature of the term, one can rationalize JIH's decision to opt for less absolute rhetoric. The Muslim constituency of post-Partition India had been reduced to less than twelve percent of the entire population. And moreover, the community of Muslims still remaining in the nation were widely decentralized. Therefore, a reduction in rhetoric would allow for JIH to enter the policy space in a majority Hindu nation – as pragmatists. However, Irfan Ahmed argues that “the replacement was more terminological than substantive-ideological” (Ahmad 284). And until the 1980s, JIH still believed that through a series of conversions and tactical political maneuvering. an eventual Islamic state would be possible in India (Anand). However, this rhetorical shift away from hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah toward iqaamat-e-deen further extended to JIH allowing its members to participate in Indian general elections in the 1980s. And in April 2011, JIH established its own party, the Welfare Party of India. This party brought together JIH elites and the greater Muslim community, and surprisingly, many Hindus and a Christian priest serve as the Party's office-holders (Anand).

Part III. Policy Reforms under Iqaamat-e-Deen

The decision to shift rhetoric from that of establishing an all-encompassing Islamic caliphate to establishment of increased Islamic consciousness within the existing political institutions has provided the Jamaat in India with many opportunities and successes.

Mawdudi stated that there was “at least sixty percent chance of success” in establishing an Islamic state in India (Ahmad 79). But soon after Independence, JIH realized that the secular state – as well as many Indian Muslims – were turning a blind eye toward the Jamaat. Therefore, JIH had to reconsider its ideology or risk being irrelevant in the Indian policy space. The first of such strategic compromises was the shift to iqaamat-e-deen as the notion of India under Allah's Reign was ridiculed by Muslims and non-Muslims alike (Anand).

Secondly, the Jamaat transitioned from being an institution catering to the strict isolationist principles of Mawdudiyat to one encouraging participation from the masses. This participation came mostly in the form of the electoral and political process. As India underwent its first two general elections in 1952 and 1957, JIH endorsed its members and all Muslims to boycott the polls. In accordance with Mawdudiyat, JIH saw participation in electoral politics as submission to the Indian taghuti nizaam³. However, most Muslims were indifferent to the Jamaat's ideocrats and entered the democratic system as either voters or candidates. These failures in garnering respect from the masses forced JIH to question its restriction of secular civic activity (Anand).

In 1961, JIH's shura deemed that “if the path of elections could be used for the goal of iqaamat-e-din,” partaking in the taghuti nizaam would be admissible. Thus, elections were redefined in JIH policy as a means through which pragmatic Muslims could facilitate the rise of Islam in India. This build-up in policy found its climax in the 1962 general elections. On the eve of the elections, JIH circulated a pamphlet summoning Muslims to participate in the elections. The policy of JIH seems to have taken a complete turn as JIH leadership now portrayed a lack of civil engagement by Indian Muslims as “tantamount to suicide” (Anand).

Furthermore, by the mid-1980s, JIH began allowing its membership to participate in Indian elections – as long as the candidates of their choice were not “clearly against Islam and Muslims” (Anand). In essence, the political organization which had begun as a barrier to the growth of secularism in India had decided to manipulate secular government to meet its own ends. In the face of growing Hindutva rhetoric in the 1980s, JIH further emphasized the importance of secularism in India (Anand). At this point in time, many of the institutionalized phrases Mawdudi had evoked to describe the mission of the Jamaat in South Asia were also being reconsidered. An interview with one Jamaat member expresses the “culture shock” and insecurity some felt about the JIH's evolution:

“How on earth could Islam allow voting for taghut (idolatrous parliamentary system)? When I joined the Jamaat, we were told to eliminate taghut, secularism, democracy... everything against the Quran... We joined for iqaamat-e-din. Now the Jamaat is fighting for iqaamat-e-secular democracy. Do you know about the Forum for Democracy and Communal Harmony?... What is it doing? It is fighting for the glory of secularism and democracy. You have also read Maududi. Tell me what has secularism got to do with Islam? Where is the original ideology?” (Ahmad 213)

This “original ideology” that traditional JIH members nostalgically reflected upon was further lost as JIH even dropped the phrase iqaamat-e-deen from the covers of its publications (Anand). The Jamaat in India was facing difficulty as it negotiated its identity. It was too late to backtrack to the days of Mawdudiyat dominating JIH agenda. And from the early 1990s, Hindu nationalist politics was gaining popularity. The Jamaat needed to reach out to Indian Muslims to create a stronger political presence (Khan).

Part IV. Tactical Reforms: Organizational Successes of JIH

Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind's pragmatism and willingness to engage the existing Indian political institutions has afforded it the opportunity to position sectors of its supporters in specialized organizations – all working within JIH's framework to oversee and advocate for change. An examination of JIH's issued resolutions shows that the diversity of the fields in which JIH sees itself as a potent influence ranges as widely as the Occupy Wall Street Movement to Palestine to US sanctions again Iran to the threat of a Naxalite takeover of the Indian Republic (“Resolutions”). However, the most important of JIH's associations are domestic and internal to the Muslim community. JIH presence in organizations such as the All India Muslim Personal Law Board and Muslim Majlis-e-Mushawarat ensure that the JIH remains relevant and accessible within Muslim circles (Ahmad 177, 125).

