Caste Certificates
It is true,
I found caste
Only when i saw it
On a certificate.
Before that,
I never understood why
My father uprooted his existence
From the birthplace of his oppression.
Why he never talks about
Culture or pride of his ancestry.
After all, my grandfather’s house
Is after a lake by the side of a highway
In a series of huts from away from the village.
Nobody noticed when he left,
So why expect a welcome now.
Before I saw caste on a certificate,
I never understood why
Some friends didnt eat
From my tiffin box that mom
Packed carefully to not show who i am.
And yes i called them friends.
I never understood why
I was refused to be taught music
When i was fourteen.
They looked at my hands to say
They were too small to hold
Anything, my voice,
Too coarse for classical singing.
I learnt to hold the strings of a guitar
Like a war cry, my voice,
Like a poem that your gods rejected
But still burns a hole in everything
The world holds divine.
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When i finally saw caste on my certificate
I finally understood the rejection of a girl
Who said our families
Will never find common grounds,
Its so funny when people change from
“I love you” to “maybe in another life”
Like i hold power over both,
Like its a genuine wish
To call for a dying star.
I didnt see caste for all my life
And when i finally saw it
Everything made sense.
The teacher’s uncalled anger,
Father’s fear of me finally finding
All the generational shame,
The only family property,
And my mother;s inability
To say love will cure it all.
When i finally saw caste,
This poem made more sense than
Your inability to understand.
Daniel Sukumar, Karnataka
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(Daniel Sukumar is a spoken word poet and a stage artist. His poetry aims at initiating conversations around mental health, politics, and caste oppression. He mentors student poets and has played a huge role in the development of slam poetry in Bengaluru.)
Secular
I was unaware
Of their technique
To sniff people’s caste
One day, visiting a friend’s house
Encountered his uncle,
Lounging on the balcão
And we began conversing
“Wagh? You’re one of us,”
Uncle smirked.
I felt a pang of anxiety.
Yet, he sought absolute certainty.
So he inquired,
“The Kamat Waghs of Ribandar, kin to you?”
“No,” I replied.
“Hailing from Karwar?”
“No, I’m from Goa.”
“Indeed? Which part?”
“From Dongri? Perhaps the Mahajans of the Rama temple?”
“No. Our goddess is Sati.”
Still unable to deduce,
He probed once more.
“Who is your family deity?”
“Shivnath,” I offered.
“From Shiroda?”
“Yes.”
“So…so you are not a GSB.”
“No, uncle, we are Bhandaris.”
A chuckle escaped him.
“Don’t take offense! I asked out of curiosity.
We renounce caste.
Come, have tea.
Caste system has marred Goa.
Who is Baman? Who is Shudra? Who cares?
These divisions hold no meaning.
We should be secular.
We must have a casteless society, you know?”
Uncle waited, anticipation in the air,
I merely nodded
Sipping tea
My gaze, firm on his sacred thread’s descent
—Translated from Konkani by Kaustubh Naik
Vishnu Wagh, Goa
(Vishnu Wagh was a poet, writer, dramatist, journalist, politician, management consultant and trainer. He was a former member of the Legislative Assembly in Goa from 2012 to 2017.)
