Recasting India

by Hindol Sengupta

  When the company came to Saroj, she was astounded by its illustrious past. The founder, Ramjibhai Kamani, was the pioneer in electric power transmission in India and in the production of industrial materials like arsenical copper plates, cupronickel sheets and the manufacture of zinc oxide and lead oxide. In 1945, the Kamani Engineering Corporation (KEC) became the first electric power transmission company not just in India but in the whole of Asia; and in 1950 it built the transmission towers for the Bhakra Nangal dam project, one of the dream projects of Jawaharlal Nehru, who called big dams the temples of modern India. By the mid-1960s, KEC was making the majority of the transmission towers in India. The company also produced a special road roller that could be swiftly transported in trucks and used in mountain areas. By the 1970s, the Kamani Group had expanded from metals to rubber to chemicals and jewel bearings; 80 percent of its $13 million turnover was coming from exports, and it had become the world’s second largest maker of transmission towers, behind only Italy’s SAE. But the oil crisis in 1973 brought massive debt to KEC that was worsened by the energy crisis in 1979. By the mid-1980s, racked by infighting, the family was losing control. In the 1990s, when the employees tried to take over and run it, they succeeded only in running it further into the ground.

  The company then came under the Board of Industrial and Financial Reconstruction (BIFR), which handles the rehabilitation of sick industrial units, who approached Saroj and asked her to present a plan for reviving the company to the BIFR. “Once again this was something I had never done before, a business that I really did not understand,” says Saroj.

  Over the years, the debt has been wiped out, the workers’ dues cleared and the son of Ramjibhai has been given Rs 51 lakh as a settlement of old pension dues. One of the things Saroj got with this deal was a building in Ballard Estate, the toniest and most old-world business district in India. A hop and a skip away from Saroj’s office—which is on a street named after Ramjibhai Kamani—is Tata House, home to the venerable House of Tatas, India’s biggest business conglomerate. Nearby also is Maker Chambers and the office of India’s most powerful man in business, the billionaire Mukesh Ambani, head of Reliance Industries, the country’s biggest privately owned company.

  Sitting in that four-story office, Saroj’s daughter Seema told me that her proudest moment was in 2013 when her mother was awarded the Padma Shri, one of India’s highest civilian awards.

  “I don’t think of myself in caste terms, but I know how that feels,” Seema Saroj told me. She had lived with her mother in a large slum until she was in Class 10. Even today she lives in a three-bedroom apartment not far from her mother in the distant suburb of Ulhasnagar. They have the money to buy homes in south Bombay, where real estate is some of the most expensive in the world, but Kalpana refuses to do so and prefers the three-hour drive one way to her office. Sometimes she uses her Mercedes, sometimes the Toyota Fortuner. “My mother says her people are there in Ulhasnagar, they are the ones who have been there for her all these years. They turn to my mother whenever they need something. She can’t leave them. They can’t come looking for her in south Mumbai [Bombay].”

  Seema Saroj is married to her college sweetheart, a Brahmin, who now works in the company. Was there trouble when they got married? A little bit, said Seema, from her husband’s side. But when I later asked Kalpana Saroj this, she just laughed it off and said, “The journey to honor is a long one. I am happy that my son-in-law now works with me.”

  Sometimes, though, things don’t fall into place. For instance, Kalpana Saroj just financed a film on the horrific Khairlanji murders of 2006 when a four-member Dalit family, the Bhotmanges, was butchered by upper-caste Hindus over a land dispute. As is almost always the case, the women were paraded naked in the village before being murdered. There was only one survivor, Bhaiyalal Bhotmange. Before the film was shown, Bhaiyalal signed a document saying he had no objections. But after he saw the film, he decided to go to court—because the film shows him consuming alcohol.

  The case is in court—and Saroj has agreed to pay for the prosecutor’s fees too since Bhaiyalal is very poor. “It will be a long journey,” Seema Saroj echoed her mother. “But we are used to hurdles.”

  THE JOURNEY MIGHT BE LONG, BUT USING ENTREPRENEURSHIP TO FIGHT it is a more recent phenomenon. In 2010, the Indian Institute of Dalit Studies tried to understand enterprise in the community through a study done in the states of Uttar Pradesh and Haryana, in the towns of Saharanpur and Panipat.12

  This seminal research is invaluable in understanding where Dalits come from, why they start businesses and why Dalit entrepreneurship is today one of the biggest weapons against caste in India.

  It points out that people belonging to India’s 16 percent Dalit population have traditionally never owned land or any other income-generating assets. With increasing mechanization, the need for farm labor, one of the traditional occupations for Dalits, is thinning and self-employment is on the rise. Uttar Pradesh and Haryana were chosen for the survey because both of these states have high Dalit populations, more than 19 percent and 21 percent, respectively.