One of the most divisive issues of Indian politics in the 1990s was the Babri Masjid controversy. This issue elevated radical Hindu and Muslim rhetoric in the nation, though one can argue that the issue was one of politicians manipulating the people's sentiment. Hindus believed that the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya sat on top of the location of the birthplace of Rama – a prominent Hindu deity. And Hindutva political rhetoric was shepherding many Hindus into joining a campaign to physically demolish this mosque. In regard to this issue, the Mushawarat created the Babri Masjid Movement Coalition Committee. This Committee, headed by two senior Jamaat leaders, best symbolizes JIH's transition from Islamic rhetoric to rhetoric of secularism and equality. Unlike other Islamic groups also focusing on the issue, JIH at the Committee urged Muslims to seek “peaceful, democratic, and constitutional means” to ensure that justice is preserved and the mosque is not endangered (Ahmad 211).

Although the Ayodhya dispute concluded with the victory of the Hindutva movement and the demolition of the Babri Masjid, the events made a few points painstakingly clear to JIH. Firstly, JIH could not compete on the national stage in a nation with a 85% Hindu majority with a strictly Islamicly appealing platform. JIH could not propagate an identity based clearly on iqaamat-e-deen, let alone hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah. JIH had to appeal to greater values held by Indians across religious, regional, and socioeconomic barriers (Anand). Secondly, the Jamaat could not develop the militant face that many of its contemporaries were developing. Militantism would only alienate JIH from the majority of Muslims and from those Hindus who also felt that the Ayodhya dispute had pasted a fascist face on the Indian Republic (Ahmad 211). Thus, JIH turned towards nationalism and the secular democracy to justify its role in the Indian policy space – a move unthinkable to Mawdudi (Ahmad 213).

This shift toward emphasizing themes of equality, justice, secularism, and nationalism permitted JIH to expand its mission from creating a strictly Islamic society to striving for a society organized around community for all sub-groups. This community-building initiative came in the form of the Forum for Democracy and Communal Amity (FDCA) as well as wings of the JIH which concentrated on issues of specific constituencies (Ahmad 221). Two important wings have been the Girls Islamic Organization (GIO) and the Student Islamic Organization of India (SIO). Other than their basic mission of spreading dawah, these organizations serve as whistle-blowers when they feel that the government is overstepping its rights in the lives of minorities, especially Muslims. One such example in which both the GIO and SIO cooperated in protest was at a college in the southern state of Karnataka. The college had instated a ban against the burqa on its campus and the GIO and SIO had allied with secular student unions on campus to advocate for its repeal (“SIO, GIO”).

This type of activism from JIH and its wings symbolizes the organization's efforts to evolve parallel to the ideology and practical quotidian concerns of its constituency. In its evolution from aiding Hukuumat-e-ilaahiyah to acting as the defender of secular democracy in India, JIH has sought to broaden its appeal in a nation presenting obvious obstacles to any Islamist organization.

Part V. Reactions from the Indian State

As Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind developed from a radical fringe movement of just a few hundred members to a flagship organization attempting to represent the multi-faceted nature of Indian Sunni Muslims, one then naturally wonders how the Indian state responded to this growth in influence and presence of the JIH. In India, JIH was little threat to much larger forces of nationalism; however, JIH itself has evolved to embody these fundamental themes of secularism, democracy, and popular welfare – albeit from a different background. Therefore, as the share of the policy space sought by JIH increasingly overlaps with the those of mainstream parties, the Indian state acts to curb the influence of any Islamicly-linked organization (Abedin).

In analyzing “state reactions” the JIH, it is difficult to assume what constitutes “the state” as India is a fluid democracy with any number of viewpoints characterizing its different branches and its different levels of politics. That said, a relationship of tension between the state and the JIH is especially emphasized during periods of Islamophobia throughout the country or any political instability in the government itself. The Indian state has thus banned JIH twice in its history. The first proscription of JIH occurred from 1975-1977 when Indira Gandhi banned many organizations, including the influential Hindutva RSS and the JIH. The second proscription occurred after the demolition of the Babri Masjid affair when the RSS was banned once again. In regards to the government's decision to ban JIH, Mahtab Alam describes the “Politics of the Ban.” By this, Alam believes that the Indian government is not necessarily forced to ban JIH because of JIH's actions or ideologies. Rather, the proscription of JIH is another unfortunate consequence of Islam as a minority ideology in India (Alam). In these two situations, the government was primarily concerned about the dangerous, threatening actions of the RSS. However, the government felt pressure to ban JIH alongside RSS in order to show impartiality in Hindu-Muslim strife (Abedin). Moreover, these occurrences also demonstrate a conflict within branches of the Indian government as the banning of JIH was later overturned by the judiciary in Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind vs Union of India (“Jamaat-e-Islami Hind”). Both institutions are striving toward different ends – the executive seeks political stability; the judiciary seeks legal consistency.

