Commentary/Ashwin Mahesh

Narayanan's refusal to distance himself from his dalit identity leaves no doubt his qualification lay in his birth, not his accomplishments

Thousands of years ago, our ancestors came out of the northwest and into the fertile plains of Hindustan and settled there. Over a few centuries, they developed a culture unsurpassed among the people of the time, boasting great successes in architecture, engineering, the arts and literature. The strength and integrity of this culture helped our forefathers withstand numerous conquerors, often assimilating invading people. As a result, India is one of the few nations that boast an unbroken link to the past -- we have preserved the customs of our progenitors as few others have. This has enriched our heritage and contributed in countless ways to our identity as Indians.

True or false? Depends on who you ask.

The politics of identity has acquired quite a force in the latter half of this century. Hindus, Muslims, dalits, brahmins, yadavs, southerners, union workers, Kukis, -- there's no end to the taxonomy of differentiated vote-banks and conflicting interests. Unfortunately, several of these distinctions take no account of underlying reality. Do these identities really exist? And if yes, do we understand what they reflect? Is Bengali nothing more than fish-eating poets and egalitarian government, or does it reflect a homogeneity of thought and aspiration among the people? And what is it derived from?

Let's address the last question first -- exactly what makes us who we are? It is immediately apparent that our identity is partly derived from who we like to think we are. If we are even half-way honest about it, we will admit we like to imagine that we are derived from a glorious civilisation, one whose trappings we should wear as a badge of honor. Historians and moral scholars can debate endlessly the worth of our past, but we ourselves carry it with pride. Ashoka and Akbar were great kings, in no small measure because they are part of our history. Otherwise, we might consider that they merely did their jobs well.

In large part, our self-image is also shaped by who others think we are. This is especially true among minorities, because the majority opinion is shared widely or expressed often enough to precipitate stereotypes. Minorities, on the other hand, are less able to participate in the homogeneity of a culturally-derived identity for the entire nation. What Hindus think of Sikhs or Jains is better known than the reverse. Certainly, it is more freely discussed.

An intriguing aspect of identity has to do with inclusion and exclusion. Language, which has always been part of the fragmentation of Indian society, presents a good example. As more and more Indians move from one state to another, our identities become harder to define. I was born in Tamil Nadu to Tamil-speaking parents, but the last census counted me a resident of Karnataka. Does that make me Tamilian or Kannadiga? Both, perhaps.

In truth, claiming both identities is simply the most efficient way of protecting my self-interest. The next time there are riots in Bangalore over water-sharing disputes between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, I might get taken out in some mindless exercise of violence based on someone else's perception of who I am or ought to be. As a Kannadiga, I will claim the right to protection from the government of 'my' state. It helps that Karnataka is a linguistically diverse state, and my position is common enough to be understood and identified with by millions of others.

Ambiguity is not only protective, it actually builds self-image. Under its cover, I can take pride in India's silicon valley and in Thiruvalluvar. I can also disown caste clashes in southern Tamil Nadu or Hindu-Muslim riots in Hubli. Self-image and perception are inclusive or exclusive entirely depending on what is advantageous. When the next redistribution of seats in Parliament becomes due, the same politicians who arbitrarily decided that Bengali-speaking people were not Maharashtrians and possibly not Indians even, will be only too happy to count them as sons of Shivaji's soil.

The most riveting aspect of identity is one that is derived from our idea of who we are not. A few weeks ago, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad was wondering if K R Narayanan was really a Hindu, and if that, a dalit. The VP's response -- as he was bound to say -- was that there is god in all things, that hanging portraits of Christ in his house don't mean he is not a Hindu. Even India's usually foot-in-mouth politicians know better than to say something else, and Narayanan is miles better than most. As for not having championed any dalit causes, his entire family was in chorus that he was a leader of Indians, and should not be expected to act merely on the interests of dalits.

Yet, press reports around the world celebrated the appointment of an "untouchable" President. Why? Imagine for a moment that Narayanan had said he was no dalit, that he benefited from so many opportunities which are not available to untouchables that he could hardly be compared to them. Imagine further he had said that since his family is half-Christian, he himself had no particular preference for Hinduism. If he had done that, he'd be the ex-VP. Instead, he made all the right noises, and was promptly appointed the Prez.