  In two towns, the study mapped 321 Dalit enterprises of varying sizes. In the towns selected, Panipat (in Haryana) had one Dalit business before 1950 and Saharanpur (in Uttar Pradesh) had none. Between 1951 and 1960 there was one business started in Panipat but none in Saharanpur, which, however, got three new businesses between 1961 and 1970. There were five new businesses started in these two areas between 1971 and 1980; then came the first signs of a quantum jump: there were 32 in the following decade, 118 in the ten years after that and 161 since 2000. The research shows that social mobility came to the communities only when they were able to “consolidate themselves economically, which happened in most parts of north India during the 1980s.” That’s when “they developed the capacity to diversify into occupations other than those they had been traditionally employed in, except of course for the jobs in the government sector under the reservation quota.”13

  This is what social researcher Chandra Bhan Prasad’s work had also shown—liberalization gave the Dalit community economic wings.

  What kind of businesses did the Dalits start?

  Most of them were simple enterprises based in localities where they lived. These ranged from small shops, hotels, workshops, dealerships or franchises, small factories, medical clinics, and so on. Of the seven women mapped by the study, six had small grocery shops; workshops, like automotive mechanical outfits, were another favorite.

  So who were these Dalit entrepreneurs? Most of them were men, and a very small number were women. Nearly 80 percent were relatively young, between 20 and 40 years of age, and most of them were married and had families with five or six members. The other interesting thing was that less than one-fourth lived in joint families (with their parents and other relatives). This was particularly interesting because this means that Dalits from small towns were mirroring the trend across India of smaller, nuclear families, led by the biggest urban centers like Delhi and Bombay. Curiously, most of them said they were Hindus—even though the Dalit identity comes from the active Ambedkarite rejection of Hinduism. For many of the people who participated in the survey, this Hindu tag was more of a social thing than a religious affirmation, though some did tell the surveyors, “Even after all the insults for centuries, we are still carrying the burden of Hinduism.”14 This simply means they felt discriminated against by upper-caste Hindus and often trapped by tradition and discrimination based on birth.

  Almost all of them were first-generation entrepreneurs, and about three-fourths had fathers who had worked as laborers. Some were in government jobs, no doubt fueled by quotas. The fathers were mostly illiterate or had received very little primary education. Most of the poorest and lowest-strata Dalits actually said that their fathers had worked in jobs like manual scavenging of human excreta—traditionally done by the lowest among the untouchables.

  Most of the Dalits who had started the entrepreneurial journey had
been born in or lived in urban areas—reaffirming Ambedkar’s famous advice to leave the village to break caste chains.

  Most of the Dalits who started businesses had had basic schooling and at least a third had been to college. Nearly a fourth had some sort of technical education or had received a diploma or a degree. Nearly half said they acquired the technical skills required for the business by working with someone who was already in a similar business. Many of them did not start out as entrepreneurs. About a third started as wage labor, some in government jobs, and almost everyone had started with very little capital. Nearly 41 percent started their business with an investment of Rs 25,000 ($421) or less, another 22 percent had invested more than Rs 25,000 but less than Rs 50,000. Some were lucky to have had about Rs 100,000 to spare to start a business, but that seemed to be the upper limit. The money had come mostly from savings or from loans from friends and family. Less than 20 percent of the people had taken a loan from a formal institution like a bank, and barely that many had done so after they had started their business. Now here’s the interesting part, which gives another insight into the Dalit entrepreneur’s mind: even though at least half of the entrepreneurs surveyed knew about special government loans for Dalits, many of them “either did not approach a bank out of some kind of cynicism or were simply refused a loan for want of a good reference or an asset against which the loan could be approved. Their caste background played a role”15 in their reluctance to approach government agencies for funds for fear of humiliation.

  So what motivated them to go into business? Some had no source of livelihood. Others saw a renewed sense of dignity in their new occupation. “It helped them move out of village and traditional caste based occupations.”16 One of the consistent responses in the survey was that it was better to do something on your own than to slave for someone else. They had been helped in the initial phases mostly by their families and friends—though at least a fourth claimed that they did not receive any help from anyone. Almost always their caste was the biggest barrier to getting started. Some could not find people who would rent them space; others could not find accommodation in or near the place where they wanted to start their business since most upper castes would not rent to them. This meant that most businesses were small in size and most of them were self-owned rather than partnerships. Half of the respondents owned the space where they started their business and the rest rented space. Half worked alone; others hired staff ranging from one person to more than 50.

  Hiring non-Dalit staff is another classic problem of the Dalit entrepreneur. The good news is that the survey showed that almost all Dalit enterprises had grown—but the exact rate of growth was hazy since most did not maintain proper books. More than half had a small turnover—about Rs 100,000 ($1,686) or so a year. The number of those who reported annual turnover above a lakh of rupees was also significant with 28 percent reporting a turnover of 1 to 5 lakhs and another 6 percent reporting it to be between 5 and 50 lakhs. Two respondents reported a turnover of above 50 lakhs. The other big question is—where were Dalit businesses located? Since higher castes often do not want proximity to Dalits, a third of the Dalit businesses were located in areas with a majority Dalit population—in many cases they were extensions of their living quarters. But half of the respondents said they worked from mixed localities with a majority of non-Dalit population. Surprisingly, almost everyone said that they faced no discrimination at the location of their business, and they had no issues relating to their caste in the place of work.