Conclusion

The journey of Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind from its beginnings in the 1940s and 1950s to its existence today is a product of three stages of reformation: ideological reform, policy reform, and tactical reform. Through these means, the Jamaat has become the symbolic player in the movement of political Islam in India. More interestingly, JIH has managed to become relevant in an environment in which it lacks a magnitude of resources and only a small percentage of the greater population is Muslim. Therefore, JIH has managed to broaden its appeal by compromising on the ideals of Mawdudiyat and embracing the flexibility of the institutions available. This decision comes with its advantages and disadvantages. Traditionalists – such as SIMI⁴ – lose confidence in the Jamaat and resort to other more extremist Islamist groups (Khan). On the other hand, the Jamaat presents pragmatists – such as GIO and SIO members – with opportunities to engage the system and enact the change they desire. JIH evidently sees the benefits of democratic engagement to be greater than its drawbacks. The organization has launched a political party based on human welfare and secularism and it has designed the “Vision 2016” program to provide access to crucial necessities to India's poor minorities, such as Muslims (“JI Hind”). With a viable future ahead of it, JIH sees itself at the crossroads of many different political identities. It will be fascinating to see whether JIH and its subsidiaries will brand themselves as Islamist, Populist, Communist, or some unique combination of the many choices it has experimented with over the course of its existence. Regardless, the pragmatic approach which JIH embodies will cushion its future. All its eggs are not in a single basket, and Jamaat-e-Islaami Hind is never afraid to redefine its orientation.

1From Dar-ul-Kufr to Dar-ul-Islam

2La illah ila allah wa muhammad rasuul allah – “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God”

3Idolatrous system – in Mawdudiyat, loyalty to any “un-Islamic” institution, such as the secular state, judiciary, government institutions, etc

4Former student wing of JIH which was replaced by SIO after SIMI turned to militantism

A New Perspective on Atheism

Can we define a word by what it does not represent, rather than by what it does represent? Is it fair that we assume the general public will responsibly fill in the blanks and develop a coherent definition to describe an abstract and broad concept? The answer is a clear no. No astute person can expect the public to come to a unified, clear consensus over what a word means, unless an authority properly defines it. Therefore, I agree with neuroscientist Sam Harris that “no one ever needs to identify himself as a 'non-astrologer' or a 'non-alchemist'” (Harris). However, in order to shed light on the discrepancies in usage of the word “atheist,” I will employ the word to describe my own subjective views contrary to the objective connotation of “atheism” found in dictionaries – dictionaries that devolve the word to a hollow concept lacking depth or substance. As much of the world encounters atheism only in the form of a word, not in the form of a living, aspiring fellow human, I hope to exemplify the attributes of atheism not commonly exposed to the public. By examining the word from three different lenses: etymological undertones, personal perspective and impact, and greater social implications, one understands that “atheism” is not a cynical, unhappy “doctrine...that there is no god,” but a flexible belief content with different, but equally fulfilling values and ideals (“Atheism”).

One prime reason for the lack of understanding of atheism in modern society originates from the etymological meaning of the word itself. The roots of the word “atheism” infer a void in the belief, rather than define the true ideals of exploration, experimentation, and individualism inherent in the way most atheists view their surrounding. The word “atheism” originally came to English via the Greek “atheos” meaning “to deny the gods, godless.” And furthermore, “atheos” advances from its roots of “a + theos” – meaning “without a god” (“Atheist”). Regardless of the root, since sixteenth century English, those who do not subscribe to a god have been relegated to believing in nothingness, instead of a set of different, but still valuable beliefs. However, Greek is not the only language to lend itself to the dispossession of the godless through the word. Similarly, modern Indian languages deriving from Sanskrit also strip atheists of a word that substantiated their beliefs. The Sanskrit term “naastik” literally translates to “not believing, not pious” – once again highlighting a void, not a different range of appreciated values (Monier-Williams).

Though the dictionary definitions of atheism are not false, they under no circumstance fully represent the means though which atheists represent themselves, the means through which they find satisfaction, or the means through which they fill the vacuums of nothingness described by the dictionaries – or even that means for such fulfillment exist. And therefore, most people who do not association the word with a person that they know struggle to comprehend the legitimacy or substantiation of the belief itself. Perhaps the lack of success on the part of ancient (and modern) languages to bring forth a descriptive, value-oriented definition of the godless lifestyle involves the degree of subjectivity, flexibility, and personal initiative recognized under the broad umbrella of interpretations of atheism.

The personal nature of atheism is one that encourages free-thought, open-mindedness, curiosity, and individualism. And this might have proven both as a boon and a bane to the manner in which society sees and understands (or does not understand) atheists. Firstly, the flexibility of atheism with no supervising priest, rabbi, imam, or guru allows the non-religious to adopt a personal definition of their beliefs that they structure specifically around their lives and families, their goals and aspirations, their careers and education. Although many who identify themselves as atheists will commit to many basic perspectives, most define a set of values important to them. For example, British geneticist and biologist J.B.S. Haldane's definition of his core beliefs distinguishes him as a scientist:

My practise as a scientist is atheistic. That is to say, when I set up an experiment I assume that no god, angel, or devil is going to interfere with its course; and this assumption has been justified by such success as I have achieved in my professional career. I should therefore be intellectually dishonest if I were not atheistic in the affairs of the world. And I should be a coward if I did not state my theoretical views in public.