The only problem with taking that route is the idea of dalit-hood, for want of a better word, exists. Narayanan was perfectly willing to say he was more than a leader of dalits, but never really asserted that being one made him any less an untouchable. In refusing to distance himself from the dalit identity, he became an 'untouchable' president, leaving at least a few people in no doubt that his real qualification for the job lay in his birth, not his accomplishments.

At least in the eyes of others, we become the people that we refuse to distance ourselves from. That's why when Muslims go to Mecca, or when the chief minister of Nagaland attends the global Baptist gathering, they are seen as somehow less Indian. This is why, every day at the United Nations, thousands of people go through the motions of condemning or praising some action or the other, even though such opprobrium or accolade doesn't change the actions under discussion in the least.

It also explains why champions of dalit causes try so hard to distance the dalit identity from Hinduism; they realise by insisting that dalits are not Hindus, the political empowerment of the lower castes is better achieved. But this is a sham, and guys like Amberish Diwanji really do our nation a terrible disservice by this pretense. The lower castes of Hinduism are not Hindus!! Go figure. Notice also that even our most luminous dalit functionary does not claim he is not a Hindu, notwithstanding Diwanji's interpretations on his behalf.

Defining ourselves in terms of such anti- or non-identities can be quite critical. This too is more evident in minorities than in the majority. In claiming to be the descendants of a glorious civilisation, we make several unspoken laws of identity. We see ourselves as guardians of a grand heritage, and in the process, at least some of us see minorities as traitors to it. Non-Hindus are continually challenged to prove their Indian-ness in ways that Hindus are not. This can be both subtle and direct.

Consider the average history text book. Most of us learned from it that Muslim invasions of India were often ruthless and mindlessly destructive. We learned also that missionaries were among the early European arrivals to India, and that the exchange of religious ideas quickly turned into an orgy of colonial plunder. Deliberate or not, these and other descriptions have made it easy for Hindus to discount the worth of minorities. Indeed, the very fact that our history refers to Europeans and Mughals as invaders sets it in a very Hindu context -- otherwise, they might be labeled recent immigrants!

It detracts not one iota from Hindu self-image to say that Babur or Aurangazeb or even Akbar was completely worthless, and that not one European of good intent ever set foot in India. Our definition of who we are, which I suggested at the beginning of this article, is entirely independent of these people. We see ourselves neither as descended from them nor as the custodians of anything worthy that they created. This is a position that is not easy for minorities to adopt.

How many Muslims will ever accept that the advent of Islam was not a good thing, how many Christians will accept that conversions were ever forced? And how does that compare with the average opinion among Hindus? In considering the actions of people who we regard as physical or spiritual ancestors, we are necessarily defensive, seeking to add a silver lining to every dark cloud of ignominy. This is simply consistent with our desire to see ourselves in a positive light. We readily discount the reality or pretend that we are exceptions to it.

At least in the religious preferences they hold, Muslims and Christians cannot decry the Mughal or European influences with the same totality that Hindus can and do; to pretend otherwise is vain. This is why the political empowerment of Hinduism, which is hugely popular these days, is likely to remain divisive; it necessarily leaves minorities outside its fold, notwithstanding the odd Sikander Bakht.

Some pseudo-scholarly types insist that Hindutva can include all religions within its embrace, and that all Indians are essentially the same. This discounts a fundamental reality -- we like to see ourselves as better than those around us, and inasmuch as religion offers a way to do that, we will latch on to it. That's why the so-called scholars of religion have such a disconnect from its practitioners. Their philosophical mumbo-jumbo assumes that everyone has read the Vedas and pondered the meaning of life. Small wonder then that their castles -- or masjids -- of professed tolerance come crashing down to earth.

In sum, identity reflects nothing more than a convenient collection of groupings, some which we favour and consider ourselves part of, and others which we detest and consider to be alien. Our families and our brotherhood are both defined by our own ideas of who we are, which is necessarily positive. And those who advance different ideas are automatically cast as something else. Consequently, the identities we embrace reflect little more than our attempts to see ourselves in a positive light, and the ones we attribute to others often merely portray them in a negative light. It is anybody's guess how real they are.

Identities provide tailor-made compartments into which we channel the people around us. Our experiences are not adequate to fully comprehend the amazing diversity of thought and aspiration that exists in the real world. The hopes and fears that we hold as individuals are sometimes common enough around us that they lend a collective identity based on them, which we then use as tags to label the people and the situations we encounter. But they are as ephemeral as the hopes and fears they are founded on. In time, the desires of our minds and hearts will change, and so too, will we.

At least, we will imagine that we have changed.

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