The most defining event in my student life, before I entered college, was the institutional murder of Rohith Vemula. I was compelled to think about my caste/class privilege and read Ambedkar – which left me aghast by the level of apathy and downright hostility I saw everywhere, in my family and friend circles. Cut to college and I found a safe haven, where despite its many significant shortcomings and fair share of problematic viewpoints, people wanted to talk and debate about issues our circles outside usually wouldn’t even venture into. Yes, the student body comes from all walks of life and has diverse perspectives that they were brought up with, but there are also people who proudly profess their identity and causes, and constructively engage with our not-so ‘there yet’ peers.

However, over my years here, I have become wary. The point of our liberal arts education, constant peer engagement and the painstaking efforts of some of our professors is to open our eyes to the broad contours of oppressions and discriminations that surround us. We are aware of what we are supposed to say and how to behave in our social circles. We know that womxn and minorities face hurdles that most of us cannot even imagine. We are constantly talking about discourse and changing the status quo. But is it just a smokescreen? While well intentioned and coming from a place of unlearning years of unchecked privilege, why do the privileged still hold the mic?

Now the distinction that I draw, and personally believe in, is that of being able to speak about issues and the praxis which one indulges in. So yes, I think it is okay for a cis-male to speak about womxn’s issues or a financially well off person to talk about gig economy workers. Only a particular community can fully comprehend the depth of their lived experiences, but there cannot be a bar on anyone else who wishes to engage with any social issue. However, the line that I wish we would draw is of not co-opting  a communities’ narratives and exclusively holding the mic, but making that tough journey of true empathy in our own personal/professional circles.

When we come from homes/schools/communities where we didn’t know or understand the existence of the many injustices around us, a place and ‘woke’ social circles which constantly talk about topics of discrimination is amazing. We constantly learn to question it and our inherent biases, but talk is all we do. I am wary of fellow savarna feminists obsessively talking about what they perceive as oppressions being faced by Muslim and Dalit women, without having a spent a day in the latters’ shoes and this much-needed critique captures my sentiments the best. We post that ‘feministflowercrown’ story or tweet about our Bania-Brahmin government being oblivious to the real issues, but where does this activism go when it comes to our personal lives? After all, the personal is political.

Questioning the content this magazine puts out, made it introspect and actively seek different voices to publish on its platform. It still takes an incredible amount of courage to write what Abhishek and Manisha recently wrote or to chronicle the sexual harassment womxn continue to face in elite spaces like this college, because these are and will still be issues till an overwhelming political and social will to actually make that change comes. But what else have we done? We shared those stories on our social media accounts where our friends, coming from almost similar backgrounds, commented ‘aah yes, caste is real’. We tell ourselves the lie that ‘discourse’, ‘spreading awareness’ and sharing different point of views is the major extent of our contribution because ‘so many people just don’t know yet and something is better than nothing’.

Anecdotally, but I suspect also statistically, (considering the break-up of our student population, based on this still insightful survey), a lot of people who ‘speak up’ are people belonging to the dominant castes/classes. Our committees and various representative bodies are filled with the more privileged and so it is natural that they are put in positions to speak up more often. However, while it is widely accepted now to acknowledge the questions of caste/class/gender/sexuality when we discuss any policy affecting the student body, why is the question of representation only a check box to be ticked and making sure voices are heard the end of our responsibility? We never pause to internalise why our friend circle has nearly the same upbringing/world view like us – they just happen to be from a different tier-I/II city. Or why our committees value the same set of social skills and always have a younger version of some ‘super-studly’ senior. Our classrooms, practice debates and social media are filled with heavy academic discussions but our praxis extends to attending/organising a few talks, tweeting/reposting about oppression or any non-committal gesture which helps us feel better about ourselves for being a #ally.

I am guilty of this – my social circle and every space I have occupied in college is filled with people similar to me. I have spoken about diversity like it is not real life but another cutesy high school Netflix movie. We live in an astounding cognitive dissonance where we constantly talk about woke things and ‘cancel’ people who do not fit the right-talking-points mould. We will share the latest article on accessibility or attend a webinar on the hardships of migrant workers, but our friend circles will comprise people like us (a choice we perhaps make subconsciously) or unthinkingly end up mentoring juniors who come from similar privileges. We will support affirmative action in educational and work spaces, but fill our committees and our moot and debate teams with different hues of similarly-placed people. We will pat ourselves on the back for asking tough questions, but still be the gatekeepers. We will speak and speak and speak, but not pass the mic.

