One crisp morning in Kurseong, as I sat with my Koku sipping tea, she shared stories of her childhood, uncomfortable truths of how our society stratified itself. Tales of separate utensils kept aside for certain families, of who could enter whose kitchen and who couldn't, worship areas in temples forbidden to many, and of love stories that ended before they began because the surnames didn't match. These stories, though set decades ago, cast long shadows into our present. The same patterns repeat in more subtle but equally dehumanizing ways, compelling me to examine the persistent grip of casteism in our Nepali-speaking Gorkha community.
I write not as an authority on lived experiences of caste-based discrimination, but as an observer committed to confronting a deep-rooted injustice that demands collective accountability.
As I approach the topic of casteism in Darjeeling society, I do so with a profound awareness of my position as someone who does not belong to the Scheduled Caste community. I write not as an authority on lived experiences of caste-based discrimination, but as an observer committed to confronting a deep-rooted injustice that demands collective accountability. My privilege affords me protection from the daily indignities and structural barriers faced by Scheduled Caste individuals, a reality I can study but never truly know. In this work, I centre the authentic voices of SC members who have generously shared their experiences, while acknowledging the inherent limitations of my perspective. My intent is not to speak for anyone, but rather to speak with those who face discrimination. Dismantling casteism requires those of us insulated from its direct harm to participate in challenging the very systems from which we benefit. This article represents not an act of saviourism, but one of necessary allyship, imperfect and incomplete as it may be.
Historical Context: Migration, Caste, and Colonial Exploitation
The history of Nepali migration to Darjeeling is closely tied to British colonial expansion and the tea industry. Following the Treaty of Sugauli (1816) and later the Treaty of Sinchula (1866), migration intensified as the British directly recruited laborers from eastern Nepal (Subba, 1992).
At the time, Nepal operated under the Muluki Ain (1854), a caste-based legal system that reinforced social hierarchies. This system, dividing society into upper-caste Bahun and Chhetri, middle-tier Rai, Limbu, Gurung, Magar, and Tamang, and lower-caste Kami, Damai and Sarki, shaped migrant communities in Darjeeling (Middleton, 2013). The Newar community maintained its own internal caste system, with elite Newars securing privileged positions while their lower-caste counterparts endured marginalization similar to Dalits from other ethnic groups. Recognizing its exploitative potential, British administrators integrated this hierarchy into plantation management, reinforcing socio-economic divisions within the tea industry.
Colonial authorities strategically positioned upper-caste Nepalis as sardars and clerks while relegating lower castes to arduous labour, reinforcing a system of indirect rule (Besky, 2014). By integrating Nepal's caste hierarchy, already codified under the Muluki Ain into plantation management, the British maintained control with minimal oversight (Middleton, 2013).
Caste divisions were further entrenched through segregated housing, restrictive wage structures, and the reinforcement of social hierarchies via religious and cultural practices (Sharma, 2016). The British exploited inter-caste tensions, rewarding compliance to suppress labour unrest and prevent collective resistance (Chalmers, 2003). During winter vacations at my maternal home in Ringtong Tea Estate, I often saw caste divisions firsthand. At the estate's edge lay Kami Tar, a segregated settlement for lower-caste families, isolated both physically and socially. Though now renamed Godam Dhura, caste discrimination remains deeply ingrained. This manipulation had lasting consequences, perpetuating social stratification and intergenerational inequality beyond colonial rule (Subba, 2008). Lower-caste workers remained trapped in cycles of poverty, while upper castes dominated lucrative positions, contradicting fundamental principles of human dignity and equality (Ambedkar, 1936).
To understand the pervasive grip of caste discrimination, I spoke with individuals whose lives have been shaped by systemic prejudice. Their stories reveal not just the persistence of caste bias but the resilience of those who endure it.
