Vishnu Smriti 44.9; Yajnavalkya 3.21.3; ?pastamba Dharmas?tra 2.1.2.6; Skanda Purana V.iii.14-22: Criminals and sinners will be reborn as untouchable caste people.

O Hindu,

At marriage time,
They scan our faces
For caste marks
The way a scanner
Searches for bombs.
We are always suspicious packages
They do not want in the family home.
Love is allowed,
As long as it does not
Cross their Brahmin, Kshatriya,
Vaishya, Shudra castes.

We know their words:
Dirt,
Impure,
Harijan,
SC,
Quota people,
Government children,
Star mark,
Ach?ta,
Ca???la,
Namasudra,
Untouchables,
Madigas,
Reservation types,
Backward,
Low.
They sharpen these syllables
And throw them at us,
With a smile.

Total Dehumanisation
Is not one blow.
It is a thousand small cuts
Delivered by non-Dalit hands
That swear they are clean.

They call us anti-national
When we protest,
They call us
Anti-patriotic,
When we resist caste
Call us
Ungrateful
When we speak,
Call us "casteist"
For naming what they did.

In the police station,
Their casteist men sit in uniform.
Our complaint
Is his boredom.
"Why make it a caste issue?"
He says,
As if the caste slur
Still ringing in our ears
Were just an echo
We invented.

In the hospital,
The nurse looks
At our address
And wipes the bed rail twice.
The ward boy asks,
"What is your caste?"
More quickly
Than he asks,
"What is your pain?"

Non-Dalit is a circle
Drawn around opportunity
With invisible chalk.
They inherit doors
That open by habit,
We inherit fingers
That learn to knock
Until the skin splits.

They invite us
Into their protests,
Their parties,
Their NGOs
As long as we carry
The poster of our pain,
And not the pen
That writes the agenda.
"Let the Dalits speak,"
You say,
And then translate us
Into a language
That keeps them
At the centre of the story.

At festivals,
They insist
"We are all one,"
While we eat
From separate lines,
Stand at separate thresholds,
Receive their leftover generosity
Like crumbs falling
A sacred plate.

On social media,
They quote Ambedkar
Like a fashion,
Wear blue
For a day,
And go back
To servants
Who must
Eat in the kitchen,
Drivers who sleep
On the floor,
Sweepers who enter
From the back gate.

Total Dehumanisation
Is when your humanity
Is always conditional
On our politeness,
On our silence,
On our usefulness,
On your ability
To ignore injuries
For the sake of "unity."

Non-Dalit is the word
That fills the jury box:
Bosses,
Teachers,
Landlords,
Judges,
Editors,
Policemen,
All deciding
If our suffering
Counts as real,
If our death
Was important enough
To be called injustice
Instead of mistake.

You say,
"We too are poor,
We too suffer."
And it is true,
Poverty bites many.
But our poverty
Comes with a hand
On our head,
Pushing us down.
Theirs comes
With a staircase
They can still climb.

We meet good ones too,
Philosophers: Eleanor Zelliot, Gail Omvedt,
Gnana Aloysius, Sharmila Rege, Sundar Sarukkai,
Valerian Rodrigues, Upendra Baxi;
Comrades: Critical Quest, Navayana, Indian Currents;
Lovers: Matthew Melow, Dr Savita Ambedkar, Patnala Suguna Yadav,
Garima Tripathi, Gayatri Shankat,
Mamidi Richa Naidu,
Her Royal Highness Princess Selamawit Hailu Bezabih;
Who break
From their world's script.
But even then,
The system whispers
Behind their backs:
You are lowering yourself.
Why sit with them?
Why marry them?
Why fight for them?

Non-Dalit is the house
That never asks
Who builds its walls.
It is the comfort
Of never having to say,
"Actually, I am Dalit,"
And wait for the room
To change temperature.

We live
In the shadow of their caste power.
Our failures
Belong to us alone;
Their failures
Are forgiven as attempts;
Our anger
Is "dangerous,"
Their rage
Is "passion."
Our assertion
Is "aggression,"
Their dominance
Is "confidence."

Total dehumanisation
Is when an entire society
Can live on the Dalit labour,
The Dalit bodies,
The silence of Dalits,
All still say,
"Caste is over.
Stop dividing us.
We do not even think
Like that anymore"
Even as they choose
Their friends,
Their tenants,
Their partners,
Their leaders
Exactly by caste.

But we have learned
To read their eyes.
We know when the chair
Offered to us
Is a performance.
We know when the smile'
Comes with a ceiling.
We know when the apology
Is only fear
Put into words.

They wanted us
To internalise their vision:
To see ourselves
As lesser,
Lucky to be included,
Afraid to demand
Our own space.

We are breaking that mirror.

Non-Dalit will no longer
Mean "normal."
Your comfort
Will no longer
Be our cage.

We are reading,
Writing,
Listening,
Speaking,
Organising,
Loving,
Building alliances
That do not require
Our humiliation
As entry fee.

We stand before you
Scavenger's children,
Bonded labourers' grandchildren,
Manual workers' sons and daughters,

Not as your slaves,
Not as your excreta,
But as your equal
Whether your mind
Accepts it or not.

Total Dehumanisation
Was the air you made us breathe.

We are learning
A new atmosphere
Thicker with dignity,
Thinner with fear.

You can join us
By dismantling
The throne you stand on.
Or you can resist
And watch it crack
Under the weight
Of your own denial.

Either way,
Remember:

We have seen
What your humanity is worth
When a Dalit body
Stands in front of it.
From now on,
We will measure worth
By another scale
One in which no man
No woman,
No child,
Has to ask
Permission
To be human.