In schools we had a paper known as ‘Classical Language’ with options for Pali, Sanskrit or Urdu. I opted for Sanskrit instead of Pali – the Buddha’s language. From the Sanskrit teacher I heard paeans of praise for Dronacharya and Arjuna. And I believed all of them. Finding holes in Drono’s character is of recent origin – result of further reading about him. Now, I’m convinced he was not a paragon of virtues and placing him as national idol as a great teacher is flawed with deleterious impact on collective national psyche. More about this I reserve for some future blog.

My first encounter with discrimination happened when we – some 7-8 youths – all Hindus except me –were trekking around hilly region of Jammu in 1957. On the way we were passing by a pond meant for drinking water. Spotting some 30-40 women waiting by the side of the road near the pond with empty pitchers in the scorching summer sun, I popped a comment in my naiveté, “How foolish these women are. They came for water, fill up the pitchers and go home instead of scalding in the sun.” They cannot do that, I was told – they were untouchables. They were not supposed to request even to any of the upper caste women to fill their pots. It is left to the whim of mercy of any kind hearted upper caste woman to fill their pitchers without touching them. During crossing I didn’t find anybody doing that. How long they had to wait was not known. Might be some of them returned home with empty pitchers despite long wait. That was the first time I witnessed how inhuman the so-called civilised human beings could be towards fellow human beings in denying drinking water – all in the name of ‘Dharma’.

Is it not the same ‘we’, who talked volumes against ‘colour bar’, ‘apartheid’ and ‘lynching’ out there? With Dronacharya as ideal teacher I don’t think we can be charged with duplicity.

The second episode was like this: In 1988 I went to Kashmir with my wife, leaving my college going daughter in the company of one of her class mate back home. I instructed Sher Singh, one of the peons to cook food for them, as I was told he was a good cook. After all, I was an Indian boss, Sher Singh couldn’t refuse, though it was not his duty. We were supposed to return within 10 days, but had to overstay beyond 20 days due to disruption of roads and bridges during floods. Coming back I learnt, Sher Singh showed his face on the first day and then never turned up. A PWD Executive Engineer, a friend of mine, had to send his Brahmin cook for the purpose. When asked, Sher Singh presented a blank face, --wringing his fingers, head down, without uttering a single word. From others I learnt he couldn’t cook because the other girl was of upper caste and from his own village. It would be disastrous to cook food for her.

These are the silly stories of caste dynamics I encountered so far.