A Legacy of Discrimination: Raju Biswakarma's Story
When Raju Biswakarma speaks of his father, Karna Bahadur Biswakarma, his voice carries the weight of generations. Raju works as a Lab instructor in Electrical Engineering at Darjeeling Polytechnic, Kurseong and generously shares his family's story, one marked by persistent discrimination despite decades of social progress.
"My father first worked in the coal mines of Assam," Raju begins, "He was a skilled cook and found work preparing meals for the laborers. But when they discovered his caste..." Raju pauses, "They came for him. A mob of upper caste men, outraged at having consumed food prepared by 'impure' hands." Karna Bahadur narrowly escaped with his life that night, fleeing into the darkness. The indignity of that moment would haunt him for decades to come.
In the 1940s, seeking escape from such overt violence, Karna Bahadur migrated to Kurseong in Darjeeling district. There, he found work as a blacksmith at the North East Frontier Railways station, using his skilled hands to forge and repair. Every September, he would perform the Biswakarma puja in his workshop, a ritual honoring the divine architect and God of craftsmen. "Even in his devotion, he faced humiliation," Raju tells me, "They wouldn't call it Biswakarma puja. They called it 'kami puja' a derogatory term meant to diminish both his faith and his identity."
"These moments might seem small to others," he reflects, "but they accumulate. They remind you that no matter your education, your job, your contributions to society, some people will always see you through the lens of caste first."
"Last year during Dashain," he recounts, "I went to a nearby village to collect marigold flowers for the celebration. The owner of the garden asked about my caste. When I told him, his expression changed. He said I could pick the flowers myself if I were from an upper caste, but people like me weren't allowed to touch the plants. He actually believed my touch would cause the plants to wither and die because of my 'impurity.'"
On another occasion, at a wedding, Raju was directly asked his caste before being allowed to participate in certain rituals. The question itself, casual yet cutting, served as a reminder of his place in society. "These moments might seem small to others," he reflects, "but they accumulate. They remind you that no matter your education, your job, your contributions to society, some people will always see you through the lens of caste first."
Modern Education, Ancient Prejudice: Anil Lohar's Experience
Anil Lohar, a Senior Lecturer in Physics at Darjeeling Polytechnic, shared his experience of caste discrimination with me. As a child, he encountered it in the smallest, yet most telling, ways; neighbors forbidding him from entering certain rooms, if he misbehaved, the reprimand was not just about his actions but his birth: "Sano jaat ko sanoi behura" (You're showing the traits of your low caste). In school, a teacher once joked when he made a mistake that punishment would turn him from a 'Lohar' (lower) to an 'upper' caste. The classroom echoed with laughter at the wordplay on his surname, while Anil forced a smile to mask his humiliation.
"The most jarring moments," Mr. Lohar confides, "are when someone expresses surprise at my position. 'How do people from your caste also hold such high posts?' they ask, as if my presence in academia is some statistical anomaly rather than the result of hard work." He acknowledges that his education and professional standing have shielded him from more overt forms of discrimination. But this recognition brings him little comfort.
"The caste system doesn't need to announce itself loudly anymore, it operates in whispers, glances, and 'innocent' questions about my background."
"My relative safety feels hollow when I know so many others from my community continue to be systematically denied opportunities," he says, "The caste system doesn't need to announce itself loudly anymore, it operates in whispers, glances, and 'innocent' questions about my background." He emphasizes that his story is not unique but representative of a broader pattern. "What I want people to understand is that caste discrimination doesn't disappear with a degree or a prestigious job title. It simply becomes more sophisticated in its expression."
Intergenerational Wounds: Saroj Biswakarma's Story
Saroj Biswakarma, a Lecturer in Computer Science and Technology at Darjeeling Polytechnic, shared something personal with me, a story of how his son, a child, was discriminated against on the basis of his caste. "You know," he begins, "we often talk about discrimination in abstract terms, systems, structures, histories. But sometimes it manifests in ways that leave you completely unprepared." He continued, "Last year, my seven-year-old son came home excited about a classmate's birthday party. Then the day came when invitations were handed out in school, every child received one, except my son. The exclusion was deliberate and unmistakable."
