Suprakash Majumdar, 25
My social circle has shrunk ever since I started talking about my caste. While growing up, my friends assumed I was upper-caste. Recently, I told some friends that I’m a Dalit. One long-time friend said I can’t “play the Dalit card” because I went to Berklee College of Music in Boston. He no longer talks to me.I realised the different levels of oppression I’ve grown up with, and I had a breakdown. I started therapy after that.
Meera Estrada, 43
I was 40 when I found the courage to speak out about being Dalit. It was 2019, at a Women’s Day event, where I was invited to speak about defining our identity. Caste was a big part of my speech. I didn’t realise how powerful the words “I’m a Dalit” were until that day. My dad – the sole man in a room full of women – cried tears of both pain and pride, and the room gave him a standing ovation. What triggered me to speak up was a conversation with a friend in Canada of Indian origin the year before. She had gone to India to have a baby through surrogacy. I’d read an article about how lower-caste surrogates were paid less. When I asked my friend about that, she, without knowing about my caste, said, “I would never have a lower-caste woman as my surrogate; I wouldn’t want my kid to be stupid.” I held back tears as I heard those words, realising I did not really know my friend at all, nor did she know me.As much as I loved my Indian culture, I didn’t know if it loved me back. Especially during my 20s, I began to feel less self-worth and more shame around my caste.
Agnee Ghosh, 27
The first time I spoke about it was in the VICE article last year, in which I came out of the caste closet.While writing the piece, I felt empowered, thinking that other Dalit people would read it, too. But my article also triggered hate on a scale I’d never imagined. On Instagram, the hate in the form of slurs and abuses was so much, I had to deactivate my account for a week. People questioned my Dalit identity because of my surname, which my great-grandparents had changed.I felt I wasn’t good enough despite my accomplishments, and that I had to try twice as hard as my upper-caste peers.
Srishty Ranjan, 25
When so many atrocities happen with my Bahujan people, one cannot stay silent.
Anurag Minus Verma
Coming out with caste is different from coming out in the LGBTQ+ world. In caste, if you have a surname, people already know your caste. I didn’t make an announcement of my caste. Rather, I spoke about it in a scattered form, through my posts or humour, or my podcast, where I became more in-your-face. Caste operates in abstract terms, too, where speaking up about it can trigger responses so subtle you can’t see them but can definitely sense them. You can sense people maintaining distance from you in a way that can’t be articulated. You can sense the discomfort and change in relationships. This distancing feels very humiliating, but one has to go through that to assert their identity. For me, though, I found a community online and created bonds that felt very liberating. Before this, I always felt like I was alone.Coming out depends entirely on people. If they really want to express themselves and it relieves them of some pressure or gives them dignity or hope, then they should do it. At the same time, there’s no pressure to be revolutionary. You can also earn your livelihood and be happy. In a society where pleasures are forbidden for Dalits, being a happy Dalit is in itself an act of resistance. Follow Pallavi Pundir on Twitter.I wasn’t hiding or moving like a criminal in society anymore. I could finally be okay with who I am.