***

If you wish to know more about allyship and appropriation here is a recommended read by the author – Between Savior and Seller: Critiquing Preface Politics https://roundtableindia.co.in/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=7312:preface-politics-does-annihilation-of-caste-need-an-introduction&catid=119:feature&Itemid=132

When I was a child, my neighbour used to feed my brother and me whenever my parents went to the village. She would invite me home for food. I would sit on the floor; her entire family would sit at the table.

Bahujan scholar and poet Omprakash Valmiki described in his biography, his father’s insistence on him pursuing a higher education, despite knowing fully well of the discrimination that his son would inevitably face. A child who had already faced such discrimination from primary school, was hence burdened with the expectation of a higher education, with the belief that it was the only route to ridding himself of caste.

I am a Chamaar. This is not an identity that I have ever shied away from. While some of you would expect me to identify as a ‘human’ first, I want to assure you that the society at large has made sure that I don’t forget which caste I belong to. In my time at Law School, as I have gone from identifying as a Chamaar to identifying as a Dalit-Bahujan, I have always embraced the one part of my identity meant to keep me down. As I write today, however, I offer a small glimpse into a journey, familiar to some and incomprehensibly unfamiliar to others.

Much like Omprakash Valmiki, my parents too, harboured dreams of escaping caste. Escaping, however, comes at a price. The price of an education, was sacrificing a house. To send your son to the best possible school, you had to sacrifice the down payment that you could have made on a home. With each tier of education coming at a greater cost, the sacrifices would mount and my parents would make them; because at the heart of hearts they shared the same vision of Dr BR Ambedkar and Omprakash Valmiki. They (and I) genuinely believe that a higher education is the only avenue for one to rid themselves of caste.

I joined Law School in 2015 but my journey began 2 years prior, when I prepared and wrote the CLAT in 2014. Back then, I had gotten a score which would have seen me enter RMLNLU. Determined to improve and make it to the best possible Law School, I rewrote in 2015 and sat stunned as I checked my results at 2AM in the morning. I had secured an AIR of 333. I was dejected. I really thought I could have done better.

In the morning I rang up one of my closest teachers who had helped me with my preparation and informed him that I had gotten an AIR of 333. Being the supportive man that he is, he was delighted. He congratulated me on my effort and told me it was a result of my hard work. Almost as an afterthought, I informed him of my AIR SC Rank 2. He was ecstatic. He yelled in joy and said my entry into NLS was certain. Here is when I was caught in my first dilemma. I expressed to him my doubts about joining a college based on my SC Rank and instead simply accepting a college as per my General ranking. The words he said then fuel me to this day. He said “If you don’t go, the seat will be offered to a child who might not be able to bear that pressure and drop out. Remember, you don’t go there for yourself, you go there for your people; as a guiding light for those students who can look up to you and follow you in the same footsteps.”

Truth be told, these footsteps haven’t been easy. Each step through Law School has thrown up challenges reminiscent of the inequities that exist outside. But after an unlucky streak of two year losses, it is these words which prevent me from dropping out like so many other Dalit-Bahujans, and kindle my hope of graduating from this institution with all the knowledge that I came to gather.

The pursuit of knowledge here, however, seems particularly strange through the lens of a Dalit-Bahujan man. On a campus that boasts equality campaigners in all corners of its settlement, I continue to witness, with each new batch of students, similar incidents of caste-based slurs, “debates” on why “economic reservations are the solution” (this from those joining our LLM and MPP programs) and a culture of discrimination that only serves to remind individuals of their place in the socio-economic hierarchy.

When Valmiki’s father insisted on his pursuit of higher education, the forms of discrimination that he feared may have been different. But in the second decade of the 21^st century one can be certain that the perpetrators, then and now, draw from the very same well. Incidents of discrimination, against an individual, only hasten the collective reliving of a community’s historical inferiority complex – of not speaking good enough English, of not being able to understand complex concepts in one go, of not “fitting in” to elite cliques, of not knowing how to compile presentable projects, of not clearing exams.