"Families like ours must continue sharing our stories to challenge outdated traditions. I hope my son grows up in a world where caste does not dictate relationships, opportunities, or acceptance."
His son's confusion turned to heartbreak. "When he asked why he wasn't invited, we struggled for words. How do you tell a child that, despite our education and respect, society still clings to prejudice?" This exclusion wasn't just about a party, it was a painful introduction to discrimination. "If this can happen to my son, what must others go through?" Saroj asks. Yet, he remains hopeful. "Families like ours must continue sharing our stories to challenge outdated traditions. I hope my son grows up in a world where caste does not dictate relationships, opportunities, or acceptance."
Identity and Resilience: Simran's Journey
Simran grew up feeling uncomfortable about her Sarki identity. She tells me, her surname 'Basel' often invited questions about her caste that people hadn't heard of. These explanations bothered her deeply though she'd quickly push those feelings aside. She describes how university life brought new challenges. Once, while visiting a friend's house, she was served tea in a broken cup. "I found it strange initially, but later realized its significance. Everyone else understood the subtle discrimination, except me."
"Research shows we all share the same 'gotra' as Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Some surnames are even identical," she notes. "Yet caste is still weaponized..."
"The reality hit hardest when my boyfriend's family rejected our relationship," she shares. "They wanted him to leave me because of my lower caste. My worth was being measured by an arbitrary hierarchy." Her expression softens, "Fortunately, my partner rejected these societal norms and stood by me despite his family's objections."
"Research shows we all share the same 'gotra' as Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Some surnames are even identical," she notes. "Yet caste is still weaponized. Higher castes question reservations for SC/ST communities while discrimination continues, subtly in urban areas and openly in rural ones."
A Mother and Daughter's Integrity: Neeru and Bipashna Darnal
The path to Upper Sirubari winds through tea gardens, a three-kilometer journey from Kurseong town. At its end, Neeru Darnal and her 18-year-old daughter Bipashna welcome me with a cup of tea, a gesture of hospitality that will gain painful significance as their stories unfold.
Neeru, in her forties, speaks with quiet dignity of experiences that would embitter most. "When we rented our previous house," she explains, "the landlady constantly pressured us to leave, claiming she needed to renovate." The true revelation came during their departure: "As we moved our belongings, she began scrubbing everything we had touched, even the wooden bed, with soap and water, as if to cleanse our presence."
The pain in Neeru's eyes deepens as she recounts a recent Dashain festival incident. "During Nauratha puja at a neighbor's house, I used a jug of water from their water drum." Her voice wavers. "The woman became furious, shouting that I had made the puja water 'impure'. Everyone watched as I set down the jug and left."
The most wounding incident occurred during the construction of their modest home. After negotiating a lower transportation fare for building materials, Neeru received a shocking call. "The driver's wife screamed that I had tried to 'lure' her husband for the discount. She hurled terrible words about lower caste women having 'loose moral character.'" Tears fill her eyes. "Just because I negotiated a price and am a Dalit."
Throughout our conversation, what strikes me most is Neeru's remarkable absence of bitterness despite decades of such treatment. When I ask why she's sharing these stories now, she glances at her daughter. "For her," she says. "Things have improved since my mother's time. Perhaps they will improve more for Bipashna, and even more for her children. But only if we speak about what happens."
"I will finish school. I will go to university. I will become someone whose voice cannot be ignored. And I will never apologize for my name or my caste."
As Bipashna takes her turn to speak, there's a different energy to her, an eighteen-year-old's fire barely contained beneath her composure. "It's different for my generation," she begins. "No one will openly refuse me water or make me sit separately at school. But caste follows me everywhere, just in different ways."
