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It was while reading harrowing accounts of Jim Crow laws in the United States that I came across the “One Drop Rule,” which stated that if a “coloured” person had any Black ancestry, they must be considered Black. This idea of fixing identity through bloodlines struck me as familiar, because caste in India has long functioned in much the same way.
The One Drop Rule was largely applied to those of Black African ancestry. Individuals of mixed-race heritage were classified as members of their socially subordinate racial group. Hypodescent, as a legal and social measure, was used to consolidate the social and economic status of white Americans while marginalising minorities. In its most extreme form, it served as a foundational principle that underpinned and justified the entire Jim Crow system.
In contrast, hyperdescent assigns individuals of mixed-race ancestry to the more socially dominant racial group of their parents, serving as the opposite classification method to hypodescent.
It occurred to me, while reading about the One Drop Rule, that although being half Nair placed my father firmly higher than Ezhava in the hyperdescent ladder, by virtue of having Ezhava blood I am placed beneath him as a hypodescendant. In this context, the One Drop Rule made me wonder how caste is legally determined in India, and how it shapes both institutionalised and internalised casteism.
So in this article, we will explore the nature of caste determination in India, examining how parental lineage, especially in inter-caste marriages, shapes a child's official status. It considers the distinction between the legally defined “Scheduled Caste” and the politically charged “Dalit,” and the benefits and protections afforded by the former.
This also leads to questions of religious conversion, the significance of recent state-level caste surveys, and the coming census of 2027. Together, these raise pressing questions about reservation policies, the caste versus class debate, and the contested meaning of “Dalitness” in India’s political and social life.
Ladders of disadvantage
Before getting into it, let us give a cursory reading of R Vishwanatha Pillai vs State of Kerala & Ors. This was a crucial Supreme Court judgment, delivered on January 7, 2004, which addressed the issue of appointments secured through fraudulent caste certificates and the extent to which constitutional protections, particularly Article 311, apply in such cases.
The story is stranger than fiction. R Vishwanatha Pillai obtained a public service appointment as a Deputy Superintendent of Police by falsely claiming to belong to the “Vettuvan” Scheduled Caste community, using a fraudulent caste certificate. Investigations by the Kerala Institute for Research, Training & Development Studies of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (KIRTADS), and a subsequent scrutiny committee established under the directives of Kumari Madhuri Patil vs Additional Commissioner (1994), conclusively found that he did not belong to any Scheduled Caste. His family records showed he was from forward castes – Nair and Veduvar Pillai.
The Supreme Court unequivocally upheld the cancellation of Vishwanatha Pillai’s appointment and his subsequent dismissal from service. It firmly rejected pleas for sympathy, holding that an individual who obtains public employment through deceit – thereby depriving a genuine reserved candidate of their rightful place – does not warrant judicial leniency or equitable considerations.
At this juncture, let us turn to how a person’s caste is determined in India. Generally, caste is decided by the caste of the parents at the time of the child’s birth. In most cases, it follows the father’s caste. However, this is not always so. There are instances where the mother’s caste has been recognised, particularly in inter-caste marriages, as in Deepak Varghese vs State of Kerala.
The key test is whether the child was brought up in the social and cultural milieu of the mother’s community. The burden of proof lies on the individual to demonstrate that they did not have an “advantageous start in life” due to their father’s forward-caste status, but instead suffered the disadvantages faced by other members of the mother’s community. This usually requires evidence of upbringing within the mother’s community, acceptance by that community, and exposure to its social realities. In such cases, the principle of hypodescent becomes legally advantageous.
Historicity to technicality to legality
No community in India has endured as many shifts in nomenclature, categorisation, and legal approval of their identity as Dalits. The terms Dalit and Scheduled Caste are often used interchangeably, but they differ in origin, standing, and implications. The distinction is not just semantic, but reflects different historical trajectories and ongoing societal roles.
The term “Scheduled Caste” holds an official, legal, and constitutional status within India. Its roots can be traced to the colonial era, evolving from earlier classifications like “Depressed Classes.” The Government of India Act of 1935 marked a pivotal moment by formally introducing the term “Scheduled Castes” to identify specific castes that had been subjected to the practice of untouchability and systemic discrimination. This classification served as the initial framework for providing them with special provisions and affirmative action. Post-independence, the Constitution of India (1950) enshrined this classification in Article 341. The President’s Order, 1950, technically known as The Constitution (Scheduled Castes) Order, 1950 came into existence with an initial list of 821 castes, granting the President of India the authority to specify, through public notification, the castes, races, or subgroups that are to be deemed Scheduled Castes in relation to a particular state or union territory. Furthermore, Parliament possesses the power to modify this list through legislation, adding or removing any caste. This legal designation forms the bedrock for all constitutional safeguards, reservations, and protective measures designed to uplift these communities.
