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Chapter 3 considers color as a conceptual problem, one that draws on questions of caste and race otherness in the formal realm. Reflective of a much broader engagement with global arts, artists, and concepts, this chapter asks: How did writers and artists imagine racial and caste difference through the avant-historical lens of color? This chapter uses Frantz Fanon’s early, and until recently, unknown, play The Drowning Eye (1949), a model of existential thought on color/light, as a way to consider thinking about color in the postcolonial context. The chapter focuses specifically on Sadequain’s paintings of “untouchable caste” subjects, of the civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr., and of the Nazi concentration camp (1960s), and the Dalit artist K. H. Ara’s work in still lifes and nudes, particularly his series “Black Nudes” (1963). These subjects – neither revolutionary nor indigenist – are the expression of a cosmopolitan humanism that routes through the “self-portrait”; rather than solidarity, they work through a form of self-as-other.
This chapter examines the relationship between race and caste in modern Indian political thought from the mid-nineteenth to the late twentieth century. It argues that race and caste operated as historically contingent social abstractions shaped through colonial political economy, legal historicism, and indigenous intellectual traditions, rather than as fixed or purely exogenous categories. Tracing the interaction between European racial science and Indian knowledge systems, the chapter shows how Indian thinkers variously appropriated, reformulated, or rejected racial and caste classifications in projects of political reform, conservatism, and emancipation. It analyses liberal minority politics, Hindu civilisational theory, Hindu nationalist racialisation, and Dalit critiques of caste as a form of social domination. Finally, the chapter situates Indian debates within a global intellectual history by tracing the circulation of caste as an analytical category in transnational discussions of race, particularly in the United States. In doing so, it positions India as a central site in the modern history of racial thought and anti-racist politics.
This reflective practitioner essay asks what it means to teach law ‘as a conversation’ and who is heard as speaking law within that conversation. Drawing on teaching notes from an elite Indian law school writing classroom, the article analyses a staged counter-factual dialogue among four legal thinkers (Nicholas J. McBride, Patricia J. Williams, Kiruba Munusamy and Angela D. Gilmore). ‘Counter-factual pedagogy’ names a method that stages an ‘as-if’ encounter that is structurally unlikely within conventional legal education in order to make institutional defaults newly visible, including neutrality as epistemic rigour, professionalism as merit and doctrinal learning as separable from social power. The article reads the exercise through five literature-informed lenses (voice, neutrality, performance, justice, discomfort). No student quotations, paraphrases or artefacts are reproduced.
In Mumbai, the live slaughter of meat by Muslim butchers is an intergenerational caste practice and a source of livelihood and labour, supplying ritually slaughtered halal meat for Muslims, and fresh quality meat for others in the city. Yet in the neoliberal Hindu Nationalist imagination, the very sights, smells, and sounds of butchering are a sign of Muslim abjection, a source of disgust to be eradicated from the “world-class” Hindu city. Muslim butchers are further subject to an intra-Muslim caste politics of disdain, in which their contact with blood is thought to render them impure (na-pak) and untrustworthy. At butcher stores and meat markets, economic development, urban sanitation, and ritual ideologies recruit the senses into a politics of disgust and disdain. These affects are reflexively embodied in ways that reveal the intimate relation between individualising forms of Islamic piety, Muslim infrastructural marginalisation, and the making of a sanitised neoliberal Hindu city.
This article examines the ideological and organizational evolution of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), the world’s largest Hindu Nationalist organization, in response to the challenges posed by the anti-caste politics in post-Independent India. Focusing on the leadership of Balasaheb Deoras (1915–1996), the third sarsańghacālak of the RSS, it situates the period between 1973 and 1990 as a critical yet understudied period in the history of the Sangh, marked by a significant departure from the organization’s earlier defence of caste hierarchy. Unlike his predecessors, Deoras publicly rejected the caste system in the early 1970s and paved the way for the Sangh to adopt the rhetoric of Sāmājik Samarastā (Social Harmony), which became the central pillar of the Sangh’s engagement with the question of caste in its bid to create a wider Hindu community which posed itself as caste-neutral and caste-assimilative. The article argues that the Sangh’s engagement with caste was neither superficial nor a new feature of its post-2014 avatar. Samarastā helped the Sangh develop a conservative model of caste reform, one that invoked the language of social change without challenging the Brahmanical ideas inherent to its Hindu Nationalism.