Most hurtful are comments about her appearance. "People say I'm 'pretty like a Bahunni', an upper-caste girl, as if beauty cannot belong to a lower caste. One even said I'm 'too fair to be Damai' like they had paid me the highest compliment." With wisdom beyond her years, Bipashna addresses the hypocrisy: "People my age talk about how caste discrimination is old-fashioned, something from our grandparents' time. But they say this while calling me 'pretty for a Damai girl.'
When asked about her future, Bipashna responds: "I will finish school. I will go to university. I will become someone whose voice cannot be ignored. And I will never apologize for my name or my caste." As I prepare to leave, watching mother and daughter standing together in the doorway of their home they've built despite every obstacle, I'm struck by what Bipashna has inherited, not just her mother's burden, but her dignity, and a fierce resolve to be recognized for exactly who she is.
Gender and Caste at the Intersection
The narratives of Neeru, Bipashna, and Simran reveal the profound intersection of caste and gender that creates a distinctive burden for marginalized women in Darjeeling society. Their experiences illuminate how being both female and lower-caste compounds vulnerability in ways that transcend either identity alone.
For older women like Neeru, discrimination takes explicit forms, spaces ritually cleansed after her presence, public humiliation at religious gatherings, and vicious stereotyping about her moral character. When accused of using feminine wiles to secure a lower price from a driver, she faced a gendered attack that weaponized both her caste and her womanhood.
The institutional challenges these women navigate are amplified by daily indignities. As women, they contend with gender-based expectations; as members of marginalized castes, they face systematic exclusion.
Younger women encounter more subtle yet equally harmful prejudice. The "compliments" Bipashna receives for being "pretty like a Bahunni" expose how beauty standards themselves are casteist, suggesting desirability belongs exclusively to upper-caste women. Simran's experience with a broken teacup demonstrates how even educated spaces maintain caste separation through coded behaviors.
These women face unique restrictions in romantic relationships and social mobility. Simran's partnership faced opposition solely because of her caste, reflecting how marriage, an area where women already face significant control, becomes another battleground for caste struggle.
The institutional challenges these women navigate are amplified by daily indignities. As women, they contend with gender-based expectations; as members of marginalized castes, they face systematic exclusion. These seemingly small incidents amass into constant reminders of their positioned "otherness." Their stories demonstrate how caste and gender create specific forms of discrimination that neither men of their caste nor women of upper castes experience, a crucial insight for any meaningful approach to social justice in South Asian context.
Beyond Silence and Denial
As I conclude this collection of authentic narratives from the Scheduled Caste community, I find myself confronting an uncomfortable truth: Urban Darjeeling presents a façade of progressive attitudes where casteism operates through whispers and subtle exclusions, while just beyond in the rural hamlets and isolated tea gardens, the old hierarchies maintain their brutal grip without disguise. The gradient of suffering intensifies with each step down the socio-economic ladder and each mile away from urban oversight, creating parallel worlds within the same district, one where caste discrimination is an uncomfortable undercurrent, and another where it remains the explicit organizing principle of social life, crushing generations under its weight with impunity (Shneiderman, 2018).
Perhaps the most dangerous phenomenon is the growing tendency to pretend casteism is irrelevant or outdated in our society. This convenient fiction, that we live in a "casteless" society, serves primarily to trivialize the lived experiences of SC individuals. When we subsume these distinct experiences under broader narratives of collective Nepali-speaking Gorkha identity and oppression by the state, we effectively silence voices that speak truths about discrimination within our own communities (Tamang, 2020).
If we truly believe in equality and justice, we cannot remain neutral in the face of caste discrimination, for neutrality in situations of injustice always favours the oppressor, never the oppressed (Freire, 1970).
While valuable research and advocacy emerge from scholars and activists within the SC community, their voices alone cannot dismantle these structures. Those of us born into privileged castes must recognize our unique position: we have benefited from these hierarchies without choosing them, but we can choose to challenge them. Our voices carry particular weight precisely because we are willing to question the very systems from which we have derived advantage (Roy, 2019).
