Wasn’t he a young lad?


Like all of us, Rohith Vemula was a human first. Multiple factors may have driven him to take the unfortunate fatal step. However, poverty and his caste heritage – both which anyone has limited control over – perhaps constantly reminded him of his social location. He was deprived of his research scholarship for the past 7 months, then barred from his hostel and cafeteria – where else did we see such discriminatory behaviour in the past?

Remember the movie Mangal Pandey? There was a sign which said “Dogs and Indians not allowed”. That was when Indians were not free politically and under the British Rule.

Who are we ruled by now?

How can someone be barred from a University campus for belonging to a students political group? Aren’t students belonging to the ABVP NOT political?

Are we all NOT political?

Hardened criminals are ordered out-of-bounds, made tadipaar and have to report to local police stations. What was Rohith’s crime? What anti-national activity was he alleged of? Isn’t it a serious crime to allege anybody as being an ‘Anti-National’ baselessly and thereby socially outcast him rendering him homeless? What was the intent and expected outcome of his social exclusion from his hostel and campus canteen? Isn’t it for he courts to decide if he had committed any crime? Is there a formal complaint or an FIR against the ASA or ABVP students? If the ABVP students allege that they were attacked, was an FIR filed about the incident? The ABVP student’s medical report who was allegedly assaulted by the ASA students alludes to a farce already. Wasn’t that the basis for withholding Rohith’s JRF scholarship? Isn’t it amazing that he survived 7 months without his fellowship – the only source of income for a poor student? For most folks here, can we imagine living without income for seven months?

Is poverty and belong to a ‘lower’ caste a crime in today’s India?

Our currently beloved Prime Minister Narendra Modi is an OBC. Is he any less capable due to his caste heritage? Aren’t we proud of him? Earlier he was sneered at as being a ‘chai wallah’ nevertheless he proved himself and is our PM now. Just imagine what could have Rohith become. Perhaps a scientist as Dr. Kalam or a nameless professor who taught our daughters and sons Physics at college/university, similar to countless dalits who are nameless and faceless yet an important support system for most working families.

We all love to see films like Eak Duje Ke Liye but when it comes to reality, its as simple as, ‘its great in films but marriages should take place within certain castes’. Of-course there are exceptions.

Although we all like to have a few ‘friends’ who are from different socio-cultural-ethnic-religious backgrounds – perhaps just to satisfy our own subconscious guilt – with whom we occasionally wine and dine, just to convince ourselves that we are not indifferent towards ‘Others’. However, how genuinely do we mutually respect each others differences?

Not convinced? One look at our matrimonial columns in newspapers reveal that we are still looking for brides and grooms from within certain castes/communities?

“Hey but that them! We don’t believe in that anymore” some may say.

I agree, most of us are now on Facebook so we consider ourselves to be secular, caste-less, class-less, educated. Yet, how many of us genuinely felt empathy for the mother of #Rohith who lost her brilliant ambitious son while she was getting by teaching embroidery? How many of us clicked the ‘like’ or ‘share’ button on Facebook posts supporting Rohith’s ultimate means of dalit protest. Most couldn’t even emotionally connect with his fate let alone support him on social media. He ended his life in protest precisely against this social exclusion. His use of the blue banner of the Ambedkar Student Association to hang himself is symbolic.

Yet, how many of us flipped channels and changed topics brushing it off thinking – “its not about us?” Doesn’t this reveal that we all have reservations about reservations?

Lets not forget, all of us are in this together.

We all disappointed Rohith Vemula. We also disappointed his poor mother, the four other expelled students of Ambedkar Student Association, even those ABVP students. We are all responsible for their actions and their aspirations. What goes around, comes around. Its very easy to make someone a ‘hero’ posthumously. I hope we learn from this and strive to make this world a better place. Can we see each other as humans first and not through the lens of caste.

Can you please be clear?

Dalit party wants Sena, MNS derecognised

This misleading headline alludes to “Dallt party wants Sena” but seeks to have the MNS de-recognized. Perhaps it would have been appropriate if it read: “Dalit Party wants Sena and MNS derecognised.”

Dalit party wants Sena, MNS derecognised

Sat, Feb 6 11:35 AM

Lucknow, Feb. 6 — Dalit political outfit Indian Justice Party (IJP) plans to petition the Election Commission or the Supreme Court, seeking the de-recognition of the Shiv Sena and Maharashtra Navnirman Sena as political parties.

“Bal and Raj Thackeray are playing divisive politics,” IJP president Udit Raj said at a press conference on Friday. “They are out to make Indians fight against Indians.

” Udit Raj, also chairman of the All India Confederation of SC/ST Organisations, said he would meet the chief election commissioner on Monday and, if the demand to disband both parties was not met, would file a public interest litigation in the Supreme Court.

Hindustan Times


What Indians Mustn’t Study

Originally published in Tehelka: link


dalit window

Filmmaker PRASHANT KADAM relates his encounters with academic prejudice

View finder Waghmare in a
still from The Bioscopewallah

My family has been in love with photography for three generations now — my father learnt it from his father and in turn taught it to me. Even today, there are huge portraits in our ancestral home that were photographed, developed and printed there around the 1950s.

After I graduated from Fergusson College in Pune, majoring in history, I did a Masters in Social-Cultural Anthropology at the University of Pune. In the first year, we had to visit a “tribal” community and study various aspects of “their culture”. The department zeroed in on Bothe village in Pandharkavda in Maharashtra’s Yavatmal district. We were all to select subjects of our choice — I decided to do a photo-essay and maybe even a short video. I discussed my project extensively with my guide before I left for the trip.