Haldane applies his belief of objectivity, curiosity, and individualism to the scientific process while acknowledging the role that this set of values plays in his everyday activities in the lab. As this excerpt emphasizes, just as people's religious values travel with them and immerse into their numerous other identities – the same sense of commitment to a different set of values occurs in the life of the non-religious.

Consequentially, the ways in which I understand atheism and its correlated values to filter into my life differ greatly from Haldane's. As a college student, I see the prevailing theory of fatalism which is present in all religions as pointless and detracting from life. Praying as I prepare for an exam is non-consequential; my own efforts can pull me through. I also refuse to be intoxicated; if I object to surrendering my fate to a god, how can I surrender my judgment to alcohol and drugs? Through rejecting fatalism, I feel responsible for my own actions and am aware that any goals I set may be achieved through my own will and not that of any god's Providence. When I am successful I commend only myself; when I fail, I censure only myself. As an Indian-American atheist, I have always been a pragmatic person, challenging the various superstitions rooted in the Indian and Hindu cultures. I find reciting Sanskrit incantations for protection, consulting priests for a propitious wedding date, or adorning an amulet for good luck to be an unnecessary attempt to leave the real practicalities of the world behind. Rather than escape these practicalities, I prefer to work with them. In all these ways, I define myself as an individual, an individual with an open mind, personal values, and societal responsibilities.

The ambiguous definition of the atheist found in dictionaries also fails to assess the social implications an atheistic population has on its surroundings. A 2006 study from the University of Minnesota manifests this prejudice against atheists. The study concluded that atheists formed the least trusted demographic in the United States. As sociologist Penny Edgell comments on the results of this study, the “findings seem to rest on a view of atheists as self-interested individuals who are not concerned with the common good.” Likewise, society does not award atheists the same degree of tolerance that atheists have been awarding to other diverse minority groups. Edgell continues to note that the American atheist is “a glaring exception to the rule of increasing tolerance over the last 30 years.” (Paulos). Common atheistic values of self-determination, education, political participation, and tolerance not only affect the individual, but also their societies as a whole. Therefore, the definition of atheists as only “godless” commits an injustice to atheists' contributions to society.

Pitzer College sociology professor Phil Zuckerman's analysis of declared atheists and their societies reveals trends that demonstrate against the view of atheists as apathetic, hateful, and depressed individuals alienated from their communities. On the contrary, the fewest murders occur in states with the highest percentage of atheists; only 0.2% of American prisoners are atheists. Societies with high proportions of atheists also benefit from greater tolerance toward homosexual and women's rights groups, as well as low levels of racial prejudice, and high levels of education (Cohen). Zuckerman also suggests that Sweden – arguable the most atheistic country in the world – donates the greatest percentage of its GDP to charity (Zuckerman). All these instances promote examples of greater cooperation, progressivism, and collectivism in societies rather than alienation, anger, and disillusionment stereotypically characterizing a secular, or clearly non-religious population.

These statistics also deny the common misconception that religion is equivalent to morality and that morality is equivalent to religion. This is not the case. One can indeed exist and prosper without the other. But how can we reverse this trend of outcasting atheists to the fringes while atheists themselves are attempting to integrate their societies? The definition and usage of the word “atheist” does not relay to the average man or woman a concrete description of what the godless incorporate into their lifestyle, ethics, or morals. And this ignorance keeps society and atheists distances my misunderstandings, misconceptions, and miscommunication.

To separate themselves from the range of ambiguity and implicit nature of the word “atheism,” many who do not identify themselves with any religion have chosen a new range of terms to explicitly identify their ideals and values. Terms such as “freethinking,” “humanism,” and “universalism” are all terms under the umbrella of “atheism” which which further substantiate a set of beliefs. For example, as a secular humanist, I believe that my personal decisions, choices, and ethics determine their specific consequences. I believe that power to accomplish is left to humans – and we must proactively make our goals as reality. Humanism advocates activism, not passive hope or faith.

But why a range of identities under an umbrella that believes in nothingness? Because that is a misconception propagated by the word “atheist,” that we believe in nothingness. The assimilation of new, different words each possessing a specific, unique definition – such as “freethinker,” “humanist,” or “universalist” – more clearly identify what atheism is and who atheists are, and not what we are not.

Given the controversial nature of the discussion over religion, words defined by vague or implicit terms such as “atheism” often lead to the spread of preconceived and ignorant notions. When a word itself cannot be defined accurately and concretely in words, how can one expect the public to react when they encounter a person whose identity, aspirations, and approach to life circle around that seemingly nebulous concept? I remember the regular pattern of conversation whenever I reveal to an acquaintance that I am a secular humanist, not a Hindu like my parents and ancestors. They normally look perplexed and crunch together their eyebrows. They sift through the various messages the hostile media and politicians shoot at them. And finally, they ask, “You don't believe in god? But you seem to be nice...”