This is not about guilt or performative allyship, but about fundamental justice. By acknowledging these realities, by amplifying these stories, and by consistently challenging casteist attitudes whenever we encounter them, we contribute to building a society where dignity is not determined by birth but recognized as the inherent right of every person. If we truly believe in equality and justice, we cannot remain neutral in the face of caste discrimination, for neutrality in situations of injustice always favors the oppressor, never the oppressed (Freire, 1970).
References
Ambedkar, B. R. (1936). Annihilation of Caste.
Besky, S. (2014). The Darjeeling Distinction: Labor and Justice on Fair-Trade Tea Plantations in India.
Chalmers, R. (2003). The Quest for Himalayan Harmony: Nepalis in the Darjeeling District of India.
Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum.
Middleton, T. (2013). Anxious Belongings: Anxiety and the Politics of Belonging in Subnationalist Darjeeling. American Anthropologist, 115(4), 608-621.
Roy, A. (2019). The Caste Question in the Himalayan Region: Politics, Reservations and Dalit Movements.
Sharma, N. (2016). Caste in the Himalayas: The Scheduled Caste Movement in Darjeeling. Journal of South Asian Studies, 32(3), 245-260.
Shneiderman, S. (2018). Rituals of Ethnicity: Thangmi Identities Between Nepal and India.
Subba, T. B. (1992). Ethnicity, State and Development: A Case Study of the Gorkhaland Movement in Darjeeling.
Subba, T. B. (2008). Living in the Hills: Migration, Networks and Livelihoods of Nepalis in India and Beyond.
Tamang, S. (2020). The Politics of Identity in the Eastern Himalayas: Ethnicity, Caste and Belonging in Modern Nepal and India. Himalayan Journal of Sociology and Anthropology, 12(2), 87-103.
Kalyani Rai is a graduate in English literature from Kurseong. An aspiring writer, she is on a journey to find her voice within the vast world of storytelling. By day she works as an Upper Division Clerk at Darjeeling Polytechnic in Kurseong, where she encounters myriad human experiences that often find their way into her narratives. Through her writing, she hopes to provoke thought, inspire empathy, and bring about meaningful conversations on critical social issues.
Dear Kalyani, I was very impressed by your essay. Hope to read more by you...
Thank you for such encouraging feedback. Comments like yours motivate me to keep writing. I’m glad the essay connected with you, and I hope you’ll check back for future pieces.
Being someone who belongs to the scheduled caste community,there have been so many instances when I have personally been subjugated to casteism, some disguised in very subtle and nuanced forms and some blatantly open.
Although there are too many to mention here, one incident that recurs in my mind is one when I was barely seventeen or eighteen and one which involves a family who have been supposedly close family friends for ages.There was this gentleman who was in his final stages of terminal illness in a hospital bed barely conscious and not even capable of speaking but when I tried to touch him with the pure intention of easing whatever pain he was feeling at the moment by massaging his legs, he shook his head so violently and looked at me so angrily that I recoiled a few steps back in utter shock and confusion.It was in many ways my first real open exposure to caste discrimination and as if my touch or presence was blocking his way to salvation.
However, on the flip side, there has also been many who have accepted with open arms regardless of their caste or social standing.
The question that remains is - are we to blame for being born bearing a certain surname or do we blame the society for still adhering to these outdated customs in this day and age?Are we to be recognised for our skills and capabilities or are these going to be disregarded and downplayed, just because we belong to a supposedly Lesser God?
Maybe only a massive tectonic shift in the mindset of not only the hills of Darjeeling but in the whole of India will tell.
But the truth remains - when we cut, we all bleed red.
Coming back to the article and from my rant, this is a topic that is very often swept under the carpet.You have done total justice by writing it with so much eloquent thoughtfulness,truth and sensitivity.Kudos and please keep writing!