In the initial days of college, a group of students sitting in their hostel rooms were discussing the marks of the first test of Legal Methods. In the course of the conversation one of my batch mates very casually remarked “Yaar, yeh SC kaise aajate hain iss college mein?” (“Dude, how do these SCs come into this college?”). One hopes that the men present have changed their views over the years, however, the impact that one such statement has on its listeners can persist for years. After all, we were all just first years who wanted to hang out, but from that moment on we would always be reminded that in their eyes our existence would simply never measure up. One day you are a proud member of India’s premier law school, and the other you are just another Dalit who got in through reservation.

The way higher education is portrayed as a route to salvation, one often forgets that those they meet on this journey are a product of the same patriarchal, brahmanical caste-based society that exists outside. For all those who forget, however, incidents like these serve as a reminder.

When I came here, education was my primary aim. I started to participate in practice debates because I wanted to speak in English and make sense at the same time. I wanted to participate in class so I tried to contribute. Prof. Elizabeth (aka Lizzie) encouraged everyone to engage and debate in class. Even though the first 3 weeks of History were Latin to me, I started to relate heavily to the lecture on “Society and the Individual” from the “What is History” component. It was here when I first tried to speak in class a few times while seated at the back of the side rows, all the while anxious of being made fun of. Over time, I slowly gained in confidence and my engagement in class increased, till one fine day, I got stuck trying to formulate a sentence and a batchmate of mine looked at me and smirked. That was it. All that effort into building myself up, deflated. The said person later joined the Law and Society Committee. Little did I know that in my second year, I would face the same kind of deflation, only this time it would be at the hands of a Professor, who would use his privileged position, to mock me for the class’s entertainment.

Trust me. It breaks you. Being made fun of for struggling with a language you weren’t exposed to because your parents only spoke to you in either Bhojpuri or Hindi. It cuts at your self-esteem and stabs at your confidence. It effectively kills your sense of curiosity and robs you of your ability to participate. And yet. And yet, it doesn’t break you like you may think it does. It may break your heart, but it does not break your spine. One keeps marching forward towards that goal that is graduation, because one does not walk this path for the benefit of caste perpetrators but towards their direct detriment. Once again, one hopes these people have changed, but the fact that the said Professor continues his antics, doesn’t leave me feeling very optimistic. The certainty with which people say “Arey, people develop sense while they stay here” can only emerge from those unaware or intentionally blind to how deeply ingrained this mentality is in our institutions.

Academic achievers, and discourse creators keep discussing how caste-based discrimination has either vanished or radically reduced with the onset of education. As someone who studies at the premier centre for legal instruction in the country, I would like to categorically disagree. Caste discrimination has merely evolved into discrimination by other means. Language, clothing, taste in music or your consumption of pop culture, each act as a proxy for your socio-economic location. While the cliques that form around these may seem banal, they represent a much deeper divide.

When you enter they ask you your rank, and then look at you with pity. When you speak English they mock and they jeer. Little do they know that their “merit” is bought by money and their rank by a historic access to resources. Their spoken English reeks of condescension and their debates uplift none.  Their pretence of inclusivity dies when they shoot down someone for speaking Hindi, and again, when their moot courts “groom” and “polish” the pre-polished selected for “grooming” and “polishing”.

The table from my childhood seems to have persisted to my present.

Distant. Intimidating. Unattainable.

The only difference is,

When I was a child, I ate on the floor.

I will sit on the floor no longer.

This piece has been written by Manisha Arya (Batch of 2019). You can reach out to her at [email protected]. Artwork by Mukta Joshi (Batch of 2019).

“I now see how owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.”

– Brene Brown

When I say ‘upper class’, do not mistake me to be born with that privilege. My father, having been born and brought up in a village, is the first-generation graduate of our family. I was born in a village, shifted to a town, and later shifted to a city in 2005, where I lived for 9 years before coming to NLS. Moving to a city was a conscious decision made by my father so that his children could get a proper English education. My father’s several promotions in his government job are what gave us the ‘upper class’ social standing. This is the background I come from. So, the next time you want to comment about Bahujans that “they have an iPhone, they do not deserve reservation” (glorious mess table conversations), remember the struggles our forefathers have gone through to give us a comfortable life. If you can afford an iPhone, so can we. Make peace with it.

