#casteism tw

[curtwilde]

[waheedarehman]

lmao I'm desi American and I've never even heard of caste until you bought it up. Stop trying to meddle with POC voices and bringing up archaic systems that don't exist except for some people to get government handouts from

if you've "never even heard of caste" it means ur someone who's privileged enough to not be victimised by it. the south asian diaspora in the US has a very large casteism issue that y'all either choose to ignore or keep perpetuating. whenever your grandfather makes a joke about "keeping the purity of the family bloodline safe" or whenever your parents want to know the surnames of every new Indian friend you make, that is casteism persevering. whenever you people romanticise arranged marriages and astrology, that is casteism persevering. whenever you joke about the servants and generational wealth your ancestors have hoarded back at home, that is casteism persevering. and the "hand-outs" you're talking about are reservations and other affirmative action policies that have helped Dalit-Bahujans in educational and professional fields to get even just half of the opportunities that you and your people have had and gatekept for centuries. maybe pick up a book and at least try to educate yourself on the stuff ur talking about

[himejoshibutch-archived]

"im right bc majority of them agree with me uwu" yeah ofc majority of them agree with your stupid ass because to them casteism doesn't exist like please go outside for once or read some newspapers

[curtwilde]

AMBEDKARITE BACKGROUND ffs just say low-caste itna sharmata kyun hain?

Of course the account is called devi uvacha

[here-in-my-garden-of-shadows]

Red Banana – C.N. Annadurai

In English by Me, for Translation Studies

Kollaparam is like backyard, nadaswaram is an instrument

A very loose and free translation...more like an interpretation. I didn't read the original story, Sir just gave the plot in class by narrating

Let me know of your thoughts !

Sengodan was a labourer who was married with four children. His possessions were few and his daily wages fewer. However, there was one thing he treasured above all in life: the red banana sapling in his kollaparam.

It could be said to be his fifth child, the darling of the locality. His other children would play around it, screaming and laughing with their friends. His wife would gather there with the other women of the area to chat. Sengodan’s family’s faces shined the brightest in their village, despite their difficult lives.

In those days, red banana was a costly fruit reserved for the cream of society. It was nothing short of a miracle that Sengodan had procured his sapling. It had required a lot of meticulous planning and saving. But the man was getting older, and he wanted to leave behind something that would bring respect to their names, names that were too often spat by others in curses that cut deep wounds.

It was a risky move, knowing the egos of their upper caste neighbours. Sometimes he became afraid, thinking about what would happen in the future. But when his eldest son smiled at him with all his teeth and asked for the biggest share of the sheaf that would sprout, his love overcame his fear.

And as time rolled by, their dreams came true.

Sengodan looked at the tree before he had to leave for work and felt a twinge of pride. The stark and squat red fruit of the banana tree was his own blood, taken root in the earth. In the distance, the rousing music of the nadaswaram was heard.

It came from the house of Pannaiyar, the landlord and employer of Sengodan. He too was looking proudly, but at his daughter in law. She had just been announced to be pregnant with a son. And on her birthday, no less. Still, something was nagging at him. She had asked him for lots of fruits. Not just any kind. She had been a pampered girl. She wanted something rare, something special.

Pannaiyar stood there in the hall, wringing his hands and pacing back and forth. He was about to go on another round when he was stopped by a man- his assistant, Sundaram.

With a respectful bow of his head and clasping his hands, Sundaram was hoping to curry some favour from the landlord. He eagerly informed him of the solution to his fruit dilemma- Sengodan’s beloved banana tree. They wouldn’t even have to pay the same rate as bananas from the town, he said. Anyway, what right did someone like Sengodan have to grow red bananas on his land? Pannaiyar’s eyes lit up and he sent Sundaram off with a hearty pat on the shoulder. Now all would be well.

Outside Pannaiyar’s house, Sengodan stood in shock as Sundaram conveyed the order to him. He might as well have stabbed him. Only it was worse, because he couldn’t protest.

Slowly, he came to understand what had just transpired. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued washing the dishes coming out in a steady stream from the birthday celebrations.

He didn’t go back straight to his house after working. How could he? Everyone would be waiting for him with great anticipation and joy to cut the fruits. They would all want a share. They were probably staying up, unable to sleep from the excitement. He moaned and beat his head with his fist. The other fist held a sickle. He cursed his master to the heavens. What right did this man have to play God, to take away life?

Late in the midnight, he arrived. The sickle cut deep into the banana stalk. He cradled the fruit, the treasure in his arms. He heard his eldest son crying to himself in the dead night.

He grew even more distressed come morning, after learning why his father came so late last night. He was inconsolable over the loss of the red bananas. His poor mother, with her face sunken, gave him 25 paise to buy something for himself at the local store.

The shopkeeper scolded the boy when he tried to buy the hanging red bananas, a cut newly purchased from Sundaram, saying they were for 3 rupees. He could only buy groundnuts for 25 paise.

Sengodan held his other son in his arms. How to explain to him the unjust ways of this world? Finally he told him to study well so he could move out of the village and grow his own banana tree, trees as far as the eye could see.

[neveregretted-blog]

headcanon;

rebecca banner was born reeva acharya to a catholic-hindu family. rebecca was her catholic name, but as her family clung more tightly to hinduisim in social situations, because of casteism, she went by reeva among her family and friends until she left home for college. her sister left india for the us first and she followed, to escape an arranged marriage and find better education.