In contrast, “Dalit” is not a legal or constitutional term but rather a powerful, self-referential, and politically charged identifier. The word itself is a Marathi evolution of Sanskrit, meaning “broken,” “crushed,” or “oppressed.” Its emergence as a political term is credited to social reformers like Jyotirao Phule in the late 19th century, and it was significantly popularised in the 20th century by Dr BR Ambedkar to represent all oppressed individuals, irrespective of their specific caste, who were historically excluded from the traditional Hindu varna system. The term gained further momentum in the 1970s with the rise of the Dalit Panthers. It signifies a collective assertion of identity and dignity against centuries of systemic oppression.
Being officially recognised as a Scheduled Caste confers a range of legally mandated benefits and protections. These include significant reservations (quotas) in government employment, admissions to educational institutions, and representation in legislative bodies like the Lok Sabha and State Legislative Assemblies, as stipulated by various articles of the Constitution (e.g., 15(4), 16(4), 330, 332).
Conversely, as “Dalit” lacks legal recognition, it does not directly confer any legal rights or benefits. All legal provisions are exclusively framed around the “Scheduled Caste” classification. Indeed, the National Commission for Scheduled Castes has even advised state governments against using “Dalit” in official documents, preferring the constitutional term. However, the legal framework, particularly acts like the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, is fundamentally designed to protect the very communities who identify as Dalits from continued social harm.
Moreover, some argue that “Dalit” can encompass a broader spectrum of communities than the official Scheduled Caste list, potentially including certain nomadic tribes and even those who converted from Hinduism but continue to experience caste discrimination, such as Dalit Christians and Muslims, who are often not included in the official SC list.
For example, think of the recent Akkala Ram Reddy vs The State of Andhra Pradesh case. An FIR was registered under the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act after the complainant, a converted Christian Pastor, alleged that he was slapped and fisted by the Petitioners during a prayer service. However, the petitioners argued that the registration of the FIR under the SC/ST Act was legally moot and that he cannot claim to be a member of the Scheduled Caste community.
A Single Bench of Justice Harinath N held, “The 2nd respondent has ceased to be a Member of the Scheduled Caste Community, the day he had converted into Christianity…this Court is of the considered view that the registration of crime under the provisions of SC ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act is illegal. It is also held that filing of charge sheet inspite of the categorical statements of the listed witnesses specifically stating that the 2nd respondent is working as a Pastor for the last 10 years, the police could not have laid a charge sheet charging the petitioners for alleged offence under Sections 3(1)(r), 3(1)(s), 3(2)(va), SC ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act.”
The converted narrative
Let us pause here for a second and return to Vishwanatha Pillai. While the ruling that an appointment based on a false caste certificate is void ab initio is monumental, it does not provide any form of socio-economic reparation or political justice for someone from a Scheduled Caste who lost an opportunity because of this constitutional fraud. The loss affects not only one individual but also future generations of their family, who would have gained a significant leg-up in education and employment opportunities. Ironically, Vishwanatha Pillai’s son was allowed to continue his studies in the very seat his father had secured with a fake caste certificate. Thus, a form of social hyperdescent is at play here.
At the same time, conversion to Christianity or Islam strips away the legal protection against atrocities, as well as the constitutional guarantees of reservation in education and employment. This automatically creates another parallel trajectory of socially engineered hypodescent, in which the children of converts occupy a lower rung than Vishwanatha Pillai’s son.
In Indra Sawhney v Union of India, Justice PB Sawant observed: “When Islam and Christianity made their entries and ruled the country, many from lower castes embraced them to escape tyranny and inequity. However, the change of religion did not always succeed in eliminating castes. The converts carried with them their castes and occupations to the new religion. The result has been that even among Sikhs, Muslims, and Christians, caste prevails in varying degrees in practice.”
Muslim groups such as gadheris, gorkuns, halalkhors, dhobis, backhoe, lalbegis, and other communities remain destitute and oppressed as a result. In most cases, Dalit Christians and Dalit Muslims fare even worse: they have the metaphorical support of the courts, but are ghettoised, terrorised, and excluded from the mainstream, sometimes more virulently than Dalit Hindus.
In his 2011 report for the National Commission for Minorities, Satish Deshpande examined the situation of Dalit Muslims and Dalit Christians in India. The study aimed to understand how these groups were faring compared with other communities, and whether they required government intervention. It drew upon research spanning forty years, from the 1950s to the early 2000s, including surveys, community investigations, and long-term fieldwork, as well as national data from 2004–05.
The findings showed that Dalit Muslims and Dalit Christians are distinctly seen as lower-status groups within their respective religious communities. In most contexts, they were treated as Dalits first, and Muslims or Christians only second. They faced social segregation, endogamy restrictions, separate churches and burial grounds, and workplace discrimination. Economically, Dalit Muslims were among the poorest of all Dalit groups, particularly in urban areas where none were found among wealthier sections. The gap between them and other Muslims, however, was not large, as the Muslim community as a whole suffers widespread economic hardship.
Dalit Christians were doing somewhat better than other Dalits, except for Dalit Sikhs, who are the most economically secure. Yet Dalit Christians faced the starkest internal inequality, as non-Dalit Christians were considerably wealthier.