Beginning of Law School

I was CLAT General Category AIR 639 and SC AIR 2. I entered NLS having no knowledge about what it meant to be from the SC category. I was not even aware about what being a woman means, leave alone an SC woman. Yet, I felt this constant guilt, a constant feeling of not deserving what I got. I was SC AIR 2, I should have been proud of myself, but I was not. This feeling of not deserving to be here deepened when I got three repeats in my first trimester itself. Eco was expected; History, I thought I would clear in the repeat; and LM, I was sure I would pass. Failing in 3 out of 4 subjects hit me so hard that I broke down, I felt like I would not survive. After much hesitation, I went to Prof. Elizabeth in my second trimester and told her how I felt about being from a reservation category and about my academic struggles. One hour of conversation with her helped me take one step ahead in feeling like I deserved to be at NLS.

No matter whether one fails or excels in academics, the stigma attached to one’s caste never leaves you. If you fail, you were bound to because you came via reservation. If you excel, you excel despite your reservation. The stigma attached to one being from reservation never goes away. Like an author once said, “you can leave your caste but your caste will never leave you.”

Friend Circle

Luckily, my friend circle was a mix of Bahujans and Savarnas and my friends never otherized me because of my caste. I say ‘luckily’ because not all Bahujans have the fortune to say the sentence I just said. We are all aware, even if we chose to ignore it, about the formation of friend circles based on caste, or committees taking people from their own caste and taking pride in being an all <insert caste> committee. In such a surrounding, I am extremely grateful for having the friends I did, and will always be thankful to them for making my Law School journey a path of roses even when it was full of thorns. 

Mentorship – or the Lack of it

The importance of mentorship in Law School can only be understood by someone who did not receive it. Unlike many other students, I did not get a mentor in the form of a rank parent, got no guidance on how to go about college, had no one to proof read my projects – no one to provide the support which could have made my journey a bit easier. I am not the only reservation student who has faced this problem, it is a vicious cycle, where the category students are so caught up in their own academics that they often do not have the time and energy to invest in another student. 

Savarna students often have strong rank families, which helps them make strong connections both in Law School and in the professional world. We Bahujans are often lost as to where to get internships from, under whom to intern, how to go about in the profession after our graduation, and so on. I do not say that seniors will not help us if we ask for it but what is served on a platter to the Savarna students, the Bahujans have to fight for. How much of this is the student body’s fault and how much of it is the institution’s is a long going tussle.  

The journey of Owning my Identity

Learning about my identity as a woman and as a Bahujan was a journey — a process. My first encounter with caste was in my second year in the History II course when we were reading Uma Chakravarti’s ‘Rewriting History’. My second academic encounter was in 2017 when Prof. Sumit Baudh offered an elective on ‘Critical Race Theory and Caste’. 

2015-16 was the time when Savitri Phule Ambedkar Caravan (SPAC) was being formed and emerging as a committee working for caste rights at Law School. As far as I remember, I got involved with the initiative in 2016. By being in SPAC and engaging with fellow Bahujans I started understanding the spirit of community, the need to be there for each other, and the necessity to not let our juniors go through the things we experienced. In my third year, I started seeing myself as a Bahujan not with guilt, but with pride. 

In 2016, LawSoc conducted ‘The Indian Apartheid – A Conference on Caste’ where I spoke on the themes of changing one’s surname to hide one’s Dalit identity, the discrimination faced, and the impact of division of caste into sub castes on Dalit Women. That was the first time I realised that the journey of Bahujan women is not the same as that of Bahujan men. This realisation became a reality in 2017, when I was made joint-convenor of SPAC and on multiple occasions my views contradicted with those of the Bahujan men in SPAC. 