This article examines the kidnapping and forced marriages of women under the Peshwas, investigating whether the state prioritized justice for victims or its Brahmanical credentials, given that the annulment of fully performed marriages was prohibited under the Shastras. Far from passively upholding the inherited order, the Peshwa regime actively leveraged intersectional dynamics of gender, caste, and religion to transform that order into a consolidated patriarchal Brahmanical system, reinforcing and totalizing caste-based customs, hierarchies, and governance through judicial and administrative interventions. The article also reveals a binary governance model, highlighting distinctive modes of justice between the capital city of Pune and the countryside. The article interrogates the ambiguity and fluidity of categories used to denote abduction, as well as the associated normative frameworks and penalties, showing how the discursive deployment of familial, communal, caste, ritual, pride, and political dynamics denied women’s agency and subsumed alternative narratives, such as elopement and/or consensual cohabitation. It demonstrates how coercion against women as well as women’s agency were viewed and conceptualized. Moreover, the government’s adherence to patriarchal Brahmanical ideology, derived from the Shastras, not only shaped legal responses but also actively contributed to the ongoing perpetuation of abductions and forced marriages.
Edited by
Latika Chaudhary, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California,Tirthankar Roy, London School of Economics and Political Science,Anand V. Swamy, Williams College, Massachusetts
This chapter focuses on two major axes of social identity in India: caste and tribe. It provides an overview of the two categories, in particular focusing on how the categories are identified and measured in national-level macro data. It summarizes key features of contemporary economic disparities along these two dimensions. The chapter discusses the overlap between caste/tribal status and religion and provides a summary overview of the racial theory of caste. Tribe as a category has specific dimensions that are distinct from the caste system. The chapter reviews these and moves on to a discussion of the intersection of caste/tribe category with sex. The evidence in the chapter suggests that caste and tribe continue to define socio-economic status in contemporary India. India’s affirmative-action policies addressing caste, tribe and gender disparities are necessary, but not sufficient, to lower the influence of the lottery of birth on individual outcomes.
Edited by
Latika Chaudhary, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California,Tirthankar Roy, London School of Economics and Political Science,Anand V. Swamy, Williams College, Massachusetts
During the colonial period, investment in India’s physical infrastructure far outpaced that in social sectors. In the first two decades of independence, political energy was focused on political consolidation and national self-sufficiency. Starting in the 1970s, attention shifted to basic needs. We trace the history of public-good provision over the four decades from 1971 to the latest census in 2011. We document the considerable expansion in public goods over this period and the variation in access across states. We illustrate how patterns of provision were the outcome of ‘top-down’ policy priorities interacting with ‘bottom-up’ processes of collective action. For scarce facilities, such as secondary schools, regions within states with political voice were most successful in obtaining access. We show that areas where secondary schooling expanded rapidly were also those where the most marginalized social groups among the Indian castes and tribes experienced social mobility.
Edited by
Latika Chaudhary, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California,Tirthankar Roy, London School of Economics and Political Science,Anand V. Swamy, Williams College, Massachusetts
This chapter documents the long-run pattern and changes in sectoral labour productivity in India. It explores factors that can explain the historically high labour productivity in services. Literate upper castes in service sector occupations gained from modernization from the late nineteenth century and moved into new high-skilled occupations mainly in services. Colonial education policy prioritized secondary and tertiary education and the higher education bias that continued after independence increased labour productivity in skilled occupations, most of which were in services.