I had been in Bothe three days when the professor in charge of the trip told me I should not be doing a photo essay and should take up a “conventional” ethnographic subject instead. This made me very uncomfortable. I had nobody to consult with for my new topic. I was merely told not to continue with my photo/video essay. The nearest telephone was some eight km away, but I managed to access it anyway and called up my guide in Pune to tell him about what had happened. He told me it would be unwise to go against the field professor, and it was therefore decided that I should study dropout rates in the area, collecting data from local ashram schools.

The field professor simply failed to understand the difference between ethnography (a textual account of an anthropologist’s observation of cultures) and visual ethnography (which uses photography/video to portray the anthropologist’s cultural experience). It has been a decade now since the incident, but I do not think conditions in Indian academia have changed much.

I moved to Canada few years ago. To pursue my interest in visual communications, I enrolled in a course in independent filmmaking, during which I studied the history of film and even made my own digital movie. In 2005, while on a visit to Pune, I read an article in a local newspaper that made me nostalgic about the bioscope, a precursor to the film projector, hardly seen today even in small towns. I thought it important to document it before it faded utterly from memory. Tracking Rau Waghmare, the bioscopewallah featured in the article, took some doing, but when I finally managed to meet him, I was amazed by his zest for life, his struggle for survival and his pride in his work. He lived a hand-to-mouth existence — his cheerful demeanour, his energetic singing and his pride in his bioscope were in complete contrast to the poverty and ill health that dogged his life. Born to a Dalit family in Dev Dhanora, a remote village in Osmanabad district, he had been a tamasha artiste until 1971, when drought forced his troupe to disband. The skills of the tamasha continued, however, to be integral to his repertoire.

Rau is someone I consider a genuine performing artist, quite as much of a one as Pandit Birju Maharaj. This, as I discovered, was not an opinion that would go down well with Indian academia. While I was researching the history of the bioscope, I met an “expert” in the field who taught at the Film and Television Institute of India. He brushed me aside saying, “Whom are you calling a performing artist? I don’t think you know what you are doing. Tomorrow you may call a beggar a performing artist.”

I realised that even a decade after I was told to change my field research topic in 1996, questions of hegemony and ideology persisted in our society, however subtly and covertly. Questions like why I was the only student among 18 others who was discouraged from pursuing the research of my choice remained unanswered. Why, 10 years later, would a media studies expert belittle my efforts to document an unexplored but significant aspect of film history? Why have certain issues historically remained unaddressed? Why do we have this academic gate-keeping and with what intentions?

Nevertheless, I completed The Bioscopewallah, which will have its world premiere on October 5 at the Independent South Asian Film Festival in Seattle. I am now working on my thesis in the faculty of Cinema and Media studies at York University, Canada. My research looks at the representation of Dalits in popular Hindi cinema. It will put to scrutiny select films to understand larger cultural debates about questions of Dalit identity and collectivity. Quantitatively speaking, the Indian film industry is a world leader, producing the maximum number of films annually.

However, Dalits, comprising a huge mass of the population, are either under-represented or simply rendered invisible in these films, although their behind-the-scenes labour towards film production cannot be denied.

writer’s email: explore@prashant.ca

Oct 13, 2007

The role of India’s untouchables in film

Published originally in The Star here


TheStar.com | living | The role of India’s untouchables in film

The role of India’s untouchables in film

Jun 22, 2007 04:30 AM

Shauna Rempel
Toronto Star

Name: Prashant Kadam

Age: 35

Program: First year of master’s degree in Cinema and Media Studies at York University

Thesis: Visual representation of the Dalits in popular Hindi cinema

The background: Dalit refers to an outcast class of “untouchables” under the Hindu caste system in India. Before the caste system was thrown out in the 1950s, Dalits were considered the lowest of the low, relegated to society’s most menial jobs and subjected to violence, harassment and abuse.

Even though the Indian constitution forbids discrimination along caste lines, it still exists, especially in modern cinema, a huge business in India. Nearly 200 Hindi-language films are made each year in India and the 160 million Dalits are sorely under-represented. When they do appear, they are usually cast as victims or stereotyped as uneducated, rebellious and violent.

“There’s a tendency to portray them as physically handicapped at times even. It’s how filmmakers perceive them and how society still perceives them,” Kadam says.

The correlations: Similar studies have been done on portrayal of aboriginal peoples in film and on Blaxploitation films of the ’70s. In Shaft, for example, there is a perception that a marginalized group is taking back some power.

“The notion of a Blaxploitation film is that the industry understood that there was money to be made by portraying black characters in a film,” Kadam says. But, “they were still stereotyped.” Male characters were often subjugated and beaten, while female characters were either sex-hungry or victims of sexual violence, he says.

The movies: Kadam focuses on three films that are rare because they have Dalit characters as protagonists.

Ankur (The Seedling), from 1974, is a story about a maidservant who is impregnated by her boss and abandoned by her deaf-mute Dalit husband. The husband later returns to his wife’s side, only to be beaten by the guilt-laden boss.

The 1994 film Bandit Queen is loosely based on the life of Phoolan Devi. She was sold into marriage at 11, subjected to years of abuse, and by her late teens was leading a gang of bandits on violent robberies that targeted the rich and shared the spoils with the lower castes.

The 2000 film Bawander (Sandstorm) is also inspired by the story of a lower caste woman who stands up for justice after a gang rape by taking her abusers to court. However, she is again victimized, in the court and police system.

The Future: After his master’s degree, Kadam wants to expand his study as part of a PhD thesis. He hopes by then Dalits will portray themselves in their own films in the same way filmmaker Spike Lee does with the black experience in North America.

Deep Thoughts is a look at research

going on in and around the GTA.