In 2016, a Bahujan man committed a sexual offence against a Savarna woman in law school. The Internal Complaints Committee gave an order convicting the perpetrator. Appealing against the order, the perpetrator misused the process of law, revealed the identity of the woman, and made many derogatory remarks on her character – going to the extent of making her responsible for the suicide of one of my batchmates. The authorities he approached were not authorities who could pass orders in such matters. All evidence was against the perpetrator – there was documentary proof of him abusing the process. With all of this, the woman approached SPAC to support her, so that she could get a final conviction against him. Most men in SPAC (especially the Convenor of that year, 2017-18) did not support her — even with all of this proof, they did not want to step up. They feared that NCSC (National Commission for Schedule Castes) would come after SPAC. To be honest, they were just cowards.

SPAC had a close association with one of the Bahujan alumni of the Batch of 2014. A batchmate of mine had shared with me the experience of her emotional and sexual abuse perpetrated by him and requested that SPAC stop associating with the alumnus. I discussed the same with the SPAC Convenor. In return, he defended the senior by stating ‘the fair process of law – audi alterem partem’ and no action was taken. In 2018, multiple testimonies of sexual abuse against the alumnus were published. After so many attempts at discussions and fights, I understood the misogyny of these men and that strengthened the feminist inside me.

It is an ongoing trend in SPAC and in the Bahujan community at NLS that the women are not vocal, they do not speak up, they do not fight. Why? I still ask. Later, at Strawberry Fields-2019, the aforementioned 2017-18 SPAC Convenor sexually harassed three Bahujan women and we came to know that the same thing happened with all three of us only after discussing it – one spoke first and then the other two. That’s the importance of sharing our stories – if we had not discussed it, most probably none of us would have confronted him. I do not know why I did not call him out in public back then. I just do not know! He was a friend of mine, an ally, a person I often looked up to — and then he turned out to be a harasser.

Corporate Internships and Placement

In my third year when Corp internships began and it was time to think of placements for the next year, my CGPA was 3.08. When I saw my CGPA and my class rank, my confidence took a steep drop. I was convinced that I would not get a Corporate internship. I did not want to do a corporate job – this I was sure about – but this was also an excuse I made to not sit for placements. In reality, I was shit scared and extremely under-confident because of my CGPA. I just could not muster the courage to sit for placement with a CGPA of 3.08. After graduating however, I deeply regretted stealing myself of the opportunity of learning from the experience of sitting for interviews which could have helped me later in job interviews that I actually wanted to sit for. Take this piece of advice, no matter what your CGPA is, do not give up without trying, do not reject yourself, because someone else might not. 

Mental Health

I suffered from severe anxiety and depression throughout Law School. A lot of it was because of my past, but the academic pressure and the feeling that I did not deserve to be at NLS also contributed to it. As a Bahujan, I always wanted to excel in academics, so that no one could question my merit – the pressure was immense. As a woman I wanted to be at my best in committees, be at my top game in sports, I never ever wanted to hear that “she lost because she is a woman” or “she could not perform because she is a woman”. I remember exerting myself so much more than the men of the committees that I was a part of, or choosing work of infra – lifting more than men would, even when I knew that I was physically exerting myself. I just did not want someone, any man, to say “she cannot lift mattress/tables/tie ropes/carry a hundred things at one go because she is a woman”. I know for sure many women at NLS feel the same. 

Two of my batchmates ended their lives, and both of them belonged to the reservation category. I hesitate to write about it as the struggles they suffered in their minds can only be known to them. However, what I would like to discuss is the academic pressure that they were going through before they decided to take that step. One of them, due to their illness, had to leave mid-trimester and when they came back in the next trimester, they had to hustle with the Exam Department for attendance, beg again and again to schedule their vivas – they were afraid of losing the year because of this. The other one just needed one or two marks to clear a subject which could have saved their one year, and the institution just declined to do so, being well aware of their illness. 

Do one or two marks or a year matter to the institution more than someone’s life? Could a little sympathy on the part of the Exam Department and the institution have saved their lives? Both of them were bright, they had so much potential in them, they could have contributed so much to the legal profession and society at large. But, sorry, we need to keep up the name of the institution, we need to keep up the academic rigor. If a few lives are gone, especially the lives of Bahujans, what does it matter? 

