This is an unusual story of Aldrin Deepak, told in his own words. Deepak is a Dalit Hindu living in San Francisco, but for him ‘caste’ has not been part of his Hindu identity
Diversity has defined my life — I have known what it is to be Christian, Hindu, brown, Indian, immigrant, Dalit. I have known what it is to be called “faggot”, and even as a child, the fury of a casteist Kannada word meaning “unclean”. For 35 years, I have lived in the city of San Francisco enjoying its inclusivity and the wide variety of people I’ve met and worked with.
Yet for the past year, the US has suddenly been abuzz with talk about casteism among Hindus in America. They have told stories of rampant casteism among Hindus in America like asking if you are vegetarian and patting you on the back to check for a sacred thread.
So much has been said about “caste”, but none of what they have published had been anything like my story. My voice as a practising Dalit Hindu has not been heard.
You see, I was called “faggot,” and “unclean”, and horrible things, but none of this was done to me by Hindus.
Hinduism in the life of this “Dalit” was not the source of pain, but the opposite. It is the source of my heritage, and unlike many who are “born” Hindus, I had to find my way to it through great opposition and ignorance.
I was a little under ten when I began to find my roots. I was raised in a strictly Christian enclave in the small town of Kollegal, and grew up mostly in the house of my maternal grandparents. They loved me dearly, but also felt it was their pious duty as Christians to shield me from the pernicious influences that surrounded us.
Consequently, I had no exposure to my father’s Hindu family, and at the early age of five, I was already preaching the gospel and talking about the sins of idolatry in front of the local Hindu temple.
My father was born into the Holeya jati, what is now known as “Dalit” in popular parlance. He became Christian in order to marry my mother, a descendant of Dalits who had converted to Christianity.
My mother’s own origins might have been Dalit, but that did not protect me from frequent taunts from her family of being “Holeya,” the Kannada word for unclean. Interestingly no Hindu has ever similarly used this word against me — it was only members of my Christian family.
The difference was stark enough that I finally discussed it with my paternal uncle. His answer was, “people will call you many names in the world but you don’t need to accept their opinion.”
His calmness and his refusal to let others define his self-identity had a profound effect on me, helping me years later, when living in the US, I faced similar hostility, being called a “faggot” and more.
And it’s partly why I pen this piece today — to push back against attempts to define my identity and my history by an alien establishment.
My grandmother was my rock. But once she passed away, I found myself at the mercy of her sons. My maternal uncles were both alcoholics who regularly beat and abused me. By this period, my mother had immigrated to the US and my father was unresponsive to my letters begging for help.
Desperate to escape the nightmare my life had become, I turned to a lady who had been like a mother to me during the one year I lived with my parents. At her house, I had been exposed to the Mahabharata, and in these darkest days of my life, remembering the travails and triumphs of its many characters provided me solace and hope. I took a leap of faith and penned my next letter to her. She quite literally became my devi, convincing my father to intervene at last.
Free from the stifling rules of my grandparents’ enclave, I embarked on a journey of healing and of discovery — of the richness of my Hindu heritage that was denied to me. I revelled in its arts and theatre, marveled at its soaring temples, and gained strength from its Vaishnava tradition.
I did all this with the help of friends, strangers, neighbours, temple priests… none of who bothered about my so-called “Dalit” roots, which, according to the American establishment’s narratives should have defined their interactions with me.
I embarked on a lifelong love affair with the learning and chanting of sacred texts like the Vishnu Sahasranama, Devi Mahatmya and Sri Sukta that soothe and strengthen me even today, as they did years ago, when I was trying to recover and rebuild my life away from my abusive uncles.
My experience with Indians in America has been no different. Like many other tech workers, I have been part of close-knit teams, with members drawn from various parts of India. My “Dalit” status was never an issue in our camaraderie nor relevant professionally as we worked late hours powered by adrenalin and caffeinated sodas.
I enjoy and contribute to the famed diversity of my city hosting an annual Diwali celebration, and being part of our local temples. Just last year I got the honour to assist in one of its most sacred and intimate rituals — the gathering of articles for worship and decoration of the moorti visarjana of Bhagwan Ganesh in Livermore’s magnificent temple. I draw solace and spiritual peace from chanting sessions with fellow Hindus.
Not once have my fellow Indian or Hindu Americans queried me about my “caste,” my jaati, or my varna. I bond with my fellow Vishnu bhaktas over the beauty of the shlokas we recite, not any shared birth background.
Yet, in spite of the overwhelming truth of my experiences, I now find that “caste” and my birth have been rudely thrust in my face over the past year, often by ignorant journalists and academics with an axe to grind. They ignore or deny the sum total of my existence and want to put me into one neat box that fits their worldview. My sense of self identity is questioned and my lived experience denied by activists who never asked for my permission, but claim to represent me and insist they speak for me.
Even so, nothing prepared me for the onslaught that began last summer, as the state of California moved to mainstream the same sort of anti-Hindu hate and stereotypes I had seen my abusive uncles indulge in during my childhood years, only this time under the guise of protecting me against “caste” discrimination. Their pompous judgements on Hindu rituals and beliefs, their shallow critiques of Hindu temples, their unwillingness to understand and engage the bewildering diversity of the faith, hurt Hindus like me the most.
When activists reframe Hinduism as something for specific groups only, they wipe out centuries of blood, sweat and struggle invested by Hindus of varying backgrounds, including the many Hindus who are now called “Dalits.”
By reframing Hinduism as “Brahmanism”, they wipe out our community’s memories about Valmiki and Vyasa, the authors of the world’s most glorious and influential epics-the Ramayana and Mahabharata. They negate the thousands upon thousands of subaltern led temples that dot the landscape, and attempt to refashion our sacred spaces to fit preconceived notions more grounded in monotheism.
And for me, the hurt from the California “caste” push is personal, reviving the trauma of those brutal childhood years.
At a recent public hearing about caste in the California State University System, I found the same falsehoods and assumptions passed around as fact, no proof required and dissenting voices silenced. The “do gooders” at the university did not even care about the fears of their own Hindu American students, born and brought up in the US, with no knowledge of birth based groupings associated with the Indian sub-continent. Among the fears now, is that any Hindu American can be accused of casteism and have their reputation destroyed, for simple lifestyle choices like the ability to have vegetarian food or wear Indian clothes at cultural functions.
But still, I do not lose my strength, or my love. I am inspired by Ma Laxmi. I look back now and I see she was always present in my life, in every woman who nourished me, who gave me a sense of self and confidence, in India and in my adopted home of San Francisco. And so, inspired by her, I have taken a stand to reclaim my identity, again. I state it plainly for all who will hear and for all who have refused to hear in the US media establishment: “Caste” is not part of my Hindu identity. It is not mentioned in a single one of the Hindu texts I have studied-and I have studied a lot of them.
The personal story of Aldrin Deepak, a Bay Area IT professional, was narrated to and written by Pushpita Prasad, a Communications Consultant with a background in working with media, technology and history.
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