The study found that around three-quarters of all Dalits, regardless of religion, share similar economic conditions. Differences appear mainly within the top quarter of each group. In education, Dalit Muslims had the highest illiteracy rates, while Dalit Christians performed better, especially in urban contexts. The report concluded that there is ample evidence of entrenched discrimination and economic deprivation among Dalit Muslims and Dalit Christians, thereby justifying government intervention in line with constitutional principles.
Conflicting numbers
Over the past 14 years since the earlier study, discussions on the status of Dalits and the inclusion of caste in the 2027 Census point to the continuing challenges of entrenched discrimination. Recent state-level caste surveys offer updated demographic and socio-economic data.
In Bihar, figures released by the Nitish Kumar government in 2023 showed that OBCs (27%) and EBCs (36%) together make up 63.13% of the state’s population of 13.07 crore. The General category accounts for 15.5%, Scheduled Castes 19.65%, and Scheduled Tribes 1.68%. The survey highlighted economic hardship, with 34.13% of families earning ₹6,000 a month or less, and low levels of higher education, with only 7% graduates. Methodologically, it relied on a predefined list of 214 castes, plus an “Other” category.
The Congress government in Telangana conducted a caste survey after the 2023 election, completing it in late 2024. Results showed that BCs make up 56.33% of the population, including 10.08% BC Muslims. Scheduled Castes account for 17.43%, Scheduled Tribes 10.45%, and Other Castes 15.79%, which includes 2.48% OC Muslims, of the estimated 3.54 crore population. The process drew scrutiny over population estimates, possible undercounting in Hyderabad, and survey methodology. Concerns were also raised about the government releasing only aggregated data, citing privacy, while the Supreme Court has backed transparency. The inclusion of BC Muslims in the caste census sparked a fresh debate on whether Muslims and Christians should be eligible for constitutional benefits reserved for Scheduled Castes.
Karnataka’s Socio-Economic and Education Survey, commissioned in 2015, was finally submitted in February 2024 and tabled in April 2024. It faced debate, with some communities questioning both its methodology and findings. Unconfirmed details reportedly estimate OBCs at 69.6%, with a recommendation to raise their quota from 32% to 51%. Population shares for Lingayats (11%) and Vokkaligas (10%) came out lower than previous estimates. The report also recommended creating a Most Backward Classes category with a new quota structure, triggering debates on representation and its wider policy implications.
Judicious future and hope
Despite methodological challenges and debates, state-level surveys have brought the caste census into national focus.
The Census 2027 will form the basis for redrawing Lok Sabha constituencies after 2026, directly impacting the 2029 general election. It will also be instrumental in implementing the 106th Amendment to the Constitution of India regarding 33% reservation for women in Parliament and state assemblies, which will come into effect after the delimitation exercise based on this new data. The primary question now is: what does the caste census mean, and how much of the Presidential Order of 1950, and its aftermath of Scheduled Castes, makes you a Dalit?
The other question is how Census 2027 will influence the class versus caste debate, particularly in the context of the controversial Economically Weaker Sections (EWS) reservation. The One Hundred and Third Amendment of the Constitution of India amended Articles 15(6) and 16(6) to permit 10% reservations for the EWS category. On November 7, 2022, the Supreme Court of India, by a 3:2 verdict in Janhit Abhiyan vs Union of India (Writ Petition (Civil) No. 55 of 2019), upheld the validity of the 103rd constitutional amendment. The amendment provided legal sanction for carving out 10% reservation for economically weaker sections from unreserved classes for admission in educational institutions and government jobs. The court held that the 50% cap on quotas is not inviolable, and that affirmative action on an economic basis may go a long way in eradicating caste-based reservation. This amendment pushed the total reservation in central institutions to 59.5%.
The myriad ways in which class, caste, and gender intersect — including the damage suffered by the migrant “casteless” class during the COVID lockdown — will be on full display once the census is underway. Yet the sample data from Bihar, Telangana, and Karnataka already speaks to a need for a thorough re-examination of the meaning of Scheduled Caste, which currently exists across a wide schism, far removed from the inclusivity it desperately requires.
What remains deeply mired in mystery is how these interactions will affect the delimitation exercise and the representation of Dalits in the 2029 elections. Will a Dalit Muslim or a Dalit Christian receive the same legal protection and representation as their Hindu counterpart? Will the EWS carve-out dilute the representation of Dalits in the economy? Will sheer numbers translate into executive action? Or do numbers even matter in the larger sociopolitical picture?
Ultimately, the process of addressing the subtext of that placard demanding its due – held by the rather ancient and tired elephant in the room – will determine the “Dalitness” in all of us, and how much of the legal definitions, or how many drops of blood, makes a Dalit an SC.
This paradox — the juxtaposition of ideals, the transformation of what a nation was intended to be against what it has turned into — reminded me of the words, spoken with fervour in her poem My country, by the Nigerian poet Hafsat Abdullahi. Irrespective of which country she is speaking about, the performance resonates with an Indian citizen when she concludes: “My country is a prayer…”
Sruthi JS is an Indian Revenue Service (Customs & Indirect Taxes), 2014 batch officer currently posted in Thiruvananthapuram.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author in a personal capacity.
References
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