Of lost legacies and bringing them back to the fore

This year, like every year, Ambedkar Jayanti was celebrated with great gusto in Mumbai. I was witness to the crowds thronging Shivaji Park, and it did make me wonder as to the relevance of the man at the epicentre of this parade.

Holding the Constitution and pointing towards the Parliament, Ambedkar looked regal as always, in his dapper blue suit. Be that as it may, even a bare reading of the constituent assembly debates gives one an insight into the mind of one of the country’s finest sons.

A son who had to prove his mettle time and again, because he was born untouchable, but refused to die as such. The king of Gwalior accorded the young Ambedkar a scholarship and he became, not only the foremost scholar among the backward, but the most educated Indian of his day. Unhappy with prevalent social practices and unwilling to acquiesce to a religion that did not consider him part of its fold, he decided to appeal for separate electorates.

Deeming Gandhi’s terminology of the untouchable caste as harijan to be condescending, he preferred to refer to them as ‘Dalit’ (literally, ‘crushed’) in order to call a spade a spade. He demanded separate electorates for dalits, and as a result he was criticised for diverting attention from more pressing issues as the freedom struggle, to which he posited that all change must happen simultaneously. The freedom movement must run parallel to that for the liberation of other minorities, religious, gendered, linguistic — indeed all other marginalised communities. There can be no one challenge greater than all others.The Poona Pact of 1932 saw Ambedkar giving up the demand for separate electorates in exchange for minor concessions for his people.

Fed up with a religion that would neither treat him as its own nor allow him separate status, Ambedkar led more than a hundred thousand people to Buddhism in the largest simultaneous religious conversion in history.

The main reason for the success of India’s polity is its constitution, most everyone agrees. “This Constitution must serve in good times and bad, and if it fails, rather than blame the framers, we must conclude that humans are vile” — a thought in fact expressed by Ambedkar himself in his speech while presenting the Constitution to the nation on November 26, 1949, the very first Law Day. The fact that we waited another two months before declaring ourselves a Republic on January 26, 1950 is another matter entirely. The issue for us to consider, as we look around us today, is which of the two is the case have we abided by the Constitution or are we vile? It is something India must decide for herself. This leads to one final question. Who inherits the legacy? Kanshi Ram is gone. Photos of a disinterested Mayawati garlanding Ambedkar annually appears to be disingenuous lip service no doubt, but also gives one a decidedly sinking feeling.

But then again, when one sees Ambedkar statues adorning the poorest stretches of the city, it gives one hope. He belongs to the people. And the people belong to him. He is the ripened fruit of tapasya, the struggle for liberation, an icon to look up to, a beacon of light leading out of the darkness.And hope is what one needs in the struggle for liberation from discrimination.

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