Hindi, Urdu, and Hindustani: Where Commonalities End and Differences Begin

A student from the United States makes her first trip to Delhi, India after spending four

semesters at the University of Michigan studying Hindi. In desperate need of a guidebook, she steps into a small, Hindu-owned store and asks,“Namaste. Mujhe ek achhii kitaab kii zaruurat hai. Kyaa aap merii madad kar sakte haiN?” (Namaste. I'm in need of a good book. Can you help me?). The storekeeper is stunned and compliments the student on her exceptional HINDI. However, the store does not stock the appropriate book. The student notices another store across the street. As she steps in, she notices the storekeeper is Muslim. Replacing a Namaste with a Salaam, she inquires about the book, employing the same word choice. Again, the storekeeper is surprised, and with a big smile on his face tells her, “Masha'Allah. Your URDU is perfect.” The puzzled student picks up her book and leaves the store.

This student had elected Hindi for the past four semesters, not Urdu! Yet, she is being

complimented for her conversational skills in this language. How is this possible? This episode depicts the nature of the Hindi-Urdu linguistic conflict at its most visible level. While notions of the two languages have diverged since independence, colloquial registers of Hindi and Urdu are almost indistinguishable from one another. This broader basis of vocabulary and syntax from which both Hindi and Urdu have developed is called Hindustani. This language is “the linguistic super family uniting all” across North India and into Pakistan (Khan 2006: 8). Moreover, it is the unifying language of the region, not of a particular race or religion (Singh 2003). Hindustani served as a lingua franca around Delhi to facilitate interaction between speakers of Khariboli and speakers of Arabic, Persian, and Turkish (Sinha 2000: 299). This language developed throughout the medieval ages and received the patronage of many British administrative institutions and various writers through the 13th-17th centuries (Sinha 2000: 300). This paper describes the fluid borders between what speech one considers as Hindi, Urdu, or Hindustani. And moreover, it explores why, in colloquial speech, certain Arabic-Persian features have gained popularity as opposed to their Sanskrit equivalents. And finally, how does the diversity in linguistic influences across North India and Pakistan translate into “linguistic politics?” In a region of the world characterized by volatile borders and fragile religious and social tension – how do linguistic choices matter?

But what are Hindi and Urdu, and more importantly, what do they signify in certain

circumstances? In which cases might a speaker be most definitely speaking Hindi or Urdu? And when might he or she be democratizing his or her speech using Hindustani? K. Gajendra Singh 2003 traces a history of the evolution of distinguished Hindi and Urdu identities post-Independence in the late 1940s. Newly independent India made its Hindi more Sanskritized and Pakistanis made their Urdu more Persianized. The outcome is a diglossia in society. Indians and Pakistanis speak relatively the same lingua franca of Hindustani on the streets – while notions of standard Hindi and standard Urdu have become polarized. Therefore, in an effort to avoid common Hindustani words, their media use a strict, artificial, stilted form of Hindi or Urdu. As Singh puts it most realistically, “the result that it is difficult for a common man to understand either Hindi or Urdu” in the “pure” form (Singh 2003).

In the case of Urdu, Tariq Rahman 2010 describes some of the reformations made to

standardize the language, in essence, to reflect a “pure” Muslim tradition. In what Rahman calls the “Muslimization of Urdu,” words from Sanskrit and local dialects were “purged out” in favor of Persian and Arabic words. In addition, allusions to a common Hindustani culture and land were replaced by references to Persian and Islamic culture and an Iranian landscape. Though the elite embraced this hyper-Persian form of speech, many others were alienated by this new, foreign understanding of Urdu (Rahman 2010: 90). The vast majority of Urdu speakers were a product of the Hindustani culture. India was their home and identity, not Iran.

Meanwhile, the newly-formed Republic of India was engaged in the translation of official

documents from English to Hindi. The outcome of this project was the creation of thousands of neologisms of Sanskrit origin describing administrative terms and practices. Examples of such neologisms which have survived into modern usage include pradhaan mantrii for prime minister, or raashTrapati for president. However, in effect, these “artificial” words lack any practical currency. Yet, these neologisms were still propagated through many spheres of influence including the Indian news media, the Indian government, and in matters of Hindu cultural context (Shackle and Snell 1990: 14). Even India's first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru said, “Aajkal jo bhaashaa nikal rahii hai pachaas percent merii samajh meiN nahiiN aatii.” (Of the language that is employed these days, 50% of it is unintelligible to me.) (Gandhi 2010).

For many reasons, one can accord the desired disparity between Hindi and Hindustani to

notions of “linguistic purity.” The Muslims were not alone in their intention of propagating cultural identity through a linguistic register. Hindu nationalists supported nationalizing a Sanskritized Hindi in hopes of invoking the concept of India as a Hindu-native nation (Shackle and Snell 1990: 43). This divergent behavior at the highest registers of Hindi and Urdu is based on something outside of linguistic factors – cultural and religious identity, nationalism. However, these “pure” registers are highly artificial and ideologically motivated.