Thank you so much for sharing something so deeply personal and painful. Your courage in speaking about these experiences, especially that heartbreaking moment in the hospital, really moved me. I can only imagine how confusing and hurtful that must have been, particularly at such a young age and from someone your family considered close.
Your question cuts to the heart of it all, how can anyone be blamed for the circumstances of their birth? You’re absolutely right that recognition should come from our abilities, our character, and our contributions, not from surnames or perceived social hierarchies. The fact that you approached that dying man with pure compassion, wanting only to ease his pain, says everything about who you are as a person.
I’m grateful you also mentioned those who have welcomed you with open arms, it gives me hope that change, however slow, is happening. Your words about us all bleeding red when cut is such a powerful reminder of our shared humanity.
You’re right that this topic gets swept under the carpet far too often. That’s exactly why I felt compelled to write about it, and knowing that it resonated with someone who has lived these realities means more than I can express. Your voice and experiences matter tremendously in these conversations.
Thank you for reading, for sharing your story, and for your incredibly kind words about the piece. Please keep sharing your perspective, the world needs to hear it. Your insights help make these hidden struggles visible, and that’s how real change begins.
With deep respect and gratitude.
I'm grateful for this article and the courageous stories that highlight the need for change. It's a call to action for all of us to reflect on our biases and strive for a more compassionate and equitable world.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and reflect on this piece. I’m grateful that the stories resonated with you, and I share your belief that we all have a role to play in building a more compassionate and equitable world. Thank you for being part of this dialogue.
I reckon that caste is tied inherently with faith (Hinduism). Proselytes to Christianity often are denied SC certificates on the ground that those discrimination no longer exist. Time's changed, yet the age old stigma persists against different communities/tribes. It's even worse in the mainland India especially in South India.
Unemployment and lack of opportunities have exacerbated the stigma and silently polarised the communities even further. Great content!
Thank you for this incredibly thoughtful and nuanced comment. You’ve touched on something absolutely critical that deserves more attention, the way caste discrimination operates as a social reality that transcends religious boundaries. The issue you raise about Christian converts being denied SC certificates is particularly telling, as it reveals how the system perpetuates exclusion even when people seek to escape it through religious conversion.
Your observation about the situation being especially acute in South India resonates strongly. The intersection of traditional caste hierarchies with modern economic pressures creates a particularly toxic environment where unemployment and limited opportunities become weapons of further marginalization. It’s a vicious cycle; economic desperation intensifies existing prejudices, which then limits access to opportunities, creating even deeper divides.
The ‘silent polarization’ you mention is perhaps the most insidious aspect, how these divisions persist and even deepen in ways that aren’t always visible in mainstream discourse. Your comment adds crucial depth to understanding how these age-old systems adapt and persist in contemporary India, regardless of legal protections or social changes.
Really grateful for you taking the time to share these insights, they’re exactly the kind of perspectives that make this conversation more complete and honest.
This was enlightening. You shed light on voices and experiences that often go unheard and it was a necessary contribution to the conversation.
Thank you so much for this thoughtful feedback Shiwani. I’m grateful to know the piece resonated with you and that you found value in highlighting these perspectives. Comments like yours make the work feel worthwhile.
Lovely article again
Thank you so much for your kind words 🙏🏻
Human being craves to be superior to boost it's ego.So called caste superiority gives him dopamine he craves.Concept of caste hierarchy is old outdated and heinous practice.The author has dealt with the topic sensitively.
Thank you so much Poonam di for engaging with the article and you are exactly right, the psychological need for superiority can fuel these discriminatory systems, even when we know they’re morally wrong. The dopamine hit from feeling ‘above’ others is a dangerous driver that keeps outdated hierarchies alive. These conversations are difficult but necessary for progress.
A necessary, uncomfortable and honest reflection on privilege, pain and the path toward justice. Please read, reflect and share
Thank you for reading and for recognizing the importance of these difficult conversations. Change begins with honest reflection, and I appreciate you helping to amplify this message.