On another note, to all the students I want to say it gets better, it always gets better. Do not give up on yourself, because your friends and your family will not. You matter the most, above grades, above a degree, above this fucking, sorry, glorious Law School, YOU MATTER THE MOST.

Concluding Note

Law School is the place where I first heard of Ambedkar, Savitiri Bai Phule, Jyotiba Phule and read their works. Law School is the place where I first owned my caste identity and spoke openly about it. I would like to extend my heart-felt gratitude towards Prof. Elizabeth and Prof. Sumit Baudh for teaching me these subjects and for the manner in which they taught. They have been my friends and my mentors, for that I am always thankful. Law School is the place which gave me the courage and the confidence to be who I am and be proud of it and for that I owe Law School a lot. 

Parting my ways with Law School as a student, I am sad to find out that only 5 category students out of 17 (excluding the person who was a sexual offender) who came to Law School in 2014 graduated with the batch. Eight have a year loss or year losses, two students dropped out, and two we lost. 

In Solidarity,

Manisha Arya.

*Disclaimer — the description/information of the sexual harassment case has been shared with the permission of the complainant and has been proof read by her. 

]]> http://www.nlsquirks.in/graduating-as-an-upper-class-bahujan-woman/feed/ 3 http://www.nlsquirks.in/confessions-of-a-one-of-us/ http://www.nlsquirks.in/confessions-of-a-one-of-us/#comments Tue, 19 Apr 2016 23:24:02 +0000 https://nlsquirks.wordpress.com/?p=896 Continue readingConfessions of a “One of Us”]]> Anonymous

In the first trimester of Law School, I was crying on a friend’s shoulder in an autorickshaw, disappointed at my average performance in the university debate rounds. As somebody who believed myself to be a good debater, it was crushing to be shown my place in the university pool. My friend’s reaction though took me of guard. Concerned about me, and wanting to reassure me, he asked me why I kept feeling the need to prove I was good at extra-curricular activities. Was it because I had entered Law School through the SC quota, and I felt the need to prove I was as good as everyone else? He said, “Don’t worry, everyone already thinks you’re one of us. You don’t have to prove anything.” It was meant to restore my confidence. He was trying to be a good friend. It felt like a hard kick in the gut. My AIR had happened to be enough to qualify sans the quota as well. Therefore, I was not an usurper. The implication was that I ‘deserved’ to be at NLS. The implication was that others didn’t by virtue of getting in through the quota. That was my first real encounter with caste at Law School. That if your diction and pop culture qualified, you were one of us. It is one of the sharpest memories of my life. Not just what was said, but what was unsaid, and how it made me feel.

I am extremely aware of the position of privilege I enjoy. I went to an Anglican Christian school for three years which is among the top 5 in the country, was born to two highly educated parents, and have never faced economic hardship in my life. However, I am fully aware that skipping one generation, my ancestors weren’t allowed to sit inside a classroom, their shadows would pollute people if they walked past and that they worked with their hands and animal hide. I am aware that my mother belonging to an upper caste had to face tremendous social sanction and repercussions for marrying outside her caste twenty five years ago, a decision which many people in our generation still don’t have the courage to take. The caste system excluded people from the lower caste from gaining access to Sanskrit, Hindu education at top schools fifty years ago. Christian missionaries willingly took in everyone if you were willing to learn English and say ‘Amen.’ Then, English became the language of the market. My father went to a Christian school. And I benefitted in a twisted way from this discrimination. As somebody who sang in a Christian church choir as a child, I never fully understood how discrimination worked, until my grandmother read Ambedkar to me. And I didn’t appreciate its power till I met people in Law School.

At the outset I want to say that of all the things I am grateful for, having studied at NLS is among the highest. I had the opportunity to study under some amazing professors, develop useful skills, and forge friendships that will last forever. It taught me to question everything and express myself unabashedly. The place will always be a part of who I am which is why I feel that it is important that I am able to critique it with as much honesty as possible. Anything else would do the institute disservice.