With these bases for “pure” Hindi and Urdu in place, where do the people stand in their

daily speech in regards to this Arabic/Persian—Sanskrit spectrum? Prior to independence, the Subcontinent was divided in what Shackle and Snell call “The Urdu—Hindi—Hindustani

Debate.” While religious Hindus argued in favor of Hindi and the Devanagari script as India's national language, Muslims felt reluctant to neglect their own rich literary tradition in Urdu through the Nastaliq script. Gandhi offered Hindustani as a middle path in a compromise between both groups (Shackle and Snell 1990: 13). However, Gandhi received little support from the masses. And furthermore, Hindustani left unanswered the question of which script the nation would choose to adopt. And therefore, Hindustani was forgotten as the most practical, yet least ideologically satisfying of the choices.

But in reality, what does modern colloquial speech sound like throughout North India and

urban Pakistan? Regardless of whether speakers identify their language as Hindi or Urdu, why do they almost always choose certain synonyms over others? More specifically, why have Persian-Arabic loanwords better pervaded into popular speech? For example, the interaction the Michigan student engaged in with the Hindu storekeeper did not feature a single lexical item of Sanskrit origin. Each of the key nouns (kitaab for book, zaruurat for necessity, and madad for assistance) are loanwords of Arabic origin, yet would seem completely natural and expected as colloquial Hindi. In fact, repeating this sentence in a fully Sanskritized register would seem exceptionally stilted in a colloquial context (“Mujhe ek achhii pustak kii aavashyakataa hai. Kyaa aap merii sahaayataa kar sakte haiN?”).

The artificial nature of Sanskritized language is a result of many historical patterns in

society, government, and religion. Firstly, as Shyam Rao 1999 argues, Sanskrit was always a

dead language. Even in its “Golden Age” during the reign of the Gupta Empire, Sanskrit was not dispersed outside a “closely-knit circle of Brahmins, who jealously hid all knowledge...to themselves” (Rao 1999). The result was an identity centered around Sanskrit, a language far removed from the accessibility of the common Hindu or Indian (Neelakantan 2011). And therefore, many Sanskritized terms were not transmitted to a broader section of society. While Brahmins safeguarded their knowledge over Sanskrit, the common people of the Subcontinent were engaging with Muslim traders, rulers, and invaders since the 11th century. They settled the Subcontinent and brought with them their languages: Turkish, Persian, and Arabic (Singh 2003). And after almost three hundred years of Mughal Rule, Persian was the language of government up until 1837 (Robinson 1974: 31). Moreover, the Muslim community was not the only one educated in Persian. Even in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Persian played a role in the education of middle-class Hindu boys (Shackle and Snell 1990: 10). In fact, many Hindu writers published in Persian, including the Kashmiri Brahmin Tej Bahadur Sapri (Robinson 1974: 31).

The Persian-Arabic tradition maintained its linguistic strength against Sanskrit when the

British replaced Persian with English and introduced Urdu into the education system (Baxter 2004: 172). Under the British, Urdu gained favorable status as it was the language of the ruling Muslim bureaucratic elites (of Persian origin) across the region. Many necessary administrative terms in Persian and Urdu had already existed prior to the arrival of the British. In many ways, the British accepted Urdu as the native lingua franca of the North (Seal 1968: 304). Unlike Sanskritized Hindi, it was already a part of the public sphere for centuries prior to colonization. Urdu had absorbed elements of Hindustani and other foreign languages naturally. Most importantly, Urdu and its Persian-Arabic vocabulary had spread outside of a Muslim base into most communities. However, many see Sanskritized Hindi as an artificial language, a language releasing archaic words from a vault. The result was a dynamic Urdu and a forced Hindi which was far from everyday usage and inaccessible to the common speaker (Kelley 1992). And due to the factors listed above, the Hindustani that most Urdu and Hindi speakers actually use in everyday contexts is more Persian-Arabic influenced.

Finally, what does it mean when the institutions of Hindi and Urdu are remarkable

different from the spoken variety of either languages? How does ideology clash with reality to create a strategic “linguistic politics” in the Subcontinent. How do geopolitical tensions between India and Pakistan and communal tensions between Indian Hindus and Indian Muslims manifest themselves through language? This diglossia found between the government and literary spheres and the colloquial sphere is easily seen through two sorts of media which reflect two separate entities with very different goals. Firstly, the 'Hindi' film industry which represents speech in a quotidian context. And secondly, the news media of either India and Pakistan which represent the high registers of polarized Sanskrit and Persian varieties, respectively (Singh 2003).

The 'Hindi' Film Industry (Bollywood) has contributed in large part to the propagation of

Hindustani as a reflection of the type of colloquial speech used by millions of Indians and

Pakistanis. As a commercial institution, the Industry seeks to become accessible to as broad an audience as it can, and therefore employs Hindustani – “the most common blend of vernaculars throughout North India” (Alter 2007: 70). This decision allows audiences from across India as well as Pakistan to freely understand the films in a manner which Sanskritized Hindi would not have.

Whenever the film language became too Sanskritised, the films have not been very popular. At the same time, when a film on 'Razia' (a Turkish Queen of Delhi) utilised too Persianised Urdu, its lack of popularity could in some ways be attributed to the difficulty of the masses in understanding it. Hindustani with its vast vocabulary, form and literary variety provides the lyric and dialogue writer all the richness, elegance and nuances to express himself. (Singh 2003).