This paper advances current debates on majoritarian state-making by bringing into dialogue theoretical debates on linguistic polysemy, legal hermeneutics, and digital authoritarianism. It analyses hate speech accusations in India as a polysemic discourse, which allows majoritarian regimes to create new public hierarchies of interpretation that equate “hate speech” with critique of Hindu nationalist (Hindutva) ideologies. Drawing on multi-sited ethnography with legal professionals, police, and hate speech accused in North India, the paper analyses how adherents of India’s Hindutva government mobilise a dual strategy of online virality and procedural, judicial dismantlement to create a system of majoritarian legal hermeneutics: a self-reinforcing complex of interpretation that exploits the indeterminacy of legal terminologies to imbue criminal provisions aimed at safeguarding equality with anti-democratic meanings. In the process, legal actors are turned into active participants in the creation of a public of wounded Hindus that views minorities as a threat to their identity.
This chapter lays out the overall rationale for the book, elucidates some of its key aspects and situates the book in relation to a scholarly field of feminist jurisprudence in India. It introduces the established convention of diversity in the field of Indian feminist jurisprudence, which this book joins with and expands. The chapter offers an illustration of the field by introducing the body of literature that the book is drawing from and contributing to and foregrounds that there are different voices in the field each of which speaks from a different locus both within and outside Indian legal academia. Simultaneously, the chapter explains the relevance of caste and how it hierarchically organises the field of intellectual labour in India.
The chapter analyzes folk music and performance practices in a contemporary Indian and South Asian context. It covers the meaning and deployment of the term ‘folk’, its wider implications relating to caste, class, and taste, as well as its status in existing practices and scholarship. Whereas colonialists saw folk song as part of the enterprise to understand indigenous minds to better control and administer them, nationalists viewed it as a great resource to reconstruct the nation. After India’s independence, the state along with its middle class tried to institutionalize and appropriate folk song to cater to their tastes, however, it remained largely outside of their control and continues to maintain local and communitarian connections. Adopting a decolonial perspective, this chapter also addresses local hierarchies based on caste and cultural dispossession. Finally, it views folk song and music both as part of everyday life as well as a critique of everyday life that opens up an emancipatory discourse for the future.
This article considers the material practices of forging ‘Hindu’ spaces in colonial India, through an examination of a cremation charity’s movement against a mechanical crematorium in interwar Calcutta. Established around 1926, the mechanical crematorium was advertised by the municipality as a cost-effective alternative to traditional Hindu pyres, disposing of unclaimed corpses and dissected parts by employing stigmatized Dalit labour, in a region of the city marked for ‘offensive’ trades. However, by 1932, a cremation charity led by municipal councillors and Indian capitalists contested the existence of the crematorium, arguing that its technological process, labour practices, and location were an affront to Hindu sensibilities. This article examines the rise of the charity and the decline of the crematorium within the context of electoral politics, the politics of the location, and the broader impact on interwar labour crises and famines in Calcutta. By analysing the anti-crematorium movement, this article offers a colonial material history of the construction of the emotional resonance in ‘Hindu spaces’ in India, outlining how it emerged at the interstices of communal and caste boundaries.
Colonial Caregivers offers a compelling cultural and social history of ayahs (nannies/maids), by exploring domestic intimacy and exploitation in colonial South Asia. Working for British imperial families from the mid-1700s to the mid-1900s, South Asian ayahs, as Chakraborty shows, not only provided domestic labor, but also provided important moral labor for the British Empire. The desexualized racialized ayah archetype upheld British imperial whiteness and sexual purity, and later Indian elite 'upper' caste domestic modernity. Chakraborty argues that the pervasive cultural sentimentalization of the ayah morally legitimized British colonialism, while obscuring the vulnerabilities of caregivers in real-life. Using an archive of petitions and letters from ayahs, fairytales they told to British children, court cases, and vernacular sources, Chakraborty foregrounds the precarious lives, voices, and perspectives of these women. By placing care labor at the center of colonial history, the book decolonizes the history of South Asia and the British Empire.