As the supposedly top Law School in the country, an institute which has produced some fantastic human rights lawyers, and created an amazing vision to improve the quality of legal representation in India, as a student body at large, we’re a disproportionately apolitical bunch. Yes, the Law and Society Committee and the Legal Services Clinic and now IDIA have always gone out of their way to ensure that questions of inclusion, diversity, religion and politics are brought to the mainstream but there’s always an alternative vibe to it. I was particularly impressed by LawSoc’s activity for incoming freshers about recognising their privilege. We say that NLS allows everyone a space to pursue what they want. Yes, the spaces exist. However which spaces are the most crowded provide an interesting insight into our conscience. We need to stop pretending that people go to Allen and Overy partner talks and a screening of Jai Bhim in similar numbers. We are content to politicise mess coupons, but turn a blind eye to who is picking up our trash.

One of my immediate seniors was unpopular because he would keep discussing questions of caste on 19(1)(A), on ugstudents, and through his committee. I know several people who thought his activism was shrill, and unnecessary because caste was not an issue that affected NLS. Of course, NLS was that temple of education which honours merit over anything else; of students who got in on merit and worked hard to win the moots, debates, scholarships and jobs. So on several occasions, I have witnessed certain classmates emanate a “what else do you expect?” schadenfreude-like attitude when people who got in on the quotas have failed courses, lost years. As if, that is what happens when you don’t deserve to be here. That never happened when somebody who from the general category fell behind or failed courses. A junior, who was unaware of my caste status, once vociferously told me once that the best way to reign in NLS’ falling standards was to abolish the quota system, those people are bringing us down, that’s why our India Today ranking was in jeopardy. Another junior tried to explain to his classmates how we should advocate positive eugenics because let’s face it certain castes were just more intelligent and capable than others. An extremely successful senior told people over the mess table how she would “never date somebody who was an SC.”

To be fair, I haven’t encountered a single instant wherein any member of the faculty or administration has even exerted the tiniest of micro-aggressions towards students belonging to any of the backward classes, and in that, NLS might be a free space. However, as a student body, I don’t think we’re as guiltless as we would like to believe in our Chetta debates on organic change. The first instance when I felt that students were genuinely squirming about their privilege and thinking about caste was during P. Sainath’s single credit course on development, dissent and the media. His classes, I believe, genuinely forced people to think about law and society outside the sanitized and academic distance we are used to. One of the juniors did insist to Mr. Sainath in earnest after class that the caste system was useful as it helped organise society. But, P. Sainath is a celebrated, sophisticated English journalist who is listened to. Would people still have been willing to listen if the same questions had been asked by a Dalit journalist with vernacular experiences? It’s something to think about.

The advocates of meritocracy across the world have a very identical criticism of affirmative action. This is true for many white US students I have spoken to regarding African-American representation at US universities. They will always point out how certain people who have availed of the reservation system are extremely rich, drive around in fancy cars and don’t need the quota at all and that the criterion for affirmative action should be financial alone. We know there’s a very similar attitude at NLS as well. Pointing out individual examples as though caste has ceased to exist and it’s just another scam being pulled by the powerful. I agree that lack of opportunity due to dearth of funds from your primary schooling immediately excludes you from access to higher education and a chance to better your economic prospects. However, reducing it to this discussion assumes that one can buy themselves out of caste. That might be a gift of a capitalist economy which cares about your output and contribution to the economy over your lineage. However, the manner in which caste pervades our personal lives, the people who we make friends with, the people we marry, the people we idolise or give recognition to. Much of our lean-in feminism focusing on climbing the corporate ladder, does so while standing on the shoulders of domestic help from lower castes, perpetuating the same system of oppression with no attempts at reconciling these contradictions.

I am not qualified or intelligent enough to come up with a solution to our dilemma when it comes to representation in higher education. As campuses across the country begin to finally have conversations about caste following the horrific suicide of Rohith Vemula, a tragedy we all must take blame for as a system, it could be a moment for our alma mater to reflect seriously or it could be another missed opportunity like hundreds before it. The point of this piece is to highlight, from my personal observation that caste pervades the NLS student body more than we are willing to admit. First, by our silences and lack of engagement with the issue of caste within NLS and outside it, because this engagement offers no rewards or connections which can be vetted on your master CV. Second, because through our casual comments on meritocracy and hard work, we try to delegitimize and demoralise the presence of a section of the student body which is also legally entitled to the same educational experience as everyone else. •