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From the edge of society

For those privileged enough to be born in an upper caste, Dalit is perhaps just another word used to describe and dismiss an entire community and confine it to margins of the society and development.

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Nonika Singh

For those privileged enough to be born in an upper caste, Dalit is perhaps just another word used to describe and dismiss an entire community and confine it to margins of the society and development. In Dalit writer Baburao Bagul’s writings, Dalit identity not only acquires a life force but fire and power which Jerry Pinto has been able capture beautifully while translating When I Hid My Caste.  

Stories spring from a world where India’s deeply entrenched caste system decides the fate of its inhabitants. In the stark stories there is little that is well in this world order where caste becomes an overriding constraint, restraining and subjecting them to a dehumanised state. The reader can almost hear the characters scream, and feel their rage. In stories like Revolt your heart freezes at the chilling realities of their lives.  

Each of the 10 stories will jolt your mind. Manu is invoked to point out the unjust world he unleashed and one is filled with remorse and regret.

With his remarkable storytelling ability, Bagul’s pen reminds you of the discrimination in every story. He ups the curiosity quotient with each word, each incident. ‘What next’ is as impending as the sense of doom he builds in narratives fuelled by creative ferocity.  Angst, anguish and above all anger permeate every pore of his protagonists who invariably meet calamitous ends. 

While discrimination is the common thread running through all stories, each has different shades. Dasshera Sacrifice underlines heroism of the outcaste protagonist and mocks at the false bravado of Patil.  Women are at the centre of many a tale, invariably as victims of the convoluted social structure. Monkey, in particular, is a numbing experience. Dramatic tension is inbuilt in each story which is as much about bestial reality as assertion for the right and rights. The title story, When I Hid My Caste, hailed as an epic of Dalits, the last one in this slim volume s(l)ays it all: “When I was beaten up by them, it was Manu who thrashed me.” In the unveiling of social asphyxia which has, for centuries, condemned outcastes to misery, Bagul’s stories make a powerful case for reaffirmation of their being.

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