In addition, the Industry owes much of its fame and success to the Urdu tradition. Ghazals,

qawwali, shaa'iri (poetry), Sufism, and Nautch have become recurring themes in Indian cinema with roots from Turkish and Persian literature and culture. And of course these cultural institutions employ allusions and metaphors from their respective languages to describe sentiments such as love, passion, and longing (Kavoori 2008: 46). Thereby, allusions to the Arabic tale of Laila-Majnu or the Persian Shirin-Farhad entered the larger psyche of the Subcontinent as these pieces of cultural capital were propagated by the most influential film industry in the region. This phenomenon further emphasized Hindustani and Arabic-Persian roots in favor of Sanskrit equivalents. For example, millions would hear and want to replicate stars on the big screen using Arabic-Persian loanwords for love (ishq, muhabbat) in place for the Sanskrit synonym (prem). However, if the 'Hindi'' Film Industry retained much of its pre-Independence Hindustani tradition, the broadcast media had very much diverged from its common Hindustani roots. An emphasis on cultural, societal, and linguistic differences were encouraged to form national solidarity and identity. In effect, this divergence demonstrated a manufactured linguistic wall between India and Pakistan, Hindus and Muslims.

Thus, the broadcast media of India and Pakistan had become polarized with each nation

wanting to completely deny the common linguistic relationship it shares with the other. In the case of India, “Doordarshan Hindi” – “a stylistically Sanskritized form of the language” was named after the state-owned Hindi news outlet. Aside from the practical difficulties of understanding this form of Hindi, it also came with religious and political baggage. Radio and television programming was controlled by the central government which preferred Sanskritized vocabulary in all spoken language.

In addition, this variety was not only seen as Hindi, but as Hindu. This hyper-Sanskrit

variety highlighted differences in Hindu and Muslim identity and past (Ludden 1996: 100). The nationalistic rhetoric behind this variety also plays on the notion of Urdu and Islam as foreign institutions brought to the Subcontinent through violent invasion. In this way, a dichotomy was created between “virtuous” Hindi and “vicious” Urdu. In the press, Urdu was seen as a cultural force capable of turning Hindus away from their faith. Also featured was the strict concept of Urdu being Muslim and Hindi being Hindu (Jones 1992: 144). In essence, this was an either/or debate; Hindustani was a moot choice as no one could be part Hindu, part Muslim (Jones 1992:145). Dr. Imtiaz Hasnain refutes these conceptions of Urdu as a foreign, Muslim-only, even Pakistani entity. And moreover, he outlines the marginalization Indian speakers of Urdu face as a result of this religious connection. As many Indians feel Pakistani identity was created through Urdu and Islam (Hasnain 2007: 16), Hasnain cites the status of Muslims in India as hardly better off than most Dalits (Hasnain 2007: 3). This divisive “linguistic politics” plays on language as a tool of cultural, national, and religious identity.

Perhaps the best metaphor to describe the relationship between Hindi and Urdu is that of

Siamese twins destined to coexist, but the surgery of Partition ensured that each would develop its own path (Shackle and Snell 1990: 13). This history exhibits the volatile nature of language as an indicator of identity. Hindi and Urdu had existed together for centuries, but when presented with the fork in the road, each was able to dress itself differently. Most importantly, though the universal colloquial speech – Hindustani – has not changed since before Independence, it will be interesting to see whether the polarized nature of Hindi and Urdu will affect colloquial speech into the future. Already, as a result of economic liberalization, satellite TV channels have become popular in comparison to state-owned media. These new channels do not necessarily adhere to the government prescribed hyper-Sanskritized or hyper-Persianized speech. They target the urban youth. Therefore, perhaps it will not be Persian or Sanskrit which characterize tomorrow's Hindustani – but English.

The Evolution of Caste and its Modern Meaning

“The West remains obsessed by the caste system,” commented French writer François Gautier. But what provokes such intense interest in the Indian caste system? Surely other cultures are the subjects of their own hierarchical systems, yet the caste system is seen differently. Perhaps the ancient scriptural roots peak the interest of some, or the manner in which caste still affects daily ritual and interaction entices others. Either way, it is important to demystify caste of the exoticism which it has suffered – exoticism primarily by the West. Therefore, this third module studies caste through concrete anthropological, historical, and political scopes. Thereby, the impact of caste as individuals proceed through various stages of their lives becomes apparent. From ritual rites such as birth and marriage, to perfunctory actions of eating, to the democratic process of elections and alliance-building, caste rests in the back of everyone's minds. Furthermore, the salience of caste in such diverse facets of life and society leads to gaps in equality and opportunity. How do the discriminated reposition themselves to gain equality? How do they form an identity and demand opportunity? All of the above questions narrate a story of ancient notions of identity within a society in conflict with modern notions of individual freedom and equality.