How do feminists, as lawyers and activists, think about, and do law, in a way that makes life more meaningful and just? How are law and feminism called into relation, given meaning, engaged with, used, refused, adapted and brought to life through collaborative action? Grounded in empirical studies, this book is both a history of the emergence of feminist jurisprudence in post-colonial India and a model of innovative legal research. The book inaugurates a creative practice of scholarly activism that engages a new way of thinking about law and feminist jurisprudence, one that is geared to acknowledge and take responsibility for the hierarchies in Indian academic practices. Its method of conversation and accountability continues the feminist tradition of taking reciprocity and the time and place of collaboration seriously. By bringing legal academics and sex worker activists into conversation, the book helps make visible the specific ties between post-colonial life and law and joins the work of refusing and reimagining the hierarchical formation of legal knowledge in a caste-based Indian society. A significant contribution to the history and practice of feminist jurisprudence in post-colonial India, A Jurisprudence of Conversations will appeal to both an academic and an activist readership.
How do social hierarchies affect patterns of discrimination in democratic contexts? While studies of identity politics in diverse societies often focus on relations between groups formed around parallel identities like ethnicity, these same societies often feature hierarchical identities that rank individuals into stratified groups. This paper examines how culturally embedded caste identities, inherited at birth, continue to shape everyday life. Drawing on an original survey of 2,160 Senegalese citizens, we show that caste remains a salient axis of perceived discrimination despite its formal abolition over a century ago. Individuals from occupational caste and slave-descended backgrounds are significantly more likely to report experiences of exclusion such as the denial of basic services. Most respondents attribute caste-based discrimination to cultural norms rather than economic competition, religious instruction, or biological differences. Moreover, we find that high-status individuals systematically overreport tolerant attitudes in face-to-face interviews with lower-status enumerators, suggesting that social desirability can obscure the extent of status-based attitudes. These findings shed light on the persistence of caste hierarchies and their impact on citizenship in societies otherwise considered tolerant and democratic. These findings contribute to research on identity politics by highlighting the need to distinguish between ranked and unranked forms of social difference.
Chapter 3 examines the evolution of caste and democracy.In doing so, it focuses on three aspects – the relationship between caste and electoral politics, the trajectory of caste-based reservations (affirmative action), and the link between development indicators and caste in the contemporary period. Though caste mobilization has indeed pluralized representative politics in India, substantial economic and social gains by the lower castes have been limited.
In British colonial imagination, the Indian ayah was idealized as an inherently nurturing, maternal figure, selflessly devoted to British women and children. The ayah archetype was not just a comforting construct, but morally legitimized British colonialism. Legal and medical archives, however, provide stories of individual ayahs facing financial and sexual abuse, caste-loss anxieties, and abandonment, which are occluded in the highly sentimentalized British literary and visual archives. The cultural veneration of the ayah, the Introduction argues, erased the vulnerabilities of real-life colonial caregivers. The Introduction situates the history of colonial care work in the historiography of domestic labor in South Asia, Britain, and colonial empires more broadly. It emphasizes the importance of bringing together the gendered domestic histories of race and caste, which historians typically study separately. The Introduction furthermore explains how the book draws theoretical and methodological inspiration from South Asian postcolonial subaltern studies and African American black feminist intersectionality to decolonize the history of domestic labor in the British Empire.
This chapter provides an introduction to the book. It sets the stage by highlighting contrasts in India’s economy, democracy, and society. It then discusses the main topics covered in the book – democracy and governance, growth and distribution, caste, labor, gender, civil society, regional diversity, and foreign policy. The chapter also outlines the three themes that comprise the main arguments of the book. First, India’s democracy has been under considerable strain over the last decade. Second, growing economic inequalities that accompanied India’s high-growth phase over the last three and a half decades are associated with the country’s democratic decline. Third, society has reacted to changes from below but there are limits to societal activism in contemporary India.
How has caste influenced entrepreneurship in India in the past and how does it do so in the present? Using the Industrial Census of 1911, this paper provides the first detailed caste-level mapping of firms in Indian business history and links it to the present by an analysis of the Economic Census of 2013–2014. It finds that while trading castes were dominant, there were significant regional variations and nontrading castes were far more important than usually posited in the literature. Over the course of a century, the social base of entrepreneurship has widened slowly but significant barriers remain. The paper argues that “caste embeddedness” through the nature of wealth distribution, social capital, and ritual purity affects entrepreneurial choices and presents a typology of “caste,” “caste-advantage,” “caste-restricted,” and “noncaste” businesses that characterize the economic life of India.