  In some cases, Dalits worked in traditional caste-related occupations like leather (since it involves handling dead animals). But newer opportunities had also opened up—in education, for instance. Especially in Uttar Pradesh, there are many Dalit-run schools. The best part about these Dalit-owned and Dalit-run private schools is that, when well run, they often had students from all castes, not just Dalits. In fact, the study found that only a small number (5 percent) of Dalit-run schools said that their students were only Dalits. A large majority, 78 percent, reported that students from all castes studied with them—breaking yet another major barrier.

  In fact the key purpose of the study was to understand the “caste dimension of the everyday economic life in the regional urban context as it is experienced by those who come from the bottom line of caste hierarchy and have tried to step into areas of economic activities that have been hitherto closed to them for various social and historical reasons.”17 In essence, to understand how caste affects livelihood and the search for starting an enterprise.

  In short, it asks—does caste matter?

  It does, said 63 percent of the people who participated in this survey: they had faced some kind of discrimination in their lives. But interestingly, only 42 percent had faced discrimination in business—showing that entrepreneurship is one of those areas where the impact of caste is naturally lower.

  How did caste matter in business?

  Some said they were not acceptable to the larger business community. The study reported, “The locally dominant communities, who have traditionally dominated the business scene, do not like Dalits getting into business.”18 But interestingly, barely 5 percent had any trouble buying things—as long as you can pay, no one cares who you are!

  One of the biggest problems that the Dalits faced was the lack of powerful social networks that would, for instance, help them access informal funds or stand guarantees for bank loans. “Banks ask for guarantee. We do not own expensive houses or plots of land in the city. Neither do we own any agricultural land. Our businesses are also small. Why would banks give us loans?”19 said one respondent in the report.

  One curious thing that the study found was that Dalit entrepreneurs often articulate caste discrimination also in terms of access to finance. Inevitably, most of them borrowed from family and friends. Their biggest problem is no different from the problem faced by most start-ups—lack of resources. The caste burden finally plays out, more often than not, as a resource crunch. One respondent said: “Our main problem is the lack of resources. Our people are poor and also lack confidence to come to cities and try something new. Even those who have the courage, fail to go far. This is because we lack social contacts.”20

  The key takeaway from the study was that almost all of Dalit entrepreneurs felt that they had made something of their lives. Through entrepreneurship they had found dignity, broken away from “a life of slavery” and received greater respect in society compared to their peers in the same community. Not only were they self-sufficient, many were even in a position to provide employment to others—which brought about an unprecedented sense of empowerment. In a sense, they had become “role models” in their community, and in turn pushed for the best education for their children.21

  The one man who brought this study to life for me was Sunil Zode. I met him at a dinner to which Chandra Bhan Prasad invited me.

  His (cryptic, without the right context) email invitation was titled—ABCD.

  It read,

  Dear Gated Queen-ed,

  Probably indisputably, London isn’t dated yet. It continues moderating modernity for the good of the globe.

  London minus ABCD?

  Shouldn’t we reflect upon our own predicaments minus ABCD!

  Please judge the man judiciously. He fathered ABCD on this part of the mother planet earth. But was he a mind-colonizer for the crown? Sure enough, he said the following:

  We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect.

  Is the above half-truth or full falsehood? Consider the full text:

  We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect. To that class we may leave it to refine the vernacular dialects of the c
ountry, to enrich those dialects with terms of science borrowed from the Western nomenclature, and to render them by degrees fit vehicles for conveying knowledge to the great mass of the population.

  Clearly, Indian history writers painted a liberator into a colonizer.

  In the same Minutes on Education, Lord (Macaulay) said something very strange about his own country:

  At that time almost everything that was worth reading was contained in the writings of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Had our ancestors acted as the Committee of Public Instruction has hitherto acted; had they neglected the language of Cicero and Tacitus; had they confined their attention to the old dialects of our own island; had they printed nothing and taught nothing at the universities but Chronicles in Anglo-Saxon, and Romances in Norman-French, would England have been what she now is? What the Greek and Latin were to the contemporaries of More and Ascham, our tongue is to the people of India.

  Sure enough, Lord Macaulay was non-partisan.

  We most humbly invite you to please join the dinner on the English Day and demand ABCD as fundamental rights to all Dalits born today onwards.

  Food to be Tharoor Class and Liquid like Niagara Fall.

  Time: 07 pm Onwards, Venue: Terrace Pergola, IIC Main Building.22

  For the uninitiated, this is perplexing stuff, but it contains centuries of Indian politics hidden in one email. The “gated” reference is to Delhi’s infamous elite class who live in gated colonies that are shut off every night—and have no passersby unless you live inside the colony.

  The Macaulay mention lies at the heart of one of India’s most bitter class divides—between those whose primary mode of schooling was in the English language and those who did not go to an “English-medium” school. Baron Thomas Babington Macaulay was a British historian and politician who supported the transfer of the official language of the government in India from Persian (favored by the old Mughal courts) to English in the mid-nineteenth century. In the years leading to the English Education Act of 1835, Macaulay wrote a “Minute upon Indian Education.” It says all the things that the invitation from Prasad says it does.