The content of this module focuses on two separate themes. The first theme is of the definition of caste itself and its evolution throughout the Subcontinent's era of colonization into the modern period. In understanding the definition of caste, one can imagine caste relations as a pairing of interactions between the 'pure' and the 'polluted'. Furthermore, society propagates caste through notions of food possessing the same characteristics, such that consumption of meat and alcohol is frowned upon by “the pure.” Other interactions such as the ritual relationships between a king and a priest demonstrate the complementary roles which different castes play (Fuller 482). This anthropological view is one of inter-caste interdependence for the smooth function of society. The four varnas of Hindu scripture then underwent a change under British colonialism as caste was chosen by the British bureaucracy as the main means for categorizing the people (Bhatia “Understanding”). As Fuller confirms, “The traditional Indian village with its traditional caste system was, in large part, a project of the British Raj” (Fuller 480). Another important term in discourse over caste is the term jati – a term more prevalent in the vernacular, quotidian references to caste as kinship and community. Through jati is how most Hindus experience the caste system – be it at times of marriage or any other auspicious event based on kinship networks. Many jatis are also regionally based and therefore tie people into an even closely knit network. Jati, based on a more specific qualification than varna, may indicate one's profession, and thus the conditions in which one will spend his or her life (Fuller 477). Therefore, one may interpret caste as distantly or intimately as one desires. And in today's Republic, although casteism is illegal, it most definitely is not ignored; neither the people nor the politicians are caste-blind.

This discussion then transitions into the modern response to the caste system by low-caste Dalits who seek to effect change. Do they see themselves as part of the system or as outliers? What accommodations do they ask as citizens of the Republic? And in what ways do caste status and class status overlap – are they interchangeable? As Mridu Rai explains, “The State in India does not recognize caste, and yet the history of India shows that caste, far from fading away, has returned to the fold of politics today.” This statement further enforces the idea of caste as a network, a means to connecting with individuals of a similar background. And in the case of politics, one elects into office individuals with similar lineage, experiences, goals, and ideals. As Indian politician V.N. Gadgil remarked, “In India you do not cast your vote, you vote your caste.” And thus, this caste politics gives birth to jargon such as “Scheduled Castes,” “Scheduled Tribes,” and “Other Backwards Classes.” Each are groups of traditionally underprivileged communities which are now awarded a form of affirmative action – reservations in public education and employment – to lessen the gap created by centuries of discrimination (Guha 600). By 1995, two million Dalits were admitted into work, though they remained economically “impoverished” (Guha 606). Along with admittance into public employment and education, many Dalits also found themselves in the highest rungs of the political sphere. Mayawati, serving her fourth term as Chief Minister of India's most populous state, is also head of the Bahujan Samaj Party – representing a Dalit constituency (Guha 607). Despite the success of a few from underprivileged communities, the vast majority of lower caste individuals face many hurdles in finding success or even an opportunity to prove themselves.

Although I was aware of caste before this module, my understanding was mostly restricted to my own caste and the caste of my family friends. My understanding of caste sincerely lacked exposure to the lifestyles and practices of lower caste individuals, especially the Dalits. Reading the two poems and the short story “Untold Hitlers” provided me with insight into this section of society. Firstly, Omprakash Valmiki's poetry reveals a frustrated, angry attitude toward being outcast for centuries – left with only “leavings to eat” and “hand-me-downs to wear” (Valmiki). Secondly, the short story “Untold Hitlers” exposed me to the fact of transient castes which are not fixed. These classes move up or down the hierarchy as they acquire wealth, popularity, or land. “Untold Hitlers” is a story of land-workers from the village who have succeeded a land-owning zamindar in post-Independence India. They travel to the city where they wish to purchase a tractor. The business owner offers with a hint of nostalgia, “There used to be just one thakur who ruled over the area, but now you big peasants have become the new thakurs” (Detha). This concept of post-Independence mobility suggests change for some newly lang-owning castes, yet the system remained in place. And as the story suggests, even the most underprivileged person can find someone beneath him to violate.

Alongside my new knowledge of the conditions of Dalits as well as the mobility which some castes enjoyed, some interesting questions were discussed in class. First, were non-Hindus (namely Muslims and Christians) outside the influence of the caste system? And second, how do caste and class reflect on one another? Both these questions reflect the nature of caste as a pervasive culture phenomenon, not one isolated within the Hindu community. Although both Christianity and Islam in theory professed equality, there existed Dalit-like groups in both communities (Fuller 490-491). This widespread presence of societal hierarchy and a clear out-group suggests that scripture is not the only force pushing for caste, but that caste differences often inherently result in class differences.

Returning to Gautier's comment, the West might in fact be obsessed about caste when dealing with India – and perhaps even rightly so. At each point of India's history, factors seem to increase collective consciousness of caste rather than debilitate it. Be it in scripture, colonialism, or modern politics, people desperately seek a way to identify themselves and organize themselves. They try to build a story of lineage. Unfortunately, the caste system only accords this power to those at the top. Yet, the underprivileged also seek to build their narrative, too. As the Dalit protagonist of the 2011movie Aarakshan sings to his country, “Ek chance to de de merii jaan / tum phir uRaan dekhnaa” (Give me one chance, my love / And watch me take flight).

Freedom Park, Bangalore

This is a slideshow of photos documenting the afternoon I spent at Freedom Park in Gandhi Nagar, Bangalore. This ongoing rally is one of many taking place around India and abroad in accordance with the India Again Corruption movement -- with its neo-Gandhian figurehead, Anna Hazare. These photos are from Friday, August 19th.

The music is the official anthem of the movement and was playing on